Perfect match, p.34
Perfect Match, page 34
Rachel laughed. “No, but they know I don’t tolerate any of their meanness.”
Jerome said, nodding his head, “She’s right.”
Rachel said, “There are several strong homeowners, but we need more, and I believe Roscoe has a good idea. It’ll take a little time, but I believe it’ll work.” She paused. “I hope you’ll decide to help start the business, Ned. If you do, I’ll promise you a cake of your choice at least once a month.”
He grinned. “Now that’s what I call a serious fringe benefit.”
By 4:30 their meeting had gravitated around the block to the three dilapidated buildings that Roscoe had bought unseen, except for some photos the realtor had emailed to him. Yes indeed 805 Rainbow Avenue was in deplorable condition.
After Jerome tinkered with the bent key the realtor had mailed to Roscoe, they stood inside looking at remnants of the former business, along with cobwebs and layers of dust.
Roscoe said, “Take a look around and let me know what you think. I need to get off this foot for a couple of minutes. I’ll be out front.”
The guys moseyed off analyzing the situation.
Imogene remained with Roscoe. Looking concerned, she said, “Are you okay? You look wiped out.”
He smiled. “I’ll be fine. That hospital stay must have caught up with me.” He made his way out front and sat on the flower planter missing a few bricks, and filled with debris.
She pulled out a bottle of vitamin water from her bag. “Drink this. I always carry an extra.”
“Thanks.”
“Mom gave me strict orders to watch out for you.”
Roscoe looked up, surprised.
Imogene gave him a knowing look, with a slight nod.
Roscoe said, “Rachel is a fantastic woman. You and Jerome have a really, really great mom. And I can’t believe all the work the two of you did on the attic room for me. I really appreciate it, and your work is superb.”
She beamed.
Shortly the three guys were back out front surveying the trash-littered lots, and cracked sidewalks, with spreading strands of grass. Roscoe said, “Suppose I told you the business would be opening two weeks from today. What would it take?”
“Sixteen hour days.”
“Might need to contract out a couple of things like plumbing, electrical wiring, heating and air-conditioning system.”
“We could handle the rest, inside and out.”
Imogene said, “A little paint goes a long way.”
Roscoe said, “Are y’all ready to make a decision?”
Without any hesitation, Ned said, “Count me in.” He added a big smile.
Imogene said, “This will be my first job. I’m ready.”
Jerome added, “I need a job, but I want this job. I look forward to working with you, Roscoe.”
Roscoe looked at Billy.
He was silent, still looking across the abandoned area. He ran his thumb across his bottom lip. He looked back at the small group, and said, “I’ve known Roscoe since grade school. We’ve done a lot of stuff together through the years, and most of it crazy things. Roscoe has been my best friend but he’s also been a real jerk at times, but this business idea and plan of his ought to illustrate that he’s a genuine good-hearted man, so you bet I want to be part of this. When do we begin?”
“How about tomorrow morning at 6:00 a.m.?”
Heads nodded.
“One other thing. I have a name in mind for the business, but I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
Jerome said, “Rainbow Renovations?”
Billy offered up, “Asheville Home Improvements?”
Ned said, “Speedy Building Supply?”
Imogene was still thinking.
Roscoe added, “Roscoe’s Renovations?” He beamed at his suggestion.
Imogene was still thinking. The guys waited.
She said, “How about Romantic Renovations?”
“What?”
“Huh?”
Ned laughed. “Imogene, we ain’t playing dollhouse stuff here, we’re talking real building. That’s crazy.” He threw his arms up, and paced in a circle, head down.
She said, “Let me ask you a question, Ned. Out of the last ten decks you built, how many men called you to inquire about building them a deck?”
Ned slumped as he thought, and meekly said. “One. Okay, I get your point. The main thing men were interested in was how much the deck was going to cost, and would there be room on the deck for their beer keg.”
Everyone laughed.
She said, “Right. Men might earn the money sometimes, but women almost always direct the money, when it comes to the home. Women will renovate, men rarely get around to it.”
Ned said, smiling, “Okay, I vote for Romantic Renovations.”
The other three gave vigorous nods.
Roscoe said, “Well there goes my namesake. Romantic Renovations it is. And guys that’s the first indication of a woman working her way up the corporate ladder.” He reached over and gave Imogene a hug.
Chapter Forty-One
Rainbow Block Party, Saturday
Over the past twelve working days, Roscoe and his start up crew of four had worked 14 and 15-hour days renovating the business location, including the upstairs that would serve as his loft, his home.
But today was going to be a celebration. Beginning at 6:00 a.m. more than 300 people, living in the area known as Rainbow Village, began congregating in front of Romantic Renovations’ office. They brought brooms, shovels, rakes, and other tools for cleaning up the street.
The neighborhood had been blanketed with flyers explaining the plans for cleaning a different street over the next twelve Saturdays. Anyone helping would receive a complimentary breakfast of coffee, juice, donuts, muffins, and choice of fresh fruit. At one o’clock hot dogs and hamburgers, with all the trimmings, chips, fruit and cold drinks would be served.
Area churches had loaned tables and chairs. Neighbors had brought their grills.
A week ago Roscoe had secured the required permits, but had met resistance from the police department. The uniformed officer at the desk said, “I’m telling you, you’re going to stir up trouble down there in that section.”
“How’s that?”
“That’s drug turf down there, and the people are crazy.”
“Huh, that’s funny. All the people I’ve met down there have good sense, and the judge approved my plan for community service.”
“Bet you a donut and cup of coffee that the judge has never been in that section of town.”
Roscoe shrugged.
The officer chuckled, as he handed the approved permits, along with another copy of event guidelines. “You’ll learn the hard way. Good luck.”
“Thanks. If you’re out that way on Saturday, stop by for free burgers and hot dogs.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll be cruising the area.”
As the cleanup progressed through the morning, Roscoe hobbled up and down the street thanking and encouraging his neighbors, while filling his trash bag with litter.
When he passed the rickety wire fence to his right, he had a flashback. An unpleasant flashback of the drunken night he put the young woman out of his Corvette. He saw the fright on her face, heard the echo of his voice calling her names, relived the wild scream of his tires, as he ripped down the street, leaving her abandoned.
A heavy feeling was beginning to flood through him, when he felt a hand tapping him on his leg. He looked down. A dirty old black woman in a wheelchair looked up at him and said, “Mr. Roscoe, you lookin’ mighty sad. Cheer up. I done filled another bag with trash.” She grinned, but was breathing hard.
He took the bag of trash, knelt down, and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Tilda.”
“What’s your last name?”
She laughed a bit. “Higgins I think. Tilda Higgins.” She labored with her breathing, sweat running down her face. “That donut sure was good early this morning. I ain’t had nothing to eat since yesterday noon.”
Roscoe’s concern grew, as he pushed her toward the main event tent. “Imogene, would you get a bottle of vitamin water for Tilda? She’s only had a donut since lunch yesterday. And let’s have one of the safety crew check her. I’m afraid she gotten too hot.”
“Well, I wanted to do my part, Mr. Roscoe.”
“You’ve done your part, and I thank you.” He leaned down and hugged her.
A trendy-dressed woman approached, with microphone poised, and said, “I’m Jane Winters, with WVIP-TV, reporting on the event today. Are you the owner of Romantic Renovations?”
“I’m one of the CEOs, but I want you to meet one of the most important person’s out here today, my neighbor, Tilda Higgins.”
The cameraman was filming away.
The reporter leaned down, tentatively asking, “How long have you lived here, Tilda?”
“All 95 years of my life, right in this neighborhood. This is a fine neighborhood, fine neighborhood.” Her eyes sparkled. “I did six bags of trash.”
Roscoe picked up the conversation, speaking to the reporter, stretching his arm pointing down the street, “See that mound of large trash bags. Now you see how important Ms. Higgins and her neighbors are to our efforts in Rainbow Village. It’ll take at least two city waste trucks to haul it away.”
The reporter turned back to Tilda, thinking she would hijack a straight answer to her original question. “How do you feel about someone like him owning a business in your neighborhood?”
Tilda studied the intense, blonde reporter, thinking. “He probably don’t own nothing,” her head shaking, “’cause he poor like the rest of us down here.”
Before the frustrated reporter could sign off, a voice from Roscoe’s left said, “Me-e-ster Roscoe, you want me and my crew to finish off the other side of the street?”
Roscoe checked his watch. He’d met Valquez earlier in the morning when crew volunteers were matched up. “Think you can finish in time for lunch?”
Valquez nodded. “Sure. Thanks for helping Rainbow Village.” He beamed, and turned to go, but the reporter was quicker.
“Sir, how long have you live in Rainbow Village?”
“Se-e-ks years, long time.”
“Do you have a green card?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Proud of green card.” He pulled it from a tattered canvas wallet, proudly holding it toward the camera.
Roscoe decided to head off this crafty little fishing expedition from blondie. “By the way your TV station will be doing a great public service today, if you find anyone without documentation. Send them here to the main tent. We’re assisting anyone needing help with the complicated paper work in becoming a U. S. citizen. I’ll check with you before you leave and get any leads you uncovered.”
She quickly signed off, and then rolled her eyes at Roscoe.
“Stick around for burgers and hot dogs, and the music and dance contests begin at one o’clock. Maybe we can chat, get to know each other.”
She gave him an icy look. “I doubt that. Right now I need to find who’s in charge of this mob.”
“Good luck.”
Jerome had been listening in the background. When Roscoe turned around, Jerome said through clinched teeth. “We don’t have a citizenship assistance program.”
“We do now. Grab some legal pads from inside, just in case.”
Jerome was shaking his head, but grinning. “Ned said you were one crazy dude.”
Roscoe laughed. “Yeah, but I’m having real fun for once in my life.”
Litter and debris had been bagged and piled along the sidewalk at the far end of the street. Broken glass had been swept up and placed in special containers. Grass and weeds had been cleaned from cracks in the street, and sidewalks. Earlier both ends of Rainbow Avenue had been cordoned off by the police, but they had mainly kept out of sight.
The grills were smoking, and the meats were sizzling. Lines had formed for lunch, and the DJ hired blasted forth with the latest music. Rainbow Avenue rocked. Laughter spilled across the neighborhood. Roscoe and the other CEO’s circulated throughout the crowd, thanking people, chatting with as many as they could.
Roscoe’s strength was beginning to wane. He headed back to the main tent. A few of the younger set were beginning to showcase their latest dance steps to the applause of the milling crowd. Midway up the block six men dressed in black pants and T-shirts, wearing dark sun glasses were cutting across an empty lot.
As they strode down the middle of the four-lane street, the pockets of people spread back. The crowd’s laughter withered to murmurs of ‘Tojo’s gang.’ The music played on.
As the lines parted, Roscoe stepped in front of the grills, facing the men. They stopped about ten feet from him. The big tall one, with a smirk on his face, looked Roscoe up and down.
Roscoe said, “If you came for food, you’ll have to get in line.”
Big tall one said, with a hoarse chuckle, “I don’t get in line for anything. You got that straight?”
“You do here, since you’re trying to crash a celebration event.”
“Smartass, you’re on my turf.” He eyed the crowd, calling a couple of names, “Fedrow, Gotlet, Treva, I’m disappointed you in this crowd and didn’t wise up this guy that this is my turf. I’ll deal with you guys later.” The three shrunk back into the crowd.
His eyes returned to Roscoe. Tojo said, as he looked at his gaudy watch, “I’m gonna be easy on you. You’ve got ten seconds to shut this party down.” He stared at his watch. His five accomplices held their stance, reaching a hand toward a pocket flap.
Roscoe said, “We’re not closing anything down.” The crowd had swung around forming a horseshoe shape behind him. Billy, Jerome, Ned, and Imogene stood by. Ned kept trying to nudge Imogene behind him. She wouldn’t budge.
“Time’s up honky. You coming with us. Let’s take him!” He grabbed the front of Roscoe’s shirt.
Roscoe’s arms shot up full force, breaking Tojo’s grip, buttons popped from his shirt. As Tojo stumbled back, he whipped his handgun from the back of his pants.
Five switchblades clicked open.
Tojo was pulling the trigger.
Roscoe lunged for him.
Hands and arms struck Tojo’s aim downward, as the gun fired.
A woman screamed, fell to the ground.
“Imogene’s hit.”
“Call 911.”
Undercover cops swarmed from the crowd, pinning the gang members to the ground, disarming them, cuffing within seconds.
Tojo yelled, “Your knee is breaking my back.”
“You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain—”
The crowd erupted in applause, and “Thank the Lord” as the gang members were raised to their feet, and shuffled from the crowd. Police cars had made their way up the street to take their catch to jail.
The police chief had planned for trouble. He’d had an EMS vehicle on standby four blocks away. They quickly tended to Imogene, mad as hell because of a minor bullet graze. She protested going to the hospital, but the CEO’s insisted she get checked out.
“You need to get off that foot. You’re not looking good, Roscoe. We’ve made a decision. Get upstairs and rest. Me, Billy, and Ned will get everything closed down.” Jerome stared him down. “You’re out voted. Go.”
Roscoe reluctantly got away from the crowd, and made his way up to his loft, lying down, trying to recoup his energy. He’d read the literature and knew that a kidney donor didn’t get back to normal strength for about two weeks. He realized he’d been pushing himself too much, but he felt driven by his goals. As he dozed off, he could hear the muffled beat of the music from the street. He smiled.
After a two hour nap he heard the fall of heavy footsteps on his stairs. He thought, I’ll have to get that security latch and camera installed on the downstairs street door. His door at the top of the stairs opened. “Roscoe, it’s me, Rachel.”
“Come on in. You’re always welcome.”
She placed a container on a trivet on the kitchen counter top. “I brought you some homemade chicken stew, cornbread, and a salad. Where are you?”
“Just took a nap, but I’m ready to get moving again.” The clock by his bed blinked 6:40 p.m.
“Not so fast. I need to check your vitals.” She came down the open hallway that ran along the five arched windows on the right side of the building, letting in the north light. To the left were open spaces, with walls separating a bedroom with enclosed bath, another bedroom, and a quieter sitting room at the end of the hall.
Roscoe, still in his clothes, was propped up on two plump pillows, resting on the single bed that Jerome had built.
Rachel pulled her stethoscope and blood pressure monitor out of her nurse’s kit. She gave him a stern look. “Don’t move.” She proceeded to listen to his heart, lungs, arteries along the neck, took his temperature, looked in his eyes, ears, nose, and throat. She palpated his chest and abdominal area, and felt his pulse at different pressure points on wrist, legs, ankles, and feet.
She straightened up and asked him a series of questions. With hands on her hips, said, “Everything checks out, but you must slow down. You’ve got to pace yourself, Roscoe. You’re still recovering, you’re healing inside. You’ve had a kidney removed, in case you’ve forgotten.”
He looked at her blankly.
“Okay, will you take it easy? Just do it for me. Please?”
He nodded, meaning it. “I promise. I want to try that chicken stew, while you give me the word on Imogene. Was she hurt bad?”
They moved to the kitchen.
“A very slight graze on the side of her hip by the bullet. She’s at home, madder than a wet hen, but she’s glad that Tojo and his gang are off the street. Jerome said several people are going testify, and three women are going to charge him with being the father of their children, and seek child support. That’s never happened before. People have been too afraid.” She studied him a moment. “Thanks, Roscoe, for standing up to Tojo. Brave but risky.”
He waved his hand. “Our neighborhood has too much at stake to let a couple bullies control us.” He paused, while he took another bite of chicken stew. “Now you see why I wanted to get away from that toxic hospital food? This is delicious.”
