Seeking Mr. Perfect

by Jennifer Youngblood

  Parker was refined, graceful even. Whereas, Dalton was a blunt instrument—a fierce warrior who rushed into danger without a second thought. She’d loved that about Dalton when she was a silly teenager. But Dalton had his own share of demons … demons that would ensnare her if she let them.

  What Sierra wanted more than anything was stability. Something she could count on. She wanted Parker. Mentally, she started running through the list of Parker’s qualities. She’d do it a thousand times, if necessary. Anything to crowd out these irrational thoughts of Dalton.

  Sierra turned into Magnolia Grove where the twin mansions were located—Bennie’s and the Drexel’s. She scowled, still finding it hard to believe that Dalton had bought the Drexel Mansion. It must’ve cost a fortune. How could he afford it? He was probably getting some sort of retirement from the Marines. And then there was his construction business. But even those two combined wouldn’t be all that much, would it? Maybe he was doing super well with his construction business. They were close enough to Charleston and Hilton Head for him to pick up business there.

  Sierra didn’t like the idea of Dalton being right next door, a mere football field’s length away from Bennie’s mansion. It was hard enough to put him out of her mind as it was. Having him right next door wouldn’t help matters.

  Her gaze trailed along the neat rows of burly magnolia trees lining the road on both sides. The blooms were at their peak, stunning pops of white amidst the vivid green, waxy leaves. Sierra rolled down her window and caught a whiff of the sweet-floral fragrance, taking her back to when she was a little girl.

  Town legend had it that the trees were planted to represent the number of suitors the original Drexel Mansion owner’s daughter Louise went through before finally settling down with her husband. There had to be at least thirty trees, if not more. Louise must’ve been a rounder. Sierra shook her head, laughing at the thought. The stories probably weren’t even true. Or if there was a shred of truth, it was blown way out of proportion. No one could have that many suitors.

  Before it was dubbed the Drexel Mansion, the monstrous mansion next door to Bennie’s had been called the Radcliffe Mansion. Barton Radcliffe, a steel tycoon, moved to Sugar Pines in the early 1900s from San Francisco. He built the mansion for his new bride. They had one daughter named Louise. Louise was the belle of the town, suitors coming from near and far to try and win her hand.

  When she finally accepted a hand in marriage and settled down, Barton built Louise and her new husband a mansion right next door. But Louise’s husband turned out to be a scoundrel who loved to gamble almost as much as he loved fraternizing with the women. He put the mansion up in a poker game and lost it to Henry McCain. Henry had two daughters Bennie and Claire, Sierra’s mother.

  Henry McCain owned the mansion free and clear and had left it to both his daughters. When Sierra’s mother passed, the ownership passed to Bennie who’d never married. It was understood that Bennie would leave the mansion to Sierra.

  She couldn’t believe Bennie had been stupid enough to take out a loan to fund an outdoor theater. The woman was completely losing it. And now it fell to Sierra to try to clean up the mess and save the mansion. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, a wave of panic overtaking her. How in the heck was she supposed to raise enough money for the back payments?

  Sierra turned into the driveway that ran beside the house. In the mellow light of the afternoon sun, the mansion held a sense of grandeur, like the by-gone South from storybooks and movies where plantations dotted the countryside and cotton was king. True to its antebellum architecture, the mansion had two spacious balconies, one stacked over the other, spanning the width of the two-story structure. The gleaming white handrails and spindles were separated by eight massive square pillars. The three gables across the top added the crowning touch.

  Had the siding been white, the house would’ve been a shoe-in for Twelve Oaks, the Wilkes’s plantation in Gone with the Wind. But Sierra preferred the soft moss color that blended with the lush green of the surrounding landscape. Black shutters flanked the windows across the front, matching the stately door.

  Live oaks towered over the house, their far-spread branches reminding Sierra of protective arms. Spanish moss hung over the branches, like someone had artfully draped it there. Her heart clutched. This was home—her anchor. Even though she’d moved to The Big Apple and was making her way in the world, knowing the mansion was here had been a comfort. Sierra couldn’t imagine losing it. She wouldn’t lose it!

  As she pulled around the back to the circular parking lot, she was surprised to see several cars. Probably people in the play. She blew out a long breath as she got out of the van and pushed her purse strap over her shoulder. She’d hoped to be able to greet Bennie alone, on her own terms without a bunch of people around. But that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon. Bennie thrived on having lots of people around.

  Sierra left her luggage in the car, deciding to get it out later. She glanced toward the hill in the distance and saw the top of a wood pavilion. The stupid outdoor theater! It was insane to think Bennie had taken out a loan to fund the blasted thing. Bennie was going to get an earful from her … after she made sure Bennie’s knee was okay.

  She opened the back gate and walked along the brick walkway that meandered through Bennie’s rose garden. Then she went up the steps and across the covered deck to the back door, leading to the kitchen. It seemed silly to knock so she went inside. “Hello,” she called, glancing around.

  No answer.

  The kitchen was shabbier than Sierra remembered. The white cabinets had yellowed, the paint peeling in spots. The once-white grout on the tile floor was now gray. Throw rugs on the floor were dingy and ragged. Dirty dishes were piled high in the sink. The island was cluttered with piles of paperwork and the remains of sandwich materials—a loaf of bread, slices spilling out of the package. There were open containers of mayonnaise, mustard, and a near-empty bag of chips. A stack of disposable cups sat beside a clear plastic pitcher of red Kool-Aid. The air reeked of sour milk, and the garbage can in the corner was overflowing, fruit flies swarming over it. Sierra cringed. Bennie had never been one to keep things super tidy, but this was ridiculous. Then again, Bennie was probably doing the best she could, considering her injured knee.

  As Sierra strode down the hall towards the living room, she heard voices. “Hello,” she said again, stepping into the room. Bennie, along with Nadine Thompson, her neighbor from across the street were laughing and talking to a group of people—one lady and two men.

  Bennie looked up from where she was reclining on the couch, her knee propped up on a mountain of pillows. Sierra took a quick assessment of her aunt. Her silver hair was styled, rounding on her shoulders. She was wearing makeup. Her bright blue eyes were a little watery but still lively beneath her glasses, and she was dressed in a stylish, green pantsuit. Sierra’s first thought was that she was glad Bennie wasn’t wearing some ridiculous costume.

  Upon closer inspection, Bennie was a little pale. But overall, she looked much better than Sierra expected, which was a relief and irritation at the same time. Sierra had dropped everything and rushed here to help, but Bennie seemed to be taking everything in stride. Then again, Bennie was a good actress, used to putting on a good face. She’d probably wilt like a tulip thirsting for water when her friends left.

  “Sierra,” she beamed, her face radiating joy as she held out her hands.

  Sierra hugged her, getting lost in the soft folds of Bennie’s arms. She inhaled Bennie’s familiar scent—baby powder and hairspray. Memories of her childhood wafted over her, and she thought of the monstrous cans of Aqua Net hairspray Bennie used to buy. The bigger the better was Bennie’s philosophy.

  Bennie held Sierra tight. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she breathed dramatically like Sierra was the prodigal daughter returning from a long, arduous journey. Finally, when Sierra pulled away, Bennie announced, “Everyone, this is my beautiful niece, Sierra.” Sh
e flashed Sierra an adoring smile. “She came all the way from New York City to look after me.”

  It was sometimes hard to know when Bennie was being genuine or when she was putting on a show. Considering Bennie had a captive audience, it was probably the latter. Bennie’s antics were sort of endearing, most of the time. But today, Sierra was worn out from traveling and frustrated about the wreck. Speaking of which, Dalton’s truck didn’t look nearly as bad as the rental car, and luckily, it was drivable.

  A dull headache was spreading across Sierra’s forehead and all she could think about was how she needed to get ready for the brainstorming session tomorrow for Pristine Pizza. An automatic smile fixed over her face as she turned to the people in the room eying her with interest. In Sugar Pines, people were keenly interested in the comings and goings of each other, and every other piddling detail. In New York City, people couldn’t care less about what other people did.

  Hellos went around the room as people shook Sierra’s hand and introduced themselves. Nadine gave her a tight hug and whispered in her ear. “I’m so glad you’re here. Bennie may not act like it, but she really does need your help.”

  Sierra nodded, feeling a little better. Growing up, Nadine had been a confidant to her. She could always count on Nadine to steer her in the right direction.

  “Have a seat,” Bennie said. “We were just discussing the play.” She pointed to the small-boned man with black hair and olive-toned skin. “Landon is the director. His son Teddy is taking over playing Macbeth for Freddie Allen. The poor man’s too sick to do anything but lay around the house. His croup turned into pneumonia.”

  Landon offered a slight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “And Myra is taking over my part.” Bennie pointed to the fifty-something-year-old woman with white-blonde, short, spiky hair and round glasses.

  Myra smiled and nodded.

  “It pains me to say this, but Myra’s a superstar in the acting world and will knock this out of the park. I’m sure the audience will be thrilled she’s taking my place.”

  Myra blushed a deep red and seemed to duck a little under the praise. “That’s not true,” she argued, but her protest was feeble, like she was only saying it so she wouldn’t hurt Bennie’s feelings. Sierra’s first thought was that Myra seemed like the mousy, skittish type who’d be better off backstage. Then again, Sierra knew from being around Bennie and her friends that some of the best actors had personalities like wet noodles off the stage. Their empty vessels would come alive when filled with other personas. “I’m glad you’re able to help out,” Sierra said, mostly because she wasn’t sure what else to say.

  Bennie pointed to an empty chair. “Have a seat, and we’ll fill you in on the particulars.” Her eyes lit up, her voice bursting with excitement. “Sierra’s an account executive at a fancy advertising agency in New York. She knows all about marketing.”

  The comment was an invisible wand that turned the expressions on Bennie’s friends to ones of awe. Any other time, Sierra might’ve been amused at how Bennie was hamming it up, hitting the touch points to impress her friends. But all she wanted to do right now was get her things unpacked and talk to Bennie privately, so she could figure out how to fix this mess. Sierra rubbed a hand over her forehead as she flashed an apologetic smile. “If you don’t mind, I’m kind of tired. It’s been a long day.”

  “We’ll make it short,” Bennie said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You need to know about the play, if you’re going to help.” She jutted out her chin, locking eyes with Sierra.

  Irritation sparked through Sierra. Not what she wanted to hear right now. She cocked an eyebrow, tempted to lay into Bennie in front of her friends. Then she saw the flash of amusement in Bennie’s eyes, followed by a look of reproof. Bennie could be a force to be reckoned with when she wanted to be. And it had been ingrained in Sierra to respect her elders, even if that elder was a little on the crazy side. So she did what any polite southern girl would do—held her tongue and sat down. She let out a heavy breath. “All right, I’m listening.”

  “The opening takes place two weeks from tomorrow,” Bennie began, “on a Thursday, with performances following on Friday and Saturday. It’ll run for two weeks, meaning there are six performances total.”

  Sierra nodded. Parker wouldn’t like the idea of her staying here for four weeks, but it might be her only option. “How many tickets have you sold so far?” Her heart dropped a little when she saw a concerned look pass between Bennie and Landon.

  He cleared his throat. “Our opening performance for Thursday night is sold out. We’ve sold a little more than forty percent of the tickets for Friday and Saturday.”

  Not great, but a good start, Sierra thought. “How much are tickets?”

  “They run from fifteen dollars for seating on the grass to seventy-five dollars for the better seats,” Bennie piped in. “Plus, we give a thirty percent discount for children and seniors.”

  Sierra looked around at the faces studying her. “How many people does the theater seat?”

  “Eight hundred and fifty … give or take,” Landon answered. “If the demand warranted it, we could probably put more people on the grass, another hundred, maybe.”

  Sierra hadn’t even seen the theater yet. She hoped it was nice, since it could potentially cost Bennie the mansion. She squelched the irritation that burned her chest. “Has anyone done an assessment of how much profit could be made per performance?”

  The man sitting beside Landon held up his hand. “Not necessarily profit, but I have the numbers for the gross intake.” He thumbed through his notebook, then cleared his throat. “If we can sell at least eighty percent of the tickets, we should bring in around twenty-four thousand per show.”

  Hope sprang in Sierra’s breast. Six shows total at eighty percent capacity would bring in roughly one hundred and forty-four thousand. Bennie only needed twenty-two thousand to get caught up on the loan. Of course, the numbers the man was spouting off were gross, not net. But still, expenses couldn’t be all that much. She cocked her head. “How much do the actors get paid?”

  Everyone looked at each other in confusion.

  “That’s the beautiful part,” Bennie inserted, her face practically glowing. “Everyone’s a volunteer.”

  Sierra’s eyes bugged. “Really?”

  A smile filled Bennie’s face. “Really.”

  Landon pressed his lips together with a determined nod. “Yep, we love donating our time and efforts to such a worthy cause.” He looked at Bennie. “We try hard to keep operating costs low so we’ll have enough left to fund future productions.”

  “And to help repay expenses Bennie incurred in building the theater,” Nadine added, giving Sierra a meaningful look.

  This was sounding better and better. There was hope of saving the mansion, if they filled the seats to at least eighty percent capacity. Sierra ticked through the list of known expenses—set design, marketing, electricity for the stage, costumes. She grimaced. “I’m sure the Shakespearean costumes cost a pretty penny.”

  “Yes, normally they would,” Bennie agreed. “But we’re borrowing them from a playhouse in Charleston.” She waved a hand. “Of course, there are plenty of alterations that must be done, but that’s why we got Tracy Whitmore involved.”

  “Tracy’s a wonderful seamstress,” Nadine said.

  Sierra clasped her hands, leaning forward slightly. “It sounds like you have the costumes under control.” Her brain ticked to the next item. “How are you generating sales?”

  They gave her blank stares.

  She sighed. “How are you selling tickets?”

  Landon smiled. “Oh, we do a lot of it through word-of-mouth and through our website.”

  Sierra nodded. “Do you network with affiliates?”

  More confused looks.

  “People who get a commission off selling the tickets,” Sierra explained. “There are lots of tourist companies in South Carolina, which I’m sure would
be happy to network with you. People would love to come to a quaint coastal town to watch an outdoor production.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Do you serve refreshments during the play? That would be another good source of revenue.”

  “We’ve thought about it.” Bennie spread her hands in defeat. “But there are just so many other tasks that need completing that we haven’t gotten around to it.” Her voice dribbled off as nods went around the group.

  “Who’s the best caterer or restaurant in town?” Sierra asked.

  “Ivie Jane Compton,” Nadine said matter-of-factly. “Her restaurant’s by far the most popular in Sugar Pines.”

  Sierra gasped like she’d been punched. A heat wave blasted through her as she looked at Bennie whose eyes had grown large. More had changed in Sugar Pines since she’d been gone than she realized. The Ivie Jane Sierra knew was a spoiled rich girl who couldn’t boil water, much less cater an event or run a restaurant. Then again, people probably thought the same thing about her—that she couldn’t make something of herself—which was a huge source of her frustration with Sugar Pines. And now she was judging Ivie Jane the same way. Her rational mind knew she should be over the thing with Ivie Jane by now, but her emotions had other ideas. It was crazy how fast the hurt feelings emerged, a wound that would never fully heal. The mere thought of Ivie Jane Compton churned acid in her gut.

  “Um, I think we should consider someone else, considering the circumstance,” Bennie said.

  Nadine nodded, her face going redder than her lipstick. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t think.” She looked at Bennie. “Well, it just happened so long ago that I thought it was over and done with by now.”

  Some things would never be over and done with. Awkward situations like this were part of what prevented Sierra from coming home more often. In their younger years, Sierra and Ivie Jane had been inseparable, until that terrible day when everything changed. She looked around, realized everyone was staring at her. Sierra didn’t care to see Ivie Jane Compton again, much less do business with her. But making a big deal about it would only make the situation a thousand times worse. If she had any hope of moving beyond the past, then maybe she should take the first step. “You know what? It’s fine if you get Ivie Jane.”