However, it would be a challenge to her patience, grace, and composure to work with a knucklehead who, in high school, had been the bane of her existence. Max was, and always would be, a complete no-neck chowder head, as she thought of him in high school, regardless of all of his fame and his Ivy lineage. As her father, Dan, used to always say when they discussed human nature, “A tiger never loses his spots.”
Chapter 3 - Is the Project Sustainable?
“We were here before there even was a “Who’s Who” register.”
Camille Ivy explained their social significance to her children, Max and Julia
The next day, at an outdoor café of his choosing, Max was led to his table by a buxom hostess. She was hoping to get his autograph, and maybe a phone number.
“Are you waiting for anyone else in your party?” she asked expectantly. She was hoping that it was another buff male celebrity, and not a date.
“Yes, a young lady. We’ll be working on a project and need space. Would you mind clearing the table so we can put down some folders and such?” said Max.
“Certainly, can I get anything else for you?” With this she leaned in, showing her ample cleavage to her advantage.
Max nonchalantly replied, “Two glasses of water would be great.” He was hoping the restaurant employee would take the hint and chill out a little. It got doggedly tiring being pursued all the time. He was here as a favor for Jimmy; he was curious about who he was meeting. The outdoor lunch meeting had been hastily arranged, and Max wasn’t really sure what it was all about.
Jimmy had asked him to keep this meeting a secret, said he had a favor to ask of him. He had said that there would be a landscaping colleague meeting him here, a young lady. Max didn’t know what it was all about, but, at least he was able to have this meeting outdoors.
His lunch companion abruptly stopped in front of his table, put out her hand, and said, “Hi, I’m Isabella, Jimmy’s cousin.”
She had her dark hair up in a scrunchy, with a Phillies hat on top, no makeup, and was wearing casual clothing. Despite the laid back, casual attire, she was stunning. Max would recognize the doll who had pressed up against him with the pooches for the rest of his living days. Here she was, but, the question is, why?
“I am so sorry, again, for ruining the first set of steaks,” Isabella apologized. “I was just trying to take those dogs out for a walk, and they smelled the meat in the kitchen. Guess your steaks are as good as Jimmy says they are.”
“Oh, you didn’t try the replacements, or are you a vegetarian?” Max asked.
Isabella thought about how she had to leave the party because she had champagne and dog drool all over the new dress she had purchased expressly for the engagement party. The dress, her only nice outfit, was now sporting stains in some rather prominent locations. Embarrassed by this topic, she said, “I ate the chicken.” She was eager to get past the subject of their mid-kitchen collision and on to the gardening project at hand.
“So, are we going to do it on camera?” the beautiful brunette in the purple tank top and frayed jeans inquired.
“Um, by it you mean?” asked Max, who was suddenly feeling very warm around his collar area. The humidity must be bothering him, he thought.
“The landscape project, the big reveal, Charlene’s dream garden,” she uttered, as if he was daft and didn’t know why this meeting had been arranged. After a very long silence, Isabella interrupted the silence with a question. “You don’t remember me from Lower Merion, do you?”
All of a sudden, he sat rigidly at attention. “What did you say your name is, again?”
He started thinking, but no, this couldn’t be that overly serious girl they used to tease the heck out of in high school? Perplexed at how the long-legged lovely in front of him, with the shiny locks and porcelain skin had the same name and graduating class as a veritable wallflower, he was silent. He would have remembered those legs, and that skin. She must have been a transfer student, a foreign exchange student, maybe a former mute…
“Isabella Gail Albero, class of 1995, stage crew on Grease…” she listed, as if reading from underneath a yearbook photo.
“Nope, not ringing any bells,” he said, as he got ready to order a few drinks to get the party rolling. As he was trying to find the waitress, getting annoyed that it was taking so long, she tried to steer the conversation back to the gardening project.
The waitress finally took their lunch order, and it seemed time for Max to get to the bottom of this dilemma. Speaking of bottoms, he thought, she probably had a really nice one.
“So, I have to confess, Jimmy didn’t exactly fill me in on this meeting, what’s up?”
Expecting him to be an ignoramus, she slowly summarized the project, showed him preliminary sketches of the site, went over which plantings should be kept intact, and some of her early ideas.
As he heard that he was going to have to work, not just play, with this serious-minded broad, he thought at least he would have a chance to execute some top-notch greenery in his hometown. His agent really wanted Max to generate some good PR during his hiatus, so, this will help his career in the long run. His good mood returned.
When Max took a look at Isabella’s preliminary designs, he let out a yawn. Trying not to dash the hopes of someone so clearly an amateur, he said, “This is a very tried-and-true traditional landscape design. While there is nothing wrong with that approach,” countered Max, “it isn’t very exciting.”
Isabella tarried by asking Max if he actually stayed awake during his classes, or slept through them like he did in high school.
“I see that you are a bit defensive, but there is no need to take this feedback personally,” replied Max. “You may know how to garden, but you are just going to have to defer to my expertise on landscape design. I am a world-renowned expert with a degree…”
As he droned on about his degree and his experience, she decided to knock him down a peg or two, one of the specialties that she had developed in working in a male-dominated industry.
“Max,” said Isabella, in a calm and even tone, “I am going to speak slowly so that even you can understand. Your education doesn’t make you in any way superior to me when it comes to gardening. Even you can’t buy talent, or common sense.”
“I’m sensing some hostility here; is there something that I missed?” grumbled a confused and startled Max Ivy. He was used to being popular and coveted. His landscaping opinions were very much in demand because of his worldwide television exposure. He was a recognized expert in his field.
Isabella soldiered on, “I see I have your attention. A professional either makes a garden that is going to work for the customer, or they create a future minefield. Homeowners have to be able to maintain the landscape over time. Practicality is important. Here’s a pen, why don’t you take notes, Max?”
To humor his lunch companion, Max assumed note-taking posture. Instead of writing down the word “practicality,” however, he started a pen and ink sketch of Isabella. He was enjoying how the flares of anger where making her eyes light up and sparkle.
“The next topic,” Isabella explained, in a professorial tone of voice, “is sustainability. We want our designs to help the ecology, not deplete it. Using native plants, avoiding chemical fertilizers, these are ways to keep our ecosystem in check. Am I getting through here? Do I need to speak more slowly? You did study sustainability in college, right?”
When Max did not respond to Isabella’s question, she decided to just go all-out in her assault on his gardening ethic. “I was talking about sustainability, you studied that, right? Or was that just one of the many lessons you got out of through family donations to the university? Did you actually have to go to classes? Were you really born with a silver spoon in your mouth?”
At this point, Isabella was absolutely sure that Max was not paying attention, and she was just about ready to say something, when she looked at his sketch pad.
“Did you ever see me play football at Lower
Merion?” Max asked. “I had a great play against Radnor that made the high school hall of fame; I think people still talk about it today. Well, that is the mother of all rivalries, you know, Radnor and Lower Merion. It is the longest continuous rivalry in the United States, you know.”
“Yes, I am aware of the rivalry. No, I can’t recall ever seeing you play, that wasn’t my scene. Speaking of scenes, what are you drawing?” She pivoted around in her chair trying to see his drawing, which he was trying to hide from her, quite unsuccessfully.
“Just a few more minutes on the drawing, please. I’ve always been good with my hands, on and off the football field. Here, take a look.” Max studied Isabella’s eyes, waiting to see the astonishment register as she viewed his artistic creation. It always gave him a little buzz to see the reaction that his drawings had on the opposite sex.
“That’s rather good,” she commented, noting the life-like flare of anger in her nostril and the sparkle of her eyes. “You’re quite talented at portraiture.”
“Thank you. I took several years of drawing in college, too, and I stayed awake for each and every class.”
She was now quite embarrassed for having questioned his credentials so thoroughly. Maybe he isn’t such a bad guy, she thought. If only he would keep his mouth shut.
“There were some interesting still-life and nudes, those were really some great apples, I used to love to draw those…peaches,” Max grinned as he said what he thought was a hysterical description of a prominent part of the female anatomy.
Realizing that she had been delusional, and that clearly Max had not matured one bit since high school, Isabella decided to get the discussion back on track.
“Anyway,” she interrupted, “let’s get back to the project. I’d like to explain what it is that Jimmy and Charlene need from us. We are to do a fun, flowing space with flowers, veggies, and space for Lacey to run around.”
“Now, which one is Lacey, the dog or the daughter?” Max quipped, as he uttered what he thought was a hysterical and irreverent question. This was the very sort of quintessential joke for which he prided himself.
However, he saw an expression of sheer disgust on Isabella’s face. That’s when he knew that she was one major serious-minded broad, despite her lascivious lips and voracious appetite. He enjoyed watching her devour her chicken salad sandwich on a croissant in record speed. He wondered where the food went as he took furtive glances at her toned and svelte physique. She might have the face of an angel and the body of a temptress, but he wasn’t going to get anything from Isabella except a stern lecture on the proper use of mulch.
Patience, thought Isabella, take a deep breath. She thought about how her cousin Jimmy was overcome with romantic notions and promises, and how he wanted to make these dreams come true for his beloved fiancée, Charlene. Even if it meant tangling with the likes of Max, she would do anything and everything in the name of true love. Her mother would expect nothing less of her.
“I suppose that I should also fill you in on Jimmy’s suggestions for the overall style of the project,” Isabella said, in a professional tone. “I think I need to establish that we are going for a specific fine gardening style of Charlene’s beloved Manicleer. That was where they got engaged, you know. Charlene wanted to get married there, but ceremonies are not allowed. It is a professionally landscaped pleasure garden from the early 1900’s which is open to the public. I’ve been examining the site to determine what we can adapt to the suburban residential landscape. She absolutely would love to have a yard like Manicleer. This would be a dream come true, and there’s absolutely no reason why it can’t. But, then again, they have six on-site full-time gardeners to keep the place up and running. We have to make a design that can withstand the test of time, and Jimmy’s ineptitude with hand-held tools and, God forbid, anything involving rotary blades!” She shivered at the notion of her cousin using a mower. “Perhaps we can use slow-growing grasses in the lawn; there are some new varieties available...”
“You really didn’t try the steaks at the party?” Max was showing his lack of interest in Isabella’s ideas for the gardening project. To Isabella, it seemed like Max’s arrogance had no bounds. However, the word “steak” created some enticing imagery in her mind. Visions and sensations of Max pressed up against her in Jimmy’s kitchen flooded her a bit senseless.
“Um, can you get over it already? I don’t eat red meat. It is bad for the arteries. Can we talk about Charlene and Jimmy and this garden, please?” she fibbed. There was nothing she loved more than red meat, even if it was not particularly politically correct. And, don’t even get her started on the subject of sausage. She loves it!
“Yeah, sure. Don’t get all testy, I’m just on vacation and love to cook. Oh, and I did hear about her attempts to get married at Manicleer. She tried every trick in the book to get her way,” chuckled Max. He thought about his spitfire niece battling windmills for her romantic ideals (and devotion to high style). It was just like Charlene to hand him a glass of champagne right before he got tangled up with Isabella. Memories of that afternoon enveloped Max, and he was trying to recall what they were talking about so he could get back in control of the conversation and the project.
“Well, she’s one determined person when she sets her sights on something, or someone. Did you hear about how she and Jimmy met at a Phillies game? She climbed over two nasty Yankees fans so they could sit together and cheer on the fighting Phillies!” said Isabella. She was in a giddy mood from discussing something as wonderful as true love.
All at once, several rabid Max fans came over to their table, and asked him for autographs. It was an unfamiliar thing for Isabella, but clearly Max was accustomed to the intrusion. As the slightly inebriated fans started to get a bit rowdy, a very tall, muscular man in a suit came out of a nook in the bistro and said, “Excuse me, I see that you have your autograph. Can I ask you to move along please?” The fans weren’t happy, but quickly departed.
As Cyrus dealt with the fans, Isabella’s mind was free to wander. She remembered what Jimmy had said about the mysterious man with the blade who had freed her from Max’s forceful embrace. She had called Jimmy to thank him for a wonderful time at the engagement party, and apologize for leaving so early. She had gone home and attempted to treat the stains in her dress, to no avail.
“You’ve got to be kidding, Jimmy,” she had groaned over the phone. “Chowder Head has a bodyguard?”
“Chowder Head” was just one of the many nicknames that Isabella and her best friend, Jade, had coined for Max, and the spoiled-airhead jocks in high school. Max, though, always seemed to be at the head of the pack.
“Charlene said you and Max were kind of tangled up,” said a mildly buzzed Jimmy on the phone. Just a little champagne always did him in. “I hope Max doesn’t think you are one of his rabid fans, coming up with some sort of ruse to get your hooks into him.” Jimmy knew that Isabella was giving chastity a try, and probably the least likely female on the planet to come up with a hare-brained scheme such as the dog leashes getting tangled. However, he could not resist the urge to tease his favorite cousin.
Isabella, completely shocked that anyone could even think of such a thing, said, “I’ll have you know, Jimmy, that it was your rowdy dogs who got me in that tangle. It was getting stuffy at the party, and I didn’t know very many people. All I wanted was a bit of fresh air, taking the dogs for a walk seemed like the perfect solution.”
“Well, cousin, you have that in common with Max. You are both addicted to fresh air. But, he’s sort of famous, so women chase after him. I guess it is the combination of his being on television plus his rakish looks.”
Max took a minute to observe Isabella, as she appeared to be daydreaming. A furtive wish that she was thinking about him, pressed up against his warm body, swirled in his mind. Blue-collar types usually didn’t get his blueblood heart thumping; it must be all this romantic talk about the dream garden or something.
Hoping to change the subject
from all of the romantic talk, Max inquired, “May I ask you something?”
She looked up and they made eye contact.
“Have you ever seen my television program?” he asked, with no sort of filter. He was completely unabashed about regaling her with his accomplishments. After living all those years with Harrison Alexander Ivy, he had learned that there was nothing more noble or more grounding than achievement.
Typical, thought Isabella. He’s always thinking about himself, except when he’s talking about himself, or looking at himself in the mirror. Not that the image in the mirror was anything to be shy about. Max was one of the most physical, robust, sensual men she had ever met. His deep, low voice, healthy and hearty laugh, and sparkly merriment around his eyes made him resonate within her.
Because she was usually bone-tired in the evenings from a very physical garden installation or renovation project, Isabella rarely had a chance to watch television. However, she occasionally tuned in to this particular program to see what an environmental mess Max was making in the garden.
Prune, Plant, or Plunder? Page 2