Chance Encounter

Chapter 8  Endings and Beginnings  Part I

© Copyright 2006, 2007

Autumn Writer

 

In early November the weather turned cold and raw.  Everyday, the sky was the color of lead.  Paul’s cabin was closed for the winter. The leaves were off the trees.  It was that in-between season between Fall and Winter.  There were a few flakes of snow in the air, but nothing yet on the ground.  Conversation split around two topics: would Michigan beat Ohio State and earn a trip to the Rose Bowl; was it going to be a tough winter and how much would it cost to heat the house.  All-in-all, it meant that life was about normal.  To Paul, it meant getting some work done.  There were new items on his plate.  A trip to Latin America was not far off.  The EU was promoting some new environmental standards.  His area was understaffed and a recruiting program was under way.  He also promised to recruit a local football prospect for his alma mater.  Paul was busy and that’s the way he liked it.

 

A favorite project of his was coming to a close that evening.  It was bittersweet, because of all his works-in-process, this one meant the most to him.  It was more important than the Peoria project, or the related lawsuit.  It took priority over Glenda’s job.  It was a labor of love, so to speak.  At the outset, all had seemed bleak.  Careful, well-thought-out steps had changed that around.  He was proud of his part in it, but he was really only an auxiliary to the main player.  His secondary role didn’t detract from the happiness of the event.

 

He took the occasion to try the new Italian restaurant in town.  It was not so new anymore—only to Paul.  He sat at his table sipping a glass of Chianti reminiscing how he and Sally would always try the new restaurants in town.  It was one of their hobbies, like swimming nude on a summer’s morning at their cabin on the Peninsula.  Sally and Paul always liked to share pleasures.  It polished the apple, and that somehow made it taste sweeter.  There was the pleasure of giving and the duty to receive, and the way they compounded.   Glenda was a lot like Sally in that way.  It was a memory of the past, but Paul realized that some men go through life without ever experiencing it at all.

 

Paul forced himself to focus on the subject of the evening.  He wondered why his mind had strayed to days gone by.  He had never been a ‘remember-when’ kind of guy.  It was a sign of growing old.  That was sad, because his body still felt fit.  His mind did, too, but his prospects for future youthful activity were poor.  Still, he couldn’t help reminding himself that there were some good old days.  He had to snap back to attention because his guest for the evening was approaching his table.

 

“Audrey, it’s so nice to see you!” Paul exclaimed as he stood.

 

Paul hadn’t seen Audrey since that day in the hospital several months ago.  They spoke often by telephone.  Audrey sent Paul her resume’ and he had circulated it for her.  She traveled from Springfield to Michigan to discuss her prospects with him.  Paul observed that Audrey’s looks had returned to normal after the beating inflicted on her by Craig Morehead.  He was interested to find the status of her internal scars, too.  He would let that wait, because he knew that his protégé was eager to tell him about her future plans.  That was a good sign in itself, in Paul’s opinion.

 

“I can’t believe that you drove all the way here,” he continued.

 

“It wasn’t too bad.” she answered.

 

“It was eight hours!” he retorted.

 

“I guess I was a little eager,” she admitted, with a little laugh.

 

Paul reached out his hand and Audrey took it.  Paul clasped it lightly.  Audrey was not frail, but Paul never put the iron vise on ladies; he saved it for men.  Audrey’s face flashed a look of expectation, and quickly of disappointment.  She hadn’t meant to display it, but Paul saw it.  He interpreted it immediately—Audrey had expected a hug from her mentor, not the handshake.

 

Paul was sorry that he hurt Audrey’s feelings, but her obvious expectation told him that he was right to have taken the step that he had.  Audrey had never tried to hide her desire for him.  It started the day that they met together in his office over the phony drawings that she wrested from Craig Morehead.  Paul had difficulty understanding Audrey’s attraction to him.  On their first meeting she had declined to take a chair out of deference to his age.  From that beginning, she had come to look upon him as a thirty-year-old.  Paul had no such illusions.

 

A waiter arrived at their table to take orders for drinks.  Paul already had a glass of wine, and he stayed with that.

 

“I’ve never had Chianti.” Audrey admitted.  “I don’t know much about Italian cuisine at all.  Marge Bates and I ate here together, but all I had was Spaghetti and Chablis.”

 

“Let’s get a bottle, then, and we’ll share it!” Paul said.  “I’ll help you order dinner, too.  I love Italian food.  I hope that you’re hungry.”

 

“It sounds wonderful,” she said.  “I’d like to try something new.”

 

Paul had no illusions, either, about his feelings for Audrey.  He admired her courage and honesty.  She was intelligent and sincere.  Her smiling face reminded him of a flower opening in Spring.  He had been close to giving in a few times.  The idea was so tempting.  It would be an easy jump from dinner table to her hotel room.  Paul would not allow it.  His feelings went deeper than fondness.  At times he felt himself a father to her, or maybe a close uncle.  At other times he was her mentor.  In between, he heard a voice that urged him to become her lover. 

 

“Tell me about you job prospects,” he urged.  Paul already knew that she had an offer from the State of West Virginia for a similar position that she had with the State of Illinois.  Paul had sent her resume to that State’s Commissioner.  They were old friends from their college football days.

 

“There are two positions that I have offers for right now,” Audrey answered.  “There are two others that I think will turn into offers if I wait long enough.  I’ve already given my resignation to Larry Wilton.  I’ve been sitting there with nothing to do lately, anyway.”

 

Paul nodded approval.  “You’ve done quite well for yourself,” he said.

 

“Every time I went to an interview I would hear ‘Paul Crane said this…Paul Crane said that’.  I owe you a lot of the credit.”

 

“After what you did, Audrey, you deserved a little push,” he told her.  “Even if there had been no ‘Morehead’ episode, you still gave up a lot to do the right thing.  That deserves some consideration.”

 

The ‘Morehead episode’ was their code word for her brutal rape.  The euphemism allowed them to avoid the harsh words without running away from the reality of it.  He was always testing her in little ways to see if she was still forging ahead, despite the trauma.  To Paul, it seemed like she was.

 

“Well, tell me about them,”  Paul said, getting back to the point.

 

“I have an offer from the Environmental Commission of the State of West Virginia.” she began.  “It’s more or less the same position as the one that I’m leaving.  It’s a nice offer because of the positive work environment.  It’s smaller than the office in Illinois, so maybe it will be less bureaucratic.  By the way, Mr. Campbell told me he played football with you at State!  I didn’t know that you played football in college.”

 

“Ancient history!” Paul declared.  “Let’s get back to you.”

 

“There is a consulting firm that will probably make me an offer,” she continued.  “It sounds interesting.”

 

Paul nodded his head, a sign to continue.

 

“I have an offer to enter a doctoral program at the University of Minnesota.  There is a Graduate Assistant position that goes with it that would pay my way.  It would be a lot less money than I’ve been used to, but I could manage it.  I might be able to pick up some other work along the way.  The professor told me that you wrote him a nice recommendation letter.”

 

“The final possibility would be a job with a state agency in the South.  They’re having trouble getting the position funded, so that would be a long shot,” she concluded.

 

By that time their entrees were in front of them.  Paul ordered the veal for both of them.  It was a good choice.

 

“If you want to go into consulting, I would suggest getting your PhD first,” Paul advised.  “With it, you would have a better expectation of a partnership.  With a Masters you may be thought of as a journeyman.”

 

“…or a journeywoman.” Audrey corrected with a smile.

 

“Then it boils down to working in West Virginia, or studying in Minnesota,” Paul ignored her interjection.  “It really depends upon your goals.  You’re still young.  You have a long career in front of you.”

 

“I think that you’re telling me to go for the PhD,” Audrey said.

 

“I think that is what you’re telling yourself,” Paul answered.  “I think that you should listen.”

 

Audrey beamed a broad smile.  “I knew you would say that!  I was hoping that you would.  I think that I will.”

 

Paul flashed a smile back to her. 

 

“Don’t be afraid of the challenge.  You can do it.  Look at what you’ve handled already.”

 

Audrey didn’t answer, so Paul pressed her.

 

“How are your counseling sessions going?” he asked.

 

“The counselor said that I was doing alright—that I didn’t have to come back.  She said that I could call her if I needed her, but I haven’t.”

 

“Any bad dreams—any flashbacks?” Paul asked.

 

Audrey shook her head. 

 

“I was actually out cold when he did it,” she reminded him.  “Maybe I was lucky that way.  I remember fighting him.  I thought that I could fight him off up until everything went black.  I’ll always know that I never gave in.  That helps a little.”

 

“I think that you’re going to be fine.  Just remember that you have friends that you can lean on if you have to,” Paul assured her.

 

******** 

 

As they were finishing their entrees Audrey grew quiet.

 

“You look like you have something else on your mind,” Paul said.

 

“I do!” she declared.  “It’s hard to come right out with it, but this is the last time alone we may ever have together.”

 

Paul raised his eyebrows in anticipation.  “I’m ready to listen.”

 

“It’s just this,” Audrey’s lower lip trembled a bit.  “I want very much to have a relationship with you.  I want it to be more than just being what we are now.  I want to have it tonight.”

 

Paul had anticipated her plea, but he didn’t expect her to make it so directly.  He should have, he told himself.  Her courage was one of her traits that he admired so much.

 

“Audrey,” he answered, “you know that once would never be enough, at least for me.”

 

“That would suit me fine.”

 

“Would it?” Paul asked.  “Maybe it would for a while.  Of course you have plans to go to Minnesota, and my life is here.  It would be a long-range relationship.”

 

Paul looked at her and she shrugged her shoulders.  He knew that she was undeterred.

 

“You are twenty-eight—just starting out.  I’m fifty-four.  In ten years you will be at your peak.  I will be sixty-four—definitely past mine.  In twenty years you will be forty-eight—still a beautiful and vibrant woman.  I’ll be seventy-four.”

 

“I’ve already thought of that,” she said.  Tears were forming in her eyes.

 

“It’s a selfish thing for me, really,” Paul went on.  “One day you would realize that you had made a mistake and that you should have found a younger man.  But, I know you; you would never leave me, or even let me know that you wanted to.  You would stick it out without saying a word.  I would know it—I know it now—and that is the part that I couldn’t stand.  I’m so sorry, Audrey.  I’m asking you to do this for me.”

 

She sat sobbing, trying not to make a scene in the restaurant. 

 

“That doesn’t mean that I would ever not want to be your friend,” Paul said.  “It means a lot to me.  I hope that we can continue as we are.”

 

Audrey didn’t look up.  She had stopped crying.  She nodded her head.

 

“You should know that it was a close call for me.  If I cared for you less than I do, the answer would have been different.”  Paul had told her the honest truth.

 

**************** 

 

Marge Bates was busy setting the table in the dining room of her home.  It was four-thirty on a Sunday afternoon.  She was getting the chore out of the way because she still had a lot of things to do.  It had been a long time since she used the good silver and china.  It was a pleasure.  She got the Waterford out, too.  She held nothing back.  She finished setting the two places; put the serving pieces on the side and the white candles in the brass holders.  She opened the wine to breathe—a hearty burgundy.  It would compliment the pot roast that she had roasting in the oven.  She checked on it, and finding it progressing as planned, made her way upstairs to get ready. 

 

She finished brushing her teeth and stepped into the shower.  The hot water felt good on this crisp November day.  It cascaded over her head and shoulders.  It was so relaxing.  She let the spray pound the muscles in her back and took the soap and let it glide over her.  First she washed her arms, then her chest and shoulders.  She took some soap in her hands and rubbed it on her face and neck.  She took a washcloth and did her legs.  Soon she had her head full of shampoo.  She took some of the lather into her hands.  She couldn’t help herself.  She massaged it into her breasts, softly, gently lifting and cupping them.  She let her thumbs stroke over the nipples.  She imagined a man doing it.  It could have been Carl, her late husband, or her recent lover, Paul Crane.  Then her thoughts turned to a man who had never touched them, Walter Hartley.  She scooped more shampoo from her hair and let her hands rub the lather into her lower triangle of hair.  She pressed firmly, but lightly, and then let her fingers slip lower.  She pressed her hips back to deepen the contact.   In her mind it was Walter down there, working his magic, whatever he might possess.         

 

She roused herself from her daydream and rinsed the shampoo from her hair and all around.  She decided that it was her favorite brand of shampoo.  It was time to select her wardrobe.  It was important to choose just the right thing to wear. 

 

“I need something with warm, inviting colors,” shebegan her mental checklist.  “I need a top that lets him know that I have a nice set, but not too obviously.  He’ll have to make a move if he wants to get to see them.  Nothing’s for free in this world.”

 

She searched through her closet.  She found just the right skirt.  It was a pleated, burgundy-camel plaid.  She matched it with a camel-colored short-sleeved sweater of merino wool that fit snugly over her torso, and finished it with a string of white pearls.  The rich fabric gave a soft look, to contrast with her large breasts pushing out from it.   A dab of perfume behind her ears and knees, a comb-out of the hair and she was ready. 

 

It was an outfit that was comfortable and friendly.  It would make a man feel at home, and put him on edge at the same time.  In a younger world, she might appear matronly, perhaps frumpy.  For a pair of fifty-somethings it was just right.  Marge knew what she was doing.  The presentation must be demure, lest it alarm the quarry.  It must match her personality—avoid looking contrived.  He would feel at ease in pursuing her.  She would appear to be far from captured, so he would venture a swifter chase.  With his reserve abandoned, she would turn suddenly to spring the sweet trap.

 

The hour was approaching six.  Marge picked out some music.  She was careful to make the right selections.  She wanted nothing too peppy, better to be relaxing.  A Mangione recording fit the bill nicely.  She backed it up with an MJQ and one from Sinatra.  She was thinking about another when she heard a car door slam outside in her driveway. 

 

It was Walter, right on time.  Marge noticed that he took pains to approach her front door more slowly than he had to.  He wore that wary expression of a soldier entering enemy territory.  He was armed as he ventured into ‘No Man’s Land’.  He bore a bouquet of flowers in one hand.  In the other was a paper bag, shaped in the obvious form of a wine bottle.  His coat was open.  He was wearing grey flannel slacks, and a navy, wool vest with a plaid shirt underneath.  He finally reached her door.  From her view at the window Marge noted that he was as predictable as she had predicted that he would be.

 

“Come right in, Walter!” Marge didn’t wait for him to knock.  “I heard your car in the driveway.”

 

Walter entered and Marge seized his coat and hung it in the hallway closet.  He thrust the flowers at her.

 

“How nice!” she exclaimed.  “I’ll arrange them for a centerpiece.”

 

He thrust the wine at her with the other hand.  It was a bottle of California Chardonnay, still chilled. 

 

“I didn’t know what you were having tonight, so I brought this along,” he mumbled.

 

“How wonderful!” cried Marge.  “We’ll have some now.  I already opened some red wine for the dinner table.”

 

Walter followed her into the kitchen.  He raised his head slightly to take in the aroma.

 

“Something smells good in here.” he said.

 

“It’s pot roast—my specialty,” Marge answered.  “I hope that you like it!”

 

“It’s been so long since I’ve had pot roast,” Walter replied longingly.

 

“Oh, I’m sure of it!” said Marge with sympathy dripping from every word.  “There must be a lot of things that you haven’t had in a long time.”

 

A quizzical look came over Walter’s face.

 

“—from the kitchen I mean,” she added after a pregnant silence.  Walter said nothing.

 

“Why don’t you open the wine, Walter, while I cut these beautiful flowers for the table?”

 

She handed Walter a corkscrew, which he used to open the Chardonnay.  He stood staring at the kitchen cabinets with a forlorn look.

 

“I was just trying to figure out where you keep your goblets,” he said.

 

“Oh, let me get them!” Marge said as she stepped between him and the counter.  She opened the cabinet door and looked above.

 

“They’re on the top shelf, do you thing that you could reach them, Walter?”  She stepped aside to give him access to the cabinet, although in her heels Marge stood slightly taller than him.

 

“I don’t see them up there.” Walter was puzzled, intent on his goblet quest.

 

Marge stepped closer, so that she was standing sideways to him.  She was close—she was sure that he could smell her perfume.  She heard him sniff the scent. 

 

Marge stood on her toes and reached her arm up toward the top shelf, and as she did so her sweater, with her breasts pressing out from underneath it, thrust itself in front of Walter’s face, blocking out his vision of all else, except, possibly, the pearl necklace that Marge wore.  She stood there for a few seconds, then stepped away as she was sure that she had adequately dangled the bait.

 

Walter’s eyes had grown larger and his face was a few shades more red than it had been.

 

“I just remembered!” she said wistfully.  “I moved them to the china cabinet in the dining room.”   

 

********** 

 

Walter attacked the pot roast like a hungry man who loved pot roast.

 

“I have to admit that it has been a long time since I’ve had such good food, Marge,” he proclaimed.  “You were nice to invite me to dinner.”

 

“Walter, I’ve enjoyed our times together over the past two months so much.  I wanted to do something—more for you.”

 

“Everything was certainly delicious,” he repeated.

 

“There’s more of everything,” Marge offered.  “…and a few courses that I haven’t served yet.” 

 

“I only have room for some more wine,” he said.  Marge divided the remaining contents of the Burgundy between his goblet and her own.

 

“Look, Walter!” Marge exclaimed.  “We’ve drained two bottles of wine.  No wonder I feel a little tipsy.  I thought it was because of you!”

 

They both laughed.

 

“I thought that it might have been your aftershave,” she explained.

 

“I’m not wearing any,” he informed her.

 

“You’re not?” Marge exclaimed.  “I was sure that you were.  Let me check.”

 

Marge rose from her chair.  She grasped both of Walter’s shoulders and thrust her face close and alongside Walter’s.  She felt his body stiffen at her sudden intrusion into his space.

 

“I was sure that you were wearing some,” she said as she retook her chair.  She started giggling.  “I’m wearing some perfume, could you tell, Walter?”

 

Walter nodded his head quickly.  “Yes!” he gasped.

 

“I’m tipsy from the wine,” Marge giggled seductively.  “I feel as vulnerable as a schoolgirl.”

 

She leaned into Walter and whispered, “You wouldn’t take advantage of me, would you?”

 

“No, Marge, don’t worry,” was his nervous reply.

 

“No, I should think not!  At my age a woman doesn’t have to worry about that any more.” she feigned self-pity.

 

“Nonsense, Marge!  I think of you as being very attractive.”

 

Marge scooted her chair closer to Walter’s.  Their knees touched and Marge noted that he didn’t pull away.

 

“Do you think so?” she asked.  “You wouldn’t just say that, would you?”  She drove her eyes right through his.

 

Walter shook his head.  Marge back away slightly and waited silently for Walter to speak.

 

“Marge, I took and a chance and bought some tickets for us.  I hope you can go.”

 

Marge waited patiently for Walter to finish.

 

“It’s for the performance of Handel’s “Messiah” at the University of Michigan down in Ann Arbor.  It will be on the first Saturday in December.”

 

“That sounds wonderful, Walter!” Marge exclaimed.

 

Walter’s face took on a satisfied look.

 

“But there’s just one problem,” Marge put on a frown.

 

“What?” Walter was suddenly deflated.

 

“It would be such a long drive in the winter—two hours one way—and it would be so expensive for two hotel rooms,”  Marge pointed out. 

 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Walter said, but Marge knew that he must have.

 

“Walter, at our age lost opportunities are more expensive than when we were younger.”

 

She let her point hit home and placed his hand gently over his.  Walter was silent, but Marge could tell that his mind was stepping nicely into line.  He picked up his half-full cup of wine and drained it.  Marge leaned forward.  She whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe as she spoke.

 

“I made some apple pie for dessert.  We can have some later.”

 

She gently clasped his hand and led him upstairs.  Walter wore a nervous smile.  Soon he would be wearing nothing else.

 

Poor Walter never stood a chance, but he may not have wanted one in the first place.

 

********************** 

 

The holidays passed quietly.  Paul was happy to have his daughter and son home from school for a few weeks.  It gave him a chance to catch up with them.  He didn’t mention his romances with Glenda and Marge.  Both were in the past.  It would be pointless to upset them. 

 

Marge and Walter were still an item.  She didn’t talk a lot about it, but Paul noticed her stepping lightly about the office as she did her filing.  She seemed happy.  Paul was glad that she was.

 

Ted Wilson told Paul that Glenda had taken a new job at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange.  She was the Appointments Secretary for the General Counsel.  She handled the schedule and appointments of that executive.  She reported to The Counsel’s Administrative Assistant.  She was taking Paralegal Training at night, hoping to step into the higher level when the incumbent retired in September.  Paul was happy for her.

 

The lawsuit involving the Peoria Project was progressing slowly.  The lawyers had been in court countless times.  Not a single word had been argued in favor or against the plant.  The issue was whether the case belonged in State or Federal Court.  Hopkins brought the suit in Federal Court, the tribunal of choice for activists.  Wilton’s Agency, of course, preferred its own brand of judge.  As the case ping-ponged between courts, Paul gave up on ever building a solvents plant in that city.  When he thought of the waste, it angered him, but he had other work to do.       

 

January gave way to February.  Business took Paul to Latin America and then to Texas.  It was nice to have a respite from the Michigan winter.  He had important business in Corpus Christi and Texas City.  From there, he took a flight to Georgia to interview a candidate for the Plant Engineer position at the Marietta Plant.  The whole trip consumed two weeks and he was glad to be heading home.  He found himself in Hartsfield Airport awaiting his flight back home. 

 

He was ambling down the concourse when he heard his name being paged.  He wasn’t expecting to meet anyone that day.  He arrived at an information desk and the attendant handed him a message: “Meet Leonard Raines in the Red Carpet Lounge”.

 

Paul knew Raines. Usually, they were adversaries.  Leonard Raines was Executive Director of Concerned Scientists of America (CSA).  The two men seldom agreed on anything, but they respected one another.  Raines had impeccable credentials, including a PhD in microbiology.  Paul knew him to be very intelligent and sincere in his views.  If Paul saw a shortcoming, it was Raines’ inability to effectively control his herd of zealots.  He had heard that Raines hadn’t sought out the administrative job.  His reputation had landed him there.  For organizations like his, the power of name recognition and prestige were equally as important as science.

 

Raines was about Paul’s age.  He had a slender build and was shorter than average.  His hair was wavy and salt and pepper-colored.  His beard matched.  He was a quiet sort of fellow, not given to idle chat or bluster.  In another time and place
Paul and Leonard may have become friends.

 

They had clashed many times.  Paul always noted that Raines never went personal when he skirmished.  Paul appreciated that.  Many of Raines’ people didn’t have the same discipline.  Arthur Hopkins was a good example.  As always, with money flowing into a controversy, the stakes increased along with passions.  Grants from foundations and government were the fuel that powered CSA’s engine.  The quest for profit and competitive advantages drove Dunn’s.  Both men knew that there was always plenty of margin for error on both sides of any argument.  That was their private face.  In public they had to bare their teeth, or the press would sense surrender.

 

Paul arrived at the lounge.  He slid his keycard into the security door and punched in his PIN.  He wished that the airliners were guarded as closely as the private VIP bars in the nation’s airports. 

 

“Go ahead and blow us out of the sky—just stay away from our booze,” he said to himself to no one in particular.  Paul knew he was tired.  He always became sarcastic when he was worn out.

 

He sauntered up to the bar and got a Scotch.  He looked around and finally found Leonard Raines sitting at a table in the corner, almost unnoticed.  He strode over to him. 

 

“Hello, Leonard!” he called out.  “It’s good to see you.”

 

Paul startled Raines, who had been lost in his thoughts.  

 

“Hello, Paul.  I’m glad that you got my page.”  Both men extended their hands and shook them as they got close enough.  “I was trying to reach you at your office.  They told me that you were here in Atlanta.  I took the liberty,” Raines explained.

 

“I’ve got ninety minutes before boarding,” Paul told him, taking a pull on his Scotch.

 

“They cancelled my flight to New York.  I’ve got two hours,” Raines one-upped him.

 

“We haven’t seen one another in more than a year,” Raines observed.

 

Paul nodded.  He sensed that Raines had something to say, but was having a hard time getting started.  Paul was very good at cutting to the chase.

 

“What’s up, Leonard?” Paul demanded.

 

“It’s this suit over that plant proposal in Peoria, Illinois,” Raines started.  “I just wanted to let you know that we never really wanted it.”

 

Paul absorbed Raines’ statement and tried to analyze it.  His first reaction was disbelief.  He stifled it.  Experience of the past year had warned him that anything was possible.

 

“You’ll have to explain this to me, Leonard.  I’m sure that you remember that you are the plaintiffs and we’re the defendants.”

 

“It’s Hopkins!” Raines began.  “He did this on his own without our approval.  It was done before we even knew it existed.  He arranged it with Northwestern Law School without our knowledge.  By the time we found out about it, it was too late.”

 

Raines’ revelation reminded him of the long-destroyed compromising photos of Hopkins and Judson.  Paul envisioned how Raines’ story could have happened.  He decided to keep that to himself.

 

“What do you mean ‘too late’?  Why don’t you pull the plug on him?” Paul queried.

 

Raines looked away.  Paul could see that he was groping for a way to answer.

 

“There is a lot of money being wasted on this lawsuit.” Paul pressed harder.  “That plant should be up and running now.  Your case has no merit.  The lawyers have been in court a dozen times, and they haven’t even argued it yet.”

 

Paul paused, waiting for an answer from Raines.  Receiving none, he continued.

 

“There’s a construction company owned by a guy named Harry Carmichael that was nearly ruined because they were slated to build that plant.  They turned down three other jobs, and then got left high and dry.  Think of the people down there that should have jobs.  On top of all that, Dunn should be down there producing, taking over the market, instead of wasting its money on these lawyers.”

 

Paul waited again for his answer, and still didn’t receive it.

 

“Leonard, I hope you don’t mind some free advice, but I would have to say that your organization is out of control,” Paul issued his final words.

 

Raines turned his gaze from the window and looked at Paul.

 

“I know,” he said, almost in a whisper.

 

“Is that what you paged me for?” asked Paul, rising from his chair.  “I’ve got a plane to catch.”

 

“Wait, don’t go,” pleaded Raines.  “You’ve got to understand about Hopkins.  We both know that he’s a quack, but he’s a quack with a big following.  A lot of people think that he walks on water.  Those people are the ones who make contributions to our organization; they write their congressmen to support us with grants.  When I confronted Hopkins about this, he threatened to split away from us—go public—take his support with him.  He’s got us over a barrel.”

 

“So this is really a PR battle!” Paul replied.  “Why are you telling me this?”

 

“I thought that you might have a solution,” Raines suggested.

 

“Like what?” Paul demanded.  “Do you want us to give up the suit?”

 

Raines nodded yes.  “We could have a secret arrangement to accommodate you another time.”    

 

“Not a chance!” Paul countered.

 

“We really don’t want this,” Raines said.  “You have to understand—our hands are tied.”

 

Paul thought for a minute.  Raines’ admissions infuriated him.  Paul fought to control his anger.  If there was a chance that the Peoria problem could be resolved, he didn’t want to lose it.

 

“There is something, Leonard,” Paul said.  Raines leaned forward intently.

 

“Let me tell you that I am going to divulge this because I’ve been able to trust you in the past.” Paul warned.  “If you use this against me, it won’t go down easy.” 

 

“I’ve always been straight with you, Paul.” Raines assured him.

 

“It’s just this.” Paul began.  “There’s a plant proposal of ours in Corpus Christi that I know that you’ve filed a brief against.”

 

“I know of it.  We filed, but never thought that our suit had much chance,” Raines interjected.

 

“We’re not going through with it.  We already have a plant in Texas City.  We’ll expand that plant and put the production in there.  It will be announced next week.  You must promise to lay off the Texas City expansion.  You can take credit for foiling the Corpus Christi project.  Then, you can order the suit in Peoria dropped.  If Hopkins and his followers howl, you can say that you flogged Dunn Chemicals already, just used a different whip.  They won’t like it, but they’ll swallow it.”

 

Raines eyes lit up.  Paul knew that he had carried the ball into the end zone.

 

“That just might work!” Raines exclaimed.

 

“You have to make it work!” Paul commanded.  “In the meantime, I’ll set things up at our office.  I’ll call you in a day or two to coordinate.  It will be good for everyone.  You’ll have Hopkins under control, the suit will go away, and we’ll have cover for backing out of Corpus Christi.”  

 

They clinked their half empty glasses together to seal the agreement.

 

And so, while two men were waiting for a plane in Atlanta, they resolved the lawsuit over the proposed Peoria Plant.  They accomplished what an army of lawyers could not in months of wrangling and maneuver.  Their budget was the cost of two drinks.  They didn’t need blackmail, fraud or bribery.  It was actually very easy.

 

************ 

 

 

Chapter 9

 

 Endings and Beginnings  Part II

© Copyright 2006, 2007

Autumn Writer

 

 

It was the middle of March.  Paul found himself seated on an airliner next to Ted Wilson on their way to Chicago.  They had two items on their agenda that day.  First, was the signing of the dismissal agreement on the Peoria lawsuit.  It had gone as planned between Paul and Leonard Raines five weeks before.  A small flap developed when the plaintiff’s side asked for a ‘hold harmless’ clause.  It had been due to Paul’s mention of Harry Carmichael’s company’s losses on account of the suit.  For that reason Harry would be there to sign off, too.  Ted had initially been suspicious, but decided in the end to accept the concession.  It was worth it to put the episode at an end.  Paul didn’t mind Ted’s circumspection.  It was his job.

 

The second piece of business was to sign a new contract with Harry Carmichael’s company for the Peoria construction.

 

As the plane bumped across the thermal updrafts over Lake Michigan, Paul thought about all those who should have been asked to sign the ‘hold harmless’ agreement.  He thought of Glenda and her job, of his lost stock options.  Of course Audrey had been hurt the worst.  Even Craig Morehead was a victim in a sense.  Most of those touched had survived.  All were scarred.

 

“Who are you going to put in charge of the project, now that it’s back on?” Ted interrupted him. 

 

“Jim Spencer.” Paul answered.  “He’s in Europe right now on the Engineering Standards Project.  When he comes back, I’ll tell him to start handing that off to Harlow, piece by piece.  After the plant is complete, I’m going to try to have him installed as Plant Manager.  It would be just the right job for him at this stage of his career.  It will give him a chance to get away from HQ for a few years and stand on his own two feet.”

 

Ted nodded in approval.  “I don’t know who you’re going to get to replace him.”

 

“I thought that I would start to bring Harlow along.  He’s a good engineer, but he needs to work on his leadership skills.  I’m hoping to bring him in closer and give him some tutoring.”  The conversation energized Paul.  It was one of the parts of his job that he liked.

 

“I don’t want to rain on your parade,” Ted went on.  “Your name came in front of the Ethics Committee again last week.”

 

“Oh, no!” cried Paul.  He looked around the plane.  He knew that the other passengers must have heard him over the sound of the jet engines.  He lowered his voice.  “What about this time?”

 

“I’m not supposed to tell you, so don’t quote me.  It has something to do with photographs you received of Hopkins and Judson.  They tabled it for now.  They’ll decide later whether to take it up.”

 

Paul told Ted the story of the photographs of Hopkins and Judson in their homosexual embrace. 

 

“I shredded them!” Paul declared.  “How can that be unethical?”

 

“They’ll probably say that you should have reported it.  Don’t tell me where you got the photos.  Then I’ll have to tell them if they ask me,” Ted advised.  “I can tell you that Allison Greene is the one pushing it.”

 

Paul had already guessed that, but kept silent on his observation of Allison’s wanderings between Richardson’s and her hotel rooms. 

 

“This Ethics Committee is getting to be a real Gestapo,” Paul declared.

 

“I would have to say that’s true,”  Ted agreed as the plane bumped down on the runway.

 

The agreement signing was a somber affair.  The lawyers took on the persona of bureaucrats, signing and notarizing.  Hopkins was present; Judson wasn’t.  He had his usual dour expression painted on his face beneath his beard. 

 

Larry Wilton showed up, flanked by an honor guard of attorneys.  It irked Paul that he failed to ask about Audrey.  Paul told him anyway.  Wilton told him that Craig Morehead’s case had cooled off.  The court psychologist had declared him unfit for trial.  Nothing had been done to extradite Grafton.  Without Morehead’s cooperation, it would never happen.  Even if Morehead were so disposed, he was now mentally incompetent to testify. 

 

Paul made a note to ask Ted to write to the DA in Springfield to make sure that Morehead didn’t make bail.  He thought that it was essential for Audrey’s safety.  Normally, he would have asked Wilton to attend to it, but he didn’t trust him to do so.   

 

Harry Carmichael, the only one without a lawyer to guard him, was the last to sign.  Everyone shook hands and prepared to leave.

 

“Paul, wait a minute.” Hopkins called out as everyone was leaving the room.    

 

Paul didn’t really want to meet with Hopkins, but couldn’t find a way to avoid it.  The two kept silent until all had left the room.

 

“Well, you won,” Hopkins said.

 

“Are you saying that I won because you didn’t?” Paul asked.

 

“I guess so,” Hopkins mutturred.

 

“I have higher standards than that, Arthur,” Paul declared.  “No one won.  It cost everyone involved.  For some, it cost a lot.”

 

“Your company can afford it.  It was pocket change,” Hopkins countered.

 

“Is that all you can see, Arthur?” Paul snarled.  “What about a young woman who was raped by one of your flunkies.  How about people with no jobs?  How about Glenda?”

 

“What about Glenda?” Hopkins asked flippantly.  “She’s got a new job—better than her old one.  She should thank me!”

 

“You chased her out the job that was her life.  You made her a prisoner in her own home.  You spied on us at the lake.  I wouldn’t say that she’s better off.”

 

“What about you, Paul?  I heard you lost some big money.  Of course, you lost your little romance with Glenda,” Hopkins sneered. 

 

“Did you keep me in here just to rub it in, Arthur?  If you did, I think that we’re finished.” Paul was angry, struggling to stay in control of himself.  “I should have published those pictures of you.  It would have served you right.”

 

“You really did shred them.  I never believed you,” Hopkins said.  “You’re a boy scout at heart, Paul.  That’s why we could never be friends.”

 

“Is that all, Arthur?  I’m losing interest,” retorted Paul.

 

“No, in fact it isn’t.” Hopkins said, turning serious.  “I wanted to tell you something.  You’ll be the first to know.”

 

“I’m listening,” Paul sighed.

 

“None of this matters to me anymore, Paul,” Hopkins turned melancholy.  “I had a test last week and found out … I have AIDS.  I never even knew I had the virus.  I don’t even know where I got it.”

 

“Does Judson know?” Paul asked.

 

Hopkins shook his head.

 

“I hope you enjoy telling him,” Paul taunted him.

 

Before he left, Paul had one more thing to say to his old enemy.  He knew that he should have kept it to himself, but he let it out anyway.

 

“Arthur, I should say that I’m sorry for you—but I just can’t.”

 

Paul turned and left, leaving the downcast Hopkins in the room. 

 

************* 

 

April was surrendering to May.  Paul looked forward to the warm weather.  He had neglected his golf game the prior year.  He was determined not to let that happen again.  His handicap had ballooned to twelve.  He had a full plate at work.  He was without the aid of Jim Spencer who was spending more time in Peoria.  Bert Loehman had retired.  He hadn’t found a suitable replacement.  He was thinking that a reorganization might be the right way to go.  Nothing had come of the Ethics Committee warning given him by Ted Wilson a few months ago.  He stopped worrying about it.

 

Harry Carmichael had requested a meeting with Paul to go over a phase of the construction plan.  Jim Spencer had briefed Paul already.  Harry wanted to step up the pace, but he needed overtime money and wanted Paul to approve an add-on to the contract.  Normally, Paul would rely on Spencer to make the call, but it was his first time so Paul decided to sit in.  He asked them to meet him in Chicago.  He would lay over for a night on his return from his East Coast trip.  He had Marge set it up.  Paul and Jim would drive up the next morning.

 

Paul landed at O’Hare at three in the afternoon on the appointed day.  He was beat.  The New Jersey facilities were complex and there were many issues stemming from a recent operational audit.  One plant engineer was retiring in November and another was on shaky ground.  He was thinking that he should have saved Spencer for one of those jobs.  There was a lot to do.  He thought that he would change into some old clothes and just eat in the room and watch the baseball game on the television.   

 

The taxi dropped Paul off at the Drake.  A bellman ran up to take his bags, but Paul turned him down.

 

“I’ve got them.” he told him.

 

The Drake was expensive, but Paul thought that it was worth it.  It was an easy cab ride to the airport, and they had small meeting rooms available to guests.  It would do fine.

 

“You have a message, Sir!” the woman tending the desk handed his an envelope.  Paul decided to open it when he got to his room.  He refused the bellman again and made his way to his room.

 

The contents of the envelope were a mystery.  Paul had his cell phone with him.  Marge could have reached him with anything important.  After he set his bags down, he tore the envelope open.  There was a note inside it, and a ticket to the Cubs game later that evening.  Paul read the note.  It was typewritten, which struck Paul as odd.

 

“I thought that you would like to see a game.  I’ll meet you there.

 

Harry

 

Going to the game ran counter to Paul’s original plan, but it was a welcome change.  The Cubs were playing the Dodgers.  The game was at seven.  Paul had plenty of time to shower and get a cab to Wrigley Field.  While he was showering, he thought that he would razz Harry about spending money for ball games and then asking for overrun money on the same trip. 

 

Paul arrived at the Wrigley Field at six-thirty. 

 

“This world is in a sorry state when we have night games at Wrigley,” he joked to the usher as he showed him to his seat.  They both laughed.  Paul knew that the older man would understand the joke, so he didn’t mind dating himself. 

 

Harry had gone all-out and bought box seats on the third-base side.  It was the best side if there were close plays at the plate.  Paul assumed that Jim Spencer and Harry would show up together, but so far they hadn’t.  Paul settled in and waited for the hot dog and beer vendors to come by. 

 

Infield practice was finished; the players lined up at the dugouts for the national anthem.  Paul stood as it played over the loud speaker.  He was wondering where Carmichael and Spencer were.  He wasn’t worried.  With or without them, he was looking forward to the game.  He was hungry.  Over his left shoulder he heard the vendor barking.

 

“Hot Daawgs HERE!  Get your hot dogs here!” 

 

Paul glanced over to see if he could get his attention, and hopefully spy a beer hawker, too.  As his head was turned he felt the presence of a body taking the seat in his box just to the right of him. 

 

“It must be Harry.”  Paul thought.  He swung his head around to say hello. 

 

As the words started to escape his mouth, he held them back.  What he saw stunned him.  For a few seconds he didn’t know what to say, and the person seated next to him wasn’t speaking either.  Paul gathered himself.  He could only blurt out what his mind told him.

 

“I gave up on ever seeing you again,” he said.

 

“I’ve missed you,” answered Glenda.  “Are you glad that I’m here?”

 

It was a big question that Glenda asked.  He had a right to ask so many questions of his own, and receive satisfactory answers to them all.

 

“Yes!” Paul responded.  He paused and thought for a few moments.  Glenda looked at him with searching eyes.  “Yes, I am glad to see you.”  He leaned over toward her seated next to him and threw his right arm around her shoulder.  They relaxed into one another as though they had been apart for hours, not months.  They leaned back comfortably as the starting pitcher finished his warm-ups.

 

“Actually,” she began, “I came to see you because you know so much about baseball.  I’ve become a big fan.”

 

“How’s that?” Paul asked.  He sensed one her ploys on its way and decided to play along.

 

“It’s the ‘Infield Fly Rule’,” Glenda explained.  “I just don’t get it.”

 

“When there are less than two outs,” Paul explained, “with runners on First or ….”

 

Glenda stopped him by reaching her left hand over his shoulder and holding Paul’s head still with her right hand. She leaned over and her tongue danced in his earlobe.

 

“I’m advancing at my own risk,” she whispered into his ear.

 

A broad smile grew across Paul’s face.  Glenda eased back into her seat, suppressing a grin.  Her ploy had been successful.  Paul thought fast for an answer. 

 

“A young man, hearing those words that you just whispered in my wet ear, would pick you up and carry you out of the ballpark,” Paul informed her.  “He’d drag you back to his hotel room and have his way with you until the sun came up.” 

 

“That sounds interesting!” Glenda purred.     

 

“Perhaps,” Paul agreed, “but I’m an older man and …”

 

“Older and more experienced!” Glenda corrected him.

 

“An older man likes to let the wine age a bit, if you know what I mean,”  Paul concluded. 

 

“You’re saying that you want to stay and watch the game.  It’s alright,” Glenda laughed at him.

 

“Let’s have a beer,” Paul suggested.

 

As the inning ended and they drank their beer Glenda turned serious.

 

“I have a lot to say to you.  There are a lot of things I have to explain,” Glenda said.

 

“Later!” Paul commanded.  “Right now I just want to relax and enjoy being with you.”

 

“Alright,” Glenda answered and pushed up closer to him.  She stroked his thigh a few times and then let her hand rest halfway between his knee and hip.

 

“So Harry Carmichael decided to play ‘Matchmaker’.  When did he give you the ticket?” Paul queried.

 

“It wasn’t Harry,” she answered.  “It was Marge Bates.  She set the whole thing up.”

 

********** 

 

“I brought my car.” Glenda announced as they were filing out of the stadium after the game.  “I have a change of clothes so that I can go to work from the hotel.”

 

Glenda drove.  There was a line waiting to clear the parking lot.  As they sat in traffic Glenda was eager to tell Paul about her job at the MERC.

 

“It’s a lot faster pace than I had been used to, but the support is so much greater.  It’s certainly a lot more exciting,” she told him.  It was the first time that she had worked under a female executive, but she said that there was little difference.

 

“I’m making more money, but it’s more expensive to work inside the loop.  They even paid out some money to buy my pension credits,” she went on.

 

“How are your Paralegal Courses going?” Paul asked.  He immediately knew he had given himself away.  It was an accidental slip.

 

“It was you!” she gasped.  “Shirley Kramer would never tell me who had set me up with her, but I always had a feeling that it was you.  How else would you know about the paralegal courses?”

 

“Guilty as charged!” Paul confessed.  “A guy named Ted Wilson—whom you’re sure to meet one day soon—helped too.”

 

Paul searched Glenda’s face for signs of unhappiness.  He knew that she valued her independence.

 

“Glenda,” he continued, “all that I did was to arrange some circumstances so that you would have the chance to win the job.  That’s all I could ever do.  You won the job yourself.”

 

“I know, Paul,” she agreed.  “Thank you.  You saved my sanity.  I had to escape from Judson.”

 

“I know.” Paul said.  “That’s what I figured when the photos showed up.”

 

“Marge Bates told me that you had her shred them,” Glenda acknowledged.  “Thank goodness!  I was so angry and desperate.  I thought that I had lost the job at MERC because there was a delay.  I learned later that they were settling the pension money.  After I sent them, I was ashamed, but it was too late.”

 

“It’s over now,” Paul said.

 

Paul told Glenda about the resolution of the Peoria case.  He left out the part about Hopkins having AIDS.

 

By that time, they arrived at the hotel.  Glenda turned her car over to the valet attendant and grabbed her garment bag and a small suitcase from the trunk.  Soon they were in Paul’s room at the Drake.  It was almost eleven o’clock.

 

********** 

 

They didn’t order drinks from room service.  They didn’t fumble with the controls for piped-in romantic music.  Glenda brought a negligee, but left it in her suitcase.  They didn’t embrace, and then romantically undress each other, either.

 

Paul set down Glenda’s suitcase, and hung her garment bag in the closet. Maid service had turned down the bed.  Glenda matter-of-factly marched to the head of king-sized bed and took the chocolates from the pillows and set them aside.  She pulled the covers the rest of the way off.  When she was finished Paul was standing at the corner of it waiting for her.      

 

She gave him a glance and kicked off her shoes.  Paul did the same.  The matched each other with the buttons of their shirts.  Paul’s slacks and Glenda’s jeans soon followed.

 

Soon they were both clad only in their underwear.  Glenda reached behind and unsnapped her bra.  She unceremoniously threw it aside.  She was nude, save her panties.  She started breathing heavily.

 

 “Remember these?” she asked, alluding to her small breasts and to a day many years in the past.

 

“I remember everything!” Paul responded.

 

They looked at one another for long seconds.  Paul yanked down his shorts.  He was nude.  Glenda looked at his erect penis pointing at her.  She noticed droplets of fluid leaking from the tip and falling to the floor.

 

“I can’t wait to get in bed with you!” Glenda gasped as she slid her panties to the floor and stepped out of them.

 

They stepped forward and met, clutching each other tightly.  Paul bent down to engulf her mouth with his own.  Each tongue lashed the other.  He dropped his hands to her buttocks to clutch them, and then ran his hands the length of her slender back, digging his fingers into every muscle in his path.

 

Glenda reached down to capture his erection in her small, warm hand, which brought a groan of pleasure from him.

 

Paul reached down grasp her bottom again.  This time he lifted her.  Glenda threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist.  Paul carried her to the empty bed and set her down on it.  Glenda scooted to the middle, lay on her back, reaching out to grab his arms and pull him down.     

 

Paul lowered himself down to her.  He fastened his lips around a nipple and sucked hard on it.  She wrapped her arms around his head and pressed him down on her breast.  Paul slid his finger between her vaginal lips and touched the wet softness there.  Glenda responded by thrusting her hips upward to force his fingers deeper into her.  She was hot and panting.  Paul felt her heating hotter by the second.  Involuntary groans of passion issued from her throat.

 

Glenda released Paul’s head and used all her strength to pull him atop her.  She spread her legs and grabbed the cheeks of his buttocks to guide him in.  Paul complied.  He thrust in deeply, sliding through the moistened chamber.  He withdrew and thrust again, reveling in Glenda’s moans of pleasure.

 

“I’ve been without you too long,” he sighed.

 

His utterance was Glenda’s cue to take over the pace.  She lifted her legs high in the air, spread to the limit and thrust them around Paul’s torso.  She pounded her hips up against his, sliding him through her body.  Paul allowed the excitement of the act to overtake him.  His pleasure mounted with Glenda’s every thrust.  Finally, he summoned his strength to raise himself up on his arms and withdrew himself from her.

 

“It’s been a long time for me,” he told her honestly.  “At this pace I won’t last very long.”

 

 

“I don’t care!” she cried.  “Don’t hold back; just come when you’re ready.”

 

He slid back inside her.  Glenda thrust at him with even more abandon.  She began a slow crescendo of pleasured gasps with each new thrust.  Paul’s attention turned from his own pleasure to observing Glenda’s ascent.  He surprised himself by holding off his climax longer than he had thought possible.  Glenda kept up the pace.  Paul responded by matching her.  Glenda was climbing higher and higher.

 

At long last, Paul’s orgasm came upon him.  He thrust in as deeply as he could and poured himself into her.  With each of his spasms he watched Glenda gasp for breath.  He kept himself inside her after he finished.  Glenda resumed her pace.  After two or three more cycles she came strongly, her climax causing her to exhale all her breath as she remained tensed for long seconds.

 

As they descended from their heights, Paul withdrew from her and dismounted.  The release of their energy into one another refilled a cavity in their souls that had so long needed mending. 

 

Paul laid on his back, Glenda aside him, her head on his shoulder.  They said nothing for a while as they savored the special moment.  They would make love again before drifting off to sleep, but nothing could match the intensity that they had just achieved.

 

Glenda broke the silence.

 

“I should never have shut you out.”

 

“It’s in the past,” Paul answered.  “I’m more worried about the future.”

 

“You deserve some answers.  Don’t you want them?” she asked.

 

“Not really!” was the reply.

 

“Why not?  You have a right to them!” she insisted.

 

“Because no matter what you would say, it wouldn’t change my mind about anything.  I’d still want you,” he countered.

 

“You’re never going to make me explain or apologize?” she asked.

 

“Nope!”

 

“Then we can go back just like we were before?” 

 

“It can’t be like before,” Paul declared.  “We’ve been through a lot since before.  I care for you more now.”

 

Paul’s statement froze Glenda.  She knew Paul well enough to know that he didn’t make such statements lightly.  She knew that she must decide to accept his terms if she could, or tell him that she could not.  She realized that she couldn’t close herself to him, even if she wanted to—and she did not want to.

 

They eased into one another; Paul was stoking her back.

 

“Don’t you want to ask me anything?” she tried him one last time.

 

“Yes!” he said.  “Do you want to order breakfast from room service tomorrow, or eat in the dining room?”

 

“Ohhh!” she growled in mock frustration.

 

They decided on the dining room.

 

********* 

 

Paul arrived at the office the next day at four in the afternoon.  Life was looking up since reuniting with Glenda.  As he passed Marge he set a vase with a rosebud on her desk that he bought for her at a florist as he drove to the office from the airport.

 

“You deserve more, but it’s the thought that counts,” Paul said as he walked by. 

 

“So it went well?” Marge confirmed as he disappeared into his office.

 

“Better than well,” Paul called back from inside his office.  “Thanks, Marge.”

 

Marge had all the thanks that she needed.  “I charged the baseball tickets to your credit card,” she called back. 

 

Paul emptied out his briefcase, preparing to write up a summary of his New Jersey trip.  He was full of energy, although he had no right to be.  He and Glenda had saved little time for sleep the night before.  He was finishing off a tough East Coast trip, and just came off a flight from Chicago.  Putting things right with Glenda changed his outlook.

 

He spied a pile of unopened mail on the corner of his desk.  He sorted through it for anything that appeared urgent.  One of the envelopes was an inter-office correspondence that was marked ‘Confidential’.  Paul didn’t open it; he knew that the Ethics Committee was at it again.

 

Marge buzzed and told him that Glenda was on the phone.

 

Paul: Hi, Glenda.  How are you holding up?  We didn’t get much sleep last night.

 

Glenda:  It was alright with me.  Once in a while we have to pretend that we’re still twenty.  But Paul, that’s not why I called.  I only have a few minutes, and then I have to get to my Paralegal class.  I have some news that I think that you should know.

 

Paul:  Sounds serious—what is it?

 

Glenda:  It came over the news this afternoon.  Dean Judson and Arthur Hopkins committed suicide last night.  They jumped together from the roof of the building where Judson’s condo is located.  The news article was really about Judson, since he’s local.  Hopkins was only mentioned in passing. 

 

Paul told Glenda of Hopkins’ AIDS revelation.

 

Paul:  Did they leave a suicide note?

 

Glenda:  The news report didn’t say.

 

Paul:  How do you feel?

 

Glenda:  I don’t know how to feel.  I can’t be glad of that happening to anyone, but it’s hard to feel bad after what they did to me.  It makes me feel guilty because of the photos.

 

Paul: I understand.  But the photos didn’t give him the disease—keep that in mind.

 

Glenda:  I know.  I’ve got to run.  Thanks for listening.                

 

Paul hung up and thought about the news.  He wasn’t surprised.  He reached down deep and looked for some sorrow to pull to the surface, but found none.  He wouldn’t stoop to hypocrisy, especially to himself.  He wondered if the Ethics Committee would shelve their inquiry, since the victims were gone.

 

At that moment, Ted Wilson appeared in the doorway.  Paul motioned him inside.

 

“Welcome back!” Ted greeted him.  “There’s news about your friend, Hopkins.”

 

Paul decided to forego correcting Ted about whether or not Hopkins was his friend. 

 

“I know,” he replied.  “Glenda just called and told me.”

 

“So you two are back together!  That’s great!” Ted digressed.  “That’s not why I’m here.  The Ethics Committee is going forward with its inquiry on the Hopkins photos.  You’re on the hot seat again, I’m afraid.”

 

“I thought that they might forget it now that Hopkins and Judson are dead.  Between you and me, I’m ashamed to say that I’m glad that they’re dead.  They had a lot to answer for,” Paul confessed.

 

“You might want to adopt a more sanctimonious attitude—at least outside these four walls.” Ted warned him.  “The suicides are heating up the Ethics Committee’s inquiry, not cooling it down.  I was just a fly on the wall in the Directors’ Meeting and Allison Greene is quite upset.  Frankly, she let everyone know that she’s blaming you, personally, for the deaths.”

 

“I didn’t do anything but shred the photos when I received them,”  Paul retorted.

 

“You can probably convince them of that.” Ted began.  “They’re going to make you divulge where you got them.”

 

“I won’t do it,” Paul declared.

 

“You better think about it.  You have a week.  At least contact those involved and see what they think,” Ted advised.

 

“Alright, Ted. Thanks for letting me know.”

 

Paul’s mind was already made up.  He would tell them nothing.  It would jeopardize Glenda’s standing when she received her Paralegal Certificate, Jim Spencer’s career, and Harry Carmichael’s status as a prime Dunn contractor.

 

*********** 

 

The Ethics Committee meeting was under way.  Marge had testified earlier that she had shredded the photos.  She told the members that Jim Spencer was present when Paul gave her the material for destruction, but that she had not seen Jim give anything to Paul. 

 

The three members of the Committee took their accustomed stances.  Allison Greene was aggressive in pursuing the case.  Elizabeth Pender kept questioning why the inquiry was important at all.  Alan Richardson maintained his elder statesman role in the middle.  To add seriousness to the proceedings, Earl Carleton, Board Chairman and CEO, and George Adams were present as observers.  Ted Wilson was asked to sit in for legal advice.

 

It had been revealed that Judson’s final note blamed the photos for his and Hopkins suicide decision.

 

Greene led the inquisition.

 

“So you admit receiving blackmail materials, Mr. Crane,” accused the bitter Allison Greene.

 

“I acknowledge receiving the photos.  I took no part in acquiring them, and did nothing with them except destroy them.  I prevented blackmail,” he answered.

 

“That’s what Mrs. Bates said,” Greene sneered.  “Who gave you the photos?”

 

“I refuse to tell you,”  Paul said.

 

“You have to tell!” Greene insisted.

 

“I won’t!” Paul shot back.

 

“Did Jim Spencer give you the material?” Greene asked directly.

 

“No!” Paul replied emphatically.

 

It was a moment of great import for Paul.  It was the first time in his career that he had lied to any superior about any business matter.  It didn’t go down easily, but he had decided on his action before the meeting started.  It was a bitter taste, a stain he was forced to smear on himself by Allison Greene and Alan Richardson.  It was brought on him so that Richardson could receive sex from Greene.  They robbed him of that which he treasured most highly, and Paul knew that they would squander his treasure as easily as a spoiled heir spends his allowance.  The turning point had arrived.

 

Greene turned to her colleagues.

 

“This man is the cause the deaths of two prominent men.  He must be directed to tell us who gave him the photos.”

 

Paul interjected by recounting how Hopkins had revealed his contracting the AIDS disease.  He argued that it was the real impetus for the suicide.  The Committee members looked at him in silence.        

 

“Paul, we are going to recommend that the Board direct you to disclose the information to us,” Richardson declared.

 

“Wait!” Pender cried.  “We’re risking losing one of our best executives over nothing.”

 

“Guys like him are a dime a dozen!” Greene snarled.

 

“Come to order!” Richardson demanded, before Pender could respond.  “We’ll vote on the record.  The motion is to recommend to the Board of Directors that Paul Crane be ordered to divulge the source of the photographs he received of Arthur Hopkins and Dean William Judson.”

 

Greene seconded.

 

Carleton and Adams remained silent.

 

The clerk called out the names. 

 

“Greene!”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Pender!”

 

“No.”

 

“Richardson!”

 

“Yes.”

 

Paul knew that his career at Dunn was over.  The Board would not override the Ethics Committee, and he would never tell them what they wanted to know.

 

Paul stood up to leave.

 

“Please think it over, Paul,” George Adams finally spoke up.

 

Paul turned and left the room.

 

********** 

 

Paul knew that the Board would not meet for a week.  It gave him some time to clear up some of his details.

 

Paul told Marge what had happened.  She started sobbing.

 

“Relax, Marge!” he told her.  “It will be easier for us to be friends if I’m not your boss.”

 

Paul called Jim Spencer on Peoria.

 

“My final order to you, Jim, is to never admit that you gave me those pictures.  You did nothing except carry them to me in your briefcase, but they’ll crucify you, anyway.  What would be the point?”

 

He called Larry Wilton to inquire about Grafton.  When Hopkins died, Montgomery cut Grafton loose.  He had lost his leverage with them.  The case on him, however, was placed on the inactive list because it was hopeless without Morehead’s testimony. 

 

On his final day Paul was packing his desk.  He was nearly ready to go.  He had said all his good-byes.  Ted Wilson appeared at his door.

 

“I’m supposed to convince you to change your mind,” Ted told him.

 

“I can’t do that, Ted.”

 

“Can’t—or won’t?” Ted asked.

 

 “Both, I guess,” Paul answered.

 

“What are you going to do?  You’re too young to retire.” Ted queried.

 

“I’m still the best engineer that I know.  I’ll set up a consulting business.  Harry Carmichael already asked me to join up with him.  I think that I’ll go it alone for a year and build up some clients.  I might go in with him when I can bring something of my own to the party.”

 

“So, you’re not going to change your mind?” Ted tried a last time.

 

Paul shook his head.

 

“The company won’t be the same without you,”  Ted pleaded.

 

“It’s not the same company anymore,” Paul answered.  “Allison Greene and Alan Richardson are calling the shots now.  You heard Greene.  She said that guys like me are a dime a dozen.  If that’s what they think, let them give it a try and see how far they get.”

 

“Nobody but Greene thinks that.  I know Richardson doesn’t.  I can’t figure out what’s wrong with him,” Ted was not giving up.

 

“Sometimes people like Greene and Richardson win, and there’s not a thing that anyone can do about it.  I don’t have to worry about it anymore,”  Paul declared.

 

“You’ll worry about it, anyway.” Ted warned.

 

“I’m going to try not to,” Paul quipped back.  “Look, if they want to back down, you have my number.”

 

Ted realized that he had tried as hard as he could, but Paul was not turning back.

 

“I’ll see you on the golf course,” Paul said, shaking hands with Ted.  “My handicap is down to eight, you know.”

 

He took a final look around, picked up his briefcase; he hugged Marge one last time, and left.

 

********* 

 

The early morning rain woke him.  He was at his cabin on the Peninsula.  Glenda lay atop him.  July was just around the corner; the weather had been hot and humid.  This rain would break things up. 

 

Glenda’s soft, rhythmic breathing let him know that she was still asleep.  It was her first trip up to the cabin that summer.  Her Paralegal courses kept her tied down to Chicago most of the time.  They had arrived at the cabin late the night before.  They stripped down for sex, but Glenda was so tired she asked for a rain check.  Paul didn’t mind.  He understood why she was tired, and he felt fortunate just to have her lying naked beside him.

 

While he waited for her to awaken, he thought how close he had been to losing her.  Glenda was like few women that he knew.  In a moment she could be a buddy in the cabin, laughing, drinking beer and playing cards.  She could turn on a dime into a sultry temptress, and she knew just the right moment to do it.  She sensed when he wanted a confidant, and the moments that he needed solitude.  She would never lavish sympathy on him or betray is trust.  She would pour out her own troubles to him, because she knew that he needed to take them on as his own.

 

Little-by-little Paul filled Glenda in on the details surrounding the Peoria Plant and all the players in the episode.  It was mostly a sad tale of broken lives, and a few mended ones; of betrayal and disillusionment; of struggle and desperation, and the escape of it.  He never allowed her to explain why she had folded under Hopkins’ torment, or run away from him when he wanted so much to help her.  If had listened to her reasons, he would have had to judge them, and he wanted no part of it.  They put the year of trial and torment in the past, but not forgotten.

 

Lost in his analysis of her, Paul failed to notice that Glenda was awake.  She nudged him a little to let him know it. 

 

“Time for a morning swim,” she whispered.

 

“It’s raining,” he answered.

 

“Are you afraid of getting wet?” she asked.  “We’re already dressed for it,” she added.

 

“I thought that we could stay here a while longer,” he said, pulling her a fraction tighter against himself.  At first, Glenda wondered what had happened to him, but then realized from the grin that he was stifling that he was testing her.

 

“Get those terrycloth robes out!” she insisted playfully.

 

“I already did.” Paul answered.  “They haven’t been used for over a year, when you were here last time.  They’re hanging on the door.”

 

They strode to the end of the dock where they let the robes slide to the wooden planks.  They dove into the lake, one after the other.  The water was a little warmer this year.  They swam together.  As their naked bodied would occasionally slide over one another they let their imaginations run free.  They came together in an embrace and held the kiss as they slid under the water’s surface where they broke apart.  When they resurfaced he called to her.

 

“Follow me over here!”

 

They swam about thirty yards out toward the middle of the lake.  Paul stopped and circled a bit and then found what he was looking for.  At their distance from shore, the water should have been twelve or fifteen feet deep.  Paul’s feet found the rock and he stood on it.  The water rose only midway to between his chest and navel. 

 

It was a secret rock, known only to him and Sally—now Glenda.  It was a giant, underwater boulder deposited ages before by retreating glaciers.  It had been saved there for them to use.

 

Paul held out his arms; Glenda swam to him.  She didn’t hesitate, but wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist.  He looked into her face and saw eagerness.  His gaze drifted lower and he saw the small breasts that she had bared to him in a forest grove decades ago.  She pulled him closer to kiss him.  He held her to him with one hand and held a breast in the other. 

 

She felt his hardness pressing against her.  She reached down to separate her lips and placed him inside her.  They stayed that way for many minutes, allowing the gentle rocking of the waves to provide all the motion needed to slowly draw their pleasure over them.  When they were done, they made their way to the cabin to prepare breakfast.

 

********** 

 

It had been a year to remember, and a good one to forget.  It was lived in the wilderness and in the cities.  The year brought sorrow and joy.  Some lives had been ended, others shattered and a few renewed.  There was the joy of discovery and the sorrow of loss.  There were battles between good and evil, and neither side won.  There had been many defeats.

 

There was only one victory.  Life went on for those determined to live it.

 

THE END         

 

************ 

 

Dear Readers,

 

At long-last “Chance Encounter” has ended.  I hope that you enjoyed reading it.  As always, I welcome your comments.

 

There are several characters in the story to whom I am sad to say ‘good bye’.  Perhaps they will appear again in the future.

 

Thanks for reading and best regards,

 

Autumn Writer