Exchange

by CF Frizzell

  “Sit down or there’ll be no work.”

  Shay hesitated. She scanned the lavish room, wondering if this would be her only chance. She sat.

  “Listen, Chicago, I won’t be undermined by my own employees. I want to make that clear. Slattery Enterprises is a multimillion-dollar operation for a reason. Now, I respect your principles, your work and work ethic, and, yes, even your style, but I require respect in return.”

  “Absolutely. That’s fair. But at the risk of being blunt, a Slattery Enterprises paycheck doesn’t buy my opinion or my personal time. And that has absolutely nothing to do with the immense respect I have for what you’ve built here.”

  Della held Shay’s straightforward gaze for an extra beat before heading to the bar for a refill.

  “Care for that drink now?”

  Shay chuckled under her breath, the tension in the room eased noticeably. “Sure. If the boss offers, why not. Jack, please.”

  Della stopped at Shay’s chair. “Frankly, I hope you’ll choose to stay long-term. You’re experienced, strong-willed, sharp, and talented. You could go far here, Chicago.”

  *

  The Chandler Construction facility reminded Mel of a military compound as she drove through the tall chain-link entry. The sprawling complex had grown to mammoth proportions and earned bragging rights to nearly all new development Mel had witnessed in the twenty-plus years she’d been in love with the territory. At a brawny six foot three, Ed Chandler was the General George Patton whose army reconfigured heaven and earth at the jingle of a lucrative contract.

  “He’s on a conference call, Ms. Baker,” the receptionist told her, smiling as if their pre-arranged meeting could be set aside. “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll remind him of your appointment.” She was back on the phone before Mel could speak.

  With a resigned sigh, Mel sat and checked her notes for the interview. Several men in Chandler coveralls noticed her on their way out and their muffled comments had Mel shaking her head at the routine she’d come to expect. She’d been here several times over the years, and each visit meant fending off alpha males. Each time she hoped it would be different. Someday, when you can speak your mind.

  The youngest of the group removed his ball cap as he approached. She recognized the wispy frame and hopeful look. He’d stopped into the Chronicle office a few times, hinting about the Harvest Ball.

  “Morning, Mel.”

  “Good morning, Andy.” She fought the reflex to tug her skirt down over her knee.

  “Waiting on the boss, I bet.”

  “I am.”

  He glanced toward his friends watching from the revolving door. “Well, um, I bet Ed won’t keep the likes of you waiting long, not if he knows what’s good for him.”

  “I appreciate that, Andy.” She checked her watch and cursed Chandler for throwing her morning off schedule. “I hope not.” She knew what was coming.

  “Hey, listen, um, us guys, we’re putting together a letter to your newspaper.”

  Mel straightened in her seat, taken aback by the unexpected topic. “That’s great. We look forward to receiving it. Can you give me a hint what to expect?”

  “Well, yeah. It’s about you being against us, wanting to stop the Heights and all.”

  “I think you’ve misunderstood the Chronicle’s position, Andy. It’s not about actually stopping the work, or against the working person at all.”

  He scratched his head. “Well, sure it is. We’re counting on that work. Hell, Johnson over there already got a new F250 picked out, needs it bad. And Ronny’s figuring they’ll be able to pay for day care after all, once the project gets rolling. The Chronicle’s putting the work in a bad light and that’s just tryin’ to take money out of our pockets.”

  “And it ain’t appreciated.” One of Andy’s friends loomed over his shoulder. “We think it’s time our newspaper stuck up for the workin’ stiff, instead of spoutin’ off about things that won’t matter till years from now.” The other two men arrived, and Mel felt drastically outnumbered.

  The one with “Ronny” embroidered on his coveralls put his hands on his hips. “Sure hope the Heights goes as planned. With another little one at home, my wife has to find a job, and she’s got her eye on one of the new ones, but we gotta afford day care, too. You have to stop riling everyone up.”

  Mel stood and looked at each of them. “Development needs to be done right, guys. You wouldn’t dream of doing a mediocre job, cutting corners, and the like. I know none of you would. Well, Tomson has to be more careful that that doesn’t happen. Problems have already risen and more will, unless the town keeps its eyes open and speaks up.”

  The stockiest of the men stepped forward, his expression hard. “So I should call you the next time my truck dies out on I87 in the middle of friggin’ nowhere?” He snorted. “You got some rethinking to do, Miss Chronicle. Maybe if you had something to lose, you’d smarten up.” He turned away and called the others to follow.

  Mel just watched them go, wished there was a happy medium to be found. Her palms were moist, and she brushed them against her skirt, relieved to see the receptionist rise at her desk.

  “You can go up now, Ms. Baker.”

  Mel exhaled hard as she crossed the lobby, grateful the elevator doors sat waiting. They closed promptly, and she leaned against the wall. Change never came easily, especially in Tomson, she thought, and people wasted no time aligning themselves and formulating defenses. She reminded herself that she’d chosen the right side.

  She headed for Chandler’s office doors and exchanged greetings with Mae, his secretary, who’d been a fixture behind the desk since before there was a desk.

  “Hi, Mel. Sorry to keep you waiting.” She lowered her voice. “He gets on those calls with Angelo, and they never quit. Go on in, honey.”

  Great. Chandler and Sorvini. What a pair. Who knows what either one has up his sleeve?

  “Thanks, Mae.” She rapped twice on the door, summoned her composure, and stepped inside.

  “Melissa.” Chandler’s voice boomed even when he whispered, filled the room just as much as he did. “My Lord, if you aren’t just a ray of Montana sunshine. Come, walk those gorgeous legs over here, and sit.” He ran a massive palm across his white whiffle-cut hair. As he reclaimed his seat, he scanned her from head to toe, and Mel forced down her distaste for him.

  “Morning, Ed. Thank you. How’ve you been?”

  “I’m good. Thanks. It’s all good. And how’s your little Chronicle doing? Last week you made it up to thirty-six pages, didn’t you?”

  Mel’s jaw clenched. “It’s nice to know you noticed.”

  Chandler tossed a hand toward her. “Eh, you’ll be a regular at forty-eight once Della’s project opens.” He leaned toward her. “Which is why I’m surprised you keep beating a dead horse, all fired up against the Heights. It’ll be good for your business too, missy.”

  “As Slattery has been good for yours,” she quipped. “As for the Chronicle’s growth, it’s wise to remain guarded. We both know what that complex will do to the small businesses in town.”

  “Tomson can’t live in nineteen fifty, Melissa. You’ve got to convince that lovely head of yours that things cost more today, and what Tomson collects just doesn’t cut it anymore. Hell, just paving a damn road costs twice as much as it used to. I know these things. What those little shops are paying for taxes now? Hell. Folks have to start paying more.”

  “And if they can’t? What happens then, Ed? They suffer. They’re forced to move out.”

  “Hey, that’s the way things are today. But you just look down the road: the town beefs up its commercial district, adds a hotel or two, maybe? Say…a theme park, more housing? Industry will blossom. You have to think ahead. Della’s real sharp that way. She knows what she’s doing and, right here,” he patted his desk, “she has the means to make it happen.”

  Mel’s mind reeled at the vision of theme parks and factories. Is that why Sorvini’s sniveling around? Is it all cu
rrently simmering on Della’s back burner?

  “I didn’t come here to debate the issue, Ed.”

  “Well, then, Melissa. Tell me what you need from me today?” He sat back. Impossibly cocky.

  “Can you give me an idea of your timetable, the latest specifics about the plan? And your expectations about hiring?”

  He unrolled a large tube of drawings on his desk and spun them around to face Mel. “We’re heading out there real soon, in fact. Site prep begins in a few days.” His thick index finger grazed over Jed Maclin’s acreage. “It’ll just take us a few days to take all this high ground down to road grade.”

  “So gravel trucks, the plan still is to—”

  “Yup. To dump by the tracks, filling in that useless swamp.”

  “Quite a haul,” she said, remembering the casual nature of the Conservation Commission hearing on that very issue. “The swamp…That’s about fifteen miles from Jed’s place—using residential back roads.”

  He shrugged. “It’ll probably be a loud, messy parade route, you’re right, but not for long. And some of what we take up we’re keeping on site for the berm along the back boundary.”

  She pictured Maclin’s pristine white plank rails bordering the road as Chandler peeled back the next page and let it drape off the end of his desk. It’s just the beginning.

  “Our septic, leaching, and drainage systems will set up like this,” he went on, pointing. “The parking lots will be taken to these varying grades to channel runoff this way.”

  “Toward the Rohan.”

  “In that direction, yeah, but you’ve seen all this before.”

  She clearly remembered seeing the preliminary plans many months ago, when Della’s engineer presented them at public hearings, but to provide readers with accurate, up-to-date information, she needed more time to gather pertinent specifics like gradient percentages, percolation speeds, set-back distances, building dimensions, parking capacities. The list was lengthy. Get to the town hall for your own updated copy, pronto.

  “Foundations are going in here, and here, and the big one for Walmart over here,” Chandler said. “I want them poured by the Fourth. Once they’re ready, we can get the steel crews going on the skeletons.”

  “These two sites,” she said, tapping on the drawing, “they’ll each accommodate retail stores?”

  “That’s right. Four in one, two bigger ones in the other.”

  It struck her that the structures would be occupied the instant the building inspector gave the okay. “So, you’re tackling all three at once?”

  “You bet we are. It’ll be all hands on deck. Going to bring in a couple dozen more framers and welders. Each building will be roofed, closed in before Labor Day.” He chuckled at Mel’s surprised reaction. “Oh, we’ll make it.”

  “That’s one hell of a schedule, Ed. Della’s aiming for a Christmas opening, isn’t she?”

  “You got it. And it can be done. As long as Chandler Construction’s running the show, it will be.”

  Back in her Subaru, Mel snickered as she drove. Ironic, that townspeople were hardly concerned about such a high-rolling corporate machine, yet feared Armageddon and the destruction of their upright society should the issue turn to equal rights. How could an out lesbian survive in this place? She sighed, clinging to the hope that time would bring acceptance and the most important changes in her life.

  She pulled over at Jed Maclin’s picturesque roadside pasture and took in the look of it, knowing this opportunity was fleeting.

  Heavy-duty pickup trucks sat scattered across the field, workers’ hammering having displaced the normally tranquil sounds of birds and the occasional snorting horse. The postcard-like white fencing was disappearing. The easy roll of the land coated in lush green velvet pulled her from the car, and she meandered to the far end of the fence and onto the property, up to the higher ground that Chandler said would soon be hauled away.

  Chapter Six

  Each whack of the eight-pound hammer Shay applied to the fence rail felt like it was being applied to her head. Her wound, though more than half-healed now, still throbbed, her skull still complained, and today’s job of tearing down Jed Maclin’s pretty white fencing hurt almost as much.

  Tom Rogers stopped along the line to assess his workers’ progress. “Kills me, too. I hate what she’s doing to this land.”

  The twelve-foot plank finally surrendered and dropped into the grass at Shay’s feet. She hefted it onto her shoulder and paused at Rogers’s side before heading to the waiting truck.

  “She make him an offer he couldn’t refuse?”

  “Angie negotiated the deal.”

  Shay grumbled about Sorvini being Della’s personal hit man as she went to the truck. She flipped the oak plank onto the pile and came back, shaking her head.

  “Sad to lose this acreage, though. Good thing he has thousands more.”

  Rogers waved his hand across the site. “The Walmart suits wanted this spot real bad, just a skip out of town, not far from the crossroads and the highway.”

  “But don’t you think it’s odd? A shopping center out here in horse country? It’s not that far out of town, but still…”

  Rogers shrugged. “All I know is the town okayed it. No grounds not to. Damn town has no protection, hasn’t passed a damn bylaw about development in thirty years, and now we got no choice. The newspaper’s been crying about it for over a year.”

  “So, Della got what she wanted.”

  “Everything’s approved, so I don’t imagine there are any illegal shenanigans going on.” He elbowed her arm. “I suppose business is business when all the cards are stacked in your favor.”

  Shay doubted Della would skirt the law, not with something as precious as her shopping complex. Now, Sorvini, she wouldn’t put anything past him. If anyone would just take what he wanted, make it happen, regardless of rules or even common decency, it would be him. Such a damn shame.

  “What’s in it for Sorvini?”

  Rogers cocked his head. “Lots of folks wonder.”

  “So, Della sees Tomson as her domain, huh? She’s born and raised here?”

  “Just like her daddy and his daddy. But family legacy, generation farmers, all that doesn’t seem to account for much in Della’s book, not like it did to those before her. The fight in the newspaper’s taken a nasty turn lately, what with Mel Baker pointing that out in spades.” He snickered. “For the prettiest gal in town, she’s got balls. Slams Della with anything she can get her hands on. It’s a dirty fight nowadays, Mel getting down to ethics ’n all.”

  Shay vowed to read the Chronicle more thoroughly next time she got her hands on a copy.

  Rogers counted silently, pointing to each section of fence. “Seventeen more, Shay. You guys need to shake a leg. Chandler’s rigs will start showing up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and they’ll probably start grading this down right away.”

  Shay pulled out her hammer and started in on the next section.

  “And by the way,” Rogers added, “new rules because of that mess with the surveyors. Nobody but us steps foot on the property. Della wants trespassers arrested on the spot, absolutely no exceptions.”

  “How to win friends,” Shay said between blows of her hammer. She popped one end of the plank free and was headed for the other post when Sorvini’s voice blasted across the field. All heads looked up.

  “You!” He pointed up the rise and yanked his cell phone from inside his suit jacket. “What the hell you doing up there? Get down here!”

  Shay simply stared, taken by the sight of the lithe woman rising in the sun, hair a brilliant white gold against the cerulean sky. Holy shit.

  Rogers jogged to Sorvini’s side. “What’s your problem? That’s just Melissa Baker. Leave her be.”

  Shay connected the vision to the soothing voice she’d heard but hadn’t been able to see at the ambulance.

  Sorvini stormed forward as Melissa descended toward him. She pressed a palm to her thigh, preventing her
skirt from catching the breeze, and shielded her eyes with her other.

  “Sorry, Angelo,” she said, reaching level ground and appearing far more amused than guilty. “I couldn’t resist.”

  Sorvini shook his phone and yelled. “I’m getting Sheriff Davis out here right now.”

  “Why? Hi, Tommy.”

  Rogers smirked over Sorvini’s shoulder. “Hi, Mel.”

  “Why?” Sorvini railed. “Because Della wants you arrested. That’s why. You of all people. She’ll love this.”

  Shay folded her arms and shook her head at the man’s style. Sorvini, you’re such a prick.

  “Arrested?” Melissa laughed lightly. “Really, Angelo. I’m not causing any trouble and you know it.”

  “Yeah,” Rogers said and slapped Sorvini’s shoulder. “What’s she done?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Call him, then,” Melissa said. “I’ll wait.”

  Sorvini glared for an extra second. “Damn right I’ll call him.” He punched in a number and pressed the phone to his ear, then walked several steps away, lowering his voice to a mumble.

  Workers gathered behind Rogers, several of them greeting Melissa. Shay joined them, but kept to the rear of the group just to watch. Melissa’s assessment of everyone was quick and sharp—and familiar. Shay dug through memories of faces she’d seen around town, of those foggy nights at the Exchange. That solitary woman in the ball cap came to mind, but she dismissed the tennis player she recalled for this dazzling lady who now observed everyone, including Shay.

  The playfulness in Mel’s expression softened to curiosity when their eyes met, and when she nodded a hello, Shay felt her breath catch. She nodded back, pleasantly surprised when Melissa didn’t immediately look away.

  “Gee, Mel,” Rogers said. “Della really did tell us to ask no questions and have trespassers arrested, but I’m sorry Angie is doing this. It’s stupid.”

  The workers concurred in unison. Obviously, none of them would vote to remove such a strikingly beautiful woman from the property. Shay chortled toward her feet.