by Rod Helmers
Ellen entered and took off the hooded sweatshirt that normally hung on a hook by the backdoor. Then threw it across the back of a chair.
“You might want to wash that. I sweat like a boy.”
Sam laughed. “Coffee?”
“The blacker the better.”
“You’re my kinda girl.”
Ellen turned toward Sam and smiled. “Think so?”
Sam once again felt like an awkward teenager, and was momentarily at a loss for words as he handed Ellen a steaming cup.
Ellen smiled again. “I’m starving. How about a big breakfast and a hike upstream?”
Sam shook his head vigorously. “Road trip.”
“Road trip?”
“Road trip.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Ellen ran up the stairs, pulled off her top, and tossed it to Sam. “I guess we better get showered.”
In a few moments, Ellen‘s head reappeared at top of the stairs. ”You coming?”
Sam noticed Ellen’s gaze fall to his feet. He looked down and realized he was still wearing the lime green slippers Sandi had given him the prior Christmas as a gag gift. Despite sore thighs and hairy slippers, Sam ran up the stairs after her.
Sam muscled the ancient faded blue Toyota Land Cruiser off the highway and brought the bouncing vehicle to a stop. The old shack had a long porch overhang and underneath it hung dried red chilies strung into all shapes and sizes of ristras and wreaths. And dozens of wind chimes constructed out of a myriad of different materials. The sound of a huge blowtorch rose above the notes of the chimes.
Ellen stood at the open door of the truck. “What is that wonderful aroma? And what’s the deal with the noise.”
Sam smiled. “Follow me.”
Around the side of the building a wire-grated tube stood on four metal legs. It was nearly ten feet long and four feet in diameter and filled with fresh green chilies. A small electric motor on one end rotated the huge wire bin. A propane burner ran underneath the wire cage for its full length and was spitting out two-foot long flames that nearly touched the center of the rotating cylinder. An old Hispanic man sat on a ladder-backed wooden chair a few feet away from the heat of the device. He smiled at the couple and then spit the shell from a pinion nut onto the ground.
Ellen yelled above the roar of the burners. “God, I love that smell. What is this thing?”
Sam put his mouth close to her ear. “Chile roaster.”
They switched positions. “I’m hungry.”
Sam smiled and motioned for Ellen to follow.
“I’m starving. I want it all, but I’ll have whatever he’s having. And coffee.”
The elderly and pleasantly overweight Hispanic waitress smiled and began to walk away. “I know what he’s having.”
Ellen shook her finger at Sam. “I’m gonna shake up your world, Sam. What are we having?”
“Huevos rancheros. Scrambled with chorizo. Christmas.”
“Christmas?”
“Red and green chile. I like variety. You know - mix it up.”
Ellen laughed and seemed to appreciate Sam’s attempt at humor and irony. “What are our plans for today?”
“Durango. Ever been?”
Ellen shook her head.
“Old western town about two hours from here. We can ride the train if you want. An 1880’s narrow gauge railroad. Vintage steam locomotive and the whole bit. The mountains are beautiful up there right now. The aspen and mountain maples have all turned.”
“Wine and cheese.”
“Huh?”
“We need to take some wine and cheese. A snack before dinner tonight.”
Sam shook his head and smiled at Ellen. He thought her appetite for food and drink rivaled her appetite for sex and exercise.
“On the way back, we can stop in Pagosa Springs. Believe it or not, there is a great little French restaurant there. And then we’ll soak in the hot springs.”
“Hot springs?”
“Seven natural rock pools all overlooking the San Juan River. The temperatures vary between 98 and 106 degrees. Oh damn! I forgot swimming suits.”
Ellen grinned lustfully. “Sure you did, Sam.”
“No, really. The pools are open to the public.”
“Do they sell swimming suits in Durango?”
“Right. Good idea. We’ll buy suits in Durango. They’ll probably be on sale this time of the year.”
Ellen smiled at Sam’s frugality, and then became serious. “And champagne, Sam.”
“Champagne?”
“Sam, I have something to discuss with you. I don’t want it to interfere with our fun today. It can wait until tonight. But I’m hoping we’ll have reason to celebrate.”
Ellen selected a 102-degree pool near the cliff with an awe-inspiring view of the San Juan River and the valley below. Its primary advantage was not its view, but the fact that it had not been chosen by any of the other bathers. The small galvanized bucket that Sam had purchased at a hardware store in Durango now contained ice and an unopened bottle of champagne. Ellen was already enjoying the penetrating heat while Sam entered the steaming water tentatively, allowing his body temperature to slowly adjust. As soon as he leaned back and his muscles began to relax, Ellen grasped him with an uncomfortably tight grip and began to stroke forcefully.
“Jesus Christ, Ellen!”
Ellen smiled devilishly.
“I don’t think this is exactly sanitary,” Sam said in a low voice.
“Just tell me to stop, Sam.”
He furtively glanced around at several of the other bathers, and smiled weakly at one or two. Then gripped the edge of the pool and allowed the tension to seep from his body.
“Sam, it’s time I was totally honest with you. I’m not interested in real estate.”
“Uh-huh.” Sam was, after all, a salesman and had picked up on that fact the first day they met.
“I’m a headhunter, Sam.”
Sam looked confused, and was slightly worried he’d been having sex with a self-admitted serial killer.
“I recruit business executives. Highly-placed highly-compensated business executives.”
Sam had entered a warm and groggy sexually satisfied full-bellied male nirvana. “Uh-huh.”
“I came here to recruit you.”
Sam shook himself out of his fully relaxed state and sat up. “What do you mean?”
“I want you to interview for a highly paid executive position with a private corporation headquartered in Tampa. I think the job is yours if you want it.”
Now Sam was fully awake, and both hurt and angry. “Well, let me ask you this, Ellen. Do you usually screw your clients?”
Now Ellen’s eyes were angry. “First of all, you’re not my client, the potential employer is. Secondly, I . . ..” Ellen’s voice began to break and quiver. Two large tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Sam, I never expected this to happen. I’m . . . I’m sorry, Sam. I think we’d better go.” Ellen began to climb out of the pool as more tears spilled off her face.
Sam reached for her arm. “Wait a minute. What are you saying exactly?”
“I just want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, that I have feelings for you, Sam. Strong feelings.”
Sam felt like an ass.
“Ellen, you don’t even know me. You don’t know anything about me. Why in the world would you come here to recruit me for a . . . for a highly paid executive position? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sam, your background is awesome. Wharton grad and your sales experience in San Diego. It’s impressive, Sam. Really impressive.”
“You know about San Diego?”
“You’ve never googled yourself, have you?”
“I guess I never thought about it. It’s all there, isn’t it?”
“Sam, the market ate a lot of people in those days. It ate you too. So what? The important thing is your performance before the crash. You were incredible.”
&
nbsp; “Ellen, I have a life here. I like it here. People depend on me here.”
“This is an opportunity of a lifetime, Sam. The starting salary is $300,000. That doesn’t include bonuses, stock options, and benefits. For your own sake, just consider going to the interview. All expenses paid. And not that this matters, and I do travel a lot, but . . . well, never mind.”
“What? What is it, Ellen?”
“Well, I was just going to say that Miami is only a forty-five minute flight away.”
“But people depend on me here.”
“What do you pay her, Sam? Twenty-five grand a year?”
“You mean Sandi?”
“Of course, I mean Sandi. What do you pay her, Sam?”
“Seventeen-thousand dollars a year.”
“Jesus, Sam. You cheap bastard.”
“That’s good money around here,” Sam said defensively.
Ellen giggled. “Calm down, Sam. I’m just busting your balls. All I‘m saying is that you can give Sandi a nice raise, and temporarily refer your listings to another real estate agent. Sandi can mind the store, and with her free time she can attend community college and get her own license. At your expense, of course. At the end of the day, you’ll still be a couple of hundred thousand ahead of the game. No matter what happens.”
“I don’t know.”
“Sam, all I’m asking is that you think about it. Please?”
“Okay. I’ll think about it.”
Ellen kissed Sam and ran her fingertips along the side of his face. “Now how about that champagne?”
She’d been gone for three days. Sam was in a fog. The whole thing with Ellen didn’t make sense. His gut and his instincts were telling him to back away. The office was dead, so he’d left Sandi in charge and gone home. Although the long mountain shadows of late afternoon had already begun to settle on his small cabin, Sam left the lights off as he rambled about. As he walked by his computer, he noticed his list of favorites and the Google icon. Sam sat down and typed his name.
Dozens of articles, mostly from the San Diego Union, appeared on the screen. The articles from the 1990s touted his success. The later articles brought back all of the old memories he’d been trying to forget. Sam was going to that place he thought he’d escaped from. Then the telephone rang.
“Sam, its Sandi. Sorry to bother you at home, but my Mom called. I wanted to ask you before the drug store closed. The doctor said Dustin has strep and prescribed some antibiotics. But they’re not generic. And . . .”
“Sandi. It’s okay. Put it on my card.”
“Sam, I really appreciate it. You know I’ll pay you back on Friday.”
“It’s okay. Really okay. You better get moving. I’ll call later to check on Dustin.”
“Bye. Talk to you tonight.”
Sam hit the end button and sat quietly for several minutes before finally reaching into his pocket to retrieve a slip of paper. He unfolded it and dialed the number Ellen had written there.
CHAPTER 6
Marc Mason preferred waitresses for several reasons. Mainly it was the challenge. An attractive waitress was hit upon dozens of times a day, and became adept at delivering polite rejection. He thought of an attractive waitress like many aspiring actors and professionals thought of New York City. If you could make it with a hot waitress, you could make it with anybody.
The waitresses Marc preferred over all others worked at The Crab Shack off the causeway near his office. The Crab Shack was a throwback to Old Florida. A collection of weathered cypress boards and rusting tin sitting on huge timbers driven into the muddy floor of the bay. This edifice to a bygone era would never have been allowed under current zoning laws; it was grandfathered in as a preexisting use.
The Crab Shack was favored by the young professionals of Tampa Bay, and was a whirlwind of activity. A whirlwind of huge platters of blue crab and shrimp cocktail and trays of longneck bottles of beer and cocktails of strange neon hues normally found in the coral reefs of tropical waters. All of this was carried by young and very pretty girls who were in fantastic physical shape. And, of course, clad in remarkably skimpy outfits. Marc thought the rejects probably ended up at Scooters. The tips were huge at The Crab Shack - Scooters was so blue collar.
Marc scanned the crowd. People were shoulder to shoulder in the bar area - typical for a Friday afternoon. The patrons were mostly young and energetic. Happy that the weekend had finally arrived. The rest were desperately trying to appear younger than their chronological age. The handsome male bartender had a practiced eye for the affluent and the big tippers, and figured he’d paid for his Harley with tips from the slightly more mature women. He always demanded ID, and sometimes put on a show by holding their drivers licenses up to the light at several different angles to establish that they weren’t fake.
Marc had met Elizabeth Hayes here. She was a waitress too. He was general counsel then, but on the short list for the top spot. She was his most challenging and time-consuming conquest by far. But she was worth it. And she was different. Very different.
James had kissed Elizabeth good-bye when she left his chambers early that afternoon to spend a few days in Tampa Bay. He’d told her to enjoy herself. That he had several charity events to attend, and didn’t want her to sit alone in the condo all weekend. Even if the view was incredible. Elizabeth suspected that any reluctance to see her go was tempered by relief. He needed to recharge his batteries.
The rusted tin roof of The Crab Shack was off the tip of the wing as the 737 banked on its final approach to Tampa International Airport. Elizabeth could even see the throng of people on the huge wooden deck that jutted out into the bay. She had come here almost three years before. For a break and for the money. Two full years as an actress in several of the huge Broadway quality stage productions on the Disney Cruise Lines had left her burned out. The professional experience was coveted and she had met interesting people from all over the world, but ultimately the confines of shipboard life became claustrophobic and isolating. A friend told her about The Crab Shack.
During her very first day on the job, he’d left a twenty-dollar bill for a five-dollar beer. The skintight pink polyester shorts she was required to wear left little to the imagination. Elizabeth figured that after an hour of leering at her ass, he’d probably gotten the better end of the deal. When the scenario continued to repeat itself, Elizabeth decided to ask around. It turned out that all the girls knew about Marc Mason.
Elizabeth had grown up in her father’s office - first on his knee, then under his desk, later on the big Oriental rug with her homework spread all about, and finally in the big leather chair in the corner. She knew more about the actuarial underpinnings of the insurance industry than most of the executives in the corner offices. She decided to find out if Marc Mason knew what he was doing. It turned out that he didn’t. She thought it all started then and there. She thought it was her idea.
The taxi ride from the airport was over too soon as far as Elizabeth was concerned. As she joined a group moving toward the door, she felt her stomach rise up into her chest and could taste the acid that was burning her throat. She knew that Marc Mason would end up on top of her that night, grunting like a pig, and it made her sick.
Upon entering the familiar surroundings, she immediately spotted him across the bar leering at a waitress. She paused to breathe deeply and then went to him.
“Hey baby, how have you been?”
Marc jumped and then composed himself and kissed her. “I’m good, babe. How was your flight?”
“Too long,” Elizabeth almost purred.
Marc waived a waitress over and ordered another beer and a lime tequila martini. “So, has the old man started playing grab-ass with you yet?”
“As much as I like it when you get jealous, baby, you know you’ve got nothing to worry about. Especially when it comes to your father.”
“Tell me if he tries anything. I know he’s not gettin’ any at home.”
“Marc! You know bette
r. You’re father is a saint.”
“Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know.”
Marc had talked about his father from almost the first moment she met him. He seemed to both admire and hate the man. Elizabeth had sensed opportunity when she found out that the old man’s clerk was retiring. She’d sensed the opportunity to funnel more cash into American Senior Security. Marc resisted at first, but eventually conceded that it was a good idea, and not just because of the cash. He agreed that it was best that they weren’t seen together anymore. Fewer dots to connect when the walls came crashing down.
Judge James Marcus Mason, III, had both surprised and delighted Elizabeth during her interview. She found him distinguished and attractive - even sexy. He wasn’t at all what she was expecting. She immediately realized, however, that her acquaintance with Marc, or Jimmy as he called him, was cutting both ways. The man was definitely intelligent enough to realize that his son was a horny idiot. She’d played the scene skillfully, letting him know that she recognized his son’s shortcomings without insulting the family name. She was hired on the spot.
The waitress arrived with the drinks and eyed her carefully. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if it was because she was worried that her tip money might be at risk, or because Marc was such a well-known letch. At least Elizabeth didn’t recognize her, or most of the girls working there now. Which was good.
“Let’s take these drinks outside. We need to talk.” Elizabeth said as she tried to part the bodies surrounding her.
“Work before pleasure?”
“Unfortunately,” Elizabeth sighed resignedly.
They pushed through the loud and oblivious bodies that were all around them and moved onto the deck, eventually finding the steps that led down to the beach. They were violating local liquor ordinances and several state laws, but both knew those rules weren’t enforced here.
