He went over to the vending machine, fed it a bill, extracted a bottle that banged loudly against the dispenser and headed for the door. Stella followed him with her eyes and then, as if having recalled something, called , “Rob!”
Robert stopped and turned.
“I’m sorry. I ’ve changed my mind. Does your offer still stand?”
Robert looked at her thoughtfully.
“It does. It ’s going to be cold out there, though, so you ’d better pick up something warm to wear. I ’ll be waiting for you at the pier.”
Robert turned the key in the ignition and steadily pushed the throttle lever down. The boat sped up obediently, the pier jumped back and a second later was left somewhere far behind. He pushed the handle all the way down and stood up, keeping his knee on the resilient seat cushion. A thick wind joyfully hit his face. Now this was really good. The cool stream of air blew into his eyes, flapping his sleeves. He glanced to the right—Stella sat silently, facing the wind with noticeable enjoyment. Robert smiled understandingly.
A small cape dotted with pine trees drew near, guarding the long snakelike-shaped part of the lake that lay behind it with its countless bayous. Why don ’t we cruise around it at the top speed? There ’s this little handle down here . . . The boat ’s bow rode up toward s the cloudless sky that was just beginning to darken. Robert glanced at Stella once again. So far so good. No gasping, no demands to slow down . . . Quite the opposite—she ’s smiling with her eyes half closed, almost dreamily .
He turned the steering wheel smoothly and cruised around the cape in a wide arc . A deep -blue expanse met them, waiting to be crossed. Now—to that waterfall. What about gas? Looks good. There ’s enough to go to the opposite end of the lake and back. They take good care of their boats. Yesterday there was hardly a quarter of the tank left and now it ’s filled right up .
He looked back. Somewhere behind the cape the lodge stood, not visible anymore. What a pathetic place. Notes, threats, this ridiculous blackmail . . . Although that at least makes it all a bit more interesting. Plus , blackmail is not so ridiculous. After all, there ’re indeed no rules around here. And a goon like that could ’ve indeed gained some serious advantage by taking the right people one by one to dark corners for a friendly negotiation. If you know how to negotiate in a dark corner and you’re careful enough to avoid any witnesses , you can secure quite a following for yourself.
But . . . Alex doesn’t have the guts for anything like that . It was enough to listen to his chirping about courts and lawsuits to see that. They ’re all like this, these pumped-up office workers. They have Arnold-sized mu scles they show off at every opportunity , they wear short military -style haircuts, the backs of their heads rival their shoulders in width, they hold a cue like a club, and they glare at you as if they ’re about to go for your throat. But at the first sign of the real deal , they immediately recall that they ’re civilized people, run out of steam and threaten you with a lawsuit. Such fakes.
Robert took a deep breath of the fierce air, enjoying every bit of it. The lake had narrowed and now looked more like a wide river. Steep mountain slopes covered with pines passed by slowly on both sides. The trees cast long shadows across the rare clearings. It ’s a real wilderness out here, he thought. Less than four hours ’ drive away from the city and such a godforsaken place. Indeed, a suitable place for this workshop. No distractions of any kind. You can fully concentrate and , with the utmost efficiency , start turning from a manager into a leader.
It’s getting boring. There hasn ’t been a whiff of the promised drama, unless you count the recent , “I ’ll sue that punk!” performance. It ’s starting to look more and more like a regular off-site meeting, spiced up to some extent by a few historical anecdotes and vague hints. That, plus the company of strangers. Although the company isn ’t that bad. Sure , there ’s Kevin , and Alex , and Ross. Familiar characters. But Mike seems to be an okay guy. So is Brandon . Stella . . . well , the jury is still out on her.
“So what do you think ?”
Stella turned to him.
“It’s great, ” she said simply. “Better than I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“I thought you ’d be talking a lot. About speed and your passion for it.”
Robert only smiled back.
“Want to give it a try?” he asked a few minutes later.
“Sure,” she replied, getting to her feet.
They switched places.
“It’s very easy to operate, ” Robert was explaining a minute later. “Actually, it ’s like driving a car, only much easier. No traffic lights, no pedestrians, no cops. Total freedom. Here ’s the gas. You just push it down like this once , then you can forget about it. The steering wheel is exactly like in a car. No brakes. If you want to stop just move the gas handle up. That ’s it. Easy?”
“Uh-huh . . .” Stella answered, giving the gas handle a try. “Like this?”
Robert barely had time to grab the railing to prevent himself falling .
“Yeah, something like that , ” he muttered, looking at the billowed bow of the boat.
This time it was Stella’s turn to smile.
“Now I understand.”
She slowly pushed the gas handle down.
“Understand what?”
“What you like about this thing so much.”
“Told you.”
“By the way, where are we going? Should I go right or left here? If we don ’t turn, pretty soon we ’ll run into the shore.”
“Let’s go right. It ’s an island, and I went to the left last time.”
Stella turned the steering wheel with a sea wolf’s confidence and the powerboat sped into the right sleeve of the fork that lay in front of them.
“Well,” Robert observed reflectively. “Something ’s wrong.”
“What an astute observation, ” Stella dangled her fingers in the water. “It ’s been ten minutes since we stopped. But who cares ?” She studied the surroundings, “I t ’s so beautiful out here. The sunset is truly romantic. Now, if only we could get the engine to work . . .”
“The engine works, ” said Robert. “It just doesn ’t start.”
“Ah . . .” said Stella. “That does make a huge difference.”
Robert pulled the cord abruptly once again. The engine revved up, roared cheerfully, but a moment later choked and fell back to silence.
“Is this something that happens often?” Stella asked.
“No. Not at all.”
Robert examined the engine as if he were about take it apart.
“If anything, it looks like this thing is out of gas.”
“We’ve got plenty, ” Stella said, throwing a lazy glance at the gas meter.
“That’s the problem, ” Robert stood up. “There should be at least half a tank.”
“Half a tank?” Stella looked at the meter again. “It ’s full. As if we ’ve just been to the station.”
“What did you say?”
“The tank is full. Why?”
Robert tacitly crossed the boat.
“So it’s full . . .”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Yes. It can ’t be full. There ’s just no way it can.”
Robert returned to the stern and for a minute or so tried to talk some sense into the stubborn engine.
“Okay, now it ’s all clear, ” he stated with sullen satisfaction a minute later.
“What’s clear?” asked Stella. “Stop speaking like The Riddler .”
“It’s clear what ’s wrong, ” Robert clapped on the slick black metal surface. “There ’s no t a single drop of fuel in this baby. And no fuel means, ” he opened his hands, “no movement.”
Stella’s ironic smile vanished slowly from her face .
“So why does it show a full tank over here?”
“Ah!” Robert lifted his index finger. “That is a truly excellent question. I ’m afraid, however, that even answering it won ’t help us much in g
etting back to the lodge promptly. Besides, I don ’t have an answer.”
“Are you saying we ’re stuck?”
Robert nodded.
“And stuck for good.”
“Are we going to miss dinner?” Stella smiled.
“We’re going to miss breakfast. You don ’t seem to be concerned about it .”
“Why should I be?” Stella shrugged nonchalantly. “We ’ll spend the night on the boat, and tomorrow they will start looking for us. Soon enough they ’ll figure out that one boat is missing and will look no further than the lake, which is large but not huge. They ’ll jump into a couple of powerboats and will show up here by lunch. They may even call up a police chopper.”
Robert looked at her with interest.
“And what about food?”
“Who needs food? We can do fine without it for a day. It’s even good for your health. You know, some people do it intentionally, periodically. And it ’s so romantic . . . Just take a look around.”
“It is romantic, ” Robert agreed, watching the crimson disk of the sun that had just touched the tops of the mountains. “There ’re just two little problems with this plan.”
“Which are?” Stella asked with the same nonchalance.
“Well, it could be just one, assuming that the meter stopped working on its own. Have you ever met a leader who needs to be rescued? You know, a pitiful, pathetic, helpless leader . . .”
Stella became serious once again.
“Are you suggesting that if they come to rescue us, this will lower our chances of winning?”
“This will nullify our chances of winning, ” said Robert. “We ’ll have no chance at all of winning , period. But, again, that ’s assuming this, ” he pointed to the meter, “is a result of wear and tear.”
Stella shook her head in disbelief.
“What else could it be? Sabotage?”
Robert nodded.
“I’ve never seen a breakage like this. And if someone has helped this meter to stick, he doesn’t have to stop at that.”
“What do you mean ?”
“For example, tonight he could take our cars and park them far off in the woods. That way, no one would think about calling choppers and jumping into boats tomorrow morning.”
“Two cowards ran away?”
“Or two lovers got bored and left.”
Stella pulled a face.
“Two lovers . . .”
“People have vivid imaginations, ” said Robert. “It doesn ’t matter what explanation they come up with if the cars are missing. What matters is that they won ’t even bother to look for us. No cars—no suspicions.”
“Nah . . .” Stella glanced at the red gauge pointer. “That would be too much. Why would anyone do that?”
“It isn’t that hard to think of a reason. Just this morning you were hinting about people playing dirty.”
“Yes, but not that dirty!”
“The degree of baseness usually depends only on the degree of punishment.”
“Fine. But if this is not an accident, I ’m sure there ’re laws against doing that .”
“Maybe. There ’re laws for everything. Yet banks still get robbed.”
Stella sighed.
“Okay, what do we do now?”
Robert sized up the distance between the boat and the shore.
“If I were alone, I ’d just swim over there.”
“And then?”
“And then I’d walk as far as I could until it gets really dark. Then I ’d spend a night in the woods and resume walking in the morning.”
“Good plan,” said Stella. “Let ’s go.”
“We’re not going anywhere. With you here, that’s not an option.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Same reason I ’ve told you before—this water is freezing. Unless you have experience swimming in water like this, it ’s a bad idea.”
“You mean I won ’t make it?”
Robert shook his head.
“If you know how to swim, you ’ll make it, ” he said patiently. “First, you ’d have your life jacket. And , second, I ’d be swimming next to you. But you don ’t want to risk hypothermia.”
“Thank you so much for your concern, ” the sarcasm in Stella ’s voice grew even stronger. “I ’m flattered and moved. It is so refreshing to know that you ’re under the protection of a real man.”
Robert glanced at her.
“What was that?”
“Never mind, ” Stella squinted. “I wonder, if instead of me you were stuck here with Mike or Alex , w ould you still deliver the same kind of , ‘I ’ll save ya, baby ’ speech?”
“Unlikely. It wouldn ’t even be funny.”
“Well, it’s certainly funny now, so let ’s have a good laugh, ” Stella abruptly rose to her feet .
The boat rocked.
“Turn away.”
“Now this is silly.”
“Turn away! Or this also depends only on the degree of punishment?”
“As you wish.”
And Robert turned towards the sunset that was blazing over the mountains.
The Rule of Separation: Never mix personal feelings with work. Never. No exceptions. One of the most useful, fundamental rules. Solid and time proven. It ’s been working flawlessly for years. Then why is it so hard to follow it now?
Alan firmly pursed his lips. Perfect! Now the Rule of Mask is broken , too!
It had never taken him so much effort to separate personal feelings from the business at hand. Now personal feelings were breaking through , in the most uncivilized manner , to the sacred chamber of business. They barged forward like a pack of roaring bulldozers, crushing everything in their way and pressing all the business -related thoughts back. The business -related thoughts were dull and featureless. They all rotated around dull and featureless concepts: workshop, victory, success, leader . The personal feelings, on the other hand, were full of bold and seductive images. Joan ’s face. Vivid, beautifully shaped lips. An alluring figure. A blouse unbuttoned at the top. A peachy cheek. A light touch . . . a velvet voice . . . That evening when it seemed that her interest in him went far beyond business, despite the persistent attention Chris was paying to her. Business thoughts paled next to these images and , reluctantly but steadily , were retreating further and further back.
And now this scene. The dark bar’s walls seemed to close in on him when he saw her sitting at the bar with Alex. And not just sitting—chirping merrily. She seemed so fragile next to his enormous figure that resembled a stone sculpture created by the chisel of a sculptor with a taste for monumental art. Alex sat, chin in palm, listening intently, while Joan, leaning slightly towards him, was talking animatedly. She seemed happy. Yes, really happy. And that happiness was almost unbearable to watch.
Alex said something, Joan shook her head and smiled, he added a few words, and then she laughed, tapping him lightly on his massive shoulder. And at that moment , Alan felt that he could hit her. He imagined slapping her peachy cheek furiously in a swinging blow, erasing her white smile, making her head jerk to one side, and bringing an expression of wild fear and pain to her face. And this thought somehow brought him some calm and drove the anger away. With an effort , he pushed this weird feeling away and determinedly stepped toward s them.
Nothing changed upon his arrival. Alex m umbled something friendly. Joan gave him a smile that looked like an instant replay of the one she had given Alex a minute ago. He nodded to them automatically and , without stopping , went past them. Joining the conversation , as he had originally intended , turned out to be too much for him bear. He grabbed a bottle of beer and a glass, briefly looked around the darkened room and headed toward s the others. Behind his back yet another chuckle sounded, followed by a snatch of a phrase: “That’s what they all say . . .”
He felt a little better once he joined the group . Chris, it seemed, was honestly glad to see him and waved to him from afar. Brandon enquir ed about Roberts ’s whereabou
ts . A s for Michael, he curtly but cordially pointed to a free chair. Alan sat down , sensing the dark angry feeling that had engulfed him at the entrance slowly evaporating. He told Brandon that he hadn ’t seen Robert for a while (“No wonder, the man’s in good company, ” Paul commented with a smirk), nodded to Michael , and in two gulps emptied half of his glass. Chris, apparently resuming his storytelling, began regaling the mischievous tricks of some executive assistant. Life was returning to normal.
And five minutes later, when the mixture of exciting anger and fear had vanished entirely, Joan joined them.
Alan hardly turned towards her, noting with gloomy satisfaction that his smile almost didn ’t twitch. When she sat down next to him, he instinctively glanced in the direction of the bar, expecting to see Alex walking towards them. But his massive figure was nowhere to be seen. Alan broadened the search scope and immediately found Alex next to the door. He was obviously not in hurry to join the crowd and , quite to the contrary , disappeared through the exit.
“What’s the topic?” Joan asked nonchalantly.
“Women,” winked Chris.
She smiled.
“I should’ve known. What else could it be? Women or sports. Were you at least saying something positive about us?”
“Of course,” said Brandon . “Generally speaking, men talk about women in much nicer terms than women talk about men.”
“We also don ’t do it as often, ” added Michael.
“And we tend to perceive you as individuals—not as stereotypes, ” concluded Chris.
“Stereotypes? Where did that come from?” Joan asked hotly. “I ’ve just heard a suggestion that we don ’t talk about anything but men.”
Chris shook his head.
“You should’ve heard yourself. ‘Women or sports, ’” he said, mimicking Joan ’s tone. “Now, that is an authentic dusty stereotype.”
“You’re right, ” Joan agreed with ease , “I ’ve oversimplified it.”
“Exactly,” Michael said. “Oversimplified. ‘I am not contained between my hat and boots .’”
“Who’re you quoting?” Ross wondered with a surprising interest.
“Whitman.”
Awakening, 2nd edition Page 18
