Lone Rock

by Duane Lindsay

  He’d called Maggie at her office on Tuesday to ask her out.

  “It’s about time.” Her voice sounded severe. “I was beginning to wonder about you.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Of course you were.” Her lone lightened. “So, where are you taking me?”

  “It’s a surprise,” Adrian said, because he feared her sarcastic streak.

  “Oh, goodie,” she said. “I like surprises.”

  “Saturday? I’ll pick you up around ten.”

  “All right.” She told him her address and gave instructions to find it. Adrian had already figured out Denver’s street numbering scheme, and felt confidence that comes with a GPS app on his new phone. Still he wrote down everything she said.

  “Turn left at the red Cadillac,” he repeated, feeling ridiculous.

  Saturday morning he was nervous, edgy and impatient. He left early, compelled by forces he didn’t understand. Her apartment was near downtown, in an ancient building on a street that reminded him of his old one back in Cleveland. It surprised him that he hadn’t thought of that life in months. Almost immediately, the memory of Jesus Gallegos came and sat with him, staring at him mutely, like a faded memory of a ghost.

  There was a Cadillac on the corner, an enormous seventies behemoth on three flat tires. Adrian understood why she used it as a landmark. It was like a giant cherry perched on the street.

  He looked at the paper clutched in his hand: garden level, rear. Don’t ring, the bell’s out of order. Go around and bang on the door. Heading to the back he heard the sound of a piano and he stopped to listen.

  The sound came from an open window. The music was slow and seemed melancholy to Adrian as he stood in the shade of the neighboring building. It sounded old, with a bass and chord rhythm under a bluesy melody. He moved closer and looked. Maggie sat at a mahogany upright, her hands moving casually across the keyboard. She was staring at sheet music, her head cocked to the side as if considering.

  The music stopped when he knocked at the door.

  “You’re early.” Maggie’s face was flushed, her hair a tousled mess. She ran a hand through it and looked embarrassed.

  “Was that you?” asked Adrian.

  “Yeah.”

  “It was good.” They stood at the door. “Can I come in?”

  “No.” Apparently he wasn’t welcome to that part of her life. “I’ll be right out.” Maggie closed the door in his face and returned several minutes later, hair brushed and blue jacket over one arm. She wore brown slacks and a pale pink short-sleeved blouse.

  The weather was warm for a morning in May. The trees were showing leaves, the grass was almost green and the streets were quiet. Adrian walked her to the car and held the door, got in the driver’s side and carefully secured the seat belt. He waited with the ignition on until she fastened hers.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The Mile High Flea Market.” Adrian watched nervously for her reaction. This relationship thing is difficult, he thought. No wonder I never did it before.

  She burst out laughing, an inelegant snort. “You’re kidding! Why did you pick that?”

  Adrian was stung by her laughter. He should’ve gone with the movie. “I thought that...the day is nice and the weather is...we could get to know each other—”

  “It’s perfect,” Maggie said.

  He looked sideways at her—was she kidding?

  “I can almost hear you thinking.” She dropped her voice to mimic a man. “Hmmm, it’s a second date, but maybe it’s not a date. Maybe she just wants to be friends. So we can’t go somewhere too serious, because she might get the wrong idea and we can’t go somewhere too cheap because she might get the right idea. So what to do?”

  Her voice rose back to normal. “So you chose the Flea Market. It’s the perfect engineer’s choice. Non-committal, yet interesting, not too pushy, yet intriguing enough to get the cute vote. I love it.”

  Was she mocking him? He felt amazingly vulnerable.

  “I thought we could walk around and look at things. See what we each like.”

  She touched his arm, making him more confused. “I love it.”

  The Flea Market was northeast of Denver in a sort of rural truck stop. Judging by the traffic, it seemed to be where everybody went on a pleasant spring morning. Adrian paid the admission and parked a long way from the entrance. He and Maggie walked companionably across the warm asphalt.

  “You’re walking better,” she said as they stopped at a table selling farm produce.

  “I am. Would you like a grapefruit?” He held one up to her. “Or a purple thing?”

  “That’s an eggplant.”

  “Oh.” He set the vegetable back down and they walked on, “I’ve been exercising,” he said. “Going to a rock climbing place.”

  “Rock climbing.” A dubious note in her voice.

  “Yeah, go figure. Turns out I like it.”

  Maggie paused to study and ancient Singer sewing machine in a beat up cabinet.” I like old wood.” She ran a finger lightly over the gold curlicue writing on the faded black paint. “What do you mean, rock climbing?”

  “It’s in a theater—used to be. They took out the seats and put in a rock wall for climbers. It’s got hand holds and different angles and it helps work out the muscles.”

  “How high?”

  “Maybe forty feet. Not very high.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of falling?”

  “Not really. I should be, but—” He shrugged. “Nothing. Zero fear.” He picked up a black tee shirt with red lettering that said “No Fear!”

  He pointed at the letters. “That’s me; no fear. But as he said it he remembered the night on the bus and knew better.

  They strolled up and down the wide aisles, dodging the other strollers, veering from one vendor to another. Adrian paused at a display of tools, Maggie looked at clothes and lingered at every music display to paw through battered old LP’s and faded sheet music. Adrian noted the records she paused on.

  “I have to go,” she said.

  “Oh.” Adrian was disappointed. “So soon? We’ve only just got here.”

  “To the lady’s room, goose.” She smiled and ruffled his hair as she went.

  As soon as she was out of sight he dashed back to a table and bought her a CD called Lady Sings the Blues, by Billie Holiday. He’d seen her pause over this one, reading the liner notes, reluctantly putting it back. He paid and rushed back to a table near several food vendors and waited.

  She smiled when she took it and looked at him as if she understood it a lot more than he did.

  “Thank you. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

  “Do you want a corn dog?” he asked, slightly embarrassed.

  “Ugh. Never.”

  Later, walking past a table full of white sports socks he asked her about her piano.

  “I play a little,” Maggie said.

  “What was it you were playing?”

  “It’s an old song called You Made Me Love You. She toyed with a juice drink absently, as if unsure whether to share this.

  “I liked it.”

  She looked at him, her expression solemn, unlike the brash dynamo he was accustomed to. Was he getting used to her? He considered it. This was the second time he’d been with her and enjoyed himself. True, they hadn’t talked much about anything, but he felt as if they could.

  Maggie said, “I was trying a melancholy version. The original was Bing Crosby and the Merrimac singers and they did it all up-tempo and I thought I’d like it better slower,” She looked at him carefully, awaiting his response, as if she’d confessed something shameful.

  “I have no idea what that meant,” Adrian said. “I don’t listen to music much, but it sounded like you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’ve been playing since I was little.” She smiled. “I took lessons for years until I started learning on my own. I like to arrange music. It’s like—” She stopped, looking for the words. “Whe
n I change the arrangement, I’m making it my own. Not that I wrote it, but like I’m taking old ideas and making them new and unique, making them mine. You know what I mean?” Her expression said she doubted he would and revealed her fear at having said this much.

  “I think I do. I feel that way about engineering, sometimes,”

  Maggie sipped at her drink and watched him over the rim of the cup.

  “You look surprised,” Adrian said. “There’s a sense of accomplishment when a problem works out. A clarity of vision and purpose when you do it right. What?”

  Maggie had begun to smile. “You’re not really a geek are you?” Her eyes were bright and her lip curled to the right in a way he hadn’t noticed before.

  Adrian hid behind his drink for a moment. This had become much more intense than he’d expected for a day at the Flea Market. “Not all engineers are geeks.”

  “Pretty much,” she answered.

  He was struck by an inspiration. “And you’re more than just a technical saleslady, aren’t you?”

  “Checkmate,” she said and smiled.

  They ate lunch at a pizza place on South Colorado Blvd., one he’d never heard of, and he dropped her back at her place around three.

  “I had a great time,” she said.

  “Me, too.” They were at her door. She opened it and stood in the doorway, in the same pose she’d been in this morning. This time it didn’t feel as if she was blocking him.

  “Call me,” she said and before he could say he would, she kissed him lightly on the cheek and closed the door in his face.

  20 – Ramon, Ruiz, and Rudy

  “It’s not going to happen, Adrian.”

  “But—”

  “The parts aren’t here. I’ve got everything else done, but no PLC. No PLC, no testing. Simple as that.”

  Adrian opened his mouth and closed it again. There was no point in blaming Gordon, but damn! His project was already late and still needed a week of testing for his program and there was no computer to run it.

  “I’ll go see Wally,” Adrian said.

  “Good luck.”

  “Yeah, right.” Wally Clooner was not going to be pleased. Remembering the scene of previous yelling, Adrian walked slowly, as if condemned.

  Ruth said that Wally could see him anytime and suggested that now was the best anytime he was likely to get. “He’s in a great mood for some reason,” she confided.

  She was right. Wally smiled broadly when Adrian entered. “Adrian Beck, my favorite engineer,” he laughed. “Get in here and take a load off.”

  Adrian was bemused—take a load off? He obligingly took the chair in front of Wally’s desk. Wally was wearing an expensive looking blue suit with a pale satin tie. It was the first time Adrian had seen him in an alligator-less shirt.

  “I need to talk to you, “Adrian said. Wally leaned forward attentively, cupping his chin on his palm. Adrian stopped, wondering how to approach this.

  “Um—”

  “Yes?”

  “I, uh, my project is...late,” he managed. Lame, he thought, but at least he’d started.

  “Uh-huh,” Wally said. He seemed mildly interested, not at all like the man who had chewed out engineers for more innocent events. On time, Adrian knew, was the mantra of all business owners and accounting managers. An explosion seemed inevitable.

  “It’s late; Adrian continued. “Because I don’t have the computer.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to correct that, won’t we?” Wally sat up and searched the top of his nearly empty desk. “Ah! Here we go. The materials will be delivered Thursday, May 17th.” He looked at Adrian. “That soon enough?”

  It was less than a week away and Wally Clooner wasn’t upset. Adrian decided to push his luck.

  “That’s great, Wally. Can I ask a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why do we have this policy of not ordering our own materials?”

  “Because it’s better for the company if we order it separately through purchasing,” Purchasing was Wally, with Ruth on data entry. Not having the engineers prepare their own orders was surely a time waster for both,

  “Uh-huh,” Adrian said. “Better how? I mean, if I ordered my own stuff I could work with the reps and get better prices. I’d get engineering support and could track my own orders.” He pushed on, seeing that Wally looked about to comment. “This delay wouldn’t have happened if I did my own orders.”

  “That may be, but we have reasons for doing it this way.”

  “Could I ask what they are?” Adrian was on thin ice, but felt he had to continue. He thought about Maggie Powers. Everybody wondered why Control-logics’ engineers didn’t do their own ordering.

  “I don’t think I’ll answer that.” Wally said, finally showing his usual temper. “I know there’s been talk but I’ve done things this way since the company started and I see no reason to change. Is that all?”

  “I—”

  “Is that all?”

  Adrian realized the mystery wouldn’t be solved at this time. “Yes.”

  “Good, because I have something else for you. After the computer gets here, how long do you need for testing?”

  “A week,” Adrian guessed.

  “Fantastic,” Wally-the-happy-boss had returned like a chameleon. “Because as soon as you’re done you’re going to the field to install it.”

  Adrian was dazed. He’d expected to do field work, that was clear when he’d been hired, but so soon?

  “I’m going to Arizona?” He hoped his voice didn’t sound as plaintive as he felt.

  “Your leg’s okay, right?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Then it’s settled, you’re going to Arizona,”

  “Great,” Adrian said, feeling like a man on his way to the guillotine. “Just great,”

  The wardrobe of an engineer varies widely, from white shirt and tie to blue jeans and work boots, hard hat and safety glasses. Adrian, dressed in the former, sat in Wally’s office, learning he would soon need the latter.

  “The Del Norte is a Uranium tailing site in Red Mesa, Arizona, past southern Colorado, beyond Cortez. What do you know about Uranium tailings?”

  “Nothing,” Adrian said.

  “Uranium tailings,” Wally leaned back in his chair. “Are piles of dirt that may be contaminated with radioactive elements. This one’s from a company that mined in the fifties and stopped when the cost of raw Uranium went down in the seventies. They left a huge pile of waste which the government is making them clean up.

  “We have the contract to supply a control panel and programming for the cleanup operation, and since you designed the panel, you may as well program it.”

  Adrian flew to Cortez via a small shuttle plane with three salesmen, a stewardess and, presumably, a pilot. In a tiny rented car, he drove ninety miles into the most amazingly empty space ever imagined. If loneliness had a place to live, he thought, this would be it. Flat and treeless, bare sky, brown grass rustled by a constant wind that muscled the car at every opportunity, making the drive a howling creaking fight with the steering wheel. In the distance stood tall fingers of rock that never seemed to get nearer or farther, like a painted background, distant and unreal.

  He turned onto a dirt road that was part path, part washed out rut. He drove slowly until he came to a shed made of corrugated metal with a flat roof at a slight angle. It was little more than the size of an outhouse. with a door and a guard leaning from a small window, frowning.

  The guard checked his ID and pointed past the chain link fence toward the top of another flat roofed building, faded in the harsh sun like a bleached skeleton.

  Adrian parked at the end of a line of a dozen old pickup trucks, got out and stood by the side of the car. How could anyone ever work here? Adrian wondered. I’m only going to spend a week and already the aching emptiness of the place is smothering me.

  His first field assignment. His shoulders sagged and he squinted against the sun. Even the light
seemed faded and diffuse, as if it had better places to be. Here the weather didn’t change suddenly, it spanned eons, moving with stately indifference. Summer heat became winter cold with no perceptible movement.

  But there was wind. It danced playfully around the sandy hills, throwing up tiny vortexes, swirling around to hit the eyes from any direction. Adrian opened the trunk and gathered his newly purchased belongings. He wore new steel toed work boots, bright and unscuffed, dark blue jeans, still creased and stiff, and a khaki work shirt from Sears with a collar that chafed his neck.

  He slung a laptop computer in a sleek turquoise nylon case over his shoulder, carrying the new hard hat. With a firm click he closed the trunk and walked into antique chaos. The building held hulking old machines. brown and rusted with faint streaks of white corrosion, dirty with age and neglect. Adrian walked between the relics, wondering at their original use, until he came to an office. He entered through a brown wood door with a frosted glass window and was greeted by a military looking man wearing a white short sleeved shirt and jeans.

  “Rudy Griswold, the project manager.”

  “Adrian Beck. With Control-logics.”

  “The controls guy. “After a brief glance at Adrian’s outfit he grabbed a battered red hard hat and hustled out of the office.

  Rudy walked quickly, always in a hurry, and Adrian struggled to keep up.

  In a low spot behind the old building a new structure was nearly completed, made of steel beams and tin walls painted a shockingly vivid light blue with white trim. It had a look of efficiency and purpose alien to this remote desert. Rudy led the way into a large room with high ceilings laced with catwalks. There was new concrete beneath ubiquitous yellow painted lines Strange equipment sat in crazy order: water pumps and huge blue fiberglass tanks and a pair of cylindrical air strippers. Gauges mounted on copper pipes, white faced with black letters, needles uniformly at zero, waited like soldiers for their watch to begin.

  They entered a very modern control room with air conditioning cold enough for shivers. Next to the door was Adrian’s control panel, dominating the room.