“Says you.”
“You probably just closed the deal for us.”
“What?”
“On his way out he told me he wants a meeting. Congratulations.”
Katherine was surprised. She’d done it, and, like Clay said, it hadn’t been that hard. When she’d asked Dugan to follow her to the upstairs hallway, away from the party, she’d been intimidated; not only was he large in stature, he was bold, confident, and no-nonsense. But she was a good talker—that part came easy. It felt natural, even. She’d smiled. He’d laughed. Then his hand had found her thigh. He was smooth; she didn’t even notice it move to her rear until he gave it a gentle squeeze. He’d left it there for no more than a minute. Two hundred thousand dollars per minute, she thought. She had to hold back a giggle that was equal parts relief and excitement. She and Clay turned to walk back to the house.
“He is big,” she said.
“Powerful,” Clay replied. He cocked his head and looked at her. “Did it turn you on?”
“Of course not,” Katherine said automatically.
“Of course not,” he agreed, then he smiled and strode off toward his BMW.
Moments later Katherine slipped inside the house. The other guests had left, and Stu was still banging around in the kitchen, cleaning up. She hurried upstairs and dragged her makeup stool into their walk-in closet, then closed the door behind her. She sat and listened for a moment with her cocktail dress bunched up around her waist before pulling her panties down to her ankles.
As aroused as she was, it took her less than a minute to satisfy herself.
* * *
Stu finished up in the kitchen. Doing dishes wasn’t his favorite chore—he didn’t like getting his hands dirty—but if he left them for Katherine, she would fuss over them for the rest of the night, and there would be less chance of getting some birthday sex. He put the last pan away, wiped his hands, and headed for the stairs.
He still enjoyed sex with his wife immensely. They had a routine that worked for each of them. It was efficient and convenient, and it satisfied both her and him every time. And she kept her body in such magnificent shape. Her flat tummy and narrow muscled buttocks were as much as a middle-aged husband could ask for. Just the thought of them still stirred him. He eased open their bedroom door and stepped inside. He heard a muffled sigh. It sounded like Katherine was inside the walk-in closet. He’d hoped to catch a glimpse of her undressing—always exciting. But the closet door was closed. He kicked his shoes into the corner and pulled off his socks, shirt, and pants. He’d already brushed his teeth in the guest bathroom downstairs—one less thing to interrupt the mood.
As soon as Katherine walked out, however, he knew it wasn’t going to happen. Not only did she look surprised and annoyed to find him standing there in his white briefs, but she was wearing baggy pajamas and looked spent. He couldn’t blame her; she’d just put on a big party for him. Besides, she’d seemed a bit distracted all evening. He wouldn’t pester her, he decided. She hated being pushed when it came to sex.
He smiled instead. “Thank you for the wonderful party.”
“Oh yes, of course.” She walked to him and gave him a peck on the cheek, and then skirted him to get to the bed.
He called after her. “You seem tired.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, confirming that there would be no action.
“No problem. I am too,” he lied. “I’m getting old, you know.”
“I know,” she said.
He winced. He’d hoped she would disagree. He glanced at the man in their bedroom mirror. A significant roll of white flesh hung over the elastic band of his underwear, not a grotesque amount, but enough. His shoulders were narrow, and a few gray hairs peppered his otherwise dark chest. Black hair was now growing over his shoulders too, and it crept down his stomach in a narrow line. Clay had called such hair a “treasure trail” once when he’d dated an Italian woman, but on a paunchy male it looked more like the seam on a basketball.
“Do you think I need an adventure?” he said to the mirror.
“I think your partner is an asshole,” Katherine answered from the bed.
Stu turned, surprised. “Why do you say that?”
Katherine didn’t answer for a moment. Then she rolled over away from him, turning to the far wall. “He didn’t bother to ask me if you could leave for a week, for one thing. A little notice would have been nice. I have a calendar too. You’ll miss the closing ceremonies for the farmer’s market, my gallery showing, and the mayor’s banquet. We bought a table.”
“Sorry. This is unexpected, even for Clay.”
“You don’t have to go.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Then don’t.”
She was right, Stu thought. He could make some excuse and decline. He stared at his wife’s back and considered it. “Will you think I’m a pussy if I don’t?” he asked.
Katherine made a snorting noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “It’s just not you, hon.” She pulled one pillow between her knees and draped her arms over a second so that she was armored in memory foam. “Get the light, would you?”
Stu turned out the light and groped his way into the bed, where he gave her a kiss on the back of the head. “I love you,” he said.
“Happy Birthday,” she mumbled.
CHAPTER 8
Stu stood in front of the boot wall at the Great Beyond, the warehouse-style outdoor sporting goods store the size of a city block on the outskirts of New Bedford. The towering display was designed to look like a climbing wall, and each sample boot sat on a narrow rock shelf that jutted from it. A smiling nineteen-year-old clerk in a khaki uniform stood at his shoulder, eager to help and more excited about Stuart’s trip than Stuart was himself.
“I’m going hiking,” Stu said. “It’s been a few years, and I don’t have any sense for what type of boot I need.” In truth, it had been a few decades.
The clerk bobbed his head. “No worries, bro. How far is your trek?”
“I dunno. Five miles, maybe?”
“What kind of terrain?”
“Alaskan wilderness.”
“Five miles in Alaska? That sounds more like a walk between homes up there than a hike.”
“I just need something basic. It’s only for this one trip.”
“If it’s really five miles, you can go with the Tenderfoot. It’s eighty-five dollars. A solid low-end choice. Good all-around boot.”
Stu pulled down a different but promising-looking pair. Brown. Simple.
“No,” said the clerk. “That’s the Urban Explorer. It’s more of a groomed trail shoe.”
“Groomed trail?”
“Gravel paths. Packed dirt. Concrete. I think you want something more in an adventure style.”
Adventure. “That sounds right. What’s the difference?”
“Weight. Waterproofing. Breathability. Durability. Traction. Ultimately, blisters.”
“Okay, okay. What do you recommend?”
“Do you pronate?”
“I have no idea what you just said.”
The kid pushed him on the shoulder, and Stu staggered backward.
“Hey!”
“Chillax, man. I just want to see your stance.” He looked down at Stu’s feet.
Stu tried to maintain his stance, whatever that was. “Well, what do you see?”
“Trail Quest Extremes would be good for you.” He pointed to a rainbow-colored pair of boots with reflective lettering that promised “Eco-Gel Comfort.”
Stuart turned over the price tag, and his eyes widened. His clerk nestled up to his shoulder to whisper in his ear like his conscience.
“Are you a guy who likes to be prepared, or do you wanna take a chance and go with the cheap ones?”
Thirty minutes later Stu hiked across the massive parking lot of the Great Beyond wearing two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar TQ Extremes. He also carried a sack stuffed full of Hi-Tec brand gear the clerk had recommended, inclu
ding fifteen-dollar socks, water-resistant pants, and a frameless backpack, and a five-hundred-page book titled Edwin’s Comprehensive Guide to Wilderness Survival.
* * *
“Six hundred dollars?” Katherine cocked an eyebrow.
“I thought it best to be prepared,” Stu explained.
“I hope Clay knows what he’s doing, because I know you certainly don’t.”
“He dated an outdoorsy gal at Oregon. They went camping and stuff.”
“Screwing a girl in a tent isn’t the same as taking on the Klondike.”
“There’s a cabin. The floatplane drops us off at the lake, and we hike in a few miles. We suffer for a week. We hike out. The plane picks us up again. No worries.” Stu tacked on the snippet of the young clerk’s vernacular to lend credibility to his faux outdoorsy confidence, but it didn’t sound quite right coming out of his mouth, and Katherine was unimpressed. He tried a different angle. “Clay’s new target client, Reggie Dugan, goes there all the time. He arranged it for us. He was at the party; Clay must have invited him. Land developer. You remember him?”
Katherine stiffened. “I think so. Big man, right?”
“Well, he’s a man’s man for sure, and a big game hunter. He keeps food and supplies in a hunting cabin for his visits. And he’s a builder, so the place should be nice. I’m guessing it’s a little open-beam number with a propane stove and a few mounted heads.”
“Lovely.”
“Clay says we have to catch fish and shoot cute furry animals to cook, or we eat beans.”
“There’s a gun? You’ve never shot a gun in your life.”
“Can’t be that hard. Point and pull the trigger.”
“You should probably leave that to Clay.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He seems more the type.”
“Type of what?”
“No offense. It’s just … ‘Stuart the Great Hunter’? I don’t think so.”
“I could kill … something.”
And then Katherine laughed. It was worse than if she’d outright said he wasn’t man enough. It didn’t make him feel annoyed or angry. Just sad. And old.
“I’m going to bring you something dead that I kill. You’ll see.” Then he smiled. He was relieved when she smiled back.
Katherine gave him a smooch on the forehead. “Some frozen salmon fillets would be fine.”
* * *
Logan International Airport was what Clay called “a cluster,” which Stu understood to be a polite shortening of the term cluster fuck. Crowds of travelers hurried to wait in lines at counters and security checkpoints. Stu and Clay had finally checked in and were on their way to security. Stuart had been forced to check two huge bags and pay extra for each.
Clay smirked. “I think you overpacked.” He carried only one bag—a backpack that was a standard size and weight. Stu couldn’t understand how he’d done it. Clay rubbed it in. “We’re gonna need a sled for all your stuff.”
Stu frowned. “There won’t be a lot of snow this time of year, will there?”
“Alaska pretty much invented snow, pal. But it shouldn’t be bad where we’re going for a couple more weeks. When you turn fifty, we can go back and do the Iditarod if you like.”
“Let’s just get through this.”
Clay held up their tickets. “Alaska Airlines to Seattle, then on to Fairbanks. A hired car will take us from there to the private airstrip. Our pilot will have rifles for us.”
“Wow. Sounds first class.”
“Dugan is rich. This is what happens when you run with the big dogs.”
“Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.”
A wolf whistle came from Clay’s pants, and he stepped out of the security line to fish around in his pocket, eventually producing his cell phone.
“Excuse me for a moment, partner.”
Stu watched as Clay paced back and forth a polite distance away from him and the other travelers. It was hard to determine the nature of the call. Clay looked both pleased and upset at the same time—a difficult expression to read. Finally he hung up and came marching back to the line.
“Dry cleaning done?” Stu joked.
“Dugan wants a meeting. He’d like to talk about jumping ship from Lambert and McClure.”
“Dugan? Really?” Stu knew Clay had been wooing the developer, and he knew the stakes.
“Yep. We’re his first call, thanks to your and your wife’s hospitality.”
“Next week is good. We should see him as soon as possible, before he visits other firms.”
“I agree. But next week is not as soon as possible. He’ll schedule other firms in the interim. He’s a man who makes decisions and takes action.”
“We don’t want to do it over the phone. That’s not a good idea. The phone is very impersonal.”
“We need this, Stu.”
“I agree it’s a good opportunity.”
“Cut the crap. This is the biggest recurring client we’ve ever had interested in us. And I’ve been working him for months.”
Stu felt his heart flutter. “You want to cancel the trip? Because I’m okay with that.”
Clay paced again, debating. “No. In fact, hell no. You need this.”
“I don’t need this. Besides, I can need it next year. We’ll reschedule.”
Clay shook his head. “No. You go. I’ll stay and take care of Dugan.”
“What?”
“The directions are all in this packet, and your pilot will get you where you need to be. Done.”
“No, no. Not done. We should meet with Dugan together. He had a firm of ten lawyers. We’re only two. Without me, we’re only one.”
“I can handle it. You know I can. I’m the one who’s been working this. I’ll dazzle him, and when you get back, you’ll calculate the rates and do all of the paperwork and boring shit.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s what you’re good at. This is what I’m good at. Look, this is exciting. You’re getting the best of both worlds here. You go, you clear your head, you become a new man. When you get back, we kick our practice into a higher gear. It’s all good. Besides, I’ll be able to tell him that you’re out blasting crap at his cabin. That will give him a boner for our office for sure.”
Stu’s head swam. The idea of heading into the woods alone was significantly different than going with Clay. It felt like a bad decision, rash and rushed. The sort of decision he didn’t make. Ever.
“Come on,” Clay said. “Don’t be a pussy.”
“This isn’t the ninth grade. You can’t shame me into going.” But he did feel shame. Caution’s birthplace was fear; he was scared. There was no other way to analyze it. Katherine would nod knowingly and say the she’d known he wouldn’t go through with it. His own woman would think him less a man than Clay or Dugan. Dugan himself would think he was a coward. And Clay would probably make a joke about it at the meeting.
To Stu’s surprise, however, Clay’s expression softened. “Sorry,” he said. “If you want me to go with you on the trip, I’ll schedule Dugan for next week. I just have to call him back.”
“No,” Stu said suddenly. “I’m going. You stay. Get the deal done.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure. In fact, hell yeah. You’re right. I’ve never done anything like this.” A week in a cabin, he thought. How hard can it be? A professional pilot and not too much snow. Couldn’t be worse than law school or the bar exam, and he’d survived those lower planes of hell. Besides, he had Edwin’s five-hundred-page guide to everything the wilderness could throw at him. He hoisted his carry-on to his shoulder with a manly grunt. “Actually, I’m psyched. I’m going to split wood and shoot shit and not take showers, and it’s going to kick ass.”
CHAPTER 9
The turnaround in Seattle was quick, and Stu had to take a mini-train to a satellite terminal to catch his Alaska Airlines flight to Anchorage. His last connection would be a regional carrier to Fairba
nks. He fretted over whether his luggage would make the transfer, and the annoyingly chipper counter agent couldn’t reassure him. She would only say that the ground crew would “do their best,” which sounded suspiciously like the phrase’s less polite cousin “no promises.”
He’d been skimming the Edwin’s survival guide. It made everything seem easy enough. A lean-to was apparently a mere matter of leaning a couple of poles in the crooks of branches and stacking sticks on them. Simple. Starting a fire was, likewise, an easy step-by-step process, it said. And if he needed to hike anywhere, he had one goddamned expensive pair of boots to do it in.
A few disturbingly short hours later Stu stood in the Fairbanks International Airport terminal. He retrieved his two bags without any of his imagined troubles and put them on a cart with a loose wheel, then wobbled off looking for his ride. He wasn’t sure what to look for, so he kept an eye out for a man with a black sedan or a sign that said STARK on it. There was a phone number he could call from his cell phone if he didn’t spot it right away. He stood at the curb for a minute or two with no luck. Not only did he fail to spot his sedan, he failed to see any black sedans or signs held overhead. There were plenty of dirty pickups and old SUVs, however. Finally he went for his phone and dialed. It rang. A man answered at the other end.
“Hello?”
“Hi. This is Stuart Stark. I’ve just touched down, and I’m supposed to have a car waiting.”
“Just a sec.”
While Stu was on the phone, a grizzled man leaned out of a beat-up Ford F-250 4x4 with a winch bolted to the front. “Hey, bud!” he called out.
Stu stepped back from the curb to get out of his way.
The man honked. “Hey, bud!”
Stu waved him off.
The man on the phone came back on. “You standing at passenger loading?”
“Sorry,” Stu said. “Some idiot in a Ford POS is yelling at me.”
“Funny,” the man said. “I think that idiot is me.”
Stuart turned. The grizzled man held up a cell phone and wiggled it.
Nice. Stuart waved back and dragged his hamstrung cart toward the truck.
“Sorry,” Stuart said.
“That’s two sorries in two sentences. Not a great start. And what’s a POS?”
Impasse Page 5
