Chance Encounter

Chance Encounter

Autumn Writer

Chapter 8 -- Endings and Beginnings - Part I

In early November the weather turned cold and raw. Everyday, the sky was the color of lead. Paul’s cabin was closed for the winter. The leaves were off the trees. It was that in-between season between Fall and Winter. There were a few flakes of snow in the air, but nothing yet on the ground. Conversation split around two topics: would Michigan beat Ohio State and earn a trip to the Rose Bowl; was it going to be a tough winter and how much would it cost to heat the house. All-in-all, it meant that life was about normal. To Paul, it meant getting some work done. There were new items on his plate. A trip to inspect new plants in Latin America was not far off. The EU was promoting some new environmental standards, which meant even more travel. His area was understaffed and a recruiting program was under way. He also promised to recruit a local football prospect for his alma mater. Paul was busy and that’s the way he liked it.

A favorite project of his was coming to a close that evening. It was bittersweet, because of all his works-in-process, this one meant the most to him. It was more important than the Peoria project, or the related lawsuit. It took priority over Glenda’s job. It was a labor of love, so to speak. At the outset, all had seemed bleak. Careful, well-thought-out steps had changed that around. He was proud of his part in it, but he was really only an auxiliary to the main player. His secondary role didn’t detract from the happiness of the moment.

He took the occasion to try the new Italian restaurant in town. It was not so new anymore—only to Paul. He sat at his table sipping a glass of Chianti reminiscing how he and Sally would always try the new restaurants in town. It was one of their hobbies, like swimming nude on a summer’s morning at their cabin on the Peninsula. Sally and Paul always liked to share pleasures. It polished the apple, and that somehow made it taste sweeter. There was the pleasure of giving and the duty to receive, and the way they compounded each other. Glenda was a lot like Sally in that way. It was a memory of the past, but Paul realized that some men go through life without ever experiencing it at all.

Paul reminded himself to focus on the subject of the evening. He wondered why his mind had strayed to days gone by. He had never been a ‘remember-when’ kind of guy. It was a sign of growing old, he reasoned. That was sad, because his body still felt fit. His mind did, too, but his prospects for future youthful activity were poor. Still, he couldn’t help reminding himself that there were some good old days. He had to snap back to attention because his guest for the evening was approaching his table.

“Audrey, it sure is nice to see you!” Paul exclaimed as he stood.

Paul hadn’t seen Audrey since that day in the hospital several months ago. They spoke often by telephone. Audrey sent Paul her resume’ and he circulated it for her. She traveled from Springfield to Michigan to discuss her prospects with him. Paul observed that Audrey’s looks had returned to normal after the beating inflicted on her by Craig Morehead. He was interested to find the status of her internal scars, too. He would let that wait, because he knew that his protégé was eager to tell him about her future plans. That was a good sign in itself, in Paul’s opinion.

“I can’t believe that you drove all the way here,” he continued.

“It wasn’t too bad.” she answered.

“It was eight hours!” he retorted.

“I guess I was a little eager,” she admitted, with a little laugh.

Paul reached out his hand and Audrey took it. Paul gave it a gentle clasp. Audrey was not frail, but Paul never put the iron vise on ladies; he saved it for men at times of his choosing. Audrey’s face flashed a look of expectation, and quickly of disappointment. Paul saw it. He interpreted it right away. Audrey had expected a hug from her mentor, not the handshake.

Paul was sorry that he hurt Audrey’s feelings, but her reaction told him that he was right to keep the greeting to the handshake. Audrey had never tried to hide her feelings for him. It started the day that they met together in his office over the phony drawings that she had just wrested from Craig Morehead. Paul had difficulty understanding Audrey’s attraction to him. On their first meeting she had declined to take a chair out of deference to his age. From that beginning, she seemed to look upon him as a thirty-year-old. Paul had no such illusions.

A waiter arrived at their table to take orders for drinks. Paul already had a glass of wine, and he stayed with that.

“I’ve never had Chianti,” Audrey admitted. “I don’t know much about Italian cuisine at all. Marge Bates and I ate here together, but all I had was Spaghetti and Chablis.”

“Let’s get a bottle, then, and we’ll share it!” Paul said. “I’ll help you order dinner, too. I love Italian food. I hope you’re hungry.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she said. “I’d like to try something new.”

Paul had no illusions, either, about his feelings for Audrey. He admired her courage and honesty. She was intelligent and sincere. Her smiling face reminded him of a flower opening in Spring. He had been close to giving in a few times. The idea was so tempting. It would be an easy jump from the dinner table to her hotel room. His feelings went deeper than fondness. At times he felt himself a father to her, or maybe a close uncle. At other times he was her mentor. In between, he heard a voice that urged him to become her lover.

“Tell me about you job prospects,” he urged.

Paul already knew that she had an offer from the State of West Virginia for a similar position that she had with the State of Illinois. Paul had sent her resume to that State’s Commissioner. They were old friends and teammates from their college football days.

“There are two positions that I have offers for right now,” Audrey answered. “There are two others that I think will turn into offers if I wait long enough. I’ve already given my resignation to Larry Wilton. I’ve been sitting there with nothing to do lately, anyway.”

Paul nodded approval. “You’ve done quite well for yourself,” he said.

“Every time I went to an interview I would hear ‘Paul Crane said this…Paul Crane said that’. I owe you a lot of the credit.”

“After what you did, Audrey, you deserved a little push,” he told her. “Even if there had been no ‘Morehead’ episode, you still gave up a lot to do the right thing. That deserves some consideration.”

The ‘Morehead episode’ was their code word for her brutal rape. The euphemism allowed them to avoid the harsh words without running away from the reality of it. He was always testing her in little ways to see if she was still forging ahead, despite the trauma. To Paul, it seemed like she was.

“Well, tell me about them,” Paul said.

“I have an offer from the Environmental Commission of the State of West Virginia,” she began. “It’s more or less the same position as the one that I’m leaving. It’s a nice offer because of the positive work environment. It’s smaller than the office in Illinois, so maybe it will be less bureaucratic. By the way, Mr. Campbell told me he played football with you at State! I didn’t know that you played football in college.”

“Ancient history!” Paul declared. “Let’s get back to you.”

“There is a consulting firm that will probably make me an offer,” she continued. “It sounds interesting.”

Paul nodded his head, a sign to continue.

“I have an offer to enter a doctoral program at the University of Minnesota. There is a Graduate Assistant position that goes with it that would pay my way. It would be a lot less money than I’ve been used to, but I could manage it. I might be able to pick up some other work along the way. The professor told me that you wrote him a nice recommendation letter.”

“The final possibility would be a job with a state agency in the South. They’re having trouble getting the position funded, so that would be a long shot,” she concluded.

By that time their entrees were in front of them. Paul ordered the veal for both of them. It was a good choice.

“If you want to go into consulting, I would suggest getting your PhD first,” Paul advised. “With it, you would have a better expectation of a partnership. With a Masters you may be thought of as a journeyman.”

“…or a journeywoman.” Audrey corrected with a smile.

“Then it boils down to working in West Virginia, or studying in Minnesota,” Paul surmised. “It really depends upon your goals. You’re still young. You have a long career in front of you.”

“I think that you’re telling me to go for the PhD,” Audrey said.

“I think that is what you’re telling yourself,” Paul answered. “I think that you should listen.”

Audrey beamed a broad smile. “I knew you would say that! I was hoping that you would. I think that I will.”

Paul flashed a smile back to her.

“Don’t be afraid of the challenge. You can do it. Look at what you’ve handled already.”

Audrey didn’t answer, so Paul pressed her.

“How are your counseling sessions going?” he asked.

“The counselor said that I was doing alright—that I didn’t have to come back. She said that I could call her if I needed her, but I haven’t.”

“Any bad dreams—any flashbacks?” Paul asked.

Audrey shook her head.

“I was actually out cold when he did it,” she reminded him. “Maybe I was lucky that way. I remember fighting him. I thought that I could fight him off up until everything went black. I’ll always know that I never gave in. That helps a little.”

“I think that you’re going to be fine. Just remember that you have friends that you can lean on if you have to,” Paul assured her.

********

As they were finishing their entrees Audrey grew quiet.

“You look like you have something else on your mind,” Paul said.

“I do!” she declared. “It’s hard to come right out with it, but this is the last time we may ever have together when it’s just the two of us.”

Paul raised his eyebrows in anticipation. “I’m ready to listen.”

“It’s just this,” Audrey’s lower lip trembled a bit. “I want very much to have a relationship with you. I want it to be more than just being what we are now. I want to have it tonight.”

Paul had anticipated her plea, but the directness of it surprised him, nonetheless. He should have expected her to be bold, he told himself. Her courage was one of her traits that he admired so much.

“Audrey,” he answered, “you know that once would never be enough, at least for me.”

“That would suit me fine.”

“Would it?” Paul asked. “Maybe it would for a while. Of course you have plans to go to Minnesota, and my life is here. It would be a long-range relationship.”

Paul looked at her and she shrugged her shoulders. He knew that she was undeterred.

“You are twenty-eight—just starting out. I’m fifty-four. In ten years you will be at your peak. I will be sixty-four—definitely past mine. In twenty years you will be forty-eight—still a beautiful and vibrant woman. I’ll be seventy-four.”

“I’ve already thought of that,” she said. Tears were forming in her eyes.

“It’s a selfish thing for me, really,” Paul went on. “One day you would realize that you had made a mistake and that you should have found a younger man. But, I know you; you would never leave me, or even let me know that you wanted to. You would stick it out without saying a word. I would know it—I know it now—and that is the part that I couldn’t stand. I’m so sorry, Audrey. I’m asking you to do this for me.”

She sat sobbing, trying not to make a scene in the restaurant.

“That doesn’t mean that I would ever not want to be your friend,” Paul said. “It means a lot to me. I hope that we can continue as we are.”

Audrey didn’t look up. She had stopped crying. She nodded her head.

“You should know that it was a close call for me. If I cared for you less than I do, the answer would have been different.”

Paul had spoken the truth.

****************

Marge Bates was busy setting the table in the dining room of her home. It was four-thirty on a Sunday afternoon. She was getting the chore out of the way because she still had a lot of things to do. It had been a long time since she used the good silver and china. It was a pleasure. She got the Waterford out, too. She held nothing back. She finished setting the two places, put the serving pieces on the side and the white candles in the brass holders. She opened the wine to breathe—a hearty burgundy. It would compliment the pot roast that she had roasting in the oven. She checked on it, and finding it progressing as planned, made her way upstairs to get ready.

She finished brushing her teeth and stepped into the shower. The hot water felt good on the crisp November day. It cascaded over her head and shoulders. It was so relaxing. She let the spray pound the muscles in her back and took the soap and let it glide over her. First she washed her arms, then her chest and shoulders. She took some soap in her hands and rubbed it on her face and neck. She took a washcloth and did her legs. Soon she had her head full of shampoo. She took some of the lather into her hands. She couldn’t help herself. She massaged it into her breasts, soft and gentle, lifting and cupping them. She let her thumbs stroke over the nipples. She imagined a man doing it. It could have been Carl, her late husband, or her recent lover, Paul Crane. Then her thoughts turned to a man who had never touched them, Walter Hartley. She scooped more shampoo from her hair and let her hands rub the lather into her lower triangle of hair. The pressure of her fingers was firm, but light, and then she let them drift lower. She pressed her hips back to deepen the contact. In her mind it was Walter down there, working his magic, whatever he might possess.

She roused herself from her daydream and rinsed the shampoo from her hair and all around. She decided that it was her favorite brand of shampoo. It was time to select her wardrobe. It was important to choose just the right thing to wear.

“I need something with warm, inviting colors,” she began her mental checklist. “I need a top that lets him know that I have a nice set, but not too obvious. He’ll have to make a move if he wants to get to see them. Nothing’s for free in this world.”

She searched through her closet. She found just the right skirt. It was a pleated, burgundy-camel plaid. She matched it with a camel-colored short-sleeved sweater of merino wool with a snug fit over her torso, and finished it with a string of white pearls. The rich fabric gave a soft look, to contrast with her large breasts pushing out from it. A dab of perfume behind her ears and knees, a comb-out of the hair and she was ready.

It was an outfit that was comfortable and friendly. It would make a man feel at home, and put him on edge at the same time. In a younger world, she might appear matronly, perhaps frumpy. For a pair of fifty-somethings it was just right. Marge knew what she was doing. The presentation must be demure, lest it alarm the quarry. It must match her personality—avoid looking contrived. He would feel at ease in pursuing her. She would appear to be far from captured, so he would venture a swifter chase. With his reserve abandoned, she would turn suddenly to spring the sweet trap.

The hour was approaching six. Marge picked out some music. She was careful to make the right selections. She wanted nothing too peppy, better to be relaxing. A Mangione recording fit the bill nicely. She backed it up with an MJQ and one from Sinatra. She was thinking about another when she heard a car door slam outside in her driveway.

It was Walter, right on time. Marge noticed that he took pains to approach her front door slower than he had to. He wore that wary expression of a soldier entering enemy territory. He was armed as he ventured into ‘No Man’s Land’. He bore a bouquet of flowers in one hand. In the other was a paper bag, shaped in the obvious form of a wine bottle. His coat was open. He was wearing grey flannel slacks, and a navy, wool vest with a plaid shirt underneath. He finally reached her door. From her view at the window Marge noted that he was as predictable as she had predicted that he would be.

“Come right in, Walter!” Marge didn’t wait for him to knock. “I heard your car in the driveway.”

Walter entered and Marge seized his coat and hung it in the hallway closet. He thrust the flowers at her.

“How nice!” she exclaimed. “I’ll arrange them for a centerpiece.”

He thrust the wine at her with the other hand. It was a bottle of California Chardonnay, still chilled.

“I didn’t know what you were having tonight, so I brought this along,” he mumbled.

“How wonderful!” cried Marge. “We’ll have some now. I already opened some red wine for the dinner table.”

Walter followed her into the kitchen. He raised his head slightly to take in the aroma.

“Something smells good in here,” he said.

“It’s pot roast—my specialty,” Marge answered. “I hope that you like it!”

“It’s been so long since I’ve had pot roast,” Walter replied, with longing in his voice.

“Oh, I’m sure of it!” said Marge with sympathy dripping from every word. “There must be a lot of things that you haven’t had in a long time.”

A quizzical look came over Walter’s face.

“—from the kitchen I mean,” she added after a pregnant silence. Walter said nothing.

“Why don’t you open the wine, Walter, while I cut these beautiful flowers for the table?”

She handed Walter a corkscrew, which he used to open the Chardonnay. He stood staring at the kitchen cabinets with a forlorn look.

“I was just trying to figure out where you keep your goblets,” he said.

“Oh, let me get them!” Marge said as she stepped between him and the counter. She opened the cabinet door and looked above.

“They’re on the top shelf; do you think that you could reach them, Walter?” She stepped aside to give him access to the cabinet, although in her heels Marge stood slightly taller than him.

“I don’t see them up there,” Walter replied, intent on his goblet quest.

Marge stepped closer, so that she was standing sideways to him. Walter was trapped between the kitchen counter and her. She was close—she was sure that he could smell her perfume. She heard him sniff the scent.

Marge stood on her toes and reached her arm up toward the top shelf, and as she did so her sweater, with her breasts pressing out from underneath it, thrust itself in front of Walter’s face, blocking out his vision of all else, except, possibly, the pearl necklace that she wore. She stood there for a few seconds, then stepped away as she was sure that she had adequately dangled the bait.

Walter’s eyes had grown larger and his face was a few shades more red than it had been.

“I just remembered!” she said wistfully. “I moved them to the china cabinet in the dining room.”

**********

Walter attacked the pot roast like a hungry man who loved pot roast.

“I have to admit that it has been a long time since I’ve had such good food, Marge,” he proclaimed. “You were nice to invite me to dinner.”

“Walter, I’ve enjoyed our times together over the past two months so much. I wanted to do something—more for you.”

“Everything was certainly delicious,” he repeated.

“There’s more of everything,” Marge offered. “…and a few courses that I haven’t served yet.”

“I only have room for some more wine,” he said. Marge divided the remaining contents of the Burgundy between his goblet and her own.

“Look, Walter!” Marge exclaimed. “We’ve drained two bottles of wine. No wonder I feel a little tipsy. I thought it was because of you!”

They both laughed.

“I thought that it might have been your aftershave,” she explained.

“I’m not wearing any,” he informed her.

“You’re not?” Marge exclaimed. “I was sure that you were. Let me check.”

Marge rose from her chair. She grasped both of Walter’s shoulders and thrust her face close and alongside Walter’s. She felt his body stiffen at her sudden intrusion into his space.

“I was sure that you were wearing some,” she said as she retook her chair. She started giggling. “I’m wearing some perfume, could you tell, Walter?”

Walter nodded his head quickly. “Yes!” he gasped.

“I’m tipsy from the wine,” Marge giggled seductively. “I feel as vulnerable as a schoolgirl.”

She leaned into Walter and whispered, “You wouldn’t take advantage of me, would you?”

“No, Marge, don’t worry,” was his nervous reply.

“No, I should think not! At my age a woman doesn’t have to worry about that any more.”

“Nonsense, Marge! I think of you as being very attractive.”

Marge scooted her chair closer to Walter’s. Their knees touched and Marge noted that he didn’t pull away.

“Do you think so?” she asked. “You wouldn’t just say that, would you?”

Walter shook his head and took a deep breath. Marge back away a little and waited for Walter to speak.

“Marge, I took a chance and bought some tickets for us. I hope you can go.”

Marge waited patiently for Walter to finish.

“It’s for the performance of Handel’s “Messiah” at the University of Michigan down in Ann Arbor. It will be on the first Saturday in December.”

“That sounds wonderful, Walter!” Marge exclaimed.

Walter’s face took on a satisfied look.

“But there’s just one problem,” Marge put on a frown.

“What?” Walter was suddenly deflated.

“It would be such a long drive in the winter—two hours one way—and it would be so expensive for two hotel rooms,” Marge pointed out.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Walter said, but Marge knew that he must have.

“Walter, at our age lost opportunities are more expensive than when we were younger.”

She let her point hit home and placed his hand gently over his. Walter was silent, but Marge could tell that his mind was stepping nicely into line. He picked up his half-full cup of wine and drained it. Marge leaned forward. She whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe as she spoke.

“I made some apple pie for dessert. We can have some later.”

She gently clasped his hand and led him upstairs. Walter wore a nervous smile. Soon he would be wearing nothing else.

Poor Walter never stood a chance, but he may not have wanted one in the first place.

**********************

The holidays passed quietly. Paul was happy to have his daughter and son home from school for a few weeks. It gave him a chance to catch up with them. He didn’t mention his romances with Glenda and Marge to them. Both were in the past. It would be pointless to upset them.

Marge and Walter were still an item. She didn’t talk a lot about it, but Paul noticed her stepping lightly about the office as she did her filing. She seemed happy. Paul was glad that she was.

Ted Wilson told Paul that Glenda had taken a new job at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. She was the Appointments Secretary for the General Counsel. She handled the schedule, appointments and travel arrangements of that executive. She reported to the Counsel’s Administrative Assistant’ and was taking Paralegal Training at night, hoping to step into the higher level when the incumbent retired in September. Paul was happy for her.

The lawsuit involving the Peoria Project was slow in its progress. The lawyers had been in court countless times. Not a single word had been argued in favor or against the plant. The issue was whether the case belonged in State or Federal Court. Hopkins brought the suit in Federal Court, the tribunal of choice for activists. Wilton’s Agency, of course, preferred its own brand of judge. As the case ping-ponged between courts, Paul gave up on ever building a solvents plant in that city. When he thought of the waste, it angered him, but he had other work to do.

January gave way to February. Business took Paul to Latin America and then to Texas. It was nice to have a respite from the Michigan winter. He had important business in Corpus Christi and Texas City. From there, he took a flight to Georgia to interview a candidate for the Plant Engineer position at the Marietta Plant. The whole trip consumed two weeks and he was glad to be heading home. He found himself in Atlanta’s Hartsfield Airport awaiting his flight back home.

He was ambling down the concourse when he heard his name paged over the public address. He wasn’t expecting to meet anyone that day. He walked up to an information desk and the attendant handed him a message: “Meet Leonard Raines in the Red Carpet Lounge”.

Paul knew Raines. Usually, they were adversaries. Leonard Raines was Executive Director of Concerned Scientists of America (CSA). The two men seldom agreed on anything to do with business, engineering or science. For some reason Paul couldn’t muster a dislike for Raines like the one he had for Arthur Hopkins. Raines had impeccable credentials, including a PhD in microbiology. Paul knew him to be very intelligent and sincere in his views. If Paul saw a shortcoming, it was Raines’ inability to do a reasonable job of controlling his herd of zealots. He had heard that Raines hadn’t sought out the administrative job. His reputation had landed him there. For organizations like his, the power of name recognition and prestige carried as much weight as science achievement.

They had clashed many times. Paul always noted that Raines never went personal when he skirmished. Paul appreciated that. Many of Raines’ people didn’t have the same discipline. Arthur Hopkins was a good example. As always, with money flowing into a controversy, the stakes increased along with passions. Grants from foundations and government were the fuel that powered CSA’s engine. The profit motive and competitive advantages drove Dunn’s. Both men had been around enough to realize that there was always plenty of margin for error on both sides of any argument. That was their private face. In public they had to growl and bare their teeth, or the press would be disappointed.

Paul arrived at the lounge. He slid his keycard into the security door and punched in his PIN. He wished that the airliners were guarded as closely as the private VIP bars in the nation’s airports.

“Go ahead and blow us out of the sky—just stay away from our booze,” he said to himself and to no one else in particular. Paul knew he was tired. He always became sarcastic when he was worn out.

He sauntered up to the bar and got a Scotch. He looked around and finally found Leonard Raines sitting at a table in the corner, almost unnoticed. He strode over to him.

“Hello, Leonard!” he called out. “It’s good to see you.”

Raines was about Paul’s age. He had a slender build and was shorter than average. His hair was wavy and salt-and-pepper colored with a matching beard. He was a quiet sort of fellow, not given to idle chat or bluster. In another time and place Paul and Leonard may have become friends.

Paul startled Raines, who had been lost in his thoughts.

“Hello, Paul. I’m glad that you got my page.”

They extended their hands and shook them as they got close enough.

“I was trying to reach you at your office. They told me that you were passing through Atlanta. I took the liberty,” Raines explained.

“I’ve got ninety minutes before boarding,” Paul told him, taking a pull on his Scotch.

“They cancelled my flight to New York. I’ve got two hours,” Raines one-upped him. “We haven’t seen one another in more than a year.”

Paul nodded. He sensed that Raines had something to say, but was having a hard time getting started. Paul was very good at cutting to the chase.

“What’s up, Leonard?” Paul demanded.

“It’s this suit over that plant proposal in Peoria, Illinois,” Raines started. “I just wanted to let you know that we never really wanted it.”

Paul stifled his disbelief at what Raines said.

“You’ll have to explain this to me, Leonard. I’m sure that you remember that you are the plaintiffs and we’re the defendants.”

“It’s Hopkins!” Raines began. “He did this on his own without our approval. It was done before we even knew it existed. He arranged it with Northwestern Law School without our knowledge. By the time we found out about it, it was too late.”

Raines’ revelation reminded him of the long-destroyed compromising photos of Hopkins and Judson. Paul envisioned how Raines’ story could have happened. He decided to keep that to himself.

“What do you mean ‘too late’? Why don’t you pull the plug on him?” Paul asked.

Raines looked away. Paul could see that he was groping for a way to answer.

“There is a lot of money being wasted on this lawsuit,” Paul pressed on, not waiting for Raines to reply. “That plant should be up and running now. Your case has no merit. The lawyers have been in court a dozen times, and they haven’t even argued the facts yet.”

Paul paused, expecting an answer from Raines. Receiving none, he continued.

“There’s a construction company owned by a guy named Harry Carmichael that was nearly ruined because they were slated to build that plant. They turned down three other jobs, and then got left high and dry. Think of the people down there that should have jobs. On top of all that, Dunn should be down there producing, taking over the market, instead of wasting its money on these lawyers.”

Paul waited again for his answer, and still didn’t receive it.

“Leonard, I hope you don’t mind some free advice, but I would have to say that your organization is out of control.”

Raines turned his gaze from the window and looked at Paul.

“I know,” he said, almost in a whisper.

“Is that what you paged me for?” asked Paul, rising from his chair. “I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“Wait, don’t go,” pleaded Raines. “You’ve got to understand about Hopkins. We both know that he’s a quack, but he’s a quack with a big following. A lot of people think that he walks on water. Those people are the ones who make contributions to our organization; they write their congressmen to support us with grants. When I confronted Hopkins about this, he threatened to split away from us—go public—take his support with him. He’s got us over a barrel.”

“So this is really a PR battle!” Paul replied. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I thought that you might have a solution,” Raines suggested.

“Like what?” Paul demanded. “Do you want us to give up the suit?”

Raines nodded. “We could have a secret arrangement to accommodate you another time.”

“Not a chance!” Paul countered.

“We really don’t want this,” Raines said. “You have to understand—our hands are tied.”

Paul thought for a minute. Raines’ admissions infuriated him. Paul fought to control his anger. If there was a chance that the Peoria problem could be resolved, he didn’t want to lose it.

“There is something, Leonard,” Paul said. Raines leaned forward.

“Let me tell you that I am going to divulge this because I’ve been able to trust you in the past,” Paul warned. “If you use this against me, it won’t go down easy.”

“I’ve always been straight with you, Paul,” Raines assured him.

“It’s just this.” Paul began. “There’s a plant proposal of ours in Corpus Christi that I know that you’ve filed a brief against.”

“I know of it. We filed, but never thought that our suit had much chance,” Raines replied.

“We’re not going through with it. We already have a plant in Texas City. We’ll expand that plant and put the production in there. It will be announced next week. You must promise to lay off the Texas City expansion. You can take credit for foiling the Corpus Christi project. Then, you can order the suit in Peoria dropped. If Hopkins and his followers howl, you can say that you flogged Dunn Chemicals already, just used a different whip. They won’t like it, but they’ll swallow it.”

Raines eyes lit up. Paul knew that he had carried the ball into the end zone.

“That just might work!” Raines exclaimed.

“You have to make it work!” Paul commanded. “In the meantime, I’ll set things up at our office. I’ll call you in a day or two to coordinate. It will be good for everyone. You’ll have Hopkins under control, the suit will go away, and we’ll have cover for backing out of Corpus Christi.”

They clinked their half empty glasses together to seal the agreement.

And so, while two men were waiting for a plane in Atlanta, they resolved the lawsuit over the proposed Peoria Plant. They accomplished what an army of lawyers could not in months of wrangling and maneuver. Their budget was the cost of two drinks. They didn’t need blackmail, fraud or bribery. It was, after all, very easy.

************

TO BE CONTINUED