Dear Readers,
This is a sequel to a story that I wrote some time ago, "The End of Summer". It is written in such a way that you can enjoy it without reading its predecessor. If you could read the first part, however, it would enhance the experience of the second.
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He didn't know what he was doing in the department store, looking at men's shirts, but not really interested. Paul hated stores, but he hated airports more. It was just something to kill the time before leaving for Midway Airport. He had his overnight bag over his shoulder and briefcase in his hand. He looked around for a coffee shop as a place to change gears. Not finding one, he turned his attention back to the displays.
The meeting hadn't gone as well as Paul expected. The contractor was supposed to be ready and the state regulators should have been on board. There were still a lot of loose ends and loose cannons. No one had done their homework. It would mean more commutes to Chicago than he had planned on. It's not that he disliked the Windy City; he enjoyed it. The restaurants were the best; the population the friendliest. It was easier to root for the Bears than the hapless Lions. It was the commute that irritated him: the puddle-jumper from Saginaw, the switch in Detroit, the taxi ride from O'Hare or Midway to downtown Chicago.
"Comes with the job," he thought to himself. "I asked for it—I got it!"
He went back to searching through rows of shirts. He knew that he wasn't going to buy anything; he was just going through the motions. He was doing that a lot more than he would like, lately. That's why he sought the job he had. There was no going through the motions in it. After Sally's death five years ago he needed something to dive into. This position was just the ticket, and he was well-qualified, too.
There was a voice in the background. At first, he didn't acknowledge it because he hadn't expected any strangers to call him by name. When the sound drifted from his subconscious to the front of his brain, he quickly turned toward the source.
"Paul—Paul Crane?" the voice called out.
A woman, about his age, looked at him expectantly. She was thin, wore glasses. She had red hair with a few gray streaks in it. Some might say that she was a little plain-looking, but certainly neat and well-put-together. She looked vaguely familiar.
"You don't recognize me—it's Glenda Mahoney!"
Paul's first reaction was 'who in hell is Glenda Mahoney?', but a voice from his youth was shouting in the distance. Paul's mind's eye was driven back to a hot summer afternoon many years ago.
"Glenda! I don't believe that I'm looking at you. What are doing here? You look great—it's so nice to see you!" Paul clasped her hand, shocked at the pleasant surprise."
"I'm very happy to see you, Paul. I live in Chicago. I should ask you what you're doing here."
"Commuting," he replied. "I live in Michigan. I work for a chemical company up there. We had a meeting in Chicago today. Right now, I'm just killing time before my flight home. I'd much rather spend it with you going over old times."
"I can't," she told him. "It would be nice if I could, but I'm late getting back to the office already. Maybe if you get back this way ..."
"I'll be here in two weeks for a return meeting. Can I call you then?"
She gave him some information that he wrote in his daybook.
"It was nice seeing you, Paul. I've got to run."
She turned, hurrying out the door. Paul watched her disappear. He had always wondered what had happened to Glenda, the enigmatic girl who initiated him into the world of carnal knowledge in a wooded grove thirty-six years ago. Maybe he would find out.
Paul had no appetite left for shopping. He left the store and caught a cab to the airport.
*****************
Paul didn't mind the long trip back this time. Seeing Glenda gave him a lot to think about. He dusted off the old memory of his youth. She had followed him into a pine grove, where they lay on a blanket on a hot August afternoon and gave each other their virginities. It was during the summer after they graduated from high school together. After that, they went separate ways. He still didn't know onto which paths Glenda's life had led her.
As the turbo-prop bumped along the clouds, Paul ambled down memory lane. A few days after his encounter with Glenda, he rode off to State University. He played football and studied chemical engineering. He turned out to be pretty good at both.
Paul still worked for the same company that paid his way through grad school. He was named Vice-President of Engineering a year ago. It was a job that suited him. He had high professional standards; he was determined; he was a good leader.
At fifty-four he didn't have much to do, except his job. The kids were away at college. Five years earlier his wife of twenty-five years, Sally, had been killed by a hit and run driver. The devastating loss had driven him deeper into his work. Aside from that first time with Glenda, Sally had been the only woman he had ever been with. With her gone, no one else knew this. If a person were to speculate on the subject, they would surely arrive at the wrong conclusion. Paul still had good looks and an athlete's physique. His football fame brought celebrity. Those factors, and the casual sex mores of the seventies, would make one assume that Paul had many bed partners during his college years.
That may have been the norm, but for Paul, it just wasn't true. Studies and sports gave him little time for anything else. On top of that, in those days Paul had an introverted, not shy, personality. He was well spoken when called upon, but shunned casual small talk. He parsed and analyzed layers of meaning in every encounter. People respected Paul, but, except for a few close friends, it was hard to get close to him in those days. Sally later helped him out of his shell, without destroying the sincerity that made him the person that he was.
Many around him, including his children, encouraged Paul to search out female companionship after Sally's death. Paul had no interest. He still wore his wedding band five years after the sad event. No one would ever take Sally's place. With her gone, Paul was reverting to some of his old ways. He could not fathom an intimate relationship with emotional limits; the spaces of his deepest emotions were still reserved for Sally. He knew that Sally would be one of those encouraging him. She had always enjoyed sex, and taught Paul to enjoy it, too.
He could hear her lecture: 'Paul, you still have the looks, the shape, your health and plenty of money. You are only fifty-four years old. Find a woman that wants some fun, and have some fun with her. She doesn't have to be your soul-mate.' Paul knew it was the right advice, but letting go was so hard.
The plane was about to touch down for a landing. It occurred to Paul that by promising to call Glenda when he was in Chicago again he was, technically, asking for a date. He reasoned that she was probably married. He had, then, asked a married woman on a date. He should have thought of that. Clearly, he realized, he wasn't 'dating scene material'.
************
It was noon on a Wednesday. Paul felt the meeting skidding into oblivion. The men from the State Environmental Agency were just not getting the picture; perhaps it was a chosen recalcitrance. All their concerns had been resolved, but the go ahead on the plant was not forthcoming. It was not a complicated project; a plant to produce solvents used in the metals industry. Paul's company had a good environmental record, and the plan passed all the tests, and better. It wasn't even going to be built in Chicago; it was just a good meeting place for all the parties. The site was in a smaller city about one hundred fifty miles to the southwest. The local city fathers were all for the new plant. They desired the new jobs and added tax base. Paul guessed that the State guys just wanted to roll into the Windy City every few weeks for a restaurant tour disguised as a meeting, funded by expense accounts. Springfield was very nice, but it wasn't Chicago.
"Gentlemen, what more data can we give you?" Paul said. "We've satisfied your every request. You're still not in agreement. We have no idea at this point what your acceptance criteria are."
The lead man from the state straightened up.
"Actually, Mr. Crane, we have asked Dr. Arthur Hopkins from Concerned Scientists of America to consult with us. He won't be available until Monday. Maybe we could adjourn until then."
There it was! One sentence revealed all that months of meetings had left a mystery. It told Paul what he had to do. All the studies, reports and data in the world would not move the mountain until the great Dr. Hopkins had been dealt with.
Arthur Hopkins was the designated spear-chucker for a major competitor of Paul's company. When the new facility went on line, it would give Paul's company a big advantage because of lower transportation costs to the market. It was Hopkins' job to delay, diminish or halt the new plant. He would roll out one study after another that showed some environmental or safety concern. Paul considered Hopkins to be the king of 'junk science.' His only question was whether the State men were in the pocket of the competitor, too, or along for the ride in a 'c-y-a' exercise. Paul thought the later, but kept his mind open on the former.
Hopkins' arrival would have brought sighs of despair from less experienced men. Paul was actually relieved. He saw the end game in sight. He had dealt with Hopkins before. He knew just how to handle him.
After the State men left, Paul spoke to the General Contractor, who had been at the meeting, too.
"Get the Peoria Mayor and a couple of Council members to the Monday meeting;" Paul ordered. "... and the State Senator from the locale, as well. Brief them—keep them on board. I'll get our research people to free up some resources and get a professor from the University to support us. We'll have that permit soon."
