The wind was timeless, primordial. It tore at the clouds and swirled birds in flight, rocked the fleet in the harbor and howled through the rigging. It wailed at our windows like a lover bereft. It was the one constant, here on the icy edge of the seething Bering Sea.
I'm Aidan, a third year lawyer. I'm a self-made guy from the ragged coast of Maine. I got here by working hard and leaving nothing to chance. It's possible that a few parties were missed along the way, but I really couldn't afford to take risks. And it worked; I had wangled my way into a big-league environmental law firm.
The firm had assigned me to a small team camped out on the coast of Alaska. Our task, a high-stakes one, was to prevent drilling on newly opened oil leases in Bristol Bay. Unfortunately for everyone, the leases were right in some of the richest fishing grounds in the world, and also in one of the stormiest drilling environments on the planet. What could go wrong? Nothing, said the oil companies and their friends in government. It would be a bonanza for everyone, at least in this generation.
We had taken an entire boardinghouse in Whale Bay, a tiny native village far out on the Alaska Peninsula. Our office was the cramped living area on the ground floor, our desks were the dinner table, and our copier sat on a chair. Like the neighboring Aleutians, the area was primitive and remote. The dilapidated building must have been a blinding blue many years ago, but now it was fading into patchy shades of turquoise. It was mostly cinderblocks, plywood and tarpaper. The wind moaned though it like an army of ghosts.
Our on-site legal team was just a senior partner and me, along with a law school student, a "summer associate," who was due to join us soon. We associates would do the grunt work. So it goes. Just getting hired had been a major achievement. The next steps in my program were to work hard, make partner, and secure my finances. Maybe I could save the world, too, but more realistically I needed to build a decent résumé, since very few hires make partner in elite firms.
The partner on the case, Mr. Primm, was an elderly but interesting guy, perceptive, highly principled, and driven. He was a big believer in the law with little sympathy for cheats, and his easy moral outrage made him a fierce defender of the environment. I admired him for it, and we got along pretty well despite the fact that he was a prickly workaholic who held my career in his hands. Dinner table conversation, unfortunately, was usually a monologue about the latest environmental scandal, and he tended to work late. We spent our time reading, writing, calling and emailing, sometimes for twelve hours a day. Naturally, my hours had to be longer than his. The atmosphere was quiet and intense, but then, big law isn't meant to be fun.
The day we had flown in was overcast, cold and, of course, windy. We had approached the narrow airstrip from a horrifying angle before the pilot dropped us hard on the dirt runway. Our summer associate was arriving in even windier conditions, so I thought it would be friendly to meet the plane. Also, her name was Ciara, and she and I were going to be the only young college grads for hundreds of miles.
****
It was, as usual, another gusty, darkly overcast day. The plane bounced twice and rocked to a halt. Ciara bounced out and hit the ground talking. My first impression was that her all-black clothes - parka, tights, clunky shoes and choker - seemed pretty sophisticated for a frontier town. Her artfully tangled black hair looked stylishly wind-blown, or maybe just-fucked. By contrast, her eyes and nails were a shocking, brilliant blue. I glimpsed a matching blue tongue stud as she swooped down on me for a hug that was unexpectedly friendly, considering we'd never met. I bent into it, but even so, I felt the bumps.
We chatted as I hefted her giant suitcase into the pickup. She was nice enough looking, but primarily, she just oozed personality. It took about ten seconds to figure out that she was going to be a major distraction, a sunlit disco ball here in our gray little world. It wasn't just the constant chatter. The problem was charisma. She was going to be the life of the party, one of those people you really couldn't tune out. Of course, the firm non-fraternization policy was clear. I steeled myself. I'd be doing that a lot, I figured. I could still feel the hug.
Nevertheless, rather than drive her out of town and drop her off among the wolves, I made a fateful decision and took her back to the boardinghouse. She talked easily all the way. She was charming, funny, smart, and much more socially gifted than me.
We talked some more as I dragged her suitcase up to her room. Her parka came off, revealing nice curves under a stretchy black shirt and tights. Unpacking, she talked non-stop over the hum of the wind about her big family, her many friends, her law school buddies. She was going to miss them all but she was excited to be saving the environment. This was her first hands-on work. She wanted to do meaningful things. She hoped we would give her something difficult. She was raring to go. And on and on.
With the constant patter, I sank into kind of a reverie, watching her boobs trying to pull the buttons off her stretchy shirt and her tights cradling her ass. Those tights said: "Look at me, world, I'm wearing a thong." It all seemed pretty risqué. But then everything about her seemed urban and sophisticated.
Suddenly she pivoted to asking me about myself. She almost convinced me that I was interesting, but obviously it was just good technique. Still, I found myself talking way too much. It was nice to feel important for a while, even though her sparkle made me feel slow and dull. I suddenly realized the day had fled and it was time for dinner. It was annoying to realize I was going to have a high school crush all summer.
****
There were only two dining options, the bar or the boardinghouse, and we always stayed in because the bar could be rowdy at night. That first dinner with Primm was typical. Our indigenous landlord, whose real name was so unpronounceable that we called her Shirley, cooked and served. As usual, the menu was fish or other fish. The wind carried the occasional wolf howl in from the gloom, the dim lightbulb over the table swayed gently in the drafts, and the corrugated roof vibrated with a deafening resonance whenever the wind was just right. Oblivious as usual, Primm was on a diatribe about salmon migration routes, which went right through the new drilling leases. Even Ciara was having difficulty getting enough air time to charm him. I spent the evening barely aware of the ongoing rant, sneaking glances at Ciara as she minded him politely.
Primm finally ran out of steam and Ciara seized the moment. Shifting gears and practically sparkling, she asked what there was to do here after hours. She was asking the wrong guys. Shirley happened to be clearing dishes and, hearing an awkward pause, she answered that in the morning you could watch the fishing boats go out to sea, and even better, in the evening you could watch them come back with fish. Ciara digested this news quietly. I added that the bar in town was usually okay for lunch but was filled with drunken roughnecks at night. She nodded again. No other options were forthcoming, apparently. She suddenly looked like a dog on a chain. Primm went back to his rant.
Someone started running their shin up and down my calf. It wasn't Primm, I was pretty sure.
I looked at Ciara. She arched her eyebrows at me fractionally. I didn't react. I had to be careful. The leg went away.
A guy in the home office had been summarily fired for being caught
in flagrante delicto
with his secretary. I wasn't going to be that guy. Also, realistically, this had to be some kind of joke. No way was she interested in me like that.
****
The days went by and no one mentioned the leg incident. I was sure I had misread the situation. It could have been just a comment on Primm's rant, or maybe she had mistaken me for a table leg. Either way, she had obviously put it behind her. On the other hand, our working relationship was going pretty well. I was getting more at ease with her being so constantly 'on,' and I was actually looking forward to work, just because she was so amusing and decorative sitting across the table from me. She often persuaded me to go out to the bar for lunch, and we would get into these amazing long discussions about absolutely nothing related to work. Somewhere along the way I had decided she was beautiful even if she wasn't perfect, which probably meant something dire. Her proximity and unavailability were starting to gnaw at me.
But that's where it rested until one night when Ciara seemed uncharacteristically silent at dinner. After Primm went to his room to read advance sheets, Ciara opened her laptop on the dining table and started surfing. I did the same. We were both quiet. That lasted about five minutes.
"Is this what you guys usually do in the evenings?"
"Sometimes we read or watch the news."
She glumly continued surfing. I found myself looking at r/cats.
