“Hmmm,” Martha made that noise without knowing.
“I took a week off,” he said, apparently apologizing.
“Was it a comfort to go back to work?”
Stick nodded gratefully. “Right.”
“Who’s going to succeed you?”
“Pardon me?”
“When you decide to retire, or, I guess with all the expansion, you might hire someone to run the day-to-day operations—”
“No,” Stick interrupted. I waited. He glanced at Jack. “I’m not—”
I interrupted. “Remember the rules. If you don’t want to answer just say ‘Fuck you.’”
“I’m happy to answer. There’s no plan for that. The company’s bigger, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean you couldn’t handle it. I meant, at your age, don’t you think about taking more time for yourself and your family?”
“Really, Rafe—”
“Witch Doctor.”
“Really, Witch Doctor, I’m a little young to be thinking about retirement.”
“So you have no plans for a successor. No one you’re grooming to take your place?”
He chuckled. “No.”
“I was talking about it with Edgar,” I said. “You know, what he would do if you dropped dead—” Someone made a noise at this phrase. I repeated it, “If you dropped dead, you know, who was qualified to take over?”
“Probably lots of people,” Stick said. He tried a smile at his employees. “Probably everybody in this room.”
He was lying, of course, and they knew it, but I doubt they cared. They weren’t my target, anyway. I had accomplished what I wanted and shifted to questions he was glad to answer, namely how he got started as a salesman for Flashworks and moved up the ladder. By the time we heard the creaky noise of oars rowing, signaling that Andy and Halley were coming back, everyone was stupefied, the fatigue of the day showing, especially on Stick. His voice was hoarse, his eyes rheumy.
We gathered on the porch. All of the cabin was in shadow and most of the pond as well. The sun had disappeared behind the banks of pines screening us from the hotel. Above our heads the sky was tinged red and the eastern horizon showed the black edge of night.
Halley and Andy rowed in silently. No one spoke until the boat scraped to a stop on our side.
“Well?” Martha demanded, hands on her wide hips.
Halley peered at her father, her tanned face dappled by red light filtered through the evergreens. Her expression was unreadable. I was behind everyone, standing on the porch. Andy looked at me, a silent question. I nodded for him to proceed.
“We had a disagreement,” Andy said.
“I don’t like my name,” Halley explained quietly.
“What is it?” Tim asked. He had been bold and sure of himself since being renamed.
“Peacemaker,” Andy said.
“Well, that’s nice,” Jonathan said.
“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “I like it.”
“I don’t know what it means,” Halley said.
“When there’s fighting inside the tribe, you make the peace,” Andy said.
I clapped my hands. “Okay. It’s almost dinnertime. Stick, I want you to row to the other side and wait for me. I’m going to talk to the others about your name and I’ll come over to tell you.”
Stick actually said, “Huh?” He was exhausted. He rubbed his forehead as if his head hurt. I know mine did.
“Well, no single person can be expected to name you. And if I ask people to discuss it in front of you they’ll be self-conscious.”
“It’s late,” Stick said, dropping the hand, palm turned out to me in a plea for reason.
“Won’t take long, Prince.”
For a moment, I thought he would balk. Or rather, turn on his sandals and make for the hotel. I could hardly have tackled him. But he had endured so much, ten hours of my nonsense to prove to them he was a good sport, how could he blow it now with only one more inning of my silly game to be played?
“Better not,” he grumbled, unable to resist making a threat. He pushed the boat off land, got in nimbly, and rowed with power and grace. He must have crossed the pond twice as fast as anyone else.
I watched him all the way. The others waited with me. Once on the far shore, Stick stared at us, as if annoyed we hadn’t moved. Finally, he disappeared into the trees. I waved them into the cabin.
“Well?” I asked immediately, before they settled on the floor. They looked bedraggled, their rumps dirty from sitting on grass and the pine floor, hair askew, eyes bleary, shirts wrinkled and hanging out. Halley stood with her arms crossed, rubbing herself, as if she felt chilled. With the sun down, the air had the bite of fall. Mosquitoes were appearing in greater numbers. Tim slapped at his legs and arms to kill them, hitting himself so hard it made me wince.
“I have a can of OFF in my room,” Martha commented wistfully.
“Well?” I repeated. “Any suggestions?”
“He’s the Chief, right?” Jack asked.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “You think up a name privately and come and whisper it in my ear. I’ll sit here by the door. Then you can go to your rooms, relax, get drunk, have dinner, whatever. If there’s a common theme I’ll tell Stick. Otherwise I’ll tell him he’s the Chief.”
“Then I’m done,” Jack said brightly.
“If that’s really your suggestion and not just public relations,” I said.
“It’s easy for me,” Halley said. She came over, hands lightly gripping my arms, and got up on tiptoe. She whispered, “I’m going to my room to take a bubble bath.”
“Thank you,” I said, straightening. “You’re dismissed.”
“No fair,” Jonathan complained, although he hadn’t heard. He meant that she was done so quickly.
“Bye,” Halley said and left.
“How come we don’t get to give you a new name, Witch Doctor?” Martha asked.
“Come on, no fooling around,” I said. “It’s late.”
“Well, I’m staying with Chief,” Jack said.
“Okay,” I said casually and dismissed him. This cued them not to work at it and they didn’t. I could feel their disappointment that I was abandoning the game when it could be most challenging. Tim tried a little by whispering, “Sitting Bull,” but Gould and Hanson both copied Jack, saying, “Chief.” Martha was sarcastic, offering, “Geronimo,” and Jonathan, embarrassed to be last, said, “I don’t have anything.”
“Okay,” I told him gently. “I’ve got it. You can go.”
A half moon appeared in the deep blue, almost black sky as I walked around the perimeter of the pond. My sore hamstring could use the exercise and walking would give Stick more time to think, more time to be tired and worried and angry. Besides, I wanted to return in the row-boat with him. A fly circled my head, following me as I followed the shore. Once in the woods, I lost him. The lower branches of the evergreens that segregated pond from meadow were trimmed up to the height of my head; the bed of dark pink needles crunched underfoot. I pushed away a gray limb the groundskeepers had missed and emerged into the clearing. The noise of my approach, in the quiet of the evening, had Stick on his feet to greet me. I stopped and listened to a bird call, in a low guttural note, for a mate.
“So?” Stick asked, walking up to me.
“Let’s sit down,” I said.
“You can tell me in the boat,” he said with a laugh that was more of a groan. He passed me, heading for the pines.
“I’m afraid I have no choice, Stick,” I said and wandered farther out into the meadow. Tall wild flowers, their colors dimmed to gray by nightfall, brushed against my bare legs. I itched all over. I imagined that I must have a dozen bites by now. “After today …” I said loud, voice ringing, thanks to the acoustics of the surrounding trees. I had silenced the lonely bird. “… After the exhibition you put on today I have no choice but to recommend to Edgar that he protect his investment by firing you.” My back was
to him. For all I knew, he had ducked into the tunnel of pines and departed in his rowboat.
A violent rustle of feet trampling flowers warned me. I had turned halfway when I felt his cold fingers on my forearm. “What the fuck are you talking about? I put up with this shit all day—”
I interrupted, “Edgar can replace you with Andy and Halley. Jack will accept being passed over for her.” I pulled my arm free. In the bowl of the clearing, no light reached his face. All I could see was a shadow breathing rapidly and shallowly. “You’re not a leader, Stick. And they don’t need you for anything else. If you can’t supply leadership, you’re just a leech. That’s the name they gave you, by the way. They didn’t expect me to tell it to you, of course. Halley suggested I give you the name ‘Chief’ so your feelings wouldn’t be hurt. She said that, after all, they owe you for giving them their start.”
“You idiot.” The shadow’s head bobbed, arms moving up and down, as if he were trying to fly. “I control the company. You don’t know shit about business.” He laughed scornfully. “You’re really a fool. You don’t know anything about the real world.” I reached for his shoulder.
He ducked away and growled, “You touch me and I’ll punch your fucking face in.”
“But you want me to touch you, Theodore,” I said softly and then raised my voice to a neutral matter-of-fact level—a doctor giving him the bad news as coolly as possible. “I know all about the shadow agreement with Edgar. I admit he had to explain it twice. It was hard for an academic like me to understand. But I know that you don’t control Minotaur. You shouldn’t be too upset. The settlement of your shares will leave you a rich man. You get five million. Isn’t that right? And three years of nominal consulting at three hundred and fifty thousand a year. By then you’ll be old enough to retire.”
He backed away. “He can’t … I’ll sue. It’s not—”
“Legal?” I picked up his train of thought. “Well, I gather that’s a gray area. And if you do prove the secret clause about your shares is illegal then, of course, you go to jail also.” I moved close to the dark of his shape, close enough to see his mouth was open. I added, quietly, “I think you should accept the money without a fuss and take time to explore your homosexuality.” I patted his rigid arm. “For your sake, I’ll keep that part to myself. Edgar is a fag-hater.”
For a while, I don’t know how long, perhaps thirty seconds, perhaps ten—it felt like a lifetime—there was no talk. There were sounds: the high whine of crickets, the bird resuming its call for love, a breeze infiltrating the woods so the trees leaned against the dark sky. And Stick’s breathing, too, as he stood, a scarecrow in the field, stiff and still. I smelled a sweet musty odor—was that his fear or the pine floor only ten feet away?
“I’m not gay myself,” I said with regret. “Or I’d explore it with you. I know you have fantasies about me.”
At last, he moved. He shook his head and there was a long hiss of exhaled air.
“I can reassure you about one thing,” I said before he spoke. “Halley will understand.”
Now there was laughter, deep and scornful. Stick turned and walked into the woods, heading for the rowboat, apparently unimpressed.
I had lost. I couldn’t believe it. There was always the chance of failure, of course, but evidently I had felt supremely confident. I was beaten and I was amazed.
I rubbed my face. The skin felt rough and hot. I licked my lips. They tasted salty. My legs were cold and stiff. And once Stick was gone, I felt uneasy. It was so dark I could no longer see through the black trees to the gray water.
I rushed through the woods to the pond shore. The rowboat was still beached. I hurried over and stared into it, wondering if he was lying down. I jumped when Stick’s voice came at me, deep and amused, from behind. “Where’s yours?”
“What?” was all I could manage out of the shock.
He had been standing against one of the tree trunks. He moved beside me. “Your rowboat. Where is it?”
“I walked.”
“Get in,” he said. “I’ll take you across.”
I looked at the pond, black on our side, gray in the middle thanks to a slight shimmer of silver from the half moon. You couldn’t see the green cabin on the far shore, only a black mass. In the distance, stars shone through the trees—but they were really lights from the hotel.
“Since Hal is part of your recommendation to Edgar,” Stick continued in a confident voice, “I thought we’d have dinner with her and discuss your evaluation of my leadership abilities.”
Was there any point in going on with the charade? I didn’t think so. A mosquito buzzed right into my ear, as loud as a helicopter. I slapped at it and succeeded only in deafening myself.
“She told me your little secret, you know,” he said, a whisper in my ringing ear.
That was a crushing blow. So Halley had reported my suggestion at the pool. I had not only failed with him, I had failed with her. I looked at Stick, not bothering to conceal my despair. But he probably couldn’t see it anyway. To me, he was only a shape, no features.
“She told me about your sick little sex game,” he continued. “How would you like that to get out?”
I was surprised again. My relief came out undisguised, “That’s it?”
“How do you think it would look for everybody to know that the great child psychiatrist likes to play Daddy gives his little girl a bath?”
I laughed with real pleasure. “That’s really it, Stick?”
“That’s it, Doctor. So maybe you’d better rethink what you tell Edgar.”
“Oh, we play many more sick games than just Daddy gives his little girl a bath. Hasn’t she told you? Don’t you have all the details, or is she starting to hold out on you?”
“She’s …” He paused, then he snorted. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
I chuckled. “Nothing. You go ahead. You tell the world about my sick games and I’ll tell Edgar about your management. It’s a fair trade, Stick. My so-called reputation for your career. I accept.”
Stick moved close. At that range, I could see the grooves of his stern face, his thin lips hardly moving as he mumbled, “I’m not kidding, Rafe.”
I leaned in, breathing on his mouth. “Nor am I, Stick. If that’s the best you can do, you’re finished.”
I held my ground. He was the one to step back. “I don’t believe—” he began and shook his head, dismissing that thought.
“I’m going back,” I said. I moved as if I planned to return along the shore.
“Wait—” he called.
“I’m tired and I’m cold and we’re finished, Leech.” Again, I moved as if to walk.
“Okay!” he cried. It was a cry. “What do you want? What do I have to do?”
I faced the pond and stared out, pensively. “There’s a lot of work for you to do. You’ve got to deal with your personal problems, your fears, your family life. I suppose if you went into therapy …” I kicked at the pond’s fringe of muddy sand. “It’s hard to believe you’d really work at it, Stick. If I could—”
“Look—” he stepped forward, then stopped as if he didn’t have a right to approach me. “Are they expecting us?”
“Not really. I told them to go back to their rooms, have dinner and relax.”
“Can we—?” He gestured, hands out, pleading, “How about we have dinner in my room? We’ll talk and work something out. I know you’re right. I—” he lowered his head, ashamed. “I need help.”
I said nothing. The bird no longer called, but an owl asked the world to identify itself. It was cold and the mosquitoes were feasting on my bare legs. I slapped at one on my thigh, scratched, and said with a sigh, “Well, I’m willing to talk about it.”
“Great. Thanks.” He nodded at the boat. “I’ll row you across.”
“I’d rather walk,” I said and slapped the back of my neck.
“You’ll get eaten alive.” He bent over, both hands on the rowboat. “Get in. I’ll push off
.” He shifted it from side to side, loosening the sand’s grip.
I shrugged, took a step, and said loud, over the scraping noise, “Is there a lifejacket in there?”
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I mumbled. I stepped into the boat, stumbling on its first bench. I lost my balance.
“Whoa,” he said. I caught myself by grabbing hold of the side, twisted and flopped onto the second bench.
He pushed. The boat floated out onto the water, turning aimlessly. Stick didn’t move.
“Aren’t you getting in?” I asked plaintively.
He strolled casually into the pond, in no hurry, although the water had been chilly even during the height of the day. “I was thinking of swimming across,” he said.
I rose partway, as if to stand. “Then I’m getting out.” The boat rocked, turning so I was horizontal to the shore, and continued to drift farther out onto the water. “Oh …” came out of me. I remained stuck in a crouch, desperately holding the sides of the boat.
He laughed and sloshed toward the boat. “Take it easy. Can’t you row across?”
“I don’t want to,” I whined.
“Okay, okay,” he said, a hand catching the prow. The water was up to his waist. “Sit down. Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to rock the boat?”
“Are you getting in?”
“Yes,” he hissed, annoyed. “Sit down.”
I did, my hands gripping the sides, arms rigid. The boat tipped violently as he put his right foot in. I moaned. He took his time bringing up the left foot and steadying the boat. He sat facing me. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll have you across in no time.”
“Good,” I said.
“You can relax,” he said, unlocking the oars. He used one to straighten us and then rowed gracefully twice. We were immediately twenty feet from shore. The pond was silver-black, its border of trees swaying shadows. Some moonlight reached his face, enough for me to see a crescent of his features: hooded eyes, long nose, thin lips. “Really, you can relax,” he said, slowing down, rowing, pausing to let us drift, dragging an oar to keep us straight, then using both for one powerful row. We were well into deep water. “Let go of the sides,” he said.
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