Tilting at Windmills

by Joseph Pittman

  “It was easy. John told me.”

  I wasn’t surprised, but I was mad. She must have read that on my face, because she quickly amended her statement. “Don’t blame him. I’d run into him a couple times and asked about you. He was evasive at first. Then . . .well, let’s just say a situation occurred that made it necessary for him to tell me where you were.”

  “That’s quite a mouthful, Maddie.”

  She nodded and was about to say something else when suddenly she stopped. We’d reached the crest of the hill, which opened onto a clear view of the windmill. Maddie was speechless for a moment; the power of the magnificent structure was that overpowering. First sight meant first love: It had been that way for Annie, for me, too, and now maybe for Maddie.

  But she broke the silence and said, “Okay . . . it’s nice and all, but . . .”

  “Sshh, don’t talk,” I cautioned. “Come on; come closer.”

  I started down the hill but stopped when Maddie called out my name. I turned to her, a curious look on my face.

  “Brian, I’m not here to look at a damned windmill. I’m here to see you.”

  Okay, here we were, no going back. Or forward, for that matter. We, Maddie Chasen and Brian Duncan, were face-to-face, with no excuses. I knew we had to talk. Maddie wore an expression of utmost seriousness, and I was reminded then of her forceful, unrelenting stubbornness.

  “This going to take a while?” I asked.

  “Depends on you, really,” she answered.

  I checked my watch. Three-forty-seven. Technically, the bar opened at four, and since this was the first-ever Second Saturday and I was the bar’s lone tender, I figured Maddie could pull up a stool and tell me what she wanted while I poured tall ones for the locals. I explained that I had to get to work and that she was welcome to join me, and she agreed to come. So we set off, back to our cars, but not before I stole a look back at the spinning sails of the windmill. An emotion swept over me, and I tried to pin it down. Sorrow? Fear? No, more like an emptiness, as though I needed to cherish this moment with the windmill, because maybe it would be my last.

  “Brian?”

  I shook off the unsettling feeling and Maddie and I cut across the lawn, past the farmhouse, and to our cars. Then we headed off, Maddie following behind, to the newly renamed George’s Tavern. In fact, the old sign was gone and the new one hung proudly; a note left behind by Gerta informed me she’d insisted Chuck be the one to put up the sign, if nothing else as a gesture of apology for his insensitivity.

  I unlocked the door and flicked the lights on, and a soft, illuminating glow immediately warmed the bar. I pointed Maddie to a bar stool and went behind the counter, where a freshly laundered apron awaited me. After tying it around my waist, I sidled up to the bar and asked Maddie, “What’ll it be?”

  “Cute. Absolut, rocks,” she said. “As if you didn’t know.”

  There wasn’t much demand at George’s for top-shelf liquor, but in preparation for Second Saturday, I’d dusted everything off, so even my lowliest brands looked appealing. Still, she would not be denied her choice.

  “One vodka coming up,” I said, then poured Maddie her drink and slid it across the bar.

  “So, Maddie, quickly, before I open the doors . . .”

  “Uh, Brian . . . don’t we have more time than that? This is important—no, it’s crucial.”

  “Doors open in less than sixty seconds,” I said.

  She sighed, knocked back some vodka, and said, “Oh, just open the damn doors, Mr. Barkeep.”

  I headed over to the front door, turned back the lock, and just as I was about to throw open the door for business, I heard Maddie say, “My God, look at you. I can’t believe Justin sent me here to convince you to come back.”

  My mouth hung open as I stared back at her, but I didn’t have the chance to say anything, because five guys bounded their way into the tavern and went straight for the bar, in search of the bartender. With a sudden sense of the absurd, I realized that person was me, but all I could do was stand dumbly by the entrance, apparently catching flies.

  George’s Tavern was so crowded by six o’clock you’d have thought we’d imported additional residents. It couldn’t have been a nicer turnout, and whether they had come to honor George Connors or welcome me as the new proprietor or just plain enjoy the drink specials, the mood of the room was high. Gerta sat at a corner table, never once wanting for company. The same was said for any number of pretty young women, who found themselves paying for very few drinks over the course of the evening. The guys battled it out over friendly games of pool and darts, and sometimes the ladies stepped in to show them how it was really done. Marla and Darla were knocking back tequila shooters and told me to keep them coming; stamina, thy name is twin, I guessed. As for me, I poured drinks and pulled the tap so much my arm hurt, but the smile never left my face. A couple of times, I gazed over at Gerta, and she and I smiled at each other, and once she whispered a sweet “Thank you” that caused my heart to open up. As we hit the fourth hour, just past eight o’clock, I realized I’d yet to see Annie, who was waiting for a baby-sitter to watch Janey. I was hoping to see her around nine. And then there was Maddie, still sitting at her stool at the end of the bar, politely declining all offers for drinks, dancing, pool, and whatever else a guy with a few beers in him could think of. Chuck Ackroyd had planted himself on the stool next to Maddie. The two of them had started up a conversation about seven o’clock, and it was still going strong. I couldn’t hear any of their talk, but something told me they were up to no good. Chuck wasn’t my favorite person, nor I his. Team him up with my ex-girlfriend . . . well, color me paranoid, but no good could come of it.

  Nine o’clock rolled around. I noticed Gerta get up from her seat and approach the bar.

  “Brian, take a break. Next thirty minutes, Gerta’s got the bar!”

  A chorus of cheers went up over the music and any thought of protesting had simply evaporated. I took off my apron (which was filthy by then anyway) and relinquished the bar. Gerta grabbed a pint glass and yelled out, “Who’s next?” in a voice that would have done a cheerleader proud. The group whooped again and I knew the party was in fine hands.

  I went over to Maddie and she looked up at me. “Oh, have you got a moment for me?” There was a slight slur in her voice.

  “Maybe this can wait until tomorrow?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been patient enough, windmill boy. Let’s go. Chuck, if you’ll excuse me for a short while?”

  This she said with a heavy Southern accent, the kind she’d worked so hard to get rid of, the kind she used now only to get what she wanted. Chuck said he wasn’t going anywhere, and the two of them exchanged winks.

  “What’s that all about?” I asked Maddie as I led her away.

  “You don’t need to know everything, Brian Duncan Just Passing Through. Just what concerns you.”

  “Like Justin’s sending you here?”

  Her face grew serious again; the playing was over. “Someplace quiet around here? Where we can talk and actually hear each other?”

  “Upstairs should be okay,” I said, and pointed her toward the back room and the stairs to my apartment. As soon as I closed the door of the apartment, the noise level fell—for occasional moments, I could actually hear silence. Good, thick walls and honest construction still counted for something these days.

  I offered Maddie a seat on the sofa and told her I’d be right back. In the kitchen, I threw some cold water on my face, then grabbed a couple Cokes on my way back to the small living room. I set one down before Maddie. She had brought her glass of vodka with her and ignored the Coke.

  “Cute place,” she said, “though not very personalized. If you plan on staying awhile, you might want to fix it up some.”

  “Haven’t decided.”

  “So then I’m not too late,” she said.

  “Didn’t say that,” I said. “Okay, Maddie, you threw me a curve a few hours ago by just showing up here.
But now I’ve gotten used to having you around. So, out with it. What do you want from me?”

  Now that the moment of truth had come, Maddie seemed to have trouble getting to her point. So I prompted her.

  “Come on, Maddie; it’s not like you to hesitate.”

  “Fine. Yes, it’s just as I said before, Brian. We want you back.”

  “We.”

  “Yes.”

  “As in . . . ?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Brian—”

  “If you’ll notice, you’re the one beating around the bush. Look, Maddie, we’re down to twenty minutes before I have to be back at the bar. So either you spill it now or it’ll have to wait—and I may not be as willing later on to listen to what you have to say.”

  She got the message. With a quick brush of her golden hair, Maddie straightened her shoulders and started to speak.

  “What have you heard about the Voltaire Health Group lately?”

  “That they’re not doing too well. Stock is down, thanks in no small part to the wonder drug Tensure—which the FDA didn’t seem to like. Am I close?”

  “Right on the money,” she said. “Unsurprisingly. I knew you wouldn’t be able to leave the business world behind for this little Mayberry wannabe. Look, Brian, Voltaire is on shaky ground, sure, but they’re not out, not by a long shot. What they need is a fast and amazingly top-notch publicity spin, and of course that’s where we come in at Beckford Warfield. We need a plan of attack to sharpen their image and get them back on top as a leader in the health-care industry. I don’t have to spell it out for you, do I?”

  “No,” I said, “but why don’t you anyway? Given how things ended between us, I think it’s best if you put all your cards on the table. Then I’ll decide whether to play the hand.”

  “Look, it’s simple. Voltaire needs an aggressive campaign. So we need the most aggressive and creative minds to figure out what that campaign ought to be. And who’s the most aggressive public relations manager around?”

  “For simplicity’s sake, I’ll go with you.”

  Her mouth curved upward; I’d answered correctly.

  “And who’s the most creative?”

  “Again, to speed things up—and I figure this is the buttering-up portion of the evening—I’ll go with . . . myself, Brian Duncan.”

  “Also the smartest.”

  “Now you’re just embarrassing me,” I said.

  “Brian?”

  “Yeah, Maddie?”

  “Can you please stop joking? This is serious.”

  “Serious for whom, Maddie? You come waltzing back into my life, totally unannounced, and you start tossing compliments around like drinks before an alcoholic. Think I can’t resist them, right? Well, I’m not buying ’em. And I’m also not buying your act. You know why? You sound desperate, Maddie, and that’s not like you at all. You usually get what you want without the other party’s even knowing you want something. So tell me what you’re really after, and then maybe we’ll have something to discuss.”

  Maddie got quiet, staring straight at me. But behind her eyes, I could see her mind at work, figuring out how to take advantage of the situation.

  “Okay, it’s not just Voltaire that needs the help,” she said. “It’s Beckford Warfield, too.”

  “Ah. That’s better,” I said. “Tell me more.”

  And she did. For the better part of fifteen minutes, she explained how the troubles first began when the Voltaire Group got wind that their superduper wonder drug wasn’t going to be approved by the FDA and that all the money they’d already spent on the launch campaign was wasted. Their researchers had to go back to the drawing board and find out where they went wrong. The press had a field day with all this, trying to expose Voltaire as a fraudulent company, blaming them for trying to sell a product they knew was inferior. Beckford Warfield did its best to control the damage but it was failing in the eyes of the Voltaire executives.

  “That’s when the shit really hit the fan, Brian. Justin and I had been working night and day on the account—flew several times to St. Louis to meet with them, show them our plans, chart a course that would help them out of this mess. Trouble was, they didn’t like what they saw, and . . .”

  “And what?”

  “They asked how come Brian Duncan was letting them down.”

  At the mention of my name, I leaned in closer and waited to hear more. Maddie was hesitating again. A knock on the door broke the rising tension between us and gave Maddie a chance to excuse herself to use the bathroom. I went to the door and found Cynthia there.

  “I think Gerta’s getting tired, Brian. Can you come back?”

  “Yeah, sure, Cynthia—of course,” I said, but just then a crash came from the bathroom and I found myself hesitating. “Uh, look, Cynthia, can Gerta handle it for a few more minutes, or . . . you? I’ve—”

  Cynthia put a hand on my shoulder, a concerned look on her face. “Is everything all right? Can I help in some way?”

  “Just . . . just handle the bar for a few minutes—that would be great.”

  A grin broke out over her face. “I guess I could pull a tap.”

  “Thanks, Cynthia. Uh, hey, any sign of Annie yet?”

  “She called. Janey’s been winning at Monopoly, and Annie doesn’t want to stop until the game’s over. But she’ll be here soon.”

  With that, she waved and headed back down to the bar.

  I closed the door, then walked over to the bathroom. I knocked once on the closed door.

  “There’s no problem, Brian.”

  “What fell?”

  Maddie emerged from the bathroom and our eyes locked. Hers looked red, as though she’d been crying. Or maybe she’d had more to drink than I’d thought. I wanted to ask her, but I figured she’d deny the tears, deny the drinks, too. Still, something was wrong, and it wasn’t the broken water glass on the bathroom floor.

  “Look, Brian, I’m sorry I came here. On the drive up, it made sense—convince you to come back to work by buttering you up, saying how we couldn’t do it all without you. Justin’s brainstorm, but it’s not as though I tried to dissuade him, either. I agreed to the plan, and I agreed to find you. And now that I’m here, God, what the hell was I thinking? Let’s just forget I ever showed up, huh? Leave you to your new little life, and I’ll . . . well, my old life works still, I guess.”

  All of a sudden, I felt very sorry for her, this woman I once loved.

  “Look, Maddie, obviously there are some things we still need to discuss, but right now, I’m needed downstairs. So . . . look, I’m not sure you’re in any condition to drive. So why don’t you hang out here, get some rest, and later, maybe tomorrow, we’ll settle everything ?”

  “No, it’s okay. I’ve got a reservation . . .”

  “Yeah, probably at the Solemn Nights. The owner is downstairs, I know, so I’ll tell him to cancel the room. He won’t charge you; he’s a friend of mine. So why don’t you curl up on the couch?”

  “Are you sure?”

  No, I wasn’t. But Maddie was in trouble, more so than she was letting on, and I couldn’t just throw her out in the middle of the night, knowing how much she’d had to drink. So instead, I managed a smile. “As the purveyor of this bar, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Then, halfway out the door, she called to me.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  I paused. Did I even have an answer to that question? Finally, I said, “Because the past should count for something.”

  She nodded slightly, and I turned around and went downstairs and rejoined the party, leaving Madison Laurette Chasen to her own devices in my apartment, letting her inside a small part of my new life.

  Second Saturday came to an official close at 1:45 A.M., with the last-call announcement and the closing of the taps. The last straggler lived up to his reputation as I shut the door behind him a half hour later. I was alone at last, and I spent the next thirty minutes cleanin
g up while I relived in my mind the great night that had just passed. And it was a great night, even though Annie never made it and Maddie was there. Annie had called around eleven; Janey had just gotten hold of Boardwalk and Park Place and had blood in her eye—she was going for the win, and there was no way Annie could break away. I told her I understood—and I did, actually, since I was so busy and had no time to talk. And there was the complication of Maddie’s being upstairs, which I’d rather not have to explain.

  Maddie was wearing one of my T-shirts and asleep on the sofa when I got back to the apartment. I kept the lights off, crossed the floor, and closed the door to my bedroom and immediately fell asleep. I was so tired I dreamed about nothing, and before long, the sun of Sunday morning was streaming in through my windows. The alarm rang out at eight o’clock. Annie was due in a half hour to pick me up for church.

  I slapped off the alarm, then stretched my arms. My body still craved sleep, but I got up, figuring the only way to really wake up was to take a shower. Maddie was still asleep, and I left her that way while I showered and shaved.

  I was putting the razor back in the medicine cabinet when I heard a car pull up in the driveway. With a quick look out the window, I saw it was Annie’s truck, and she was just getting out of the cab when I leaned my head out the window.

  “I’ll be right out.”

  “I’m coming up,” she said.

  “Annie, it’s okay—just give me—”

  Too late. She disappeared under the roof, and the next thing I heard was her footsteps on the stairs. I was still staring out the window when Janey waved up at me. “I won, Brian. Mom landed on Boardwalk four times!” And she ended her statement with a gleeful giggle.

  I waved back and dashed to the bedroom to grab some clothes. But when I opened the door, I stopped short.

  “What the . . .”

  “Good morning,” Maddie said. She was no longer asleep on my sofa. She was no longer wearing my T-shirt. Rather, she’d made herself a bit too comfortable in my bed.

  “Come on in, Brian, what’s keeping you?”

  And that’s when Annie walked in. My bedroom was now very crowded with three people, two of them completely undressed.