Lone Rock

by Duane Lindsay

  “Maggie,” Adrian agreed, thinking, ‘please leave.’ His head was beginning to hurt but he felt none of the panic he’d been experiencing when people got too close. “What do you want?”

  “Hmmm?” Her eyes focused on him and she stopped. “What happened to you?”

  In a long month of what happened to you’s? Adrian had seldom felt less like answering honestly. “I fell,” he said.

  “From a long way,” she said. “You look like you got beat up by a gang.”

  “I got beat up by a gang,” Adrian agreed. Something in her attitude got to him.

  “Really?” She continued to look at him. “A big gang?”

  “Depends how you look at it. There were seven of them, but they weren’t very old. So you decide.”

  Still playing word games, she said. “Seven, huh? You look like you took it pretty bad. What happened to the other guy?”

  “I killed him.” Adrian said flatly.

  Stunned silence. She studied his face, looking for signs of being kidded. “You’ re serious, aren’t you? You killed someone?” For a moment the saleswoman facade cracked and a real person looked at him. For a moment Adrian felt bad about what had just happened.

  He wondered how she’d react if he told her that the ‘someone’ was a fifteen-year-old kid named Jesus Gallegos. That he carried the memory of Jesus around like a snapshot photo, taking it out from time to time. Would she laugh at him, thinking it a joke? Would she run away if she found out it was true? And what did he care anyway?

  Tense, annoyed at himself and her for being upset, Adrian said wearily, “Look, can you just leave please? Please?”

  “I...” She paused, summoning back her cool brashness. “I’m sorry for barging in on you like did. I was excited about finally being able to get into Control-logics. I should have mailed this stuff, okay?”

  Adrian rubbed his eyes with his hand. “Yeah; okay.”

  “Adrian. Uh, Mr. Beck. I made a crappy first impression here, I’m sorry. And I’ll be going now but—” Something in her voice made Adrian look up, “I’d like to make an appointment to see you sometime. To talk.”

  He thought of the Utah project. He actually did need the products her company sold. “All right, we can do that. But not right now. Maybe next week?”

  “What day?”

  “Tuesday. Around ten.”

  “Great,” she said. “And I’ll try to turn down the voltage.” Without another word she turned and left. Adrian stared at the door for several minutes, wondering what had just happened.

  Finally, he got up and walked down the hall, looking for someone who could tell him about Maggie Powers.

  Someone turned out to be Ruth, getting a salad from the break room refrigerator. Her back was turned when Adrian entered so when she straightened and turned, she nearly dropped her lunch.

  “Adrian!” she said, one hand going to her chest. “You startled me.”

  “A lot of that going around,” Adrian said. “You here alone?”

  “Yeah. The rest of the office went their separate ways as always. I stayed because I’m on a diet.”

  Today she wore a shimmering dress of mainly blue and green, with slashes of pink, like a Hawaiian shirt. It had a gauzy orange shade wisp of material around her waist. The whole effect was thoughtfully expensive. Her hair was blond and looked designer cut. Adrian wondered if the Beamer outside was hers. She was, he thought, no more than twenty-five, young for an office manager position.

  “You’ve been with the company a while, right?” He asked. “Almost three years. I started when it was only Mr. Clooner and Dave Delecrois. Before Corley even.”

  They walked to her desk. An expensive looking leather coat hung from an oak stand. A huge fern squatted like a miniature jungle, nearly hiding her from view when she sat down.

  “Who’s Corley?”.

  “Corley Sayres. You haven’t met him?” Her voice made it clear that she envied him for this. “Corley’s the Vice President and sales manager. He’s almost always on the road. I guess that’s why you haven’t met him. He’s the reason we grew so fast.”

  “What do you mean?” This wasn’t what he’d come for but it felt good to talk to someone.

  “Three years ago, when Mr. Clooner bought Control-logics, it was just a two-man engineering firm. After he bought it, he rented this place and hired Corley and the estimators and the business took off.”

  “How?”

  She shrugged and picked at her salad. “The estimators bid on every job they heard of and somehow Corley convinced people to let a little company like us bid.”

  “What about Carlton Electric?” Adrian asked. The thought of Maggie Powers hadn’t left him.

  “Carlton was one of our main suppliers for the first year. All of a sudden we stopped using them. For that matter, we stopped using nearly anybody in town.”

  “We did?”

  “We buy a lot of stuff, a company this big has to, but it seems that we bought more when we were smaller.”

  “Do you know a Maggie Powers?” Adrian asked.

  “Nope. Who is she, girlfriend material?” Ruth beamed a good natured smirk and Adrian blushed. Ruth laughed. “I’ve embarrassed you!”

  “No, you haven’t,” Adrian protested. though it was certainly true. He could feel his ears tingling.

  “I’m sorry. I just haven’t seen a man blush before. Who is she?”

  “She’s a saleslady from Carlton Electric. She came to visit today.”

  “She came here?” Ruth looked concerned. “Vendors aren’t allowed to come here. Didn’t you know that?”

  “I’ve heard, but she just came in. Appeared at my door. I don’t know how she got past you.”

  “I don’t either.”

  “Why aren’t they allowed in? It doesn’t make sense. We need to buy parts for our projects and we need the vendors to get them. How this is supposed to work?”

  Ruth bit the edge of a tangerine glossed lip. “I don’t know how it started, but about two years ago, we stopped buying much. The policy of not allowing anyone in happened after that.” She shrugged. “It’s become habit I guess. No big deal.”

  “No big deal,” Adrian agreed dubiously. It struck him as odd. A lot of what went on in this building was like that. Don’t make waves, he decided. It didn’t matter.

  “Thanks, Ruth,” he said, and wandered the empty halls back to his office. Maybe he should meet Ms. Powers somewhere else.

  Maggie Powers in blue jeans was a lot less brash than Maggie Powers in a skirt. She met Adrian on Saturday morning at a Denny’s in Englewood. Against the cold drizzle of mid-April, she wore a blue knit sweater and a short leather jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She looked like she’d just come in from a ride on the plains.

  She was almost shy as they made small talk from the entry to the booth. Adrian had coffee, Maggie ordered iced tea; they both looked at almost anything but each other.

  “I’m sorry about our meeting last week,” she said. “I came on too hard.”

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  “Thanks for calling,”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “God, this is really awkward, isn’t it?” Maggie smiled at him and Adrian felt the ice melt. For the first time since the disastrous meeting in his office he saw her as a woman, and a very pretty one. He sipped his coffee just to do something.

  “Why did you want to meet here instead of your office?”

  “Control-logics has a policy about sales vendors in the office and I thought it would be better not to—”

  “How can you have a policy like that?”

  “I have no idea,” Adrian said. The waitress brought plates, syrup and coffee. “The last place I worked, in Ohio, the engineers each ordered their own supplies as they needed them. We’d meet with the vendors, figure out what we needed, and get help and prices from you guys.” He caught her smiling at him over a strip of bacon. “Girls, whatever,”

  “Whatever,” she agr
eed amiably.

  “We’d give our orders to purchasing and they’d place them and that was it. I can’t imagine how I’m going to do anything if I can’t talk to anybody.”

  “That’s the way things are done in all the other companies I work with. It’s why I was so freaked when you called me. I haven’t been able to get into Control-logics since they stopped buying a couple of years ago. Where do you plan to get your parts from?”

  “No idea. Near as I can tell I have to buy them from you, since you’re the authorized sales rep, but Wally Clooner—he’s the owner of Control-logics—”

  “I know Wally,” Maggie muttered, her opinion obvious.

  “Wally says he’ll supply whatever I need, just give him a list. Damned if I know how I’m supposed to make a list without help from the suppliers though. You guys do half the work on an engineering project.”

  “Why Adrian, thank you. “Her grin was mocking but infectious and he suddenly felt like a conspirator. He tilted his coffee cup toward her and twisted his lip into an Bogart sneer. The movement pulled at his scar.

  “Maybe we could make a deal schweet heart. You and me, we could be a great team.”

  “Was that supposed to be Bogart?”

  “That was Bogart,” Adrian protested. “I did the best Bogart in all of Cleveland.” This time she laughed out loud, her tea making her snort slightly.

  “Poor Cleveland,” she said. “And now you’ve moved here to grace Colorado.” Her eyes were light blue and almost luminous.

  Adrian said, “We could work together, you know; after hours or something. You could help me and maybe even make a sale.”

  “Maybe I can make more than that,” she said.

  Her smile made Adrian uncomfortable. How had he let himself get so silly? “Never mind,” he said firmly.

  “What?” Maggie was surprised. “What just happened?”

  “I don’t think it’ s a good idea. Getting together, I mean.”

  “You’re stammering,” Maggie said. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “I just don’t want to work together that’s all.”

  “But why? Just a few seconds ago we were hitting it off like gangbusters. Now you’re doing some sort of turtle impression...” she tucked her chin down into her sweater to imitate a turtle. “And I’m left thinking my breath mint failed.”

  “It’s not you—”

  “Oh my God! Did my breath mint fail?” Head back up, her hand new to her mouth. She exhaled, looked intense, said, “Nope, that’s not it. Adrian. What’d I do wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just...the company...Control-logics...doesn’t...the policy...”

  “Don’t put it off on some policy, Buster. Are you afraid of them?”

  “No, but...

  “No buts,” Maggie said. “We were making progress for a second.” She sipped at her tea. stared at him appraisingly over the rim of the glass. “So not policy. Not afraid. Girls, is that it? Are you afraid of girls?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s test that. Will you go out with me?”

  “No!” Adrian was surprised.

  “To dinner,” she persisted.

  “No.”

  “A movie.”

  “Maggie!”

  “A hockey game? The Avs are playing.”

  “No. And who are the Avs?” Adrian thought he had a handle on this now. This was teasing and he understood that. Shelia had teased him often. As a game, Adrian could deal with it.

  “Who are the Avs?” Maggie sounded incredulous. “He might as well ask ‘Who are the Redwings? Who are the Rangers? Who are...They’re a hockey team, you tourist.”

  “I see.”

  “So you’ll take me to a hockey game?”

  “No.”

  “The office. Can we meet at the office?”

  “I can’t meet you there, you know that. And I don’t want to go out with you. I’m sorry.”

  For a moment she was silent; a first, Adrian imagined. She looked down at the table, lips pursed, thinking. “Your loss.” She slid sideways in the booth and stood. “No, don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.” She took three brisk steps away, then wheeled around and came back. “But you will see me again.” She twirled and left the building.

  Adrian watched her go. He sipped the last of his coffee and picked up the check.

  “No I won’t,” he said.

  18 – When Are We Gonna Start?

  “Your ribs are healed. We can dispense with the bandages.”

  Dr. Pei peered at the X-rays as if they were sorcerer’s stones, able to tell her the future.

  Adrian was grateful just to scratch his sides again. “What about the casts?”

  “The one on your wrist can be replaced with a fiberglass type that allows you to remove it. The one on your leg...” she looked at yet another X-ray, “will have to remain on for another few weeks.”

  “Can I get a walking cast?”

  “I suppose. Would that help you?”

  “Incredibly.” Adrian pictured himself in a bath tub, unhindered by plaster. “It would be heaven.”

  “Very well. I can have Carl—” she paused, “someone change your casts.”

  Adrian heard the hesitation. “Wait. Let’s give Carl a try, okay? If you’ll stay with me.”

  “Are the panic attacks still bothering you?” Dr. Pei looked concerned.

  “I don’t know. I don’t see anybody so I haven’t had any.”

  “Have you been to another doctor?”

  “You mean a psychiatrist? No.”

  “It might help you.”

  “Let’s try Carl instead.”

  “All right.” Dr. Pei left the office and returned in a few minutes. With her was a large man in his twenties dressed in blue scrub pants and a white tee shirt. He was blonde and muscular and looked to Adrian like a small building. Dr. Pei gestured and he stopped at the door, five feet from Adrian.

  “Well?” she said.

  His pulse had increased, and he was sweating, but the rising panic felt distant. “Have him come a little closer,” Adrian suggested. As Carl approached, he leaned back.

  “Wait.” He watched Carl, now just two feet away. His heart was thumping a bass rhythm. “Okay, closer.”

  Carl stepped in and touched his knee. Adrian moved it away, but not with panic. It was more of a reflex. When Carl bent to raise his leg, he felt his breathing rasp in his lungs, but he allowed the contact.

  “Your face is flushed,” Dr. Pei said. “Are you all right?” She was watching carefully from the doorway.

  “Yes.” Adrian’s voice was strangled, as if under intense pressure.

  Carl continued to work on the cast, his movements surprisingly gentle for someone so large. He picked up a tool that looked like a grinder and clicked a switch. The room was filled with a high pitched whine like a dental drill.

  An hour later Adrian walked out of the office with a new cast on one leg, a temporary cast on his wrist and a smug new attitude. He’d done it. The panic was manageable.

  “When are we gonna start?”

  Toby stood at the front door with a rake. Adrian stood in the cool breeze without a coat or a crutch, a liberating yet chilly experience. The breeze went right through his thin shirt and he shivered.

  “Don’t know,” he said.

  “But it’s been a month since we got it in the garage. And we ain’t done nothin’”

  “Nice language,” Adrian chided gently. Toby looked annoyed. “Let’s go look at it. Maybe see what we can do.”

  That pleased the boy. He led the way to the garage and lifted the old style door. The tan Studebaker sat in the semi-gloom just the way they’d left her a month ago. They walked around the side, touching the cool metal, leaving streaks in the twenty-year-old dust.

  Adrian felt nothing. Neither regret nor desire to start. The car was a project that held no interest for him at all. He shook his head. “Sorry,” he said.

  “Aw, man.” Toby let his shoulders sag and Adria
n felt a trace of guilt. It was obvious how much Toby wanted to do this.

  “Give it time. I’m still healing.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Toby walked stiffly back to the yard, leaving Adrian in the dim garage with the old car. “Later,” he said, but he didn’t know if that was true or not.

  March 28th was Toby’s birthday. Mrs. Hernandez planned a party and Adrian was invited, as neighbor and part time employer to her son. The verdict was still out on friend.

  He walked across the wide street at five o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, noticing several people out in their yards in the warm spring weather, washing cars or beginning the long season of yard work. He thought of the jungle that was his own back yard and marveled at Mrs. Pocatello’s long dead Henry; undoubtedly now gardening for God.

  In his hand Adrian carried a thick book, wrapped in the Sunday Comics of the Denver Post. He’d made a special trip to the supply cabinet at work to borrow the tape and scissors. The present represented a considerable effort. He walked slowly, his leg aching from even this short a walk.

  He rang the doorbell and waited. Heavy footfalls banging down stairs and from inside. Toby bellowed, “I’ll get it!” He hurled open the door, looking comically surprised to see Adrian.

  “Mr. B!”

  Adrian smiled. He motioned with one hand at the door and waited until Toby made a connection.

  “Oh, right! You wanna come in?”

  “Sure.”

  Toby pushed open the screen and Adrian entered. To the left were stairs leading upward. to the right a large living room. Beyond came sounds of dishes clacking, plates being scraped: the kitchen. The living room, untidied, showed the signs of a considerable crowd. Bright paper was thrown everywhere, boxes and bows littered the floor. It looked like Christmas had exploded on the carpet.

  Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez came in from the kitchen, she rubbing her hands on a faded dish towel, he carrying a black plastic garbage bag. Both stopped when they saw Adrian.

  “Mr. Beck.” said Mrs. Hernandez warmly. Her husband, a tall dark skinned man, watched from a distance, his reservations plain. He held the bag in front of his body like a bullfighter held a cape, his hand tensed.

  “Juan; have you met Mr. Beck? He’s our neighbor. across the street. Mrs. Pocattello’s house. Mr. Beck, my husband Juan.”