Devil's Fork

by Jesse Jacobson

  “You should have let the SOB drown,” she said, moving toward me for the first time.

  “I thought about it, but it wouldn’t have looked good on my resume.”

  When she reached me, she looked closer at the bruised area and rubbed her fingers over it lightly. I winced, partly because it was still a little tender, but mostly for dramatic effect. I had to play the part of a man too injured to dial a cell.

  “Damn, your abs are tight and fine,” she said, looking up at me with those big, beautiful brown eyes. She smiled. It was a naughty smile, “How do you keep in such tremendous shape?”

  “The job keeps me active and I can’t afford food,” I told her, returning the smile.

  She cupped her breasts and pushed them up, “I got all the nutrition you need right here sugar,” she said.

  “I know you do,” I replied.

  Yes! I’m off the hook, I thought. I was somewhat surprised she didn’t appear more upset.

  “Would you like a sample?” she continued.

  “Tempting, but all I have time for right now is two coffees to go,” I said. “One with lots of sugar, the other just black.”

  I thought about telling her it was over but decided against it. I’d wait until I got back.

  Julie grinned again and slid her arms underneath mine, looking up and planting a warm wet kiss on my lips. She was a tall girl, over five-foot-seven, but still had to tiptoe to reach my lips.

  The scent of marijuana was strong. She’d been smoking that crap already this morning. I let it go. She was forgiving me for not calling her and I didn’t need to create another drama.

  “Why can’t I stay mad at you?” she said, pausing between kisses.

  “I couldn’t say for sure,” I told her. “I’m not sure what you see in me.”

  “Oh, don’t play dumb. You know you’re the hottest-looking guy in this godforsaken county.”

  “Hmm, you really think so?” I asked.

  “I think you’re scrumptious,” she said, kissing me again. “That beard and hair; all those tattoos; the six-pack on your belly; the muscles...”

  “You know, you’re damn hot yourself,” I countered. I kissed her again. Thoughts of breaking up with her evaporated for the moment. I moved my hand over her behind. It was small and firm and caused me to wonder how much time I had before Toe came in.

  “You know,” she began, pensively, “I know we’ve only known each other for a month but…” She paused.

  “Wow, look at the time, I have to run,” I interjected. It was an awkward interruption, but I was running late and she was leading to a conversation that would not be quick... or easy.

  “Where is your pet gorilla, anyway?” she asked, breaking away from me and walking behind the counter to the coffee pots.

  “ToeJam is in the head,” I said. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

  “That’s too bad,” she said, pouring two cups of coffee into those thin white paper cups I hated so much.

  “Why is that?”

  She looked at me again and smiled with an expression that was positively devilish, “Because no one else is here. I was going to cross something off your bucket list.”

  “Hmmm. I didn’t know you could parasail in here,” I jibed.

  She brought the coffees over, “You can’t, but have you ever done it on a Quick-Stop counter top?”

  “Why, no I haven’t,” I said, taking the coffee.

  After I took the coffees, she reached up and touched my lips with her fingertips, “You should try it. It will absolutely… blow your mind.”

  I felt a twinge in my loins as she glided her fingers across my lips.

  “Jolly doesn’t have time to get his mind blown… or anything else,” ToeJam said with his usual lack of tact… and timing. I didn’t hear him come through the door. “Let’s go man. We’re running a few minutes behind.”

  “Duty calls,” I said, giving Julie a light kiss on the lips and stepping back.

  “When are you going to call me?” she asked.

  “I’m heading out on a six-day, five-night expedition,” he said. “I’ll call you the minute I get back.”

  “Promise?” she asked. Her expression looked almost… pleading.

  “I promise,” I repeated.

  “The coffee is on the house,” she said. “See you around, Jolly.”

  Chapter 2

  When we arrived at the offices of the Mountaineer Expedition Company, I saw that all eleven of our passengers were anxiously waiting for us, excited to get the excursion started. It wasn’t hard to identify the father from the family of three, standing thirty feet away from the group with his cell phone in his ear. He was pacing; his gait was confident, reeking of arrogance and self-importance. I hadn’t even met the guy and already I didn’t like him. Over the last three years I’d seen a hundred men just like him. Toe always thought I was just jealous of men like this because of their success, and maybe I was. Still, my initial impression was… he’s an ass hat.

  “That’s the guy I was telling you about,” ToeJam whispered.

  “Yeah? I would have never guessed,” I replied. “Looks like an arrogant bastard.”

  Toe nodded, “Must seem familiar, huh?”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, but he’d already wandered away.

  Barkley, our twenty-year-old nerdy event coordinator, appeared and gathered all the passengers in one spot for a twenty-minute orientation. Barkley was a skinny guy with short, oily hair parted on the side, with black horn-rimmed glasses. Toe and I called him Rachael because he looked like Rachael Maddow of MSNBC. Mr. Ass Hat missed Barkley’s entire orientation talking on his phone. I made eye contact with Toe and rolled my eyes. He grinned and silently mouthed, “I told you so.”

  My large friend was right about more than just that. The man’s daughter was stunning… and appeared to be none too shy. She made eye contact with me and smiled immediately. On the trip manifest I saw that her name was Jeannie. She wore shorts over a white one-piece bathing suit. She looked to be in her late-twenties, medium height, lean with natural breasts and toned legs and arms. Though she looked to be in terrific shape, she had a soft, feminine quality. She’d pulled her chestnut hair back into a ponytail; her eyes were ice blue, her skin creamy and fair.

  I busted her looking at me and smiled at her. She smiled back and didn’t look away. Moments later she caught me looking again and winked at me. My face turned a little red, and I turned away. This whole process was quite the role reversal for me.

  “Pardon me,” a voice called from behind. I turned to see Jeannie’s father, the ass hat. “Are you the guide?”

  “I am one of them, yes,” I replied, forcing a smile. I extended my hand, “I’m Roger Jolly.”

  He gave my hand a courtesy shake. It felt like he was handing me a dead fish.

  “My name is Chase Jenkins,” he said.

  Chase? His name is Chase? One more reason to hate him.

  “Over here is my wife, Ruth and my daughter, Jeannie,” he continued.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jenkins,” I said, fighting back the urge to gag.

  “I was wondering when you would load our bags on the bus?” he asked.

  I looked at the bags they intended to bring and shook my head.

  “Well, there’s a problem,” I told him. “There are three of you. Our agreement requires each guest to carry on a twenty-five-pound waterproof duffle bag and one sleeping bag we provide. You will carry your own grip to the bus, the raft and campsites.”

  “What do you mean?” he shot back. “Do you know how much I paid for this excursion? I expect you guys to do that work!”

  “I told you this would be a problem, Chase,” Ruth said.

  “Let me handle this, Ruth,” Jenkins demanded. He then turned back toward me, “I paid for the Gourmet Package. I expect service.”

  I looked away for a second, biting my lip, trying to keep from shooting off my mouth. The ‘Gourmet Package’ was the big boss’s way
of extracting more money from the passengers who could afford it. The excursion timeline and trip agenda didn’t change. What people paid for was a trip with fewer passengers, since few could afford it. Oh, and we brought along filet mignon and caviar, and champagne for the final night—so there’s that.

  Finally, I turned back, “Mr. Jenkins, the Gourmet Package agreement stipulates that each guest must be reasonably self-sufficient. As guides, we will look after the safety and welfare of all the participants on the trip, but you are responsible to carry your own belongings. We will provide you with the information and tools you need to take part. However, we already fill nearly every minute of our day performing duties on behalf of the group. We cannot devote extra time to any one individual or family on the trip.”

  “That’s unacceptable,” he said, flatly.

  “You have ten bags there—that’s seven too many,” I replied, ignoring his last statement. “You must decide what you pack in each of your duffle’s and leave the rest behind. Only twenty-five pounds per passenger is allowed.”

  Jenkins drew in a breath and shook his head dismissively, “Look… I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

  What an ass. Like he couldn’t remember my name from ten seconds ago.

  “Jolly.”

  “Look… Jolly. I paid through the nose for this trip and I want it to go perfectly. We need all this stuff. So, let me tell you how this is going to go. First…”

  “Actually, I’m the guide,” I interrupted. “With all due respect, I’ll tell you how it goes. I want you and your family to have a great adventure, yes, but safety is far and away my number one priority. It trumps everything.”

  “I’ll need to speak to your boss,” he said, flatly.

  I was ready for that. I looked at my watch.

  “I happen to know my boss is in route to Seattle,” I fibbed. Sandy Mueller was the owner of MEC, but we only called him the big boss or Bossman. Bossman was at home, probably in bed and likely hung over. He’s actually the one who told me to use this particular lie when pompous assholes wanted to go over my head and circumvent a safety guideline.

  “He’ll land in about three hours,” I continued. “You can wait right here to speak with him. However, if you wait, I am taking off without you. You must reschedule your trip.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” he squawked loud enough to make the other guests look our way.

  “I’m your expedition guide and my boat does not float until you repack an appropriate amount of your belongings into three duffle bags,” I told him. I held up three fingers to emphasize my point.

  “How dare you address me in that tone?” he barked.

  I was just about ready to let him know in no uncertain terms that my ‘tone’ had about a third of the attitude he was blowing in my direction when I caught a lifeline in the form of a one-hundred-forty-pound nerd.

  “What seems to be the problem here?” Rachael… I mean, Barkley, said, walking toward us. Barkley was a nice kid, spineless but nice. He sucked up to passengers in a way I could never do, and he was good at it.

  “He won’t let me take all our bags,” Jenkins complained. “Talk some sense into him. We flew here from Chicago. I spent a ton of money on this trip. I want satisfaction… now.”

  “Ok, Mr. Jenkins,” Barkley said. “Let see what we can do. Jolly, there are three people. Your K-Raft is one passenger light since one of Mr. Jenkins’s guests canceled at the last minute. What if we gave the Barkley family one additional duffle to pack and bring along? How would that be?”

  I shrugged with my arms folded.

  Jenkins calmed a little, “I think you should just bend the rules and let us take everything.”

  “Dad, mom and I told you this would be a problem,” Jeannie chimed in. She made brief eye contact with me and rolled her eyes at me apologetically. I gave her a tiny smile.

  “Really, Chase, we’ve come a long way,” Ruth added. “Let’s cooperate and do this.”

  “It’s settled then,” I rang out, smiling as though I somehow scored a complete victory rather than a compromise that made me want to thump him in the face with my elbow.

  Chase Jenkins mumbled something under his breath. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I was certain it didn’t involve giving me a big tip at the end of the trip.

  Jeannie smiled and turned to walk with me toward the bags. Behind me I could hear the ass hat dressing down Barkley more for good measure. Poor kid.

  “Sorry about my dad,” Jeannie said when we were out of his earshot. She looked at me and smiled again. “He’s really a good guy when you get to know him.”

  “Yeah, I can tell—he’s a real prince.”

  She chuckled, “No really, I’m sorry. He’s been under a tremendous amount of stress.”

  “That’s ok,” I replied.

  “You impressed me with how you handled him,” she said. “It’s seldom anyone stands up to my dad like that.”

  She looked at me again. Her eyes were so blue it felt like I could see through them. There was a vulnerability in her expression which belied the cheeriness of her disposition. She turned away as though I was seeing something I shouldn’t.

  “My dad owns his own company,” she continued. “He’s used to getting his way. When things don’t go his way, he gets pushy.”

  “It’s not a problem, really,” I said, wanting to change the conversation to something more pleasant. “Is this your first white water camping excursion?”

  “My family and I have been white water rafting many times but never camping and rafting at the same time,” she said.

  “I see. Well, you’re in for a treat. Are you looking forward to it?”

  “Well, I was… until two days ago,” she said. “My best friend Maggie was supposed to come with us. She bailed out at the last minute.”

  “Ah, that was our cancellation. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Me too. Now I have to spend six days and five nights with my mom and dad. How would you like that?”

  “Wouldn’t be my first choice.”

  She laughed again, “On that, we can agree.”

  “Well, try to enjoy yourself,” I told her. “I’ve served as a guide on this trip many times. It’s fun and exciting. You’ll have a blast, even without Maggie. I’ll do my best to keep you distracted from your mom and dad.”

  She smiled at me again. Her smile was infectious, almost hypnotic. This time she didn’t look away, “Do you promise?”

  She looked into my eyes. It wasn’t suggestive. It was more… mischievous, like a schoolgirl who just talked her boyfriend into skipping final period to go see an R-rated movie. Still, somehow it made me blush yet again.

  What the hell am I doing? I never blush. I make women blush, not the other way around.

  I chuckled nervously, “Better get your duffle bags packed. We have a long bus ride to the point of departure. We need to get moving.”

  She giggled and touched my elbow with her fingertips. Even though she barely touched me the contact sent sensations throughout my body. She turned and bent over to inspect her bags more closely, giving me a long look at her incredible legs.

  I thought about Julie. This trip might be tough, I thought, in more ways than one.

  While the Jenkins family scrambled to pack their duffle bags, I got to know the other couples traveling in my boat. The couple that stood out was John and James, a same-sex couple on their honeymoon. I felt bad for them having to spend this special time with Mr. Ass Hat at arm’s length. When they introduced themselves, I discovered they were both Emergency Medical Technicians by trade, which is how they met each other. I also found out they had been on a similar excursion the year before in Colorado. They were fit and experienced at rafting—a great thing. It’s always nice to have a boat with seasoned rafters. Having EMT’s on the boat was also a bonus. Toe and I also went through basic emergency medical training as part of our requirements to be excursion guides, but we’ve never needed to practice the
medical training beyond a cut or scrape—knock on wood.

  Chapter 3

  The bus ride to the point of departure was always one of my least favorite parts of the excursion. Everyone was antsy and excited to get started. The bus ride back after the trip was the worst, by far. Everyone, including me, was tired and wanted to get home.

  Jeannie took up an entire seat behind her parents. She sat with her back leaning against the window, her feet propped up on the seat. I sat in the back with my arms folded. I pulled my St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap down on my forehead, hoping to catch a short nap. ToeJam was sitting across the aisle, fast asleep.

  About thirty minutes into the trip I felt a presence. I looked up and pushed my hat back. Jeannie was now sitting in the seat in front of me, twisted to her side with her right elbow draped over the seat back. When I looked up, she smiled.

  “I’m a Cubs fan myself,” she said.

  “I’m sorry?” I grumbled, still not fully awake.

  “Your cap. St. Louis Cardinals. Is that your team?”

  “Yes, I’m a lifelong fan.”

  “I love baseball, too,” she said. “I grew up a Cubs fan.”

  “You have my sympathies, then.”

  She chuckled, “What—you don’t like the best team in baseball?”

  “I hate the Cubs,” I told her. I sneaked a glance forward. From the positions of their heads, it looked as though Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins were fast asleep.

  “If you’re a Cardinals fan, I understand why,” she smirked. “The Cubs have a nineteen to seventeen advantage over the Cardinals in National League pennants.”

  This was getting better and better. Gorgeous and likes baseball.

  I grinned at her, “I’m impressed. You know your baseball.”

  “Damn skippy, baby. I know a lot about the greatest game in the world.”

  “Well, if you are a true baseball aficionado, you’d know the Cardinals have won eleven World Series titles while the Cubs have only won…”

  “Three,” she finished. “Don’t remind me. But as you know the Cubs have been more successful of late.”