 
# One Angry Town

A Tiny Town Fights over Water

A Jessica Thorpe Novel

# By William Wresch

# Copyright 2018 William Wresch

# Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Jessica Thorpe, bartender in a tiny Wisconsin town, thinks she can help her town land a new Swiss factory. It will bring jobs. But it may also threaten the local water supply. As the town forms sides and begins battling, Jessica flies to Switzerland looking to save the project – and the peace. Two men are crucial to the project, and she loves them both. By the time she leaves Switzerland, she needs one of them to bring the plant to her town.

# Chapter 1

# A "Useta" Town

Tiny Amberg, Wisconsin was going to get a factory. Its first factory in decades. Its only factory. Time to celebrate, right? Wrong. The town went to war – with itself. To better understand what happened, it helps to understand this town. For starters, if you get into a conversation with any of the geezers here in town, it only takes two sentences before you get to "useta." Things like "We useta have the largest hotel north of Milwaukee." Or "We useta have the largest granite cutting shed in the world." Give them half an hour, and they will give you a local history that is mostly accurate, all of it describing what "useta" be here.

All of that was before my time. But if you want the short version, the town has basically collapsed three times. The first time was the most dramatic. The town is surrounded by granite outcroppings and there was a time when people used granite in building. So a guy named Bill Amberg came to town, started a quarry west of town, and then built a cutting shed next to the tracks you can see across from this bar. Was it the biggest shed in the world? How would anyone know? Do you see people taking measurements of sheds? But it was big, and it and the quarry attracted hundreds of men in the early 1900s (yes, the town is that old). Moving the blocks required rail lines, so there was also a lot of railroad men in town, so I have no doubt about there being a large hotel for all of them. You also hear stories of monster brawls between the two groups, boys being boys. So that's the town for a few years.

Then some guy invents a new way to build buildings, and granite is no longer important. OK, these things happen, but then the local boys make things worse. They go on strike. Who knows any more what they wanted – money, shorter hours, safer conditions? A hundred years later it hardly matters. Old Bill Amberg watches this go on for a few days and then says, "OK, good bye." He clears out his office, gets on a train, and goes off to start another business somewhere else. Some claim Canada, some claim California. Who cares?

A month goes by and people realize he ain't coming back, and the business is really closed. Most people just move away (folks from here are good at that), but a few folks decide they have a plan to make the world great again. They hold a vote to rename the town from "Pike" to "Amberg." Surely with a town named after him, Bill will come back and all will be good. To show you just how pathetic the whole thing is, they pick a day to celebrate the name change and send out an invite to Bill. Surely he will attend. Nope. He never responds to the invite, and they never hear from him again. You would think they would eventually get around to changing the name back to Pike, but they don't. Don't ask me why. Eventually the hotel and cutting shed burn down. The quarry is still west of town if you want to see it. Just a hole filled with water now.

The second collapse comes about twenty years later. There was all pine forest around here, so much it took decades to clear. But eventually they had cut it all. So now what? Why not sell the land to farmers. They say the sales pitch began with "If it will grow trees, it will grow corn." They also say the companies brought farmers up to see the land in the winter when the snow covered all the stumps. That's probably true. Anyway, during the 1920s lots of farmers moved up here, spent their lives blowing up stumps and planting crops only to find that the land was poor and the growing season was short. They got some crops in, but they were barely hanging on when 1930 rolled along with the Great Depression. That ended farming up here. If you drive around you can see some one room schools that were used by the farmers, but the land was all taken for back taxes. What did the county do with the land? They planted trees. Look at all the county forest as you drive around. Pretty ironic, don't you think? Families worked themselves half to death to take forest land and make it farm land, and here we are back to trees.

The third collapse is going on now. Paper mills were built in Green Bay and Appleton, and it turns out the jack pines and poplars planted on that old farm land work pretty well for creating paper pulp. So the local boys would turn sixteen or eighteen, buy a chain saw, and cut pulpwood for a living. It's not an easy living. I went out with my first husband a few times to help trim the wood he cut. If you go in the summer, the mosquitoes are grateful for the feast, and if you go out in the winter, you spend all day tripping over stumps and roots you can't see under the snow. And of course you still go out in the summer and the winter because you want to eat. But now some of the mills are closing, and even the ones still open are using more recycled paper. Depending on how many beers they have had, some men will blame the Chinese, others will quote the price of paper in Finland and tell you that is the problem. But mostly we know the problem is electrons. All the newspapers up here have closed, as has the local post office. Who uses paper when you can use electrons? Electrons are faster and cheaper – and cool. There are still men out in the woods cutting pulp wood, but probably half as many as there were just ten years ago.

So there you have it – a "useta" town. We are down to maybe a hundred people in a dozen or so homes, a block-long Main Street -- and that is only occupied on one side. What's left is this bar, a small restaurant that changes hands every year or two, a tiny grocery store that is mostly just open in the summer and during deer season, and a post office building they closed two years ago. Welcome to Amberg. It useta be more.

What do people do now? Some men still work in the woods. Women mostly work retail or restaurant jobs in Wausaukee. Old people collect social security and visit their doctors. The young either go off to college or join the army. And the young never come back.

None of this excuses what happened that year. It wasn't right. But in a useta town, sometime people useta have better sense.

What about me? I useta be pretty dumb. I don't claim to be brilliant now, but I think I am at least less dumb. When was I my dumbest? When my hormones went into overdrive. In other words – high school. Tiny. We started dating when I was fifteen and he was seventeen. He had just made varsity of the football team – lineman, hence the joke about him being "tiny". We both had a bad case of high school hormones, and I was pregnant before the end of my sophomore year. Tiffany came just after my sixteenth birthday. Tiny was still seventeen. I worried the hospital in Marinette would make some big deal out of our ages, but apparently we weren't the first.

The local churches weren't as open minded. My mother insisted we get married. And we tried, but it took over a year to find a minister who would do it. Finally we tried the guy at the Presbyterian church in Athelstane. I think the church had maybe twenty members. It's not like he had lots of other things to do, so he agreed to marry us – if he could also baptize Tiffany. We agreed to a package deal, and that was that.

Anyway, Tiny worked the woods for a few months after high school and then joined the Army. A couple months after he got to Germany he found his "true love." He never told me her name. I think of her as Brunhilda and imagine her as six one and two hundred pounds. Not that it matters. It turns out the Army is pretty good about managing such marriages. They made sure all the paperwork was done right and guaranteed I would get money every month for Tiffany. So that's that for Tiny.

Husband number one almost directly caused husband number two. The Army made sure I got child support. It had to be direct deposited into a bank account. I'm seventeen, never had a job, never had a bank account, never dealt with any of that. Now I have to learn about such stuff. I needed three trips to the bank to have all the ID they wanted. Who knew you needed a social security card? Anyway, I'm running all around, Tiffany on my hip, learning to be an adult, when someone asks me if I have insurance. For the car? Yes, and for the trailer. Oops. I am pretty sure we have nothing on either. Turns out I am right. Now that I have determined to act like an adult, I decide to get insurance. Where do I go? Richard Larson Insurance Agency, Wausaukee.

Rick is all of twenty two, just out of college, loans up to his eye balls to buy the one agency he could afford in a place he vaguely remembered driving through once on vacation. He is young and lonely. I am young and none too bright. I get the insurance policies, he invites me out, we are an item for about three months, long enough to create Britney. He takes me down to Sheboygan to meet his family, the "weekend" ends up being maybe an hour before he drives me back to Amberg, me crying all the way.

Family objections not withstanding, he decides to do the right thing. We get married. Britney is born, and Rick starts looking for a wife more suitable to his family, namely one who finished high school and is not living in a trailer with a drunken mother. He finds a teacher at Wausaukee High and his life is all straightened out. I get another set of divorce papers to sign and a monthly child support check. Life moves on.

I understand at this point a number of women would be pretty angry. Basically I have been a starter wife for two men who decided to trade up pretty fast after giving me a kid. And when I was eighteen, nineteen, and twenty you probably did not want to meet me when I was in one of my moods. But it turned out my mother was a much better grandmother than mother, so I had more help than I expected, and the girls... well the girls were marvels. Sweet, smart, helpful. Sure they had bad days, but there were so many good days when I look back on those times I can only smile.

They are both in Green Bay now. They went down for nursing school. Tiffany first, then Britney two years later. Lots of science classes but always As and Bs. Tiffany is already an RN working for a hospital down there. Britney will follow in another year. Two sweet, successful young women. I get down to see them about once a month, and we have a great time out shopping or trying a new restaurant. They may have started life in a trailer, but they will not end there.

Time to describe the bar. Lots of this story takes place in my bar. When the girls were small, I waitressed. After my mother died, I started bartending at the Amberg Bar – still minimum wage, but no more five a.m. shifts. I was around to get the girls breakfast and put them on the bus. Bars up here close at nine or ten, so I was home to check their homework and kiss them goodnight.

The Amberg Bar was the last surviving business on town, and it was barely going. Afternoons I would clean the place, call the distributor in Peshtigo with my weekly orders, and pour exactly two glasses of wine for the Kaminski Twins, two really old ladies who would sit at the one table in the bar, play cribbage, and slowly sip their wine while ignoring me. Fine. That left me free to clean and restock. Around three the men would start coming in. Loggers, mostly. Winter they would be in early – it gets dark here around four, and it's cold as hell. They'd want one dollar draft beers, and bad pizza. We'd talk, watch whatever game was on TV, and the evenings would pass.

It's really no more complicated than that. The pay sucked and the tips were laughable, but Clark (the owner) left me alone to run the place, and when your education stops at sixteen, it's not like Wall Street is calling. The bar was warm, I had known some of these guys since grade school, evenings went by faster than you might think.

Chapter 2

It starts with a Fishing Lodge

So, got the basics? Tiny town in the northeast corner of Wisconsin. Only business left – my bar. Me – twice divorced mother of two grown (and successful) daughters. I pour beer five nights a week, and visit my daughters on my day off. Not exactly the fast lane, but I've got no complaints.

While things didn't change much at the bar, elsewhere in Amberg there were two events that had people talking that year. First, the All Seasons Club was reopening. This is the large resort along the Menominee River. It comes complete with a nine hole golf course, a large restaurant, and a ballroom. Every four years it is resold, remodeled, and reopened. For two or three years everyone is hopeful, but soon bills go unpaid, staff leave, and the place closes yet again. But some company in Chicago had sold it to some other company in Chicago and it was reopening in June. That would be great for the local high school kids. They would have summer jobs as wait staff or grounds crew.

The second, and more surprising event, was the sale of the fishing lodge on Town Corner Lake. The new owner had a history of success as a fishing guide to the rich and famous, and he was going to give this place a try. Why he would be more successful than past owners was unknown, but at least for a season or two a few more people would be passing through town, and maybe they would eat a burger at one place and have a beer at another. Who knew?

Anyway, in late June I got a phone call from Mrs. Swanson. She and her husband were former cooks at the All Seasons Club two or three owners back, and were now catering for people, although you have to wonder how often their skills were needed, given the small size of Amberg and the few major social events that happened around here. But it turned out they were now catering for the fishing lodge. She and the new owner of the lodge, a Mark Baker, had been talking about doing something special on Saturday nights, the final night of the weekly charters. She had recommended a nicer meal and a hostess. He asked if she had anyone in mind. She did, and that's why I was getting this call. There was only one person in town with a bartender's license – me.

We talked for over an hour about what I would do, what I should wear, and when I would do all this. She said I would be paid $200, which meant my answer was "yes," of course, but I did need to clear it with Clark. Clark agreed instantly, maybe because he thought Morgan would bring in more business on Saturday than me since she was a "hottie," and maybe because he was as curious as anyone else about how this new lodge owner was going to run his business. I would be his inside source. (Can I digress here about Morgan? I work at the bar five days a week, and she covers the other two. Why two? Because she needs more money than she can make in one. Is she hot? I never thought so. Okay, she's not bad, but she's thirty, still pretending to be twenty six. Get over it. And what about that name? Isn't Morgan a kind of horse? But, enough about her.)

So Saturday, a little after three I drove over to the Swanson residence. She would fill me in on details as we drove over to the lodge. Mr. Swanson was capable of speech, but it was an activity he generally left to Mrs. Swanson. First things first, trying to think of what a "hostess" wears, I had selected a floor-length red satin gown I had acquired in the time of Rick. Sure, his parents wanted him to dump me, but if I just found the right dress, and did my hair the right way, he would defy them, right? So I spent far more than I should have on some slinky dresses with very short skirts (that got his attention), and then tried this long skirt number to show how mature I could be, and took my hair to blond. Basically I was seventeen and thought like a seventeen year old. Did the clothes and hair work? Well, he certainly got me out of my dresses fast enough, but not so fast he was willing to stand up to his parents.

So I ended up with a second divorce and a closet of fancy clothes I had nowhere to wear. The one I pulled out for my hostess gig had half-sleeves, a looser skirt that would be good for walking around the room, and an off-the-shoulder neckline, which this evening would be not very off-the-shoulder. Mrs. Swanson saw my dress and declared it perfect.

The plan, once we got to the fishing lodge, was simple. I was to go to the bar and make drinks for the men, then I would sit with them at dinner, and later I would make drinks again. After eight years of tending bar, this was all simple. And the fact that I would be doing it for just five men meant I would be doing far less this evening and getting paid far more than I would have been back at the Amberg bar.

And that is pretty much how things went for the evening. We arrived at the lodge around five. I helped the Swansons carry things from their car into the kitchen, and then I went to see what shape the bar was in. The lodge was built around a great room – a huge open space with leather furniture, a massive stone fire place, and a wall of windows looking out over the lake. The furniture with the lodge, since I saw little that was new. Just as well, the furniture was high quality, dark leather, very masculine and very comfortable. It was a fishing lodge, so fish now hung from all the walls. If it had fins and could be stuffed, it was on one wall or another. I thought it was silly, but it wasn't my home – or my business.

There was a massive bar at one end of the room, and I checked to see if it had all the mixers and ice that would be needed, but I should have known Mr. Swanson would have taken care of that. He did bring out a new bottle of scotch while I stood there, but everything else was ready. So I took up my position near the bar, and waited for one of the men to come down from the rooms on the second floor. I had been told there were four customers, plus the owner. That level of business I could handle easily.

Finally near six the first two men came down the open staircase at the other end of the room. I stood with my hands folded in front of me as they crossed the room. "Hi, I'm Jessica" was my opening line. I took their drink orders, asked their names – Dave and Bryan – and learned they were from Minnesota while I mixed their drinks – Scotch for one, a local beer for the other. This was going to be simple. I encouraged them to sit in the leather chairs while I got their drinks, I brought the drinks over, and we carried on a conversation like we were old friends. Craig arrived a little later, I introduced myself, brought him his drink, and we were rolling. When I wasn't getting their drinks, I sat on the arm of a chair near them, and we just kept talking – their week of fishing, their lost lures and the ones that got away –basically the same conversation I would be having back in the Amberg bar, but at a slower pace with less background noise.

Mark, the owner, came in next and sat with the others. He just wanted battled water, so I got a glass, filled it with ice, and opened the bottle for him. He spent a little time adding to the introductions of the three customers, explaining which kind of fishing they had liked best, and there was some banter back and forth about who had landed – and who had lost – the biggest fish of the week. Basically they had all had fun, and they enjoyed each other's company. The fourth customer – Zachery – didn't arrive until nearly seven, explaining he had trouble packing, at which time I was told by all that Zachery had been late for everything this week, one more thing to laugh about. In short, the people and the occasion were pleasant, I monitored their drinks and brought more when needed, and the time passed like lightening.

A little past seven I noticed Mrs. Swanson standing at the far edge of the room – my signal that dinner was ready. I deferred to Mark on this one. I just asked him directly – it appears dinner is ready, should we go in? He said we should, I offered to refill any drinks, and we all walked to the dining room. I was a little afraid of how many fish I would now find dangling from everywhere, but instead I found a mixture of nice quality décor – oak paneling, wall sconces, large beams on the ceiling – and just weird men stuff. There was a huge chandelier made of tangled deer antlers, dripping with small lights that might once have been on a Christmas tree. And then there was the fish. Apparently Mark had once caught a trophy Muskie. It had to be five feet long. Where did he put it? Hanging just behind and above his head, so I saw it every time I looked at him. Maybe that was the point.

Since Mark becomes important in this story, maybe I should describe him. He was about five ten. I noticed in my heels, I was about the same height. He had a fairly square face, not bad looking, with dark hair now going gray. But there were two main features to the man. First he had obviously spent many years in the sun. His skin was deeply – and I would guess permanently – tanned. It made it hard to be sure of his age. I would guess mid forties, but he could be ten years either side of that. His other feature was his shoulders. Are fish really that heavy? He looked like he had spent a lifetime pulling whales from the depths. It was not a bad look, actually. His shoulders were covered in a pale polo shirt. All the men had gone with polos in various colors, two of them had also worn blue blazers for the occasion, and all of them had worn good pants – no jeans. As Mrs. Swanson had explained to me, they had felt they wanted something nicer on their final night, so they had showered, shaved, and put on the best clothing from the bottom of their suit cases.

Dinner went very well. The Swansons served a three course meal – salad, then a nice steak with potatoes, then desert. Red wine was set in front of the men, white for me, food pairings be damned. As back in January, as hostess I decided the pace of the meal. Mrs. Swanson watched from the hallway, standing behind my left shoulder. When I noticed that everyone was done, I lifted my left hand a few inches, and she and Mr. Swanson cleared and brought the next course.

Table conversation started around fish, but early on someone asked if I was from Amberg, and then it was endless questions about the place. I was most comfortable talking about the early days, so I told story after story about the quarry and Bill Amberg, and some of the characters that had lived in the town back when it was in its prime. I was a little concerned I was talking too much, so periodically I would pause and look to Mark. Did he want to jump in and talk more about fishing or something? No, he had questions about the old days too. So I pretty much talked nonstop for two hours, long after the desserts were gone and the brandy had been poured.

Finally I decided not to press my luck. I mentioned I had heard they normally had a drink in the library after dinner, and I offered to bring them anything they wanted. They got up and walked across the hallway, I walked back to the bar and got a tray of drinks. For the next two hours I sat in the room with them and got drinks as needed, and added to the conversation while they sat around the table and played cards. When not fetching drinks, I sat with my back straight and my hands in my lap, feeling very good about my hostessing skills.

About midnight the card game broke up. The men walked back to their rooms, all of them first stopping to shake my hand and thank me for a great evening. Only when they were gone did it occur to me the Swansons had left hours earlier. Mark walked with me upstairs, apologized for not being clear on how long things might go. He had a spare room for me, and as we stood outside it, he told me I had done a perfect job. He hoped I might come down around seven, when we would join the men for breakfast and see them off. I agreed of course, and went in to bed.

I set my phone alarm for six, and got up feeling pretty good. I discovered that this room too had a great shower, and I stayed in it longer than I might have, but if felt good. I had no change of clothes, but at least I felt fresh. I did what I could with my hair and my makeup, and was downstairs just before seven. The Swansons were already in and a large coffee pot was working on the sideboard of the great room. I stationed myself by it and prepared coffee as men came down. Rather than sit, they stood with me by the sideboard and we talked more about the town and they thanked me for the stories I had told. By seven thirty all the men were down sipping coffee. I saw Mrs. Swanson standing in the hallway near the dining room, so I announced – this time without checking with Mark first – that breakfast was ready.

There's not much to say about the next couple hours. Breakfast was sausage and eggs in a pie crust. The men finished the meal and then finished packing. They brought a large SUV up and filled it with fishing rods in long cylindrical cases, plus tackle boxes. Fortunately, being men, they hadn't brought much clothing, so it all fit. They finished with pictures of them, and of them and Mark, and of them and me, there were handshakes and a couple hugs, and they were off.

The Swansons finished about the same time and offered to take me home, but Mark said he would take me home after we had talked. He also asked Mrs. Swanson (steadier hands?) to take a picture of me and him using his cellphone. Later, that was the picture that ended up on his website.

Once they were gone, he motioned me to a glider on the porch facing the lake, and said he would be back with coffee. I offered to go get it, but he just pointed at the glider. So I sat. June can be funny up this far north. I have seen ice on lakes in June. And cold winds. But that June morning was warm – already into the seventies – with little wind. It felt good to sit there and look out at the lake. Although I have to admit that night on the lake in January did come to mind. But the lake looked so different now, it was easy to ignore those fears and enjoy the sunshine.

Mark came back and quickly offered me a job. He handed me my coffee (cream, no sugar – he had noticed how I took my coffee) and then he handed me a wad of bills.

"The men thought your time with them last night was the highlight of the week. They took up a collection, and there is your tip – one hundred fifty from them, and two hundred from me."

I put the cash in my lap and sipped my coffee. "I liked them. Talking to them was easy."

"Maybe that's why it worked so well. It was easy for you. You naturally interact well with people."

"Mark," I had to laugh at that. "I have been a bartender for eight years and a waitress before then. 'Interaction' is what I do for a living."

"I would like you to do it here. I thought the way we did it this weekend worked pretty well. What did you think?"

He had me at "what do you think?" I was allowed an opinion. He would listen to my ideas.

"I'm trying to understand your schedule. They arrive, what, Monday or Tuesday? And you take them off fishing every day?" He's nodding as I talk. I also notice he is not interrupting me. I like this guy. "I assume most nights it's men talking about fish, and I am guessing by the way things went last night, that by the end of the week they have talked about all the fish they want to talk about, and want a change as they prepare to go back home. It could be a classier meal with a woman at the table, or it could be a trip into town for burgers and beers with the locals, couldn't it?"

"I tried burgers and beers a couple weeks ago. Forgive me for saying this, but these guys are paying two thousand dollars a head, and they want something a little better than what they can find in Amberg or Wausaukee."

"I have lived in this town all my life, so believe me, Mark, I am an expert in what it does not have. I would need permission from my boss at the bar, but if you want to try this a few more weeks, I'm in." And that settled the matter.

After that, we just sat and talked for another couple hours, where he was from, the places he fished in the area, how he had gotten into the business. Not to say it was all about him. He was curious about me, and I got to brag about my daughters. Time passed. We talked. It felt comfortable. Eventually I asked him to take me to the Swansons so I could get my truck. We parted with a handshake and a promise to call in a couple days.

# Chapter 3

# Summer has Some Nice Moments

It turned out Clark was fine with me taking off every Saturday, and in fact he gave me Sunday off too. I was beginning to wonder if he had something going with Morgan. But that was his business. My business was to serve drinks and provide conversation to fishermen. Over the next several weeks that generally went well. Not that everything went perfectly. One week they didn't want me at all – they were there to get away from the wives, so no girls allowed on Saturday. On a couple other weekends you could tell one of the guys was unhappy. He had come with some plan to land the biggest musky, or the most brook trout, and that hadn't happened. I would see it in general attitude, but also in his treatment of me. I went from being a hostess to a serving wench, and I was treated accordingly.

But overall, I was having a good time. It also got so my favorite time was Sunday after the guys left. Mark and I would sit on the glider and just talk. He would ask about the latest on my girls, and I would ask how the week had gone, and we just sat quietly, sipped our coffee, and talked. It must have been the fifth week when he sat closer to me, and I have to admit I was happy he did. While we sipped our coffee, he held my hand, and I slid a little closer to him. Somewhere in there he leaned over and kissed me. I kissed him back, and then, being the hussy I am, I said, "Let's go upstairs."

That changed our weekends some. Now when I came over, I went up to his room and left my things there, including something nice to wear to bed. Sunday morning, after everyone was gone, we went back up to his room and stayed there for a good part of the afternoon. Did I love this man? Not yet, but I felt very good being with him. He felt good in my arms, and I liked how he held me. I enjoyed our time together, even though it was just weekends.

Here's where I need to say a few words about my love life. I had none. First, the picking up here are not that great. And it's not like I was such a great catch either. A woman in a trailer with two kids. Hmm. Who could pass that up? Lots of men. I think since Rick I've had maybe three dates, and none of them went well. Now suddenly there is this guy who has traveled the world, has serious money, looks good, holds me right, and is nice to be around. I was smitten.

We were pretty good around customers. They weren't there to see me and him climb all over each other. I sat with the men, talked with them, paid attention to them. But when Mark looked at me, there was this smile. And if we got close, there was his hand on the small of my back that slipped down to my ass for just an instant.

But once the customers got into their cars and were down the drive way, we were in each other's arms. And I can't begin to tell you how good that felt. By August we were going out to dinner together on Sunday nights. Down to the Wausaukee café, or the supper club on the edge of town. Out in public, together. I was happy, and I was proud.

And I was nervous. How long was this going to last? Which brings me to the Packer game. The third Sunday in August he drove me down to Green Bay for a Packer preseason game. A couple things to note here. First, I had never been to a game before. When you earn minimum wage, you don't have a hundred dollars for football tickets, even to the Packers. If you have a hundred dollars it goes for propane for the trailer, or repairs for the damn truck, or shoes for the girls. And even if you have a hundred dollars to spare, you can't buy tickets to Packers games. They are sold out to season ticket holders every year. Parents will their season tickets to their kids. If you want season tickets, you get on a waiting list. I knew a guy who got on the list after he finished college. He made it to the top of the list the year after he retired. Really. So, what does it feel like to get to a Packer game? Like winning the lottery.

So I am incredibly excited, but I am also nervous. This is a big deal to me, but is it for Mark? He has lived and worked all over the world (well, over much of the US and Canada). Will he even be interested? He has figured out how to get tickets, but is this just a routine afternoon for him? A diversion from fishing?

Lambeau Field is located in a neighborhood. People have cars park on their front lawns. Pay twenty bucks, and then set up a grill and cook some brats and have a few beers before the game. I'm into it before we even have the car parked. We walk a few blocks to the stadium, and the lot there is filled with cars and grills and folding tables filled with food. Seventy thousand people having a party before the game. I am walking, stopping, looking, smiling, my head on a swivel. We haven't even gotten to the stadium yet and I am excited. And nervous. I am holding Mark's hand, and I catch glimpses of his face. He has huge shades on and a cap pulled low, so I am not too sure what is going on with him, but I am hoping when I look at him I don't see boredom or impatience. So far, he looks okay.

Then we get to the stadium. It's the oldest stadium in the NFL, built back in the 1950s, and rebuilt several times. The latest remodel added an atrium with restaurants and stores, and up above they put in luxury boxes, so the new part looks like other NFL stadiums you see on TV. But then there is "the bowl." The seating closest to the field is the original bleachers. No chairs here, no arm rests and seat backs. Just boards with numbers painted on them, and two painted lines fourteen inches apart – you "seat." People are packed together. Packed together next to the same people they have sat with for twenty years.

Everyone knows everyone. Mark explains to the couple next to us that Jim and Judy are old friends and sold him their tickets. Yes, they are visiting their kids in California. Yes, they should be back for the next game. Who are Jim and Judy? I don't know, and don't care. I am staring down at the field. We are on the thirty yard line, maybe halfway up the bowl, and I am watching the players warm up.

Do I need to justify my excitement? Yes, Wisconsin has a professional baseball and basketball team too, but they are down in Milwaukee, and they are average – in a good year. The Packers are winners – the first two Super Bowls, two more since then, and lots of championships before the Super Bowl was invented. And the team is up here in Green Bay – the northern part of the state, the part that is fading even faster than the rest of Wisconsin. In a state that is not first in anything (state motto – "at least we aren't Mississippi yet"), we had one winning team. Come December and January when it is dark before five and the temps freeze your ears, you have no idea how good it feels to turn on your TV and see these guys beat the damn Cowboys.

So, I grew up watching the Packers on TV, and I spend part of every day at my bar talking Packers. Whatever people get out of going to church, I think I get out of watching the Packers. And now I am actually in Lambeau, and I am with Mark.

He's talking to the couples around us. I am studying our first and second round draft choices. Both are on defense. Both are fast. Are they fast enough to give us the defense we have been lacking since Reggie White retired? I am watching every move. The game starts, conversations stop, I slide in my fourteen inch seat close up against Mark, and he puts his arm around me. Five plays in, Mark says, "I thought Evans covered that corner route pretty well." And I am in love. He knows what a corner route is, he knows why Evans is important, and he knows I will care. The man is a triple threat. I kissed his cheek, the most I could do with sixty thousand witnesses.

So, how was my summer? Wow. I loved that man. It might have been twenty years since my last serious date, but it was worth the wait.

# Chapter 4

# The Summer Winds Down

Monday through Friday I still worked my bar. With the preseason started, Packer conversations were nonstop. I was fine with that. Well, I was better than fine. I could name all the players and tell what college the new guys were from. And – I could describe what I had seen – first hand – when I had gone down to Lambeau. Yes, this girl had seen the Packers play. There was a smile frozen on my face, and a lift in my step. Look up "happy" in the dictionary, and there is a picture of me that August.

As for the fishing lodge, every hour there was a joy. The lodge was beautiful, the people were kind. They liked me and my stories. I almost felt like a teacher. I got so when an old person came into the bar I would ask them to tell me what they knew about the old days, just so I could add to my stories.

And then there was Mark. I started getting to the lodge earlier and earlier on Saturday just so I could see him. And I was careful with how I dressed. One weekend I even wore a navy blue satin evening gown I ordered from Amazon – other than a dress I bought for Tiffanny's graduation, this was my first dress in twenty years. It was strapless and tight in all the right places. The four fishermen really had their tongues hanging out as I served their drinks and sat with them at dinner. But I was mostly pleased with how Mark looked at me. It occurred to me I could wear the same dress every weekend since the fishermen kept changing, so it would always be new to them. But it would not be new to Mark, and I wanted to keep him interested. Based on how he treated me in bed that night, the gown had done the job.

Finally August became September and I suspected the season was winding down. How many more weekends would I have? I wanted to look good to the very end, so I ordered a new hostess dress from Amazon – a cotton print in fall colors, floor length, half sleeves, a reasonable neckline. I thought Mark would like seeing me in it. And if it was the last weekend, well, I would make it a good one.

And here is the funny part. I enjoyed sleeping with Mark, but I actually was happier just to sit with him. Each Sunday morning we continued to sit on that glider and talk. He kept an arm around me, and I liked that. He had a perfect spot to hold my upper arm, and he held it firmly but not too tight. It was enough so that I was always conscious of his hand on my arm, and I found it reassuring. I sometimes put a hand on his leg, or kept my hands in my lap, and I enjoyed laying my head on his shoulder as we talked, but it was his hand around my shoulders that I enjoyed the most. Don't get the wrong idea, I was happy when we went upstairs and bounced around his bed, but sitting and talking felt so good I liked those times to go on and on. But of course seasons change, and in Wisconsin they change early. My days sitting with him on the glider were coming to an end.

October there should not have been any business, but luckily he had two last minute contracts for weeks one and two, and then a contract for week four. I thought that fourth week was crazy. We could be chopping ice on the lakes by then, but a contract was a contract and another weekend was another joy.

Those first two weekends went by the book as far as the customers were concerned. What changed was us. Sunday mornings we sat in the lodge after the customers had left. It was getting too cool for the glider. We used a leather love seat facing the lake and sat close. One Sunday I asked him if he liked the lake. I had never seen him on it. He said the lake was pretty unremarkable. He used it for practice. If men had never used a fly rod before, they would go out to the shore and work on their technique free of overhanging branches or any current.

"So, not much of a lake?"

"No. It's really just a depression filled with water. And not much of a depression. There are weeds and pan fish, but not much that is bigger. No trophy lunkers in there."

'So, disappointed?"

"There are a couple trout streams that are worth fishing."

I left the conversation there. My next question was obvious, but I didn't have the courage to ask it. The season was ending, the lake was disappointing. This place had been sold and resold almost annually. Would I have much more time on this love seat with his arm around me?

# Chapter 5

# Switzerland Comes Calling

The final charter of the year was odd for more reasons than the weather. When I brought my overnight bag up to Mark's room Saturday afternoon, he was waiting for me. He said everything about this bunch was strange. They were Swiss, so he expected some differences in how they fished or what they wanted to land, but it was much odder than that. For one thing, they insisted on eating in town each day. They had worked their way up 141. First Crivitz, then Wausaukee, then Pembine and Niagara. These were obviously wealthy and sophisticated men. Why do a greasy spoon tour? As for fishing, they did a little, but two hours here or there were plenty for them. Each of them knew what they were doing, and in fact had some of the best technique with a fly rod he had ever seen, but they just were not interested in local streams. Obviously we had different (okay, lesser) streams than what they had in the Alps. So why had they come at all?

Then there was their interest in me. The leader of the group had specifically asked to speak to me "about a business matter" after dinner. Really? I wasn't sure I could find Switzerland on a map. How could I have any business there? So, with both of us really confused, we went down to drinks before dinner.

Here I got real unhappy real fast. I discovered I was not a hostess, I was a waitress, and I had no name. I was "fraulein." It was "fraulein bring me another scotch, no ice." They accepted drinks from me, but paid me no other attention. They never introduced themselves or made any attempt to include me or Mark in their conversation, much of which they conducted in German. At dinner it was little different. They made a few comments to Mark, but I was ignored. Mostly they spoke to each other in German, apparently having a good time telling stories and laughing. Mark had warned me they dressed for dinner, so I had worn my red satin off-the-shoulder gown that normally drew attentive looks, but they never really looked in my direction. I was "help" who sat at their table for reasons they did not understand – or approve.

After dinner three of the men invited Mark into the library for cards, while the head of the group – Elias Gruber – took my elbow and steered me out into the great room. How do I describe this guy? You know the expression "tightly wrapped?" That was him. Granted men dressed a bit better their last night, but this guy was wearing a thousand dollar suit, perfectly pressed. His tie was perfectly knotted and pulled tight. He looked like he only sweated by appointment. Maybe six feet tall, early forties, he had the build of a distance runner. Not an ounce of wasted fat on the guy. Decent face and hair, but what you saw was the eyes. If it was ever possible for humans to shoot lasers from their eyes, he would be the first to do it. He looked like he had been giving orders for years, and always had them obeyed. Now was my turn.

I pointed to a pair of leather chairs, but he selected a love seat. We had barely gotten our butts on the seat when he asked me to get him a cognac. I had just asked five minutes earlier if I could get anyone a drink, and I could easily have gotten it as we walked over here, but no, he wanted me to sit and then get up for a drink. In short, this guy was pushing me to show he could. I brought him his drink, which he promptly ignored. He had never wanted a drink, he had wanted to show me who was boss.

When I was seated again, he turned to me, put a hand on my thigh, and said, "Mrs. Thorpe, I have some business we should discuss."

"You can start by taking your hand off my leg." He made no effort to move it.

"Let me explain. First, whenever I talk with a woman, I touch her. I like to touch women, and most of them like to be touched. Also, I touch women to show that I can. It defines and simplifies relationships."

"Move your hand, or this meeting is over."

"Let me explain a situation first. Are you aware of your employer's financial condition?"

"No." I had never considered it.

"He is currently two months behind on his mortgage. He paid far too much for this simple lodge on this pathetic lake. We agreed to pay him ten thousand dollars for this week of second-rate fishing. I can write him a check for that amount tomorrow and his situation will be much improved. Or I can tell him our corporate payments office will get to him shortly, only it won't be short. Sixty days becomes ninety, maybe more. His business might be gone by then. Did you still want to end this meeting?"

"No."

"I appreciate you loyalty to him. But then, he is more than an employer, is he not?" While he is saying this, his other hand is on the back of the love seat, one finger running up and down the back of my neck. What a sleaze. I didn't answer his question.

"My business proposition is simple, and I know you will agree to it. But I feel I should explain a few things to you first. Let me start with the obvious. Your country is pathetic. I understand you did not finish high school. That is no loss. Your high schools are run by simpletons for simpletons. When I finished high school I was fluent in four languages. So were all my classmates. We could read foreign newspapers and carry on conversations with people from all over Europe. The only language I had trouble with was English, and that's because you people don't know how to speak it correctly. Or, as you would say, you don't speak it good. You don't have a grasp of the most rudimentary grammar of your own language."

"Do you get paid by the word? This story is running pretty long."

"Of course, the famous American attention span. But, unfortunately for you, I have much more to say. Let me move on to the business we plan to create just up the highway. We have purchased some land and will be building a bottling plant for the water we intend draw from the local aquafer - that means the water in the ground. The plant will employ eleven production employees plus a number in logistics – that means the people who move things from place to place."

"Do I have to pay tuition for this vocabulary course you are giving me?" I noticed the finger stopped moving at the back of my neck. Score one for Jessica.

"Actually, I am going to give you money." At that point he took an envelope from his suit pocket. He opened it and counted out five one hundred dollar bills. He then put the money back in the envelope and gave it to me. I left it in my lap. "I am paying you for sparkles. You see, the plant will be approved. We bought your governor years ago, and he has appointed all the right people to your Department of Natural Resources. We can put the plant anywhere we want, and draw all the water we want, and do this any time we want. We own your people."

"But you want sparkles."

"So, you have been paying attention, even if my story is long. Good for you. Here is where the sparkles come in. You Americans aren't satisfied with ice cream. You always put some sauce on top. And then you put colorful sparkles on the sauce." I think he meant "sprinkles" but I wasn't going to fix his English for him. "You always want one more thing. One more level of consumption, obesity be damned. In this case, the next level is happy smiling people on camera. We get our building and drilling permit, break ground, and on December 1 the governor comes up, all smiles as his hard work and business acumen has led to one more Wisconsin success story. He smiles, future workers smile, and the camera takes it all in. Many happy natives stand around the site – the sparkles at the event."

"And if I don't provide the sparkles?"

"As I said, we own your government. This plant will go in if we said we were going to pave over ten acres of wetlands. Nothing will stop us. You are just providing background footage of happy natives. As bartender in the only bar near the plant site, you will have many chances to explain all the good things this plant will bring to your town. And you will do one more thing. Tomorrow you will write a letter to the editor of the Marinette Eagle Star. Your letter will be at least one hundred words long, and it will explain what I just told you – this plant will bring jobs."

"Will it?"

"Yes. I am not lying to you. Somewhere, sitting on couches around Marinette County, are twenty men who will now have regular employment."

"If I take this money, do I ever have to talk to you again?"

"It is unlikely we will ever meet again."

"And Mark gets paid tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Then I accept. Now take your hands off me, this meeting is over." I got up and took the envelope up to our room. Then I came back down and got a round of drinks for the men in the library. Elias had joined them, and of course he wanted another cognac from the "fraulein." Mark looked at me, no doubt wondering what had gone on, but I just shook my head. We would have plenty of time to talk later.

# Chapter 6

# The Letter

I got real tired of being "Fraulein Fetch" so I went to bed before the others and was asleep when Mark finally came to bed. We both got showered and dressed quickly in the morning and didn't have a chance to talk. I wore my red satin gown again – why get out a fresh dress for this bunch? Mark and I stood by the sideboard as usual, and I took orders for coffee. Once they had their mug, I was ignored again.

Gruber was the last one down, and he said he wanted to speak with me again. He led the way into Mark's office and closed the door. Once inside, he approached me and I retreated until my back was against a wall. He stood maybe two inches from me and took two things out of his jacket pocket. The first was a ten thousand dollar check for Mark.

"Shouldn't you be giving this to Mark?"

"I think you have done more to earn it. You give it to him." The other piece of paper was a letter to the editor. As I read it, Gruber put his hand on my upper arm and left it there.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"As I told you yesterday, I like touching women."

"Yes, and some of them like being touched, and you like showing that you can touch them when you wish."

"You have a good memory."

"Yes. And when I am finished reading this letter, this business meeting will be over and you will take your hand off me."

"You are an interesting woman." I ignored him and read the letter. It basically provided all the facts I needed, the dates for building, the cost of the structure, the number of employees, the size of the annual payroll. But it was written as if it were going to be presented to a convention of construction engineers. I would have to rewrite it, but I didn't think it would be too hard.

"I am done reading now." I looked down at his hand.

"Then we will be going." But he made no move to leave.

"If you are waiting for a good bye kiss, you will wait a long time."

"You may not believe this, but I think I like you." He gave me a big smile, ran his hand over my arm again, and then turned and walked out of the room.

There would be no final breakfast. One of the men had already pulled a huge SUV around, and all the men were loading bags and fishing gear. They would eat on the plane they had waiting for them at the Green Bay airport. Fine with me. We stood on the front porch and waved as always when customers left, but none of them looked back. We might be the source of a joke or two, but otherwise, we would be forgotten as soon as the plane landed in Switzerland.

As was our usual practice on Sundays, I sat on the love seat by the windows, and Mark brought us our coffees. There was much to say, but I have to admit I was in no mood to say much of anything. I had been insulted for two days. This was the time on Sunday I normally enjoyed the most, but I kept thinking of those damn Swiss. But I needed to tell Mark what had been going on.

"Gruber gave me the check for your services this week. I left it on the desk in your office."

"Why did he give it to you?" That of course was the key question.

"He wants me to do some things for him. It turns out this whole week was about a water plant his company will be building on the highway north of town. He wants me to tell people it is a good idea. That it will bring jobs."

"Anything that will bring jobs up here should be really popular. Why does he need your help?"

"I don't know." And I truly did not know. I wanted to see more jobs up here as much as anyone. Why would I have to be paid to support it? But that got me thinking about my current employer. At this point we were in our usual position. He had one hand around my shoulders, and one hand on his coffee mug. I had my head on his shoulder, one hand on his thigh, and one hand on my coffee mug. I put down my coffee mug and turned to him.

"Can you afford to pay me?"

"Oh, I am sorry." He reached into his shirt pocket and gave me the usual two hundred dollars. I left it in my lap. "I am afraid they did not leave a tip. That seems to be common with Europeans."

"Gruber said you were behind on your mortgage payments. And now with the season over, can you make it?"

"So the bastard checked my financials, huh. Well he was right. It took a lot of money to buy the equipment I needed to get started up here. But that is paid for now. And I had three clients take forever to finally get me a check. But they have paid and Gruber has now paid, so I should be clear with everyone."

"And this winter?"

"That's a conversation I have put off too long. Let's take a walk." We put on light coats and walked out across the lawn and stood on his pier. The lake didn't look any more attractive standing over it, but he held my hand and I waited for him to say whatever was making him uncomfortable.

"This is a seasonal business. The season here is ending. The season in Florida is getting started. My family has fishing charters out of the Keys. I will captain a boat and cover the winter costs of this place." All of this was mildly interesting, but of course I was waiting to hear what any of this had to do with me. At this point he turned me toward him and put his hands on the small of my back, pulling me against him. I put my hands on his very large shoulders. Okay, we are ready, now what does he say?

"There are two ways this can go. First, you can go with me. I think you will like the Keys, and you can't beat the weather. We would be down there about six months. Or, I can hire you to house sit the lodge. Make sure it doesn't freeze up. Obviously, I prefer option number one." He was holding me tight to him as he talked, and I could definitely tell he preferred option number one.

"When will you leave?"

"In about two weeks."

"Let me give you another option. I have my daughters in Green Bay who I love to see. So this is my option. I stay with you the next two weeks, and you make love to me every night. After you leave, you call me from Florida and say things that make me blush. Six months from now you return and make me really grateful to have you back." His response was to pick me up and carry me back across the lawn, back through the house, and up the stairs. He really did have strong shoulders. We spent the rest of the day in his bed.

During the next two weeks I moved some things to the lodge, and he was very good to me every night. But I also had things to do with my trailer. I used the five hundred dollars from Gruber to fill the propane tank, the biggest tank full I could ever afford. I turned the thermostat down to fifty five to see if that would cut costs but also keep my pipes from freezing, and at least initially it seemed to work. Back at the lodge, Mark filled the kitchen for me and gave me a check book to cover ongoing utility expenses. Did I mention we had really good nights?

I wrote the letter to the editor, and I even counted the words to make sure I was over one hundred. I was actually at one hundred six. I put that in the mail and went back to helping Mark get various things in the garage or covered. I also resumed my regular hours at the bar. Morgan didn't seem to be bothered by having her days changed. With me working weekends again, she could go back to whatever singles on the make do in Wausaukee.

Mark left at dawn on a Sunday. He wanted to get through Chicago on a day with less traffic. I am afraid I did not send him off very rested, but he was going to be gone for six months, so what did he expect? As he pulled out of the garage, I stood on the porch wearing my shortest nightie. I wanted his final view of me to stick in his memory a while. He actually stopped his SUV, got out and gave me another kiss. I damn near pulled him into the house for more, but finally he got himself under control and drove away.

I got myself ready to face the world, pulling on blue jeans and a sweater, the official uniform of the Marinette County woman. I opened the bar at the usual time and tried to stop yawning while I served the church ladies their Sunday brandies. By twelve they were heading home to lunch and the bar was filling with regulars. The Packers were the late game, so they would not be on until after three, but these guys wanted to get a head start. I switched on the TV and we watched the Bears. There's a sad team for you. Watching them play football is like watching NASCAR for the crashes. You know it is going to get ugly, you just don't know when.

Anyway, we had settled in for the usual six hours of beers and football, when in walked a man and a woman who had never been in the place before. We are not a tourist hotspot, so I was at a loss for why they were in my bar. Both were wearing lots of denim, boots, and steel rimmed glasses. They looked like they were vastly over-prepared for a walk in the woods. They sat as far from the TV as they could. Not football fans, apparently. I walked down to their end of the bar, said "Hi" and asked what I could get them.

"Do you have time to talk for a few minutes?" She asked.

"Sure. Would you like something to drink while we talk?"

"Beers would be great." I brought them each a beer, although neither did more than sip the suds. He put a five on the bar.

"What would you like to talk about?" As I asked that, I checked down the bar to see if anyone needed a refill. It occurred to me mothers and bartenders have the same job. We need to do one thing (pick a thing – ironing, talking on the phone, saying clever things about the Packers), while keeping a watch on children or customers. I saw everyone still had beer in their glass, so I turned back to Mr. and Mrs. Forest Hike.

"First, let me introduce Dr. Johnson. Dr. Johnson is on the Natural Resources faculty at UW Stevens Point. I am Denise Wells. My husband is a forest ranger stationed in Wausaukee." Okay, so I am talking to a college professor and the wife of a forest ranger. Why?

"Pleased to meet you, Doctor, Ms. Wells. I am Jessica Thorpe."

"My pleasure." He smiled, but I wasn't seeing all that much pleasure.

"Jessica," the lady said. "We have come about the letter you wrote to the newspaper. Some of us have some concerns about that water plant, and we thought we should tell you about them. We thought Dr. Johnson could give you the best information about our concerns." Okay, so she was setting him up. I glanced down the bar to see if I was still free to listen, and then nodded my head. Go ahead professor.

"I study water." He paused at that, and I was glad he did. I wondered how you studied water. But before my imagination got going too far, he continued. "Wisconsin is a great place to study water. We have all these lakes – over eight thousand, plus frontage on Lake Superior and Lake Michigan. We probably have the best access to water of any place on earth." I liked the sound of that. Good for us.

"There are good reasons why companies from around the world are coming here and setting up bottling plants. Lots of the world is drying up, and here we are with great amounts of really pure water. They are basically mining water, the way they used to mine granite around here." So far all I am hearing is good things. Why am I not hearing a matching tone in their voices?

"Here is the problem." Somehow I knew this was coming. "Most of the water is below ground. And the ground determines how pumping large amounts of water affects the area. For instance, central Wisconsin is an old lake bed hundreds of miles across. It is all sand, and they plant potatoes there. They have been taking water out of that area for years, and the water table is dropping. People are having to put in new wells, and some of the trout streams have largely dried up."

"What's our situation here?" I asked. Obviously they were here to talk about the new water plant, not some problem in the middle of the state.

"The subsoil here is really unique. There are large granite ridges where they used to mine, and other areas where the soil goes down hundreds of feet. The water table is so high, lots of folks have sand point wells."

"That's what I have." If you don't know what that is, you take a one and a quarter inch pipe with a point and then some screening behind it, and you pound it into the ground with a post driver. Two men working together can drive a point down twenty or thirty feet, and you get water. It is cheaper than a drilled well, which explains why that's what we have at my trailer.

"Those are very shallow wells, and they work when the water table is high. If the water level goes down, the wells go dry."

"And you are telling me some wells will go dry if too much water is pumped by the new plant." I thought I might as well move to the finish. If that was where they were going, I would help them get there before the next round of beers.

"We don't have a complete map of the subsoil, and we expect the aquafer is uneven, flowing around some of the granite, over some other granite layers. We cannot predict exactly who will be affected, except we can almost guarantee the homes immediately around the new corporate well will lose their water and will need to put in much deeper wells than they now have."

"Okay," I said. "I guess I understand the problem. Now what?"

"Several of us will be writing letters to the editor." This from the forest ranger wife. "We have also started meeting at the library in Wausaukee. We will probably do something when the governor is up here for the groundbreaking December first. We understand you have had some contact with this corporation. It would be great if you could just ask them to pay for new wells for their neighbors. We also hope you will be on our side if there is conflict over this."

"I am certainly sympathetic."

"Good. Do you have an email account? We will send you updates on what we learn about this plant and its impacts." I gave her my gmail address. As is usual in such situations, they closed with "thanks for your time, we will keep in touch," that sort of thing. I told them the beers were on the house. They picked up the five and were out the door. No reason to tip the lady who had stood listening to them for ten minutes, I guess. Meanwhile, the Bears fumbled and everyone seemed to need a refill while the fumble was replayed three times from three angles. It looked stupid from every angle.

It took a few days before I did anything about that conversation. It was fairly busy at the bar, and I was still settling in at the lodge. I have to admit I really liked having the run of the place. I cooked up some very nice meals and I always ate in the dining room – even breakfast. On the evenings I had off I dressed for dinner, poured myself a glass of wine, and lit the candles on a candelabra I found stored in a corner of the kitchen. It felt pretty special. Yes, having Mark there would have been nice, but it also felt pretty good just to have some time to myself. I sipped my wine and enjoyed the beauty of that dining room. Then I put on some music and sat in one of the leather chairs in the great room, my legs curled up under me and a second glass of wine in my hand. I smiled a lot.

The second week in November I invited the girls up to see the place. We had a great time cooking up far too much food in the kitchen, then dressing for dinner, lighting all the candles in the dining room, then sharing a couch and watching a chick-flick on a laptop Tiffany had brought with her. We hit the frozen vodka pretty hard that night and giggled through three bags of microwave popcorn. That was a night to remember.

Somewhere during that period I dug around in Mark's files and found the name and email address of the company building the water plant. I sent an email off to Gruber explaining the problem with wells and the local concerns. I suggested the company pay for the new wells. I got no reply. Maybe Gruber only replied if he could put his hand on you somewhere.

# Chapter 7

# Deer Season

From the Saturday before Thanksgiving until the Sunday after it, Wisconsin has a nine day deer season. We also have a bow season and even a silly season where goofy guys use muzzle loaders. It takes all kinds. But for the nine days around Thanksgiving it is gun season and six hundred thousand men take a wide range of rifles out into the woods (yes, I know a few women hunt, and I bet they are good at it, but this is primarily a thing for guys.)

What does this have to do with me? It turns out guys fall into two groups. One very small group abstains from any booze during deer season. They are all about the hunt and treat it with great respect. Then there is everyone else. Those guys spend mornings in the woods freezing their butts off, and then spend the rest of the day in local bars. If you are the only bar in town – like mine – you get slammed for nine days. I work, Morgan works, even Clark works. The beer truck arrives every morning and the bar is empty of everything again by closing. We start with a pile of pizza boxes six feet high and go through every one. We go through so many half barrels, we don't bother putting them in the store room – we just keep them behind the counter where I trip over them forty or fifty times a day. On the plus side, Clark makes his Florida vacation money in just this week, and I get enough in tips to fix whatever problem my truck is currently having.

But, this story is primarily about the bottling plant, not how men shoot things in November. So let me make the connection. The greatest number of deer are shot opening day. Men get up around six and get to their favorite spot to be ready for dawn when the season starts. Deer don't have calendars. They are walking around on Friday minding their own business and life is fine. One day later they walk down the same deer trail and 600,000 rifles open up on them. It is a rough morning to be a deer.

Hunters not only can read a calendar and tell time, but they also have a good idea of where to go for deer – near agricultural land. Deer mooch off farms. Fruit, corn, most other crops, and deer are right in there. Even after a crop has been harvested, deer will pick through the leavings. So, if you are a hunter you find a spot near a farm. And if you find a good spot you go to the same spot year after year – sometimes for decades. You take your sons to that place. It is your place.

Lately we have been having some problems in Wisconsin with people posting their land. If they put up a "no trespassing" or "no hunting" sign, rangers will give you a ticket if you try to hunt there. Why more posting? Sometimes it is new houses going in. Some guy wants to retire on ten acres up some road. He builds the house, then posts the land since he wants the deer on his land, and he doesn't want his house shot up. No, it doesn't happen very often, but it happens. I knew a woman who was sitting in her living room nursing her baby when a bullet came through the wall two inches above her head. Rifle bullets will go through a wall easily, and they will travel over a mile. So there is reason for concern.

But as land gets posted, it can be a real surprise for guys who got off work late on Friday, drove up from Milwaukee or wherever, got up Saturday morning to go to the spot they have used for the last fifteen years, only to find it is now posted. People get a little peeved.

And that's what happened Saturday morning. We had four different groups of hunters come into the bar really upset and confused. They wanted to know who the hell "Naturale" was and why they had not only posted but fenced a huge area just across from several farms. I had no idea who Naturale was either, but I have a phone and basic skills, so I did what any eight year old would do and checked Google. Guess what – it was a company that bottled "pure natural spring water."

So, these guys had found the bottling plant. I had been paid five hundred dollars to say nice things about the plant, but I decided now was not the time. I asked the guys to show me where the place was on the county map we have on the wall. They showed me, and I could see right away why the place was perfect. On one end was 141, so they would have a good truck route, right through the middle was a rail line, and on the far side was a county road so they would have additional access to the plant or to the wells. My best guess was they had 320 acres, maybe more. So, yes, there were going to be plenty of hunters who were going to have to hunt elsewhere.

Four groups came through in the morning to moan about the posted land, and two more came in later in the day. Eventually there was conversation between the groups, and for some reason that just made them all madder. One group had a kid with them who looked up the company on Google and made the connection that the company was Swiss. That seemed to take their anger to a whole new level (I was tempted to say just be glad you're not a woman, but I didn't). What right did foreigners have keeping Wisconsin taxpayers from killing Wisconsin deer?

By Sunday everyone had found a new place to hunt, and maybe a new excuse for coming home empty handed. The conversation moved on. People drove up with deer tied to their bumper or laid out in the back of their truck, so folks were in and out of the bar, folks had stories to tell about ones they got and the ones they missed. It was a typical day in a typical deer season.

Then Monday came. Someone trespassed on the bottler's land. Rangers were called and a man was fined. There were no Swiss flags handily available for burning, but the trash talking got pretty bad. I had never seen Naturale water, and I was glad we weren't trying to sell any.

Where did all this lead? Well the season is only nine days. Then 600,000 people go home, people like me sleep late and massage tired feet, and the locals take over. For them, the discovery of the posted land was the first real knowledge they had that a new company was coming to town. They now knew where it was, and I was not the only person to drive up there and give it a look. All we could see was some fencing off the road, a cleared area, and a pile of building materials. But something was coming, and in a town where nothing had come for decades, that pile of building materials looked pretty good.

# Chapter 8

# No Sparkles

Up until deer season I really had not heard anyone talk about the bottling plant. I knew from Gruber that the Swiss already had the permits they needed, and I knew from Mrs. Forest Ranger there would be a ground breaking with the governor December 1. That probably made me the most informed person in town. But the rest of the town was learning fast. The local Republican machine got rolling, telling people they had the opportunity to meet their governor –complete with free coffee and donuts. So that ball got rolling.

As for the opposition, Gruber finally replied to my email. No, the company would not pay for new water wells around the plant. It would "change the narrative." Whatever the hell that meant.

Meanwhile, the ranger wife had sent me a newsletter and several emails. She and some other people were meeting at the Wausaukee library at noon, and they would love to have me join them. I was really tempted to take a pass, but I fought the impulse. I ate a good breakfast put on a fresh pair of jeans and a new sweater, and drove down to the library.

I knew the Wausaukee Library well. I took the kids there for years, and I took myself there. I may be a high school dropout, but I can read. The library hadn't changed much. Not much in Wausaukee ever changed. There was a meeting room in the basement, and I went straight down there. I found chairs for a dozen, but just six of us attending. I guess hopes had been high but... Anyway, we sat around an old oak table, did introductions, and passed the time while everyone hoped more people might descend the stairs. By twelve fifteen, it was clear the six of us were it.

During the initial introductions, I was wondering what people thought when they heard my name. Was I the bartender at a bar they would never frequent? Was I Jessica Trailer Trash? Whatever they were thinking as they looked at me, no one mentioned it.

They finally stopped looking at the door and got down to business. Denise Wells was clearly the head of whatever this group might be called. Seated around her were four other women plus me. Why no men? No one said, and I didn't ask. The women were all old enough to be free of children at midday, and too young for Bingo. We looked like a sweater convention.

Denise began the meeting by turning to me. Had I heard anything from the corporation? I thought I had better provide some background before the others thought I was a corporate employee.

"The only conversation I have had was with an Elias Gruber. He and three other men from the company were in town for a week in late October. They said they were here fishing, so they stayed at Mark Baker's fishing lodge, but they were really here just to look over the area. Mark has me tend bar for his groups on their final night, so I met the group that one night. Gruber told me about the water project. Since Denise asked, I tracked down the corporate email accounts and asked Gruber if the company would pay for new wells around the plant. He answered my email yesterday and said no."

"Did he give a reason?" One of the women asked.

"No."

"Thank you for asking," Denise said. I thought that was nice of her.

"Do we know how many people might have a problem with their water?" I asked.

"We divided up the houses last week," Denise told me, "and each of us took two. We learned that three have drilled wells that seem pretty deep, but five of them are on sand points."

"I should also point out," a different lady added. "Two of the homes seem to be vacation homes, but three are occupied by older people. None of them looked like they could easily pay for a drilled well."

"That plant and well are going to cost the company over a million dollars." Another lady said. I wish not all of us had worn sweaters, it would easier to tell us apart. This lady had gray hair, but so did two others. "Wouldn't you think they could cover those three wells? It would cost them maybe six to nine thousand dollars."

"It would change the narrative." I said.

"What?" they all asked.

"That is the message I got from Gruber. It would change the narrative. I have no idea what he was talking about." Neither did anyone else in the room.

"So what do we do?" Denise was trying to direct the group. "The governor will be up here Friday. Do we try to talk to him?"

"We will never get near him." This from a lady without gray hair. "This is a private event on private land. Their press release says a company rep will be flying up from Chicago, there will be several people from the builders, and a man from the steel workers union will be there. The governor will smile for the cameras, talk with the TV stations from Green Bay, and then drive back to Madison."

"They will invite some 'sparkles'". I said

"What?" they all asked.

"Gruber gave me a long lecture about how Americans like sparkles. I think he really meant sprinkles, like you put on ice cream, but he said sparkles. His point is that events like this are just topping on the ice cream. They have signed the contracts, they have their permits, they have already started counting the money they will make. The point of these events is to show how happy everyone is and how wonderful the governor is. So they invite people to stand behind the governor and smile. The happy natives are the 'sparkle'."

"The company will provide those." Denise said.

"What if we provide a different color sparkles?" This was the non-gray hair lady again. "We could stand by the highway with signs. We could show that not all the natives are happy."

This started a discussion of what kind of signs to make, where to stand, etc. I work Fridays so I wasn't going to be there with them, so I put my coat back on and stood. I wished them all luck, explained I needed to get to work, and I left the Wausaukee Resistance Movement or whatever they were calling themselves. By the time I hit the top step, I realized no one had made much of a fuss about my participation. Were they concerned about how it might look to have me standing with them? If so, they were probably right to be. Whether I was Jessica Trailer Trash or Jessica BarFly, I was an odd addition to any group.

Back at the bar, I put down a couple pizzas for lunch (no taste or nutritional value, but a good crunch if cooked right) and dealt with whatever came up. A customer needed a beer, a delivery man came by, a real fool stopped by the sell me fruit baskets for the bar, and by the time I was done laughing at him, I had another pizza done. In short, the afternoon passed.

And that's how my week went. Friday came, and it was busy. This is a good season for loggers. Cold, but not too bad, snow, but not too deep, no mosquitoes. If you cut pulp for a living, this was as good as it got. So I poured beer to happy men, we talked Packers (easily going to make the playoff again) and I went home every night to a mansion. I did hear one conversation about some people on 141 with signs, but they didn't have much to say more than that. And I never allow news programs in the bar. Sports TV was invented so people could have a beer and not argue about anything more serious than a holding call.

So I was very surprised Saturday morning.

# Chapter 9

# Switzerland

I was mostly dressed, sitting in the dining room having my morning yogurt, when I heard a knock on the door. I opened it to find an old man in a suit, standing in front of an airport limo – black and long.

"Mrs. Thorpe?" He asked. I guessed he was a retired guy doing some driving to help supplement his social security.

"Yes?"

"I have a note for you." And he passed me a piece of paper. It was on corporation letterhead – _Naturale_ done in fancy blue letters. Below was a message from Elias Gruber. He would like to meet with me. Would I mind going to Green Bay with this man so we could talk? He would pay me five hundred dollars for my time.

So, I would take a one hour ride in a limo and get five hundred dollars? I could do that. I wouldn't even bother to change clothes. Let him rub his hand on my sweater. I put on socks and shoes, grabbed my coat and hand bag and got in the limo. The driver even held the door for me. Very nice.

On the way south I asked the driver where the meeting would take place. He said he was instructed to meet a plane at the airport. So, Gruber was flying back to Wisconsin, but this time he didn't even want to get out of the airport. Lazy bastard. But five hundred dollars was five hundred dollars. I leaned back, stretched out, and enjoyed the limo.

Green Bay has a regional airport, big enough for daily service. Or so I am told. I have never taken a plane ride. But I did meet someone at the terminal once. The driver got us down there in under an hour. He drove towards the terminal, but then took a side road following a sign that said "General Aviation." There was a gate and he had to have his ID checked, but then he drove on towards a large hanger. Sitting in front of the hanger was a private jet. My, my. So the man doesn't fly commercial. I was hoping the meeting would be inside the plane so I could see what it looked like. I was going to have stories to tell.

The driver came around and opened my door for me. Very nice. As I got out, the door of the plane swung down and out came one of the men I remembered from the summer "fishing" trip. He smiled, shook my hand, and pointed up the stairs. So I would get to see the inside. I climbed the stairs quickly and stepped into the plane. I looked for Gruber, but the plane was empty. Meanwhile, the man who had greeted me came up behind me, brought up the stairs, locked the door, and talked to the pilot. The plane started moving.

"Wait." I said. "Where is Gruber?"

"He will meet us in New York. His schedule is very busy."

"I don't have time for a long flight."

"You are being paid five hundred dollars. Make the time. Now please sit for takeoff." His mouth said "please", but his face said "sit your ass down." I sat.

There were six really nice leather chairs. I sat in one and put on my seat belt. Meanwhile the plane was rolling. It got to a place on the runway, revved the engines all the way up, and then took off like a shot. We were airborne so fast I felt like I was sitting in a rocket. Pretty cool way to get your first plane ride.

Once we got up to a level flight, my Swiss friend told me we would be in the air about ninety minutes. Then he pointed to a small galley at the back of the plane and asked me to get him a beer. I was Fraulein Fetch again. So okay, I would earn my plane ride. It was just him and me in the plane, and I could see he was already working at his computer. I would get the beer. It would give me a chance to explore the plane a bit.

The galley had a sink, a refrigerator, and a well-stocked bar. The plane bounced a little, but I kept my knees flexed, rode out the bumps, poured his beer, and brought it to him without spilling a drop. Way to go, me. That done, I sat back in my seat, put my seat belt back on, and watched out the window. Ninety minutes went fast, and I was disappointed as I felt the plane begin to descend.

Where did we land? It appeared to be a smaller airport. I could see an endless sea of houses in every direction as we came down. So I guess we were somewhere around New York, but once we landed, all I saw was another hanger. The pilot shut down the engines and a service truck drove to us. I saw him hook up a fuel hose.

"Will a car take us to Mr. Gruber, or will he come to the plane," I asked.

"I am trying to reach him now, but it may take a while before he joins us. Please make yourself a drink. We may be here an hour or more." A vodka was tempting, but I went back to the refrigerator and got a small bottle of water. Time passed. My Swiss friend worked on his computer, and I sat and looked out the window. I saw the service truck finish filling us up, and then he drove away. A little while after he left, I could hear the engines start again. We were rolling down the concrete again.

"Are we going to take off again?" You can count on me to ask the obvious.

"Herr Gruber has had a schedule change. We will be flying to meet him."

"Where will that be?"

"Switzerland."

"That's not possible. I have no passport."

"We will take care of that." What? How was that even possible? But wait for me to make an even dumber complaint.

"I will miss a day of work."

"You are being paid to help with the water plant project." He had me there. My propane tank was full of water plant money. Now I would have more. "Now sit back and relax. This flight will take about seven hours." Seven hours? At this point I had no idea what to say, so I said nothing. The plane charged down the runway and then did another leap into the air. It felt like we were going to jump to Switzerland. I looked out the window wondering when I would see ocean. I had never seen an ocean. It didn't take very long at all.

What does one do on a plane for seven hours? At first, nothing. He kept working on his computer, I kept looking out the window. It was an interesting view – for about an hour. Then it was just blue water, blue skies, and clouds. Finally my Swiss friend looked up from his computer and asked me to get out meals for both of us. There were two prepackaged meals in the galley refrigerator. These were each in a china container with a clear top. I put his on the table he was using, and set mine on the table next to my chair. He looked at them and very smugly told me the galley also had forks and napkins. I rummaged around and found them. I then sat down and started eating what was essentially a meal in a bowl, although in this case the bowl contained a really good salad, lots of cheeses, crackers, and strips of pork. I liked it.

Somehow I expected that since we were now both eating, and while we were at separate tables, the tables were no more than three feet apart, this might be when he would speak to me, and maybe tell me what was going on. He did look in my direction once or twice, but he seemed to have nothing to say. So I made the effort.

"I assumed the meeting would be in Green Bay."

"Mr. Gruber is a very busy man, and his schedule changes frequently as he addresses various challenges."

"Will he meet with me at the airport in Switzerland?"

"That is unlikely. It will be after 2 a.m. when we arrive." I am not a complete fool. I understand there are time zones, but I had no idea how many we would pass through on the way to Switzerland. Apparently there would be quite a few.

"So when will we meet?"

"You will meet with him when he has time to meet with you. In the meantime, you should wear something more appropriate for a business meeting. There is a garment bag in the closet opposite the galley. When you are done with your meal, you should go into the bathroom and change." Again, I am not a complete fool. Two lunches, a change of clothes - these things do not just happen to be on a plane. They had planned to fly me to Europe. Gruber was never going to be bothered with another trip to Wisconsin. He was too important. And my time was unimportant. I would have some words for Herr Gruber when I saw him.

I finished my meal and took the garment bag into the bathroom at the back of the plane. What I found was a beautiful black dress of a silky material I didn't recognize. It had a slight sheen, sort of like semi-gloss paint. It had short sleeves, a scoop neckline with a wide and shallow curve, and long full skirts ending about three inches below my knees. I think that's called "tea length" but don't ask me why. There were matching hose and heels, and a makeup kit. If you ever think of applying makeup in an airplane, think again. I nearly poked an eye out as we hit a series of bounces. But I got enough done to look pretty good.

Then I found one more box in the bottom of the bag. It was a black jewelry box about eight inches square. Inside was a string of pearls. I have never actually seen real pearls, much less worn any. I have to admit my hands shook a bit as I put the necklace on. It looked so good with that black neckline I stood and looked in the mirror for a long time. I have seen myself as sexy, and I have seen myself as pretty. But this was the first time I saw myself as elegant. I really liked that look.

I shoved my old clothes in the bottom of the garment bag, hung it up in the closet, and waited for my Swiss friend to react. He did.

"Very nice. While you are standing over there, would you get me a beer?" In an instant he took me from elegant lady to Fraulein Fetch. I was tempted to throw the beer at him, but I didn't. Elegant ladies do not throw beer. I gave him the beer, sat back in my seat, and turned toward the window, now to look at my reflection as much as to look at the sea. I liked what I saw.

It gradually got darker as we flew east. It really would be late at night when we arrived. I was confused about that, and unsure about next steps, especially the part about the passport. But I laid my head back, rested, and waited for our landing. I must have drifted off, because sooner than I expected, we were coming in for a landing. My Swiss friend decided to use this time to give me my final orders.

"When we land, an immigration official will come to the plane. You will say nothing. You will stay in your seat, your hands in your lap and your back straight. You will look directly at him. You have nothing to hide, nothing to fear." That was easy for him to say. But I did as I was told.

We were probably on the ground fifteen minutes, parked near a large hangar with Naturale painted on it in blue letters, when the official arrived. One of the pilots opened the door to the plane, and both stood while the agent looked at their passports and asked them, well, I don't know what he asked them since it was in German, but I assume it was about the flight. Then he turned to my Swiss friend who stood and handed over his passport. More talk in German, then the agent returned that passport – and started looking at mine! Where did that come from? He held up a bright red Swiss passport, looked at the picture inside, looked at me, then gave the passport to my Swiss friend and left.

"How?" I asked after he left.

"Please, no more questions. It is late. There are two coats in the closet. The tan one is mine, the black one is yours. Please get them both out. I gave him his, then put on the nicest wool coat I have ever seen. The lining was cream colored and beautifully fitted to the coat. I know I will never have the money to afford such a coat. I put it on and never wanted to take it off. He led me off the plane and to a waiting car. I had lots of questions, of course, but I asked none of them – after all, it was late.

We drove for about thirty minutes in toward the middle of town. What did I learn about whatever city this was? Not much. It had lots of buildings, all about four stories tall. Some looked very old. Finally we came to a block of older apartment buildings. The car stopped out front of one and my Swiss friend walked me to the front door, and then walked with me up a curved, open stairway to the second floor. Before he could knock, the apartment door opened, and there stood Elias Gruber – wearing pajamas and a robe.

"Thank you Werner," he said, and my Swiss friend left. "Jessica, thank you for coming to meet with me. Please come in. You look beautiful, by the way." At this point I had planned to ask some very hard questions about how I had been tricked into coming, but how do you argue with a man in his pajamas? I followed him into his apartment, which I could tell immediately was huge and expensive. It appeared all surfaces had been heavily lacquered in white, ceilings had to be fourteen or fifteen feet high, and crown molding and other intricate woodwork was everywhere. He led me into what I assume was the living room, but it had to be forty by forty. In a corner was a small setting of chairs and sofas. I would be wasting your time trying to describe the furniture. It had wood, colorful fabrics, and looked expensive. He motioned for me to sit on one of the couches. I did, he sat very close to me, and immediately put one of his hands on my thigh. I guess I expected that.

"I assume we are now in a business meeting?" I asked, and put my hand on his. He wasn't moving it any farther than he already had.

"It is very late. Shall we spar tomorrow?"

"Sure. Will you take your hand away?"

"It is not that late."

"Then take the time to do some explaining. Why did you bring me to Europe? And how did you get me in?"

"I may eventually tell you how. I think you already know why. There were no sparkles at the plant opening. By the way, the correct term is 'sprinkles.' It was not very nice of you to not help me with that word."

"You had just gotten done telling me your English was better than mine."

"Fair enough. But sparkle or sprinkle, things did not go well. We need to fix that. So I need this meeting with you. But not now in the middle of the night. You are tired from your trip, and I must get up early for an important meeting. We will talk – and plan – tomorrow at dinner."

"And what do I do tomorrow while I wait for this meeting?"

"You can just sit in your room if you like, but I hope you will help Frau Klemp. Her assistant broke her leg while skiing, and has moved back with her parents. If you help Frau Klemp I will pay you for your time, and you may learn some of her secrets. She is the best cook in Switzerland."

"Okay." I didn't give it much thought. I was missing a day's pay at the bar; I would make it up here. And if I didn't like the woman, I would just quit.

"Good. We are almost done for tonight. I just wanted you to see something before we finish." He took a phone off the shelf near him and touched it until images started appearing. "Here," he said, "just scroll through."

Of all the mean things that have been done to me, this might have been the meanest. They were pictures of Mark and other women, and by scrolling through them, I was essentially touching each couple. Obviously the shots were made on a boat, and the temperature was hot enough that little clothing was in use. They were selfies – I could see Mark was holding the camera out as the two of them smiled and kissed. There were four women. Pretty fast work since he had only been gone a few weeks.

"How?"

"Mr. Baker likes to send pictures to his brothers. They have a bit of a competition. But he doesn't like to pay data charges, so he uses the public wi-fi at the harbor. We are probably not the only people capturing his images."

"Why? Why are you showing me these?"

"I just thought you might want to know. Now let's say good night. I have a long day waiting for me." He led me back to one of the bedrooms, took my hand, held it for a minute, then let it go and walked down the hall to his own room.

My room had an attached bathroom, and a toothbrush and tooth paste waited near the sink. A night gown lay on the bed. I was in bed in just a few minutes. The only odd thing was the night gown. It was white satin, and so long, it must have been for a woman a foot taller than me. The skirt actually formed a train around my feet. It occurred to me my feet would at least be warm.

As you can expect, I was not ready to sleep. I thought back to my fingers as I scrolled through images of Mark and those women. Yes, they were all pretty, and I guessed at least a few years younger than me. But the thing that bothered me most was the position of the arm not holding the camera. He had it around their shoulders in exactly the same way he had held it around mine. In fact I could still feel it around me. And now I saw it around them. I lay in that big bed with the soft sheets and down comforter, but the only thing I felt was the hand on my shoulder. It would never be there again.

I did eventually sleep, but I am not sure I slept more than about five minutes. It was Frau Klemp who woke me up with a hearty "Gut Morgen." She pointed to the clock on the bedside table. It said eight. She said much more, but it was all in German. Not being a total dumkoff I gathered it was time to get up. She pointed to the bathroom, then to the closet, and pulled two drawers of the dresser partially open. I put it all together. There is the shower, here are your clothes, now get moving. I did.

The shower was simple enough, and the underwear fit. I was a bit put off by the dress. My beautiful, elegant black dress was gone, and in its place hung a black nylon dress that I would swear was a close variation to the French maids' dresses you see at costume parties. It had half sleeves, a neckline that plunged far more than I liked, and full skirts that stopped too far above my knees. Black stockings and shoes went with the outfit. Was this some kind of joke?

I listened for noises and used the sounds to lead me to the kitchen. Frau Klemp was already at work baking something, but she had put out a plate of cheese and yogurt and bread slices for my breakfast. What did she look like? Actually she looked pretty close to Mrs. Swanson, the caterer back home. She was probably sixty, obviously sampled a fair amount of what she cooked, and she also wore a plain black dress, although hers covered far more of her legs than mine did. If there was any difference between the two, it was humor. Frau Klemp seemed to be smiling and joking about everything. She talked nonstop and was obviously trying to entertain me, and to a certain extent she did, even though I didn't understand a word.

How did we spend the morning? She showed me around the kitchen, we made bread from scratch, with me doing most of the kneading, and while it baked, we cleaned up around the apartment. I discovered I was right about the size of the place – it was huge. At one point we went into Mr. Gruber's room to clean up some plates and to make his bed. She took one side and I took the other to arrange the sheets and set the comforter. But I noticed the extra care she took. We bounced the down comforter several times to fluff it up, and she and I fluffed all four pillows. Then she gathered up the clothes he had left near the closet and took them to the laundry. As we left his room, she gave it a final careful look to ensure she missed nothing. She cared for the man. She wanted things to be perfect.

Afternoon was time for soup. We cut up lots of vegetables, and she had some pork pieces to go in. I saw no recipe book but it was clear she knew exactly what she wanted in, at what point, and in what quantifies. While it cooked we had some bread and some cheese, and of course we sampled the soup as it cooked. It was sort of a running lunch. Through all of this she stirred the soup, and I stirred the soup, and she talked. I hope it was clear I didn't understand a word. Obviously I never had a response to whatever she was saying. But she kept going anyway, and my best guess was she was just trying to be friendly.

Once the soup was done, it was time to clean. She wanted to work on the large central room. Apparently we were going to dust. She got out rags, we sprayed them with some lemon smelling chemical, and did the room. My job was the base boards. By the time I finished crawling around that entire room, I was pretty certain it was at least forty by forty. I also noticed my rag picked up some dust, but it wasn't really too bad. I tried to remember the last time I had dusted the baseboards in my trailer. I thought the rag would be somewhat darker.

We cleaned, she talked, time passed. I began to wonder when Gruber would get home from work. As it turned out, he wouldn't be coming home. About four Frau Klemp got a text message. She showed it to me, maybe deciding that if I looked at German I could understand it. No luck. Finally she pulled up some translation app on her phone that created one word – "traveling." She said "Herr Gruber" and then pointed to the word. When would he be coming back for our meeting? I didn't know how to ask the question. So I just followed Frau Klemp back to the kitchen. Since he would not be coming home, we would not be feeding him, so she started putting things away. That done, she got out a bottle of wine, poured us each a glass, and we sat at the table and talked. Or at least one of us talked. I sipped my wine and tried to look pleasant.

Eventually it got to be dinner time, and she got out some pork cutlets, made some gravy and some potatoes and cooked up our meal. I stirred the gravy, but otherwise she did all the cooking. Good thing. The result was the best dinner I have had in years (sorry Mrs. Swanson). We ate it slowly, had another glass of wine, and then washed everything again.

Now what? Now it was time for Frau Klemp to go home to whatever family she had. We walked together to the front hall, she put on a huge black coat, she gave me a final hug, and she was off. I heard locks close in the door, and then heard her walk away. At that point I noticed the deadbolt locks did not open with a lever on the inside, but by a key. Since I obviously did not have that key, I was locked in. That might have bothered me, but it was clear I wasn't going any place anyway. I had no money, didn't know the language, didn't really know where I was, didn't know which city the American embassy would be in or how to get there, and of course if I ever did get there, I would have to explain that I was in the country illegally. In short, sitting around the apartment was all I was going to do in any case.

So what did I do? First I walked through every room – there were several I hadn't seen yet, including a very impressive dining room. Then I pushed a chair up to the front windows and looked out at the street. All the buildings seemed to be about four stories tall, each had shops on the street level, and lots of people were walking by. I looked at the shops, watched the people, looked some more at the shops... At one point I got tired of wearing stockings, so I got undressed, put on my nightgown, then went into Gruber's closet and took one of his robes, then went back to sitting in my chair. (So, Jessica, what did you do during your visit to Europe? I looked at people walking by. They seemed cold.)

Eventually I found myself drifting off, so I took Gruber's robe back to his closet and got into my bed. Fifteen minutes later (or so it felt), Frau Klemp was back with a Gut Morgen and a smile. I showered, put on yet another maid dress, and went back to the kitchen where I would spend the rest of the morning.

If nothing else, I was determined to get a couple recipes out of this episode. I found some paper and a pencil in one of the drawers, wrote down the ingredients for bread as well as I could remember them, and then showed it to Frau Klemp. She changed some of the names and added one ingredient, and then I started putting in quantities. She just laughed and scratched that all out, putting in CCs and Gms . No worries. Even a high school dropout has heard of the metric system. And I knew I had enough math to do the conversions when I got back home. I was going to have the best bread in Amberg. I left the paper out, hoping I could get another recipe or two if the opportunity arose.

What was the rest of the day like? More cooking, some cleaning, and some laundry. We did Gruber's clothes. We ironed his shirts and pants. Actually I did after Frau Klemp did the first set so I could see how he liked it done. The day passed. And of course, as the sky darkened, I wondered when Gruber would get home. But there was another text message, and another "traveling" translation. That led to wine, cheese, some of the soup we had made the day before, Frau Klemp out the door, and me back in the front window my legs curled under me, wearing a nightgown and his robe. Did the street change much? No. Did the people look different? No. Did I do anything different? No. I did wonder how much longer this might go on, but I decided not to dwell on that. I put back his robe and went to bed.

How did my third day as a maid go? It started too early again, but otherwise the morning was unchanged. I tried to make the bread myself, and I mostly got it right. Frau Klemp made a second batch since mine was a little too heavy, but I watched her, took some notes on my recipe page, and I was pretty sure my next batch would be better. Would I be here another day for that? That was unclear.

But around noon we got another text message. This one had a different translated word –"Guest." My first thought was that Gruber was bringing home another person from the company, and the three of us would finally have the meeting he had dragged me here for. But Frau Klemp quickly showed me that was not the plan. She set the dining room table for two.

The next several hours involved some cooking, but also some pantomime. Apparently he was bringing home some executive, and the two of us would serve them. She would serve Gruber, and I would serve the guest. There would be multiple courses to this meal, and she walked me through putting each plate where it should be, how to remove the plates, and – get this – how I was to curtsy each time I finished putting a plate before this guy. At this point I'm thinking I might just take a pass on all this and just spend the evening in my room. What stopped me? It would mean extra work for Frau Klemp, and I have to admit to some curiosity about such a meal. Why not see how two European executives had dinner?

So I helped her set the table, put out multiple wine glasses, helped her decant two bottles of older red wine (how drunk did these guys get before they talked business?), while also helping her cook another pork meal, complete with a kind of potato she called "spetzle." There would also be cheese (of course), and some kind of ice cream. I didn't see how two men could eat all she was cooking, but that just left more leftovers for Klemp and me.

About seven Frau Klemp was mostly done cooking, and she led me into the front hall. She pantomimed that when the two men arrived, we were to stand by the door, Gruber would say our names, and we were to curtsy. From then on we would bring food as asked. At least I think that's what she was saying.

We went back to the kitchen, but hurried back to the front hall a few minutes later when we heard the locks being undone. In walked Gruber – and a woman! His guest let him take her coat (which I was then instructed to hang in the closet). She was wearing a strapless dark blue formal satin gown that had to cost more than I would ever make in this lifetime. Her hair was perfect, her smile confident, her age, just past thirty (unless she had seen a really good surgeon). Gruber named Frau Klemp and then me, each of us curtsied as expected. The woman nodded and then walked past us. We were forgotten.

Here is one of those moments where you have a choice. Choice one would be to say, "Wait a minute. You brought me here for a meeting, let's meet and let this bitch wait for her dinner." Choice two was to go along with whatever this was. I was moving myself toward choice one when Gruber stopped and looked at me. "We will have all day tomorrow to talk," he said very quietly. "Let me have this evening." I stared back at him, letting him wonder about my response, and then just for a grin, I curtsied. "You owe me." I said as I got back up. He nodded and went in to his lady.

I spent most of the evening in the kitchen helping Frau Klemp finish various courses and put them on a pair of plates. I decided that Gruber was entitled to his love life. I didn't need to interfere – or see it. I just brought plates in with Frau Klemp when Gruber rang a little bell. I put my assigned plate in front of the woman, or took her old plate away, curtsying each time – and watching how much wine she had consumed. My guess was she would be easy pickings by the end of dinner.

Back in the kitchen, Frau Klemp and I had plenty to eat, but she was much less talkative. She was listening for the bell, I guessed, or she was curious about how Gruber was doing. Based on the looks I saw whenever I was in the dining room, I thought he was doing just fine. Anyway, after about two hours, Gruber and the woman finished their dinner and moved first to the living room and eventually to his bedroom. Frau Klemp and I finished cleaning up in the dining room, cleaned up the kitchen, and then she left. She looked tired to me, as you might expect for a sixty year old woman after a fourteen hour day.

I went to bed and dropped off pretty fast too, although I thought I heard them head down the stairs around two. I assume he put her in a cab, because he was back up to the apartment fairly fast. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I had hoped one of these mornings I would wake up before Frau Klemp hit me with Gut Morgen, but this wasn't the morning. I got up and showered and saw that the dress hung for me was once again the maid's dress. Well, if that's what I wore to the meeting, so be it.

But there was no meeting that day or the next. Instead we got to clean up Gruber's room after what looked like some pretty active sex. We also cleaned the other rooms, did some laundry, and cooked several meals that Gruber never arrived to eat. I was getting a few more recipes, but I have to admit it was also getting less interesting.

Evenings I felt I was becoming glued to that chair by the windows, my legs pulled up, my arms wrapped around me and the robe. One night it snowed, and I watched that. The next night I saw people shuffle through slush. I was bored, and I realized I was lonely. I was alone in a strange apartment in a strange country, seeing only a single person, a person with whom I could not communicate. Worse, I had no idea how much longer this would go on. I didn't think I was his maid for life, but was I his maid for another week? Another month? Meanwhile, somewhere back in Florida, a man I thought might be the one was entertaining other women. I no longer had him or anyone else. I really was alone. What would I do about that? For the moment, I would go to bed.

The next day we cooked and cleaned, and I was still the maid – until about three. Then Frau Klemp got a text. I could tell from her smile and chatter it was good news. But what did it say? She struggled with her translation app, and then came up with the words she wanted - "dinner date." So I was finally going to have my meeting – at dinner.

At this point Frau Klemp turned her focus from cooking to me. She led me back to my bedroom and pointed to the shower. Okay, that made sense after all the cleaning we had done all day. When I came out of the bathroom she had my clothing laid out on my bed – underwear, a slip, much nicer hose than I had been wearing. When I had that all done she sat me in front of the dressing table and worked on my hair and makeup. I hadn't been wearing makeup since I arrived, so maybe she thought I didn't know how. But I wasn't going to fight with her. I let her do what she wanted to do, and listened while she explained what she was doing – at least that was my best guess at her words.

When she was done, she opened the door to my closet, doing it with enough drama, you would have thought it was door number three on Price is Right. Except when I saw the gown in there, I was pretty sure the Price is Right never had anything that nice. It was a gold colored satin, but a shade of gold leaning toward brown. I decided instantly it would work perfectly with my mousy brown hair. It had short sleeves, and a narrowly scooped neckline, full skirt, and a length again past my knees – tea length like the other gown I had liked so much. If that gown was elegant, this one was elegant and rich. I put on the shoes, stood in front of the mirror, and knew I could be comfortable attending a royal ball in this dress. Which was when Klemp came up behind me and put the string of pearls around my neck. It was the perfect touch.

I immediately had two thoughts. First, I had never looked this good before. And second, Gruber would do whatever I wanted. In this dress, I was master of any room. I was certain of it.

I turned around and gave Frau Klemp a big hug. She never stopped talking. Finally she took my hand and led me into the big room. She pointed to a chair where I was to sit, and then she pantomimed Gruber walking into the room. She then positioned me, determining how I would have the greatest impact when he saw me. She tried me about six different ways. She had me cross my legs, cross my arms, put my hands in my lap or off to one side. Each time she walked back to the place where Gruber would first see me, stared at me, and then tried another look. Eventually she settled with feet flat on the floor, legs at a slight angle, hands together just off center. I was to keep my back straight, my shoulders back, and my head high. I was not to smile, I was just to look at him.

And I did all that. In fact I did it for forty five minutes while we waited for him to get home. My lower back was beginning to feel some fatigue, but he finally arrived. And, he was impressed. He entered the room and then stopped to look at me.

"I liked your looks when we were at that stupid fishing lodge. But this is better. You really could be a European lady if you wished."

"Thank you." He finally crossed the room and stood in front of me. I waited while he looked at me. I looked back.

"I am taking you to a good local restaurant. I think you will like it." He held out a hand, and I took it and stood. He immediately put a hand on my back and pulled me closer.

"You like to touch women."

"Yes, and usually, they like that."

"And you like to show that you _can_ touch a woman. She will let you."

"Yes." He put his second hand on my back. I let him. I looked directly at him and waited. He waited too, and I knew I had him. I put my hands on his shoulders, rose up, and kissed him.

"American women can touch a man too. Shall we go to dinner?" I turned and walked toward the front door, and he followed. I waited while he got my coat out of the closet and put it on me. He put on his own coat, and we left the apartment and the building, my first time outside in a week.

It was cold, but the coat was warm. I put my hand on his arm and he brought it close to his side. We strolled down the sidewalk. Well, I wanted to stroll, but Frau Klemp had put me in pumps with three inch stiletto heels. The sidewalks were uneven, and we entered an area paved with cobblestones. So I had lots of reasons to step carefully, and lots of reasons to hold tightly to Gruber's arm, which was more solid than I would have guessed. I pressed tightly against his side as we walked. It was a dark winter's evening, but the shops were open, and people were out and about.

Gruber led me down a side street and then to a pedestrian area. It seemed a large courtyard before a cathedral. In the middle of the courtyard was a double row of wooden shops.

"This is our Christmas Market. The wooden stalls are built at the beginning of December and stay up through the holiday." He led me to them and we stood and looked into each stall. There were toys in several, food in others, various gifts. He stopped and bought us each a glass of warm red wine. I took mine, holding it like it might explode. Hot red wine. If I got it on the dress or coat, it would never come out. I leaned well forward and drank the wine with far less elegance than I would have liked. But I got it down without doing any damage. Gruber sipped his and we strolled along.

At one point, we stopped at a stall featuring snow globes. I was used to the two dollar variety from WalMart and so did not pay any initial attention. But Gruber found one and showed it to me. It was maybe eight inches wide, an inch deep, and five inches high. In it was this courtyard, done with great detail and artistry. It was beautiful. I shook it and smiled.

"Let me get this for you as a souvenir." I don't know how much Swiss Francs are worth, but he seemed to pass over several pretty large bills. When he was done, he put the snow globe in my pocket and we continued our walk.

When we had seen every stall, Gruber led us around a corner and to a large Italian restaurant. He must have made a reservation. They took our coats and led us to a table. Here things got a little unusual. The seating was a semicircular booth, with curtains on the side. The host pulled the table out so it would be easier to enter the booth, and then he pushed it back in front of us. He and Gruber were speaking in Italian (I am pretty sure that was the language they were using) this whole time. A few minutes later a waiter came, spoke with Gruber, and returned with a bottle of wine – yes, red again – and glasses. There was more talk, and then we were left alone.

We were seated practically on top of each other in the booth. Gruber took my hand and then put both of our hands down on my thigh. There was a bit of a tug of war as I moved our hands down my leg and he moved them back up. In the end, I let him have the position he liked. They might be wearing a great suit and speak four languages, but in the end, men are men.

"Is this where we talk about the water plant, or is this just where you feel me up?"

"I think we can do both, and eat a fine meal as well."

"We shall see."

"First things first – you and Frau Klemp are doing well together?"

"I like her. I am very tired of being a maid while you travel across Europe, but I do enjoy her company."

"She loves working with you. She will miss you when you are gone."

"Will that be any time soon?"

"I would love to have you with me all winter, but I know you have other responsibilities. I will send you home the next time the plane is free."

"Speaking of the plane, how is it I suddenly acquired a Swiss passport?"

"When your country is the world's bank, you sometimes need creative ways to get people in and out of the country. There was a phone call and a small fee. The document you have will get you back into the US. But do not use it for travel to any other country."

"Now that we have settled that, can we talk about why I am here? I cannot help you with either sprinkles or sparkles."

"You are here to help us find a new narrative." At this point food started arriving. I saw lots of tomato sauce and tried to determine which was most dangerous to this beautiful dress – the wine or the sauce. I took a little of each, very carefully. I didn't pull my napkin up like a bib, but I pulled it as high as I could without looking completely stupid.

"Your email talked about a narrative. Remember what you said about how badly Americans speak English? Help me here. What are you talking about?"

"A narrative is another word for story. People don't remember facts. In your country you have both facts and alternative facts. Both are stupid. No one remembers them. People remember stories. Our first story was simple and powerful. We are bringing jobs to people who need them. It is a great story, especially in your country. It works every time. Every politician smiles and the sprinkles come from miles."

"What do you mean, especially in my country?" I should point out that while he was eating with his left hand, his right hand never left my thigh. I let go of his hand to work on my food, and his hand got more adventurous. "Really?" I said. "This is a business meeting, and you could be a gentleman."

"This is a very romantic restaurant, and you are a beautiful woman."

"Put your hand back where it belongs, or this meeting is over." He moved his hand back to where it was before on my thigh. "Okay, I guess. Now tell me about my country."

"Your country is obsessed with jobs. You are off the charts competitive, and you use jobs to establish rank. Here we might use family or education or cultural attainment. You use jobs. Banks are filled with vice presidents, other industries use associate this and senior that. It is silly. But it keeps people happy."

"Jobs matter because first, they do some good in the world, and second, that is where you meet people and connect to the world."

"You just told me you are a woman."

"Men are like that too."

"Men will fight over a bowling score. They will pick whichever car has the most horsepower. They will lose sleep if the next door neighbor buys a boat one foot longer than theirs."

"And all this was in your narrative."

"Complete with sprinkles, until those damn women showed up. Here, let me show you what they did." At this point he finally took his hand off my thigh to get some papers out of his pocket. There appeared to be half a dozen sheets, so I might have some time free of his hand. The top sheet showed a picture of the ladies from Wausaukee. All five of them were there, along with two teen age daughters of one of them. It was an interesting touch to use women only. I wondered why they had gone that way. Also interesting was how they were dressed. Most were wearing Packer jackets or sweatshirts. I was thinking – happy locals in colorful native garb. They all had signs, and two of them were holding brooms. Their signs said "Sweep the corruption out of Madison." That must have gone over well when the Governor drove by.

"So let me guess," I said. "The new narrative is about the corruption in Madison."

"Yes, and if the men in Madison choose to counter that narrative, it will be far nastier than these ladies expect."

"So why not just agree and drill those wells?"

"That creates a third narrative. In this narrative we are sucking resources from the ground. We go from job creator to resource robbers."

"I don't want to be rude, but isn't that exactly what you are doing?"

"We are harvesting an underused resource and turning it into jobs and into economic activity. Tell me how it differs from the logging that goes on all around you?"

"Logging has less impact than what you plan to do, but I get your general idea."

"Good. Have some wine." I guessed we were between innings. He refilled my wine glass, and of course his hand went back where it was. I leaned well forward and ate whatever this meal was called. It was delicious. I'm guessing Olive Garden didn't have the recipe.

Just to throw him off, I put my hand on his thigh. Oops. Bad idea. Too much wine. He leaned over and kissed me. This led to some general fondling, some by him and some by me. Finally I broke it off and went back to eating. It was a very private booth, but still...

"Let's see if I can sum this up while you assault me under the table. It would be great to return to narrative number one. Jobs are great. We have jobs. Everyone smile. Narratives two and three lead to bad things, so we should either get back to number one, or find some happy number four."

"Good summation. Let me add some emphasis. Here is how bad narrative number two could get." He turned to the next piece of paper, let me read it, and then took me through pages three, four, five, and six. Each was the transcript of a phone conversation or an email. They were from two of the people who the Wausaukee people had talked to. Somehow these two people thought they were going to get a free well, and they were bragging about it to family. "The sand point is so bad we can't even take showers anymore," and "We have been planning on selling the house for years. Now finally we can pass the water tests."

"Should I ask how you got these?"

"We didn't get them. Your party leaders in Madison did. They want to use them when they hit back. We asked them to wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for you."

"I can't tell you how silly that sounds." I drank some more wine, and then found myself leaning against him. "Maybe you should take me back to the apartment." The waiter was back in a heartbeat, the table was pulled away, Gruber signed something. We put on our coats and went straight back to the apartment. Neither of us said a word.

Back in the apartment I went straight to my room and changed. I was drunk, but still careful with the gown and the pearls. I put on my nightgown and brushed the wine from my teeth. Then I sat on my bed. I was seated maybe two minutes when I decided what to do. I walked down the hall and got into his bed. Yes I was drunk, and yes I was lonely, but I also felt we were working together on something important.

And, well, he was very good. When he had his arms around me, I knew I was being held by a man. I liked the way he kissed. He kissed me a lot, and with passion, but without pressing so hard he hurt my mouth. And when he entered me, he didn't rush. He let me move with him and build to a moment we both enjoyed. And I did enjoy it. This man who wanted to touch me. He could touch me now all he wanted, and all I wanted.

# Chapter 10

# Highlights of Switzerland

I got up around two and went back to my own bed. We kissed. I left. This was not an easy move for me. I liked sleeping with him, but I felt funny about Frau Klemp finding me there. Don't ask me why. Back in my own bed, I fell right to sleep. But I was finally adjusting to the local time and so I was up at seven and in the shower when Frau Klemp stepped into my room for her Gut Morgen. When I got dressed I discovered my golden gown was gone, and another maid's uniform took its place. So it was back to that, at least during the day. As soon as I was dressed I went to Elias' room (yes, I now thought of him as Elias rather than Gruber), but he was gone. It would have been nice to have a smile or some indication of affection. I wondered what time he got up.

How did the day go? Pretty much as the others, but as we changed the linens of Elias' bed, I thought maybe Frau Klemp smiled at me. Or maybe that was just me smiling and her smiling back. I spent most of the morning doing his linens and ironing his shirts and slacks. We did some cooking, and my bread came out better. Still not Klemp-level, but better than anything I had ever done before.

Of course all of this was just time wasting until the text came through telling us he would be home tonight and the translator would pop up the words – "dinner date." Three o'clock came, and then four. When the text came, I could tell from the expression on Frau Klemps' face the word would be "traveling." And it was. We went through the motions for the next couple hours, doing some cooking and eating a light dinner. We cleaned up the kitchen, Frau Klemp gave me a hug and then went home. I changed into my nightgown, put on one of his robes, and sat in my chair by the window.

I thought something had changed last night, but it hadn't. I was still a maid, trapped in an apartment, spending my evenings alone. This was the first time I felt like a prisoner. I wondered if people back home were worried about me. I had been gone a week. Had my girls tried to call? Was Clark tired of Morgan filling my hours? How long could I be trapped in this apartment before someone started looking for me? I looked at the window and wondered if I could just pull one open and start shouting at the people below. I wasn't quite ready for that now, but the time might come. As for that night, I finally got tired of looking at the people on the street and went to bed.

The next day was a repeat of the previous day, but instead of doing Elias' laundry, we dusted. Once again I got the baseboards and did his room on my hands and knees. We cooked, I made bread, and I watched the clock. Four o'clock came and with it the "traveling" text. We did dinner, I had an extra glass of wine, Klemp left and I sat in the window seat, my legs pulled up tight. I was bored, I was lonely, I was disappointed, I was angry.

Then he walked in. I stood. He said, "Take off my robe." I took it off and stood in my satin nightgown, the long skirts puddling around my feet. He looked at me. I looked at him. I looked at his face. He looked at all of me. He took my hand and led me to his bedroom.

Later, we lay facing each other, still sweating and breathing hard from sex. He had an arm under my neck and along my back, the other hand was all over me. My hands were all over him. I smiled. He used his hand to brush back the hair that had fallen over my face. One finger slid down one side of my face then the other. He did it slowly and carefully. No man has ever done anything as intimate before. All I could think to do was kiss him yet again.

"I'm glad I came home."

"I am pleased too." I had pushed myself as close to him as I could get. Hips against hips. Our faces inches apart. "You should come home more often."

"Yes, I agree."

"You know you can't keep me forever."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I need to get back to Wisconsin. My girls will be worried."

"I think not. The morning you were in Green Bay you sent a text to Mr. Clark telling him you were going to help a sick aunt in Florida."

"I did?"

"Well, it looked like your account. I am assuming Mr. Clark thinks you were really flying off to see Mr. Baker. If your daughters try to reach him, that is what he will tell them."

"I am glad they will not worry. But still, at some time I must go back. If nothing else, I need to work with you on a plan for the water plant."

"I think you can work on that here, just as well as there."

"So I am your prisoner?"

"You are my guest. And my lover."

"And your maid."

"You have never been a maid. You are Frau Klemp's companion."

"Maybe." Here there was a pause while our hands were busy. There was also some kissing involved. And then our hands... I was distracted for a bit.

"My daughter graduates from nursing school in just over two weeks. I want to be there for that."

"Why not stay here until Christmas?"

"I want to see my daughter graduate. It is important to me."

"How many days off is that?"

"I think seventeen." I was trying to count ahead until the Wednesday two weeks off. I wasn't in the best position for counting. I don't know if I was more distracted by my hands or by his.

"Then I will fly you home in seventeen days."

"No more than fourteen. I need to find clothes. I can't just show up at the last minute."

"Sixteen. That's my final offer."

"So we are negotiating now? Here is the rest of my offer. Sixteen days, but you have to come home every night. There is no sense keeping me here if you aren't even coming home."

"Agreed."

"And no more dinner dates with other women. For sixteen days there is only me."

"She was not a date, that was a business meeting. She sells plastic for one of our biggest suppliers. We were negotiating."

"Oh? Did she go low" Pause. "With her price?"

"Our deal was favorable to both companies."

"For sixteen days we are only concerned with what is favorable between the two of us."

"Agreed. I think you win this negotiation."

"I just agreed to spend sixteen nights with you. I think you win in this deal too, don't you?"

"Yes. I do." Then it was hands and kisses and eventually more sex. I think he went to work tired.

From that point on I slept in his bed every night, all night. Sometimes I got up before Frau Klemp arrived. Sometimes she found me there. I think her Gut Morgen came with a bigger smile. As for Elias, he was always up by six – sometimes earlier. He was showered, dressed, and out the door early. The man really worked at his job.

My days fell into a routine. I wore a maid's uniform while we cooked and cleaned and did laundry. Around four Frau Klemp and I both started waiting for the daily text. Most days the translation app gave me "late night." In that case I ate dinner with Frau Klemp and then changed into a night gown. No robes any more, and I no longer sat looking out the window. I sat on the couch looking toward the door, waiting for Elias. I tried to look my best. One night I even slid one of the nightgown straps down over my shoulder. Jessica – the temptress. However I looked, he always crossed the room, smiled, waited while I stood, admired the view, and then took my hand. Nights were busy, warm, and wonderful.

Two nights the app showed "dinner date." Then Frau Klemp brought me my golden gown and we started getting ready about four. Both nights she staged me on the couch, which was both cute, but also reassuring. I knew when she was done I looked good.

Those two nights we walked through the town. It was cold, but my coat was warm, and so was his arm. We did some shopping, and he bought Christmas presents for my girls – Christmas calendars with treats behind each day. All the text was in German. The girls would love them. We ate in fine restaurants, drank good wine, and he told me about the city. It turned out we were in Bern. I had never heard of it – no surprise there. But it was old and lovely and I enjoyed the walks as much as the food.

Sixteen days went fast. Part of me was a little concerned that he would actually let me go, and part of me was concerned that he wouldn't let me stay. Let's face it – I was smitten. No man has ever had his shirts ironed so well during the day, and his love life handled so well at night. I smiled all day and well into the night. I was one happy girl.

The morning of the sixteenth day Frau Klemp brought me the black gown I had arrived in, and helped me with my hair and makeup. She also put that string of pearls around my neck. I loved what I saw in the mirror. Elias did not run off to work. Instead, he took me down to a café for some coffee and a roll. We had our final talk.

"Do you really have to go into the office as early as you always do?"

"We are trying to arrange a contract with two companies in the Middle East. They are two hours ahead of us, so it is already nine if I call at seven. We also want to get some business in China. They are even farther ahead. The world starts before us, so I start early."

"Our little plant in Wisconsin starts late."

"Those plants are part of the reason I sometimes come home late to see you."

"But you did come home. Thank you for that."

"You are a special woman. Thank you for visiting me." There was some hand holding at this point, and some looks that said, maybe we should go back to the apartment for a quick roll on the bed. But we finished our food and then walked back to his apartment building. Elias called for his car, and while we waited Frau Klemp brought down a garment bag – no doubt the sweater and jeans I would change into when my coach returned to a pumpkin. The car arrived almost immediately. The driver put the bag in the trunk, I hugged Frau Klemp and thanked her, hoping a bit of what I said was German, and then Elias and I got in the car. He held my hand all the way to the airport, and boarded the plane with me. Once inside, he handed me my passport and an envelope.

"You will arrive first at a private airport in Connecticut. When the immigration man boards the plane, stay seated, look at him directly, but do not smile. Hand him your passport. Read it during the flight so you know what it says, but he will probably only ask your purpose for visiting. You are going to meet with friends and go shopping. After the plane has been refueled, they will take you to Green Bay. A car will be waiting for you."

All that was very simple and direct. What it did not tell me is the one thing I wanted to know. Would I ever see him again? I chose not to ask. I took off my coat so his last look of me was the elegant dress and the elegant lady. He held me and once again used his fingers to brush the hair from my face, tracing my face while doing so. I was almost as tall as him in my heels, and I stood looking into his eyes and waiting. Words needed to be said, but I would let him go first. He was the one who spoke four languages.

"I have enjoyed our time together," he said. I waited. "You are very special to me." I put my hands on his shoulders and leaned even closer.

"I love you." I whispered. There was a pause. Was he trying to think what to say, or trying to translate into English.

"I have deep feelings for you too." He touched my face again. I was so turned on I would have pulled him onto me in a second, but one of the pilots was putting my garment bag away, and hanging my coat. We had a very long kiss, then he left, the pilots closed the door, I settled into one of the leather seats, and we were off. My time in Switzerland was over.

I had seven hours to go through my passport and the envelope. Passport first. I was Jessica Gruber, wife of Elias Gruber, born in Bern. I was thirty eight. There were a dozen stamps in the passport. I was well traveled. Hopefully I was not asked about any of those other countries. I felt myself begin to sit as a Swiss lady would sit. I was rich, I was loved, I belonged in a private jet.

The envelope held the six pages Elias had shown me on our first dinner – the picture of the protest, and the transcripts of the emails and texts describing the sand point wells. Also in the envelope were fifty new one hundred dollar bills. Apparently Swiss maids were well paid. I now had enough for next year's propane and the next repair bill for my aging truck. And maybe I could buy some clothes befitting Mrs. Jessica Gruber.

What was not in the envelope? Any orders for me. He had had days with me where he could have drilled me about my role in the project. He hadn't. Now he had given me a large envelope that could have had a checklist of things I was to do back in Amberg. There was no list. I understood the problem. It was up to me to find a solution. Could I get this project back to narrative one – jobs and only jobs? That might be tough. But something needed to be done before this thing got ugly. What was to be done? That appeared to be totally up to me.

Did I come up with a brilliant plan on the flight back? Nope. I leaned back into that leather seat, felt the pearls around my neck, and smiled. To the extent I did any thinking at all, it was about Elias and about Bern. Speaking of which, where the hell was it? I would have to do some reading about the city, and maybe find it on a map.

When we arrived in the US, it went pretty much as Elias said it would. An immigration agent came onto the plane. The two pilots spoke with him about our itinerary, and gave him their passports. When he was done with them, he asked for my passport. I held it out, still seated, and one of the pilots took it from me and gave it to him. He looked through it, then asked me the purpose of my trip. I said I was meeting some friends for some Christmas shopping. He complimented me on the quality of my English, and then gave the passport to one of the pilots who then gave it to me. That was it. We sat for nearly an hour to refuel and do various checks, and then we were in the air again.

Green Bay was a short flight, but I was nervous. I expected that at some point one of the pilots would come back and ask that I hand over the pearls and then change back into my old clothes and hang the black dress where it could be returned. Time passed, but even as we were descending into Green Bay I thought maybe they would ask for the pearls once we were on the ground. But they didn't. They landed, taxied to a hanger where I could see a black limo waiting, and then came back to help me on with my beautiful wool coat. I put the passport and envelope in a pocket and then descended the stairs. The pilot brought down my garment bag, gave it to the driver, and asked me if I had had a good flight. I thanked him, waited for the driver to put my bag in the trunk and open my door for me, and we were off, pearls still warm around my neck.

There was still the chance that the driver was to recover the pearls, but I thought that unlikely. It looked like I was coming home rich. I directed him to the lodge, and we were there in under an hour. As we drove down the main street of Amberg I wondered if anyone was looking. Probably not.

Once at the lodge I had to find door keys. I opened the garment bag, found my canvas handbag in the bottom, and fished out the keys. I also found ten dollars in my purse and gave the man a tip. I was home.

# Chapter 11

# Happy Times

Obviously my first calls were to my daughters. They both said they had been concerned when my phone seemed not to work, so they had called Clark and found out I was with Mark in Florida. Their tone of voice said "Way to go mom." I was going to have some explaining to do, but it could wait. I told them I would be at Britney's graduation, we confirmed time and location, and that was enough for the moment.

That done, I took my bag upstairs to unpack. What did I find? First my jeans and sweater had been washed and carefully hung. Behind that hanger was my golden gown. I almost cried when I saw it. Elias was being incredibly generous. He was also being humorous – or at least I thought he was, for the next hanger held a maid's uniform. Souvenir, or joke? Either way, I hung it in the closet with my other dresses. Also in the bag were shoes for each outfit, appropriate underwear, and a note from Frau Klemp – in German. I would have to see if my phone had a translation app. All I knew at the moment was that I was very grateful to her.

That done, I took a turn around the lodge to see if everything was as it should be. I was not much of a house sitter. I had been gone over three weeks. But everything looked fine. That done, I knew I would be in bed soon – the time change was going to get me. So I made myself a light dinner, took it into the dining room, and sat there in my elegant gown. At least at that one moment, I felt like I belonged in that room.

The next day was all about Britney's graduation. I know this story is supposed to be about the bottling plant, but do you mind if a mother brags a bit? I'll get back to the story.

I slept that night in segments. I slept maybe four hours, then lay awake at least two, and finally gave up on sleeping. Jet lag was getting me. But then, at least I had experienced jet lag. I was an international traveler!! I got up around four, took a long shower, got some breakfast (in the dining room of course), and then got dressed. What did I wear? At least for the moment I was back to jeans and a sweater. I was back in Kansas. I also had work to do. I got my truck out of the garage and drove the long private road to Town Corner Lake Road and my mailbox. It was a really big box, but still it was crammed. I pulled out an endless supply of envelopes and junk mail and filled my front seat. I should have brought a box. Oh well. Back at the lodge, it took me two loads to get it all into Mark's office and onto his desk.

I filled a waste basket pretty fast, but still I found six bills I should have already paid, and several inquiries from potential customers. I had not done my job. I got out Marks checkbook with presigned checks and paid the bills, including a late fee for one of them (sorry, Mark). The bigger problem was the inquiries. I read them carefully, but I saw Mark would have to answer them. So, I fired up his computer. That meant looking at emails. How many had he written me, and had he wondered why there had been no answer? I found one from two days ago. He just wondered how things were going, nothing specific. I guess that was good, but it also confirmed what Elias had shown me. The guy was busy. There were lots of women looking at the ceilings of his cabin. Hmm. I didn't like that. Having just spent three weeks in the bed of another man, you would think I would not be bothered by how Mark spent his nights, but I was. I know that's not logical, but there you have it.

What about the inquiry letters? Mark had a copier that also scanned documents and made PDF files. He had shown me how to use it, and, miracle of miracles, I remembered all the menus to follow, and I got the inquiries scanned. I then attached them to an email to Mark, along with a nice note about the local weather and about how much I missed him. Let him feel a little guilt next time he was boffing some bimbo.

By now the morning was gone and I needed to get ready for Britney's graduation. What would I wear? I was determined to go with the black dress I had traveled in, that fabulous wool coat, heels even if I found snow up to my knees, and – yes, those pearls. My daughter was graduating and I was celebrating. I was going to dress like a lady who had two college graduate daughters which – just happened to be – true. I was pretty confident I had the biggest smile in Amberg, and maybe in Marinette County. And that was just fine by me.

The ceremony was at four. Dressed like a duchess, I hit the road at two, first to stop and talk with Clark. I thought I might have some explaining to do. I walked into the bar ready with excuses, but Clark was ready for me.

"I see you did some shopping. But tell me, why so pale?" Morgan was there and answered what I guess was a refrain they had used before.

"To get a tan, you have to come up on deck." She, Clark, and two customers had a good laugh. I just stood and smiled.

"Thank you for covering for me. I had a very good time. If you like, I can come back to work tomorrow."

"So your sick aunt is better?" Clark asked.

"Yes, she is much better." What more could I say? They were all certain I had been on a boat in Florida the last three weeks. They were wrong, but I wasn't going to argue. They smiled knowingly, I smiled. Everyone was happy.

"Okay, see you tomorrow. Glad to have you back – from that sickness." Clark said.

"Yes, the one girls get below decks." Morgan said and everyone laughed again. Obviously I was going to be the butt of jokes for a while. I didn't care. I had a secret lover, and I had another daughter with a college degree. Nothing was going to knock the smile off my face.

The drive to Green Bay was simple enough. The heels that matched my gown were four inches high, not the norm for driving a Dodge Ram, but I made it work. The graduation ceremony was being held in a conference center on the west side of town. Her degree was a BSN from UW Madison, but she, like Tiffany, had done all her work at the Green Bay satellite campus. It was some cooperative with local hospitals and clinics. So, instead of sitting in a university gym, they used a local conference center. I found it easily, parked, and walked like a queen to the reception area.

Britney was already there lining up with her peers. Tiffany showed up a little after I did, and she came with a young man. Good for her. We were partway through introductions when Rick arrived. I was pleased to see him. He was a pretty good father for a man who had left us about six weeks after Britney's birth. The "more appropriate" bride he had dumped me for was not with him, but she never was. In her eyes Britney was just a mistake that happened when Rick was young and foolish (two months before they met).

Rick took one look at me and said exactly what a girl wants to hear – "Wow." As a former husband he gets to kiss me and hold me (at least I think he has earned that right) and he did both – maybe for longer than was appropriate for the moment, but I wasn't going to complain. I did my own holding. He took my hand, and we all walked into the reception area. Tiffany sat next to her guy – a lab technician from her clinic she told me as we walked, and Rick sat next to me, never letting go of my hand. It was a little silly, but I liked his enthusiasm. It never hurts to feel appreciated.

Do I need to describe the ceremony? There were several speeches that no one listened to, every graduate got to walk across the stage, there were certificates passed out, and hugs from various administrators. What stands out from the usual? Pride. These women (actually five of the forty eight were men) stood tall, smiled, and strode across the stage like they owned it. Each one had passed lots of courses plus various licensing exams. They knew they had earned a place on that stage. They were now all RNs or Clinical Practice Nurses. They had responsible places in the world. My daughter.

There was lots of picture taking after the ceremony, then we all went out to dinner. Britney brought a man with her too – one of the men who had graduated with her. We sat at a table of six at a really good restaurant, Rick would not let go of my hand (which was often under the table) and I wondered if my girls were getting the same treatment under the table. I hoped so.

The girls had lots of questions about me and my trip, but I told them I would tell them every detail when I saw them at Christmas (which was our code for – lots of juicy tidbits about the guy, let's save it for when it is just us girls). It was Britney's day, and I wanted her to talk about it. She announced she had taken a job at a clinic in town and would start January first – and – that Josh would be starting with her at the same time. She and Josh then alternated describing the clinic which was apparently a well-regarded practice that hired only the best. I was pleased that Rick asked as many questions as I did. He was legitimately proud of his daughter, and I could see that she knew that. She seemed to sit an inch or two taller when he talked to her. Good for both of them.

As for Tiffany, she wanted us to know a little about Ben, the lab tech. He had been at her clinic for several years, had invented a new procedures for identifying some bacteria faster than it had been before, and was destined to be the head of his department. Pride. The table was brimming with pride. I can't tell you how good it felt.

I did feel sorry for the server who wanted to take our order, but we were all talking and it took several attempts before we got the order in. But of course, none of us gave a damn about the meal. We were there to be together. Rick and I split the check and put a very large tip on the bill for a meal we barely tasted, but then food had never been the prime purpose of the meal.

We broke up with the girls promising to come up Christmas Eve, and then they were off with their men. I stood with Rick. He wanted to tell me how proud he was and how beautiful I was. Meanwhile, I had not buttoned my coat, so his hands were at the back of my dress, one hand on my back and one hand on my ass as he leaned me back against my car and kissed me. The boy was well and truly smitten. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him again and again. We looked like two sixteen year olds, but it was a special night and well, he did kiss well. We stayed at it until we both realized how silly we were being. He told me once more how great a mother I had been – and how beautiful I was – and then we both got into our cars, neither of us in shape to drive until we got our clothing back where it belonged. What a night.

Thursday I slept late and then went to the bar for my regular shift. It was back to blue jeans and a sweater, normal wear for a normal woman doing a normal job (except I didn't feel normal at all). There were lots of customers, all of whom seemed to share the same joke – why are you so pale after three weeks in Florida? Oh, that's right, you need to come up on deck to see the sun. They were convinced Mark and I had been boffing below like newlyweds. I just smiled. Isn't that what the blushing bride always does?

Later in the day I shot Denise Wells a text. Did she have time to talk? She answered so fast it looked like she monitored her texts 24/7. She asked if I could come to their next meeting. I said I would prefer something more private. We agreed to have lunch the next day before I started work.

What else happened on my first day back? Well of course after everyone got through asking me about boat ceilings in Florida, the conversations turned to the Packers. What else?

# Chapter 12

# Is there a Strategy?

If you want a private place to talk, there is none better than the restaurant next to my bar. It is closed much of the year, and they are never very clear about when closings will occur. It is run by a retired couple that likes to take cruises. I think they shop for last minute deals, and if they find the right cruise at the right price, they take off. That makes going there for a meal a gamble, and since the food is not very good anyway, most people have stopped taking the risk. So it was no surprise that Denise and I had the place to ourselves the next day when we met for lunch.

We sat, ordered cokes and BLTs (the daily special). Since she turns out to be pretty important in this story, maybe I should describe her. First, I would put her at about my age – two or three years under or over forty. She had nice hair – brown, but maybe two shades lighter than mine. But she had it pulled back in a tight pony tail. It looked severe, as did the rest of her. She was wearing jeans – everyone did, but she also had a jeans shirt and a jeans jacket. It was like she was ready for a night in the woods or a couple hours splitting kindling. But underneath it, I was pretty sure that was not her. Jeans, sure. But the rest of it, I could see her more likely to wear a sweater and sit in an old couch with a cat. So why did she look so ready for action today? Maybe it was me. By the way, my own ensemble was the standard jeans and sweater. I had worn plenty of interesting clothes the last month. Jeans and a sweater felt like a nice homecoming. But, back to our conversation.

"I have been reading your emails," I said to get started. "It looks like you have been pretty busy. How is it going?"

"Every Wednesday we stand in front of the corporate office in Wausaukee. Unfortunately, it is still just the five of us."

"There is a corporate office?"

"Yes, they have rented an office in the old Dennison Dental offices. They are only there on Wednesdays, so that's when we picket them."

"Can I ask about your first picketing December first? It appeared you were protesting both the plant and the governor."

"That was Marsha's idea. She used to be a teacher. She hates the governor for when he killed teachers' unions. So do I really. He cut their benefits, but mostly he hurt their pride. He insinuated they were bad people – takers. People used to talk about the good teachers do. Now they talk about 'pigs at the trough'."

"But now you are taking on both the corporation and the governor. That seems a bad strategy."

"Yes, we are really getting it on talk radio. We are a bunch of socialists trying to block a business that will bring jobs. Worse, we are all college graduates."

"How is that bad?"

"That makes us part of the liberal elite. It's as bad as China under Mao. Anyone who is educated is an enemy."

"Well, I never finished high school, so I guess I don't have to worry about that."

"I'm sorry. It just gets very frustrating." At that point Mrs. Antonin brought our sandwiches. When you get two customers a day, service is fast. I noticed she stayed near the door to the kitchen. She was keeping her distance, but I was sure she could hear every word we said. No problem. She would probably be on a cruise before she had time to blab.

"Why only women?" The bread was toasted, but you could still tell it was very stale. If you only get two customers a day, I guess you don't go through bread very fast.

"We had two men attend our first meeting at the library, but Samantha has had some bad experiences with men. She froze both out, and denigrated every idea they presented. We never saw them again."

"But you understand how that looks."

"Yes. We have women of leisure fighting against a corporation that wants to hire men."

"I don't want to sound negative, but you have chosen to fight two battles when one would have been tough enough, and you are choosing to fight it with just half your army. Why not just admit defeat and get it over with?"

"My husband wants me to quit too. But what they are doing just isn't right."

"How is it not right?"

"They are going to force people to drill wells – wells they cannot afford. That's just wrong."

"Those people aren't as poor or as innocent as you think. We hear rumors at the bar. Two of the families are bragging about how they are going to get a free well – a well they need anyway since their sand point well is failing. There is not a lot of sympathy for them." Of course I was not talking about anything I heard at the bar, but was quoting from the transcripts I had seen. Nevertheless, it was just a matter of time before those transcripts got out, and when they did, I would be right – any sympathy for them would evaporate.

"I didn't know anything about that. And even if true, what about the others?"

"Who knows? What about your professor friend? Has he any more information about how the water around here might be affected?"

"He says the DNR is real slow about giving him any information about local water tables."

"Denise, if you want my advice, Christmas is coming. Take a break. Do some digging. If you can find a solid reason to block this project, then fight on. If not, just walk away."

"Will you join us?"

"I will join you if you find a serious problem. If not, I stand by my initial thoughts – jobs are good, especially up here." I don't think she wanted to hear that, but she took it well. At least she didn't shout at me. We finished our meal and left – her to go back to Wausaukee, me to tend bar.

Friday I go in early to handle deliveries. This time of year we don't do much business, but we still do enough to need a weekly restocking. I assume Morgan was restocking in my absence, and she made a mess of the store room. I spent half an hour just getting that better organized, and then loaded in the new arrivals. I was barely ready when the Kaminskis came in. On the bright side, the store room was proof I was necessary to the business. Morgan couldn't stack six boxes without getting five boxes wrong.

The afternoon was the usual run of Kaminskis, a few retired folks getting a beer, and then beginning around four the loggers started rolling in. Among them was Chuck White and Billy. Chuck runs one of the small logging operations in town. We dated once or twice after Rick dumped me. But he decided Melissa was a better choice. His loss.

"So, pretty pale..." Chuck says the minute he sees me. I know where this is going. "So tell me, what color are the ceilings in those boats."

"It could be they are white, but that would just be a guess."

"Right." He's got a big grin on his face. How many days would I be getting ceiling jokes? Probably several more. I could live with it.

"Are you here for a beer, or just to make guesses about my love life?"

"I am here for a beer, but Billy is buying. He is celebrating the end of his logging career."

"Oh?"

"I went in Wednesday and applied for a job at the plant. They said my application looked good. They pay sixteen dollars an hour, and they have benefits after six months." I think I told you about Billy. He is the same age as my Britney, and the two of them dated a few times. He didn't think he could make it in college, so he worked in the woods and then joined the army. But he had injured his back while logging and so could not finish basic training. He has been stuck out in the woods ever since, and with his back it was just a question of how much longer he could take it. A regular job – with health benefits -- would be a miracle for him.

"Congratulations. When do you start?"

"Well, they are still building the place, but they think it should be open by early June."

"That's if those stupid women don't shut them down." This from a guy down the bar. He was an occasional customer, and while not a bad guy, he was one of those guys that had an opinion about everything and was certain you wanted to hear it.

"I really wish they would stop," Billy said. "I had to walk past them to get into the company office. It felt odd. One of the women was a teacher of mine. She said the plant was doing damage."

"What damage?" Mr. Opinion again. "You take water out of the ground, it's not like there's a shortage, you put it in a plastic bottle and sell it to idiots willing to spend two bucks for sixteen ounces. We get jobs, the company gets money, and idiots with too much money get genuine Amberg water. Sounds like a winner to me."

"Anyway," I said mostly just to end the preaching, "Congratulations, Billy. The beers are on me." And Billy took the beer with a big smile and I think some pride at the fact that a big company was interested in him. I hoped he actually got the job. At the same time I worried about how he and others might feel if Denise somehow did block the plant. This could get bad.

What did we talk about the rest of the evening? Tight ends – why are ours so good when the Bears are so bad. I liked that conversation much better.

# Chapter 13

# Christmas

The nice thing about Tiffany working in a clinic rather than a hospital is she had regular work hours, and time off for holidays. And since Britney didn't start until January first, they were both free to come up to Amberg for Christmas. I asked if they wanted to bring the men I had met at graduation, but they both said they would spend time with the men after Christmas. This holiday they wanted to spend with me. I thought that was sweet. I also gave them the choice of the fishing lodge or my trailer, and they picked my trailer. I can't tell you how good that made me feel. I had grown up there, and they had grown up there, so it was home, but they could have picked the lodge. By picking the trailer, it showed they had feelings for the place, which is another side of having feelings for their childhood. They had already given me the best Christmas present I was going to get, just by showing me they were happy with the years we had spent in that aluminum box.

Our tradition is to decorate the tree Christmas Eve, and spend Christmas Day cooking and eating. The girls drove up together in the morning, and we went out to cut our own tree. When they were small, we had planted a couple dozen white pines in one corner of the lot. They had grown to be eight or ten feet now, and while it felt bad to cut a tree they had planted, the grove did need to be thinned. So we went out together, cut a tree, and dragged it back to the trailer. I should point out these trees did not look much like traditional Christmas trees. They were white pines, and we had never trimmed the branches like the tree farms do. So it had long thin branches sticking out in different lengths, and it was even bent a bit. It was your standard Charlie Brown Christmas tree, except it was _our_ tree.

Once inside we put it in a stand, then we went back to closets to find the boxes with our decorations. Each girl had her own box, and I had mine. We never put on lights or tinsel. We put on ornaments - some the girls had made years ago, others we had bought and exchanged over the years. Put another way, each ornament was special – each had a story, and we talked about most of them as they were hung. I opened a bottle of wine as we decorated, and the stories got longer and funnier.

Later in the afternoon we moved to the kitchen and started cooking for that night and for Christmas Day. I began by baking some bread, and as I did, I told the girls about Switzerland. I told them everything, from beginning to end, and once I had the bread in the oven, I brought out my passport, and three dresses – the black traveling dress, the golden gown, and the maid's uniform. If it's possible to make girls that age speechless, I managed. The best they could think to say was "So you weren't in Florida?" I explained how that was done, or at least as well as I understood the texting trickery myself. I also told them I was going along with that story. To which Britney asked the one question I hadn't considered – "What will Mark say?" Oops. But that was a problem for another time. For the moment we kept cooking and the girls asked a thousand questions.

Later, the girls decided they wanted to try those dresses on, so we went back to their bedroom and played dress up. In the golden gown they tried walking in long elegant strides, exaggerating every step. I explained about the cobblestones and then they walked around them. I think they had the most fun with the maid's uniform. "A bit short, don't you think?" was the general reaction. I explained about the stockings, at which point they pointed to the chest – or lack there of. They raised an eyebrow as if to say, really mom? I just smiled. I promised I would wear the golden gown for dinner tomorrow, at which point the girls immediately said they would wear the other two. They would cut cards for the maid's uniform.

All of this was great fun, and I liked the idea of the three of us sharing a secret. I found myself wrapping my arms around both of them in a big hug. I told them I loved them, and then I started blubbering, and they both started crying too, which we did until we all started laughing at ourselves. It was a special moment, and then we got back into our regular clothes and finished cooking.

Tiffany had brought another bottle of wine and a couple romantic comedies for her lap top. We ate a light meal, and then hit the wine and romcoms. We sat close together on the couch, just like in the old days, and the evening was magical.

Christmas morning we started cooking almost the minute we got out of bed. The turkey was first, of course. Then we worked on the other dishes. Three cooks in a small kitchen means lots of bumping but I kissed each forehead as I bumped hips, we laughed about the silly movies and about my secret trip, and about me being both a lady and a maid. It seemed anything we said was funny.

Once we had the food pretty much under control, we sat around the Christmas tree and exchanged presents. The girls each gave me a Christmas ornament, our traditional gift. When you have no money, you go for sentiment. In this case each ornament was carefully chosen and presented with a story of where they had found it and why they thought I would like it. I was very happy with both.

For my presents, I gave each girl a Christmas calendar and explained where we had seen them, what they were, and that the gifts were actually from Elias. Then I gave each of them an envelope. Inside was a Christmas card and ten one hundred dollar bills. I loved the reaction each of them had.

"Britney, you are just starting out. This will help you with your apartment and other expenses until you start getting pay checks. Tiffany, I want you to use the money to take your man on a weekend trip he will never forget. It's time I had some grandchildren." They both wanted to give the money back. Bartenders don't usually have that kind of money to give away. I explained it was from Switzerland and I had more. "Maids get paid well in Switzerland" I added, and of course we all laughed.

Eventually we went back to the kitchen and got the food pretty well set. We got the turkey out to cool and got other things on the table. Then, while the food was still hot, we raced back to our bedrooms to change. I put on the golden gown and went the whole way, complete with hose, heels, and the pearls. It appeared Britney got the black dress. She found a necklace that went with it pretty well, and also wore heels. We were two elegant ladies. Tiffany had drawn the short straw and got the maid's uniform. But she had fun with it. She made sure we saw how short the skirts were, which she emphasized by curtsying at every opportunity. She also took over carving the turkey and getting the last of the food on the table. After all, she was the maid. Her other contribution as we ate was to periodically look down at her mostly exposed cleavage and say "Really Mom?" It got a laugh every time.

After dinner the girls took multiple selfies, then we changed back into our regular clothes, began packing leftovers – some to stay here, some to go with the girls, and by eight we were on the porch kissing and hugging and taking forever to say good bye. It really was a great Christmas.

# Chapter 14

# It starts getting nasty

I got an email from Denise a couple days later. She had done the research I had suggested and she had some interesting information for me. She would love to give it to me Wednesday – at the company office. In short, she was inviting me to be around when she and her four friends demonstrated. She probably thought I might join in. That wasn't going to happen, but I was curious about that new company office. So I agreed to meet her there at noon.

I had no trouble finding the place. When a town only has one commercial street, you rarely get lost. I parked, looked at the building and picketers and wondered if I was about to talk with the worst protesters in the history of protest. Yes, they were all five standing with signs, but the only sign that mattered was the huge banner on the side of the offices – Now Hiring. Let's see – I could try to read the little signs about how the governor was corrupt and the plant would take our water, or I could look at the big sign that said what everyone in town wanted to see – jobs were coming. To make matters worse (although I am not sure that was possible), the five women had positioned themselves so they were standing directly under the big banner, practically centered under it. What was wrong with these people?

I walked over and got handshakes and or hugs from all five. I guess they thought I was joining them. But it was Denise I wanted to talk to. I could tell she was excited to fill me in on her research, but I had to comment on what I saw.

"Do you really want to be standing under that banner? If anything, you draw more attention to it."

"We decided we didn't want to hide what the company was doing. Yes, they were creating jobs, but at what price?"

"Good question. What's the price?" I asked.

"Let me show you." She had lots of papers rolled up in the large pocket of her winter coat. When she unrolled them, I could see four or five pages were stapled together with a cover sheet – "Facts about the Naturale Water Plant" It appeared she had about twenty of these stapled groups ready to hand out to anyone who passed by.

"My husband, both my daughters, and I spent about a hundred hours searching web sites and we found three problems, any one of which should stop this plant."

"What did you find?" I was curious, but I was also now uncomfortable. I was thinking of Billy. He needed this job. So did lots of other Billys.

"First, the whole permitting process is in violation. Here's the problem." She turned to the second page. "See this map? It shows watersheds. Wisconsin has two – Mississippi and Great Lakes. If you get west of the Wolf River – about fifty miles west – that's all Mississippi watershed. The state can pretty much do what it wants there. That's why they can suck central Wisconsin dry. But the Menominee River flows into Green Bay and so into Lake Michigan. The Great Lakes watershed is governed by the states, the feds – and by Canada. Without the approval of Canada, they can't suck the first gallon out of that well."

As she was saying that a truck drove by and honked. We looked up to see a raised middle finger. "Stupid bitches, go home and cook something." He thought he was pretty funny. We just ignored him.

"Please don't take that road, Denise." I said. "If you turn this into some kind of endless bureaucratic process with meetings here, there and everywhere, years will pass, and even if the well is finally approved, you will never be forgiven."

As if to prove my point, a middle aged man parked his car and walked through the six of us to get into the company office. "Some people need jobs," he said. "We can't all work for the government." He "accidentally" bumped one of the women with his shoulder and knocked her sign out of her hands. "Oops." He stepped past her and went inside.

"Let's hear the second problem." I said.

Denise turned another page. It was from some approval form. The type was dense and it was clearly a back page from some longer document. "They never completed the state form. Look here." She pointed to one place on the page. "They are required to put in test wells and show quantities drawn at various levels. It shows what impact the pumping will have. They left that blank."

"Okay, but was the form approved?"

"Yes. The crooks in Madison signed off on the well, even without the form being complete."

"Okay, maybe the Madison people are crooks, or maybe the information was on some other form or attachment. That's possible, right?"

"Why are you opposing me?" She asked. Just then we heard another beep and another raised finger. I felt less and less comfortable even standing near these women. Did they get this treatment every week?

"Denise, I am looking for a smoking gun. Isn't that what they call it? Clear proof of a crime. You not only need it for me, but you really need it for the guys driving by. Unless this well is going to turn Marinette County into the Sahara Desert, it's going to be the five of you against every other person in the county."

"I think I have it." She turned two more pages. "This page is a copy of a permit issued to another company to drill a test well. They drilled about midway between Amberg and Wausaukee, again near 141. They drilled the well, then packed up their equipment and left. They never applied for a pumping permit."

"Okay," I said. "So it would appear likely that they didn't like what they found. Probably not enough water. I get that. But it could also mean they had a bad year and couldn't get the cash together for a new operation, or they just found a better spot elsewhere. Right?"

"Agreed. But here is where we get lucky. Do you remember Professor Johnson?"

"Yes."

"Well one of his old college friends works for that company. He is reaching out to him to see what they found with that test well."

"Good. That would be helpful information. When will he get the numbers you need?"

"He is working on it." Which to me meant she had no idea. But at least she had a contact. The potential was there.

Meanwhile, the guy who had gone inside was back out. It appeared the interview hadn't gone all that well.

"Are you bitches still here? Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Who are you calling a bitch?" I said. I stepped right up to him. He was bigger than me, of course, but I was really tired of how we were being treated. I looked him in the eye, daring him to do something stupid. Of course daring him was pretty stupid on my part.

"Get out of my fucking way, bitch."

"Go around, moron." We had a stare down and I began to wonder if I had gone too far, when Davey Kekkonen came around the corner.

"Jess, you will take one step back, and Elmer, you will take one step to your right and then you will walk directly to your car. Neither of you will say another word." Davey is a county sheriff's deputy so we were both bound to do what he ordered, but we were in the middle of a pissing contest and neither of us was ready to yield yet. We continued to stare at each other until Davey added, "You will do it now." And we did.

The moron (Elmer) walked to his car. I stood and waited for Davey. I knew him from high school. "Jess, he's pushing fifty, but he has seventy or eighty pounds on you. You really should pick on someone your own size."

"He called us bitches."

"Yes, he is not a nice man. And the six of you do have a legal right to be here with your signs, but are you sure you want to do this? I have been watching from my squad the last couple times you have been out here. The heckling is getting worse. Next week it might be more than raised fingers."

"But it's your job to protect us." I had forgotten this lady's name. The tone of her voice said she wanted to pick an argument – an argument with a man who had just helped us. Why?

"I will do my job. But you should know my job is to protect the northern half of the county. There is no guarantee I will right around the corner every week. You have your rights, but you are all old enough to understand reality. What you are doing isn't making you any friends."

"Thank you Sergeant Kekkonen," I said. I really did owe him one. "We all appreciate your help." And at that point four out of five heads nodded. I guess you can never please everyone. He turned and walked away.

I turned back to Denise. "It looks like you want to pass those papers out. Are you sure that's a good idea? You have done some good research, and it may all help eventually, but you see how people are reacting. Why not just wait until you get the information you need from Professor Johnson?"

"If it says what we expect, will you stand with us next Wednesday?"

"Let me see the numbers and decide then. Fair enough?"

"Yes, fair enough." At that point I stepped down from the sidewalk, only to have a truck pull way over and head directly for me. I stepped back up on the sidewalk, and he drove away laughing. Davey's squad pulled out from the lot and raced after him, lights and siren going. I guess we got the last laugh.

I drove back to Amberg, to the bar, and to endless jokes about boats, ceilings, and sun. The best laugh was for: "I have never seen a woman come back from Florida so pale. Did he ever let you up on deck? The guy must be a world class stud." I smiled and let it pass. Eventually we moved on to the Packers and the playoffs.

About five Chuck White came in. That was his usual time, but he came in without Billy, and he came in with an odd expression on his face. I poured him a beer, but he motioned to the corner at the far side of the room. He wanted to talk.

"Jess, I am hearing things I don't want to hear." Whatever he was hearing didn't keep him from running a hand over my arm and then moving it around to the small of my back. There was a time when I thought he might be husband number three, but that time had passed. Apparently groping me had not. As long as he didn't get carried away, I didn't really mind. He was still a good looking guy.

"What are you hearing, and why do you need a hand on my back to tell me about it?"

"The hand tells you we are still friends. Maybe more than friends whenever you want."

"I like that you are still trying, but it has been twenty years since we were more than friends. Time to move on."

"Some day, Jess. Some day."

"But today is not the day." Even though I said that, I made no move to take his hand away, and I felt it slide down toward my ass. "Really, Chuck, did you come here to talk or to feel me up?"

"Both, I hope." I felt his hand slide farther down. I reached back and pulled it up a couple inches – still on my ass, but not at the point where I started breathing different. "There are people saying you have joined that coven that is blocking the plant."

"They are not witches and I have not joined them."

"Mrs. Antonin says you are telling them how to protest."

"I told their leader she is doing everything wrong. My guess is she has already been told that by lots of others."

"But you joined their protest this morning."

"No, I went to talk to the leader – Denise Wells. I wanted to know what reasons she had for protesting the plant. I get to do that, Chuck. I get to talk to people."

"You get to talk, but be careful about who and where." And his hand slid down my ass again. Ugh. Why is it so hard to talk to men?

"So you got your grope, and you got to tell me what you wanted to tell me. Are we done now?"

"How about a kiss?"

"Jesus, Chuck. Just go drink your beer." And that ended that conversation. The rest of the evening was beer, pizzas, a few brandies, and Packer playoff conversations. I was much more comfortable.

# Chapter 15

# New Year's Eve

In the bar business we usually refer to New Year's Eve as amateur night. The idea is that our regulars handle their liquor better than these occasional drunks. Of course that is nonsense. A drunk is a drunk, whether regular or occasional. But on New Year's Eve we do get more of them, and they do drink more. Of course a bar is a business, so we like that. For us, New Year's Eve is so big Clark even sticks around for it before taking his annual trip to Florida.

We spent that morning hanging strips of crepe paper from the ceiling and putting up cardboard decorations on the walls. Our bar is a real dive, but we wanted it to be a dive with some flash. Clark brought in the eight foot folding table from wherever he kept it, and we put it along the far wall. He had hired Mrs. Antonin from next door to fill one Nesco with brats and another with burgers, and she was to put out chips, pickles, and the fixings for the brats and burgers. She also had large plates of buns, all of which I assumed she had bought day-old on sale, but after two beers, no one would complain. We put a sign over there - $5. We figured a few people would pay it, most wouldn't, and we didn't care. We just wanted them to stick around longer and drink our liquor rather than the liquor in Wausaukee.

We already had a few people in the place at three watching some bowl game or other. This was my time of year to learn just how many colleges there are in America. It was also my time to practice my drink mixes. Basically, if you are a bartender in Wisconsin, you need to be able to open a beer, pour a shot of brandy, and make a brandy old-fashioned. End of skills list. But on amateur night you got some folks who decided some drink they once saw in an old movie was the way to go.

So I had the mixing guide out and was reviewing martinis, manhattans, and cosmos when a young man called my name – Jessica. I am thirty eight and he was maybe twenty five, so I can be a trifle annoyed when kids call me by my first name, but then, I am a bartender, so it's not like I have some status to protect. Trailer Trash Jessica – at your service. I walked down the bar to where he was standing.

"I want to show you something." He pulls out a phone and pushes the screen. A picture is there – with a caption and story. I am in the picture. It shows six women, one guy, and the deputy. Obviously it was taken in the midst of the confrontation I had with that guy. Someone had a phone out and got our picture. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Since everyone has a camera phone in their pocket, you can't scratch your backside without three people getting a picture.

The caption said, "Deputy Kekkonen rescues job applicant from six women protesters." The story went on to say we had harassed him as he went into the company offices, and then attacked him when he came out.

"You understand none of this is true."

"I assumed you would say that. The blog is by the Republican chair for Northern Marinette County." I guess that was his way of saying – it must be true if he says it.

"What do the police say?"

"They say there was no attack, but you know how it is with police now – they have to be politically correct. God forbid they tell us women or minorities or immigrants commit a crime."

"You are one twisted little man."

"Watch yourself, bitch. I just wanted you to know why I will never have another beer in this bar." And then he walked down the bar to tell Clark why he would not be buying beer here anymore. No doubt Budweiser would feel the loss. Eventually he left the bar looking daggers at me as he made his grand exit. I thought this is why bartenders hate amateur night.

But things got worse. Billy Simmons came in around five. The bowl game between Someplace State and Someplace Tech was at halftime. He stood in line to get a brat and a burger and a pile of chips. He offered to pay five dollars for the food, but I said "Keep it, you're a regular."

Maybe that helped a little, but I soon learned he was a very unhappy man. Construction on the water plant had stopped.

"I would expect them to, Billy. Those guys get holidays. They are union, so if they did come in, the company would have to pay them double time. I wouldn't expect them to be around for another week or two."

"Some guys are saying that, but some other guys are saying those women got the plant stopped."

"They are saying five old ladies from Wausaukee got an international corporation to stop? That would be a first."

"Actually, they are saying you probably did it. Now that you are part of the protest group, the company is backing off."

"Why would I do that, Billy? I wrote a letter to the newspaper telling how good the plant would be. But now suddenly I don't want people to have jobs? How does that make sense?"

"It doesn't, but something doesn't make sense. They were working on that building, and now they have stopped. I need that job, Mrs. Thorpe."

"I know you do. So do others. What do you say we all take a deep breath, watch some football, drink some beer, and chill out until later in January when the crews get going again. Okay?"

"Sure." He tried to smile, but I could see he was not fully comfortable. Somebody was scaring this kid – and others. What kind of bastard would do that? Meanwhile, Tech took the second half kickoff and the world was absorbed by football again.

Over the next couple hours I made my first Cosmo ever (I had to ask Clark how much to charge), two martinis, twelve brandy old fashioneds, and about a hundred beers. Mrs. Antonin came in periodically to refill the Nescos and to glare at me. I thought about how nice it would be if she fell off a cruise ship, or caught ebola in some exotic port. Time passed.

Could I make it through the rest of the evening without one more person claiming I was killing the water project? Of course not. We were getting near midnight and I was passing out cardboard horns, when a man took the horn, but then grabbed my wrist. "You know we are watching you." He said. "If you block this project, we will see, and you will pay."

"If that's a threat, I would take it much more seriously if you weren't drunk on your ass and ready to barf on your shoes." His head shot around like I had just slapped him, but the fast movement led to exactly what I had predicted. He rushed for the door and puked all over Main Street. It is so cool to be a bartender for nine years. You have seen stupid in so many forms.

Eventually amateur night ended and I got to go home to the lodge. I had worked a fourteen hour day and just wanted to drop into bed. Enough was enough.

New Year's Day we opened at noon. I slept until nine, but couldn't muster the energy to get out of bed. Was everyone in Marinette County a moron? And how funny it was they thought I wanted to kill the project. Little did they know I had spent a month sleeping with the company CEO. That got me thinking back to the good old days in Switzerland. How good it would feel to spend my nights with Elias and my days with Frau Klemp. Could he send a plane to get me? I'd give back the pearls.

This led to my next thought – I hadn't communicated with him since I got back. It was time. It was certainly time if he was reading blogs from people like the Republican whatis for inner Marinette Copunty. I showered and got dressed. Just for fun I put on the maid's uniform. It made me homesick for Frau Klemp. I went into the kitchen for a coffee and a yogurt, and then fired up the computer in the office.

First, I needed to find a copy of the hit piece that whatis had written. Google struggled, but eventually I found the right terms to get his blog (I searched under "idiots from Wausaukee who live in their own twisted world", and it went straight to him). I copied the picture and article and then wrote an email to Elias. I was tempted to write – get me the hell out of here, these people are nuts – but instead I went with – miss you, how are you, miss you, and by the way, here is what's happening in Nutsville, miss you.

I knew his schedule now, so I did not expect an answer any time soon, but I felt better at least starting the conversation. Oddly, I also felt better wearing the maid's uniform. It reminded me of Tiffany wearing it, looking down at her chest and saying "Really, Mom?" It was funny then, and it was still funny now. And looking down at my chest, I could see exactly what she was talking about. The dress didn't leave much to the imagination. It was selected by a man who liked to touch women, and assumed most liked to be touched. And, while it had taken a while, he had been right.

I still had an hour before I had to drive in to the bar, so I busied myself doing dishes and cleaning up around the great room, a maid in my own house. But time ran out and I switched to jeans and a sweater and went in to town.

What do you do New Year's Day? First, you mix up several gallons of bloody Mary mix - Tomato juice and other mixes based on your inclinations. The customer sees pickles and celery and maybe a beef stick standing high above the glass. What they want is the vodka, but they will put up with the tomato juice in the hope it will help them recover from mistakes they made the night before. We sell a bunch of them New Year's Day. To me it seems an apology the drinker is making to his own digestive system. I recognize I was dumb last night, this ugly red stuff is my penance.

What else do we do? We clean up a bit, and we get ready to send Clark off. He is usually there before us to clear out the cash register – we always do well New Year's Eve. He does his final count, closes his books for the year, and gets a statement ready for the bank. That done, he calls me over and gives me my final orders. I will be gone three months – here is what to do while I am away. I have gotten the same lecture the last eight years, so I was ready for suggestions on how to deal with one of our suppliers, or ideas for some redecorating, or even a lecture on how I needed to work longer hours.

But I got none of that. I got a warning.

"Jessica, I want you to be very careful while I am gone. These folks are crazy and they are dangerous. I am worried they will try to hurt you."

"I will be careful." What else was I going to say?

"Let me tell you a story I should have told you long ago." He is sitting at his usual place at the end of the bar, and I am standing near him. He points to a stool next to him, and I sit.

"Did you know I once dated your mother?" I shake my head. "When she was young, she was very pretty, just like you. But she had a problem – your grandmother. You know your grandfather was killed in Okinawa, right?" I nodded again.

"Did you study that battle?"

"I did some reading." But, I would admit, not that much. I felt uncomfortable studying the battle where he was killed.

"It was maybe the worst battle of the war. All the battles were bad, but here the Japanese soldiers knew they were going to die, and they wanted to take every American with them. And they were dug into a series of mountain ridges. The Americans would clear one, and then find another mass of Japanese in the next. The battle went on and on and our men died in huge numbers. The people back home are learning just how bad things are, even with censorship, and wives – like your grandmother -- are going through hell. Their men have been gone three or four years, they have made it so far, and here in the last months of the war, they see huge casualty lists. But their man is still alive – they hope – and the island is slowly being taken, and their man is still alive, and it is getting near the end, and their man is still alive – and then the chaplain arrives. They had been scared for years, they had finally worked up the courage to hope, and now he was dead."

"Your grandmother never recovered. She never trusted again, she never hoped again, she knew what would come at the end – disappointment and tragedy. And she was mother to your mother. Your mother lived every day alone in a house with a woman who feared everything. Your mother was young and alive, but she was also infected with that fear. I would see her one day smiling, and the next day she was certain she was ill or her mother was ill, or both of them would soon be ill. You knew her as a drunk. I knew her as someone who drank to hide her fear."

"You ask why am I telling you this? Sometimes I think the best men died on Iwo Jima or Okinawa, or another hundred towns in Europe. What we have left are the weak and the silly. Be careful of the weak and the silly. They don't have real dicks, so they buy AR-15s. They want to be real men and stand up for something, so they wait for the radio to tell them what today's outrage is. Here, we have a town tearing itself apart over a simple factory for water. It will give jobs to fifteen or twenty men. Yes, that matters to fifteen or twenty families, but those families will not starve, they will not be loaded into trains and carried to camps, they will not be gassed. They will just find some other job in some other place.

"Yes, and maybe they should work up the courage to go to that other place. And here I am speaking about you. You have daughters in Green Bay. It's not New York or San Francisco, but it is bigger than here and has more opportunities – and maybe smarter men. You want to stay in this ghost town? Be careful. You are surrounded by the weak and the silly."

With that, he gathered up his bank books, his cash bag, and a bottle of scotch. I got a hug, Morgen got a wave, and he was off to Florida.

How did I react to that? I didn't have time. A new bowl game started, new people arrived, I assembled Bloody Marys with beer chasers. I discovered as I put the drinks in front of people I was crying. I was thinking of my mother, of my grandmother, of my grandfather. I cried and I cried. I turned away from the bar, fumbled around in the drawers like I was looking for something, but I kept crying and couldn't stop. Somewhere in there I also wondered if I had just met my father.

I got myself under control and was able to finish my shift. But I was in bed by nine and cried most of the night. Thank God I had the next day off.

# Chapter 16

# January – too cold to fight

Clark was right about being careful. I continued to have men tell me there would be trouble if I blocked the plant – as if I had that power. Maybe that was most crazy in all the craziness – the idea that I could control something like that. Where did they get these weird ideas? What website or radio station was being run by men who had gone off their meds? In the meantime, work restarted on the plant during the second week in January, then promptly stopped when an arctic blast took temperatures down to minus thirty. I waited to get blamed for that too, but somehow I escaped that.

I waited for Denise Wells to call me with details of that test well, but I heard nothing from her either. Maybe cold was good for something – it gave people something tangible to focus on. In this case, it gave me about three weeks before events began to move again. I was happy for the time to relax and think of nothing more complicated than how well the Packers were doing in the first couple playoff rounds. They won of course.

Then in the third week Denise called. She was sure she had the smoking gun. What was it? I asked. She would show me Wednesday during their usual protest time. I should have expected that. No doubt she assumed once I had seen this evidence, I would join her. And I had promised to do just that. So, I agreed to meet her.

Wednesday is my day off, a day to sleep late, clean, and do laundry – and maybe some shopping if I am in the mood. I took forever getting out of bed, showered through endless gallons of hot water, made myself a big breakfast, cleaned the kitchen and great room, did laundry, and still had time before I had to go to Wausaukee. I really love Wednesdays.

Finally it was time to drive to Wausaukee to see how much smoke was coming from this gun. Was there a big enough problem to block the plant? And what would I say to Elias? But first things first. I got to Wausaukee, parked my truck and walked over to the women, all five of whom were there, cold or no cold. They were also putting up with an endless series of trucks driving by with fingers in the air. One of the women was returning the gesture. I guess the women had taken about all they were prepared to take.

Denise was all smiles when she saw me. We hugged.

"Thank you for coming."

"I see things have not changed much." I pointed to yet another truck going by with windows open and middle finger up. Wasn't it too cold for that? You would think minus temperatures would reinforce good manners – or at least reasonable civility. But you would be wrong.

"I think we might at least win a few over after they learn about the test wells drilled by Water Services. It turns out they are a consulting firm that runs tests for companies. We couldn't find out which company they were working for, but we did get their results. Here let me get Professor Johnson on the line so he can tell you directly." She dialed his number and waited, and waited, and waited. "He knew we would be calling. He must have a student in his office, or something."

Just then two men approached us. They were both large, and they were not headed for the office, they were headed for us. One walked up to the woman at the end of the line, took her poster and said "I don't think you need this anymore." He started tearing it up. "Your husband called. He wants you home making lunch." She started arguing with him and the other women joined her.

The other man came for Denise and me. "The two head bitches," he said as he wrapped his arms around the two of us and pulled us into a huddle. "I want you to know a secret." And he dropped his voice. Denise and I tried to twist our way out of his arms, but he held us tight. "This is the last day you harass honest men trying to get a job. You will go home, stay home, and bake your cookies. Do you know why?" He paused as if we might answer his question. What an idiot. I tried to twist out of his arms. He just held me tighter.

"Let go of us, you moron."

"Now be nice, ladies. I am trying to educate you. You should thank me."

"Let go," Denise shouted, and twisted hard. I thought for a minute she might get free, but the moron just changed his position and pushed us into each other even harder.

"Here's the secret, ladies" he said once he had us under control again. "Next time we will not come to talk with you. We will have a talk with your husbands. And a baseball bat might be part of the conversation." The look on his face was more scary than his words. I had never seen this guy before, and I never wanted to see him again. But he wouldn't let us go. He held us to prove he could hold us. We said nothing. He said nothing. Finally he let us go. He grabbed a poster from another one of the women, and he and his friend just walked away as if they were just casually walking down the street and had stopped to chat.

The six of us gathered together, first to see if anyone was hurt. Angry yes, hurt no. We repeated what each man had said and found both had threatened our husbands. That was worrying, but I pointed out I had no husband, so it showed the men didn't really know that much about us. It was probably just an idle threat. Probably.

The next question was what to do now. Three of their signs were gone, and the street seemed especially dangerous. I offered the lodge. It was out of the way, so we would have some privacy and some safety. We could talk, and Denise would try to reach Professor Johnson again. I explained how to find the place, and we agreed to meet in half an hour.

My hands shook as I drove back to the lodge – part from anger, and yes, part from fear. He was a really big guy and strong. He practically crushed Denise and me against each other and against him. I really didn't want to see him again.

Once back at the lodge, I relaxed some. There was a long road around the lake, and I would see any unwanted cars long before they arrived. I also had a gun. You work in a bar, you live alone out in the middle of nowhere, a gun makes sense. It has in my handbag. I left my bag on a chair in the small room around the corner from the front doors. Would I use it? If I saw that guy at my door, yes.

Fortunately, he didn't come. The five women arrived in three cars just a few minutes later. I went into hostess mode, which had the immediate effect of making me busy – and much more relaxed. The women had the standard reaction to the place. They loved everything about it. I gave the grand tour. We all laughed about the hanging fish, but they loved the great room fire place, the formal dining room, and the gigantic kitchen.

I brought them back to the great room and we settled into the leather chairs and sofas.

"What can I get you?" I asked. "I can make some coffee, but we also have a complete bar. I have some really good chardonnay chilled." There was a moment's hesitation, but after one woman selected wine, everyone else went with that. I opened two bottles and we went through both of them. It was the perfect recovery beverage. Within fifteen minutes everyone was relaxed and breathing normally.

"Let me see if I can get Professor Johnson on the phone." Denise announced, but I noticed she was in no rush. She was at her wine glass two more times before she started working on her phone. I have to admit I was already through my first glass and had poured a second. I freshened a few other glasses while Denise dialed. I wasn't the only one feeling much better after the wine.

"Professor Johnson," Denise said when she got through. "Hello. I am here with several other concerned people, and we are very interested in your findings. Do you mind if I put you on speaker phone?" Actually she just turned the volume up on her phone. "Now, could you repeat what you told me about the wells drilled by Water Services?"

"Sure. As I told you Monday, the company actually drilled three wells, all north of Wausaukee. They were testing water depth and flow. My friend said he is not allowed to tell me what company they were working for, but he said the goal was to find sufficient water to put in a plant similar to the one Naturale is now building. He said the first two wells went well, but they immediately had trouble with the third. They were drilling into a granite area and couldn't find a level where water flowed again. In essence, they couldn't get under the granite – it went too deep. That experience made them go back and check the first two wells. They found they could get good volumes of water, but levels dropped pretty fast. They wondered if the aquafer was bounded by granite in such a way to make the pool too narrow for commercial uses."

"So if the plant was built, it might take the water levels down pretty fast." Denise said.

"That is likely, but this does not prove that. If a well were placed elsewhere, they might be able to get a fair volume, but they would have to be careful. I think the best that can be said with good predictive certainty, is that any well should expect moderate volumes, and possible periods in the year when they would have to reduce pumping."

"Thank you. That is very helpful. Could I ask you to put your report in writing so we can share it with local officials?"

"There I think I have to disappoint you. My friend asked for anonymity to protect his job, so I could never cite my source, and I also would be at some risk since this has gotten so political it might affect my ability to get research grants."

"So we can't use this information?" Denise asked. There was real disappointment in her voice.

"You can and should use it, but do it indirectly. Here is what I mean. The company that did the work is Water Services Inc based out of Missoula, Montana. They did the drilling in 2010. All that is a matter of public record. You can say you found it on the internet. You can say since they did not follow up with commercial drilling, it seems likely there is a problem. I also suggest you share that information with both Naturale, and with local officials. They both may still want to go ahead with the project, but they should know there will be likely constraints, and there may be consequences for local residents. I would mention lack of water during summer months."

"Thank you." Denise said. Then she looked around at the others. "Anyone have any other questions?" We all shook our heads. "I know you are a busy man, so I will not take any more of your time. Thank you for all your help." And that ended the conversation.

I opened a third bottle of wine. We had some thinking to do. There was smoke here, but was it enough to kill the project? Maybe what was needed was careful monitoring and reasonable expectations. What kind of capacity had the company planned for? They seemed to be building a large bottling plant. Did that correspond to huge pumping volumes, or just mean making and filling plastic bottles took lots of room. We sipped our wine and talked for over an hour, trying to get to every perspective. There was so much we did not know. We did know "to a predictive certainty" that monitoring would be needed, which is another way of saying this plant could go bad for both the company and the community. Or it might be fine.

Where did all this lead? We agreed it had gotten too dangerous to protest outside the company office any more. No more Wednesdays. We would change tactics. I had been in contact with the company before, so I should try to reach them again. Maybe they knew about this problem, maybe they didn't. In either case we had a moral responsibility to reach out to them. Meanwhile, Denise and other ladies would ask for private meetings with town officials – both around Wausaukee and around Amberg. Maybe they already knew about the Water Services wells, maybe they didn't. Either way, telling them about this risk was the right thing to do. If it could be done without bringing the hounds of hell down on us, so much the better.

We all agreed to that plan. But no one was in a hurry to leave. I refilled some glasses and then brought out some cheese and crackers. This was Wisconsin – what else would we snack on? And quickly the conversation turned to much more comfortable matters – the new principal at the school seemed okay, Shriners café in Crivitz was going under again, the American Legion was having a Valentines Dance next month. Just local stuff. I realized somewhere in there that I had never had a conversation like this before. I had no female friends. I had been trailer trash, and then I had been the slut with two kids by nineteen. So this is what it was like to sit and talk with other women. I liked it.

About an hour later they decided it was time to go home to make dinner, and then giggled about what kind of dinner they would make after all this wine. I got hugs and thank yous, and I stood on the front porch waving them good bye. I felt really good. Yes, I was drunk, but I had been included. I had female friends.

But I also had an important male friend, and I needed to email him ASAP. But I had a funny idea. Wine will do that to you. Before I emailed Elias, I went upstairs and changed. I got out the golden gown, hose, heels, even the pearls. I dressed as if I would be sitting opposite him, not just reaching him via email. When I turned the computer on, I even sat as I would if he had been across the desk from me. Back straight, hands in my lap, chin up, looking into his eyes. I was elegant, I was attractive, I was ready to communicate with my man.

I checked my email first. No, he had not responded to my last message. Okay. And yes, he might not be responding because he was currently entertaining a sales rep in a thousand dollar gown who would finish her negotiations in his bed. Okay. But here I am. Also elegant, also special. I had news for him. And I wrote my email, back straight, shoulders back like Frau Klemp had emphasized, words confidently presented. Miss you, hope you are doing well, miss you, check a company called Water Services in Missoula, Montana, they might have information on your local wells that could be important, miss you, the girls loved your Christmas present, miss you. Too many "miss yous"? I was confident enough to be honest. He would recognize that. I hit Send, smiled at the computer, and turned it off.

I strode in my golden gown to the kitchen, made myself a great salad, took it into the dining room to eat, lit three candles, sat with my back straight and my hands in my lap while I ate and had an imaginary conversation with Elias who was sitting at the opposite end of the table. He was grateful for my email, but also overcome by my beauty and elegance. It was a beautiful dinner. I had a final glass of wine sitting elegantly in the great room, and then went to bed. It had been a full day, with some rough edges, but it had been a good day.

# Chapter 17

# February – it gets worse

Construction on the plant stopped the first week in February. The end of that week there were huge trailers moving construction cranes south – right through the middle of Wausaukee. It is pretty hard to blame the work stoppage on the weather. When the construction equipment goes away, something big is up. Something bad is happening, and of course we know who is responsible for that.

I dreaded my hours at the bar. I had the same ugly conversation over and over. Yes, I know construction has stopped, no, I don't know why, no, I didn't have anything to do with that, how could I? I want the plant too. Really. I don't know when they will restart building. I am just a lady who works in a bar. How would I know that?

No one smiled at me anymore. Worse, the Packers had been knocked out of the playoffs, the Super Bowl went to some other guys, life was over as we know it. Ugh. I poured beer, made pizzas, talked weather, and talked to fewer and fewer men each night. Clark was not having a good month. My nine o'clock closing became eight thirty, then eight. A couple days I wondered why I opened at all. My best customers were the Kaminski twins, who still hated me, but not enough to pass up their afternoon wine.

Then Mark came home. I was already in bed – it was around midnight – and I heard the garage door go up. I went down stairs and picked up my bag with my gun, but then I saw it was Mark. He had a couple bags he was getting out of his SUV. I said "Hi," and then rushed upstairs to get out of my pajamas and into a long satin night gown. My man was home. I got into bed and waited. And yes, I knew he had been with other women and I might have gotten all excited about that and maybe started a fight, but he was good looking and had big shoulders, and yes, I am easy. I got into bed and waited.

He brought his bags up, put them near the closet, sat on the edge of the bed and got undressed. I waited. When he was completely undressed he pulled a case off one of the pillows and rolled it up. What? His first words to me after three month's absence was, "Jess, I have lots of things to say to you, and I don't want to be interrupted." At that point he put the pillow case in my mouth and tied the ends behind my head. "I also don't want you touching me. Put your hands behind your back. I won't tie them but don't move them." I lifted my ass and put both hands behind my back. Was I afraid? No. Was I really confused? Yes.

At this point he spread my legs, got on top of me, and entered me. I couldn't touch him, but he wanted to touch me completely. He rested his weight on his elbows, but held onto my shoulders. His penis effectively held me from below, his hands from above. He wanted complete control of me. He had it.

"I have lots of things to say. I want you to look at me while I talk, but don't move your head. I don't want nods or shakes. Just look and listen." While he was saying this, he was moving slowly inside me. I was to feel him and listen, I guess. He wanted my complete attention. He had it.

"Before I hired you, I checked on you. You know what I found. You had a baby in high school, and another soon after. Two kids, two fathers. You lived in a trailer. You had other men along the way. You work in a dive bar. Your mother was a drunk. No one knows who your father is. That's your reputation around town."

"But you are pretty, you did a good job with my customers, and you got into my bed fast enough. I let a lot of stuff pass, even when people warned me about your reputation. I even gave you control over my lodge and access to my checkbook. I trusted you." He paused there and just looked at me. I looked for anger, but I saw disappointment.

"In December you went off with another man. I don't know who or care. You sleep around, I get it. Maybe it was some guy you met on the internet. I don't like it, but I get it. But you did two things I really don't like. You left the lodge I was paying you to manage, which meant some of my bills were paid late. That cost me late fees, but it also hurt my credit rating at a time when that is crucial to the survival of my business. You got laid, but I paid the price."

"And here's where it gets much, much worse. You told everyone you were with me." He stared at me again. I looked back, but I was having trouble looking through my tears. He was right. I had hurt him and had not even thought about it.

"You know the first time I found out about the story you were telling? I got a text with a picture of you protesting with those women. The message said, 'Get your woman back on your boat before she kills the plant.' Get her back on my boat? I had no idea what he was talking about. The next message says something like, 'She says she likes your cabin ceiling. Put her back under it before someone hurts her.'"

"So I don't know what you have been saying, but it is clear when you went off with that guy in December, you decide, for some reason, you would say you are with me. So you are embarrassed by the guy? Maybe he's married? I don't know what is going through your head. But somehow you decide to make me a part of this sexual adventure. By the way, my ceiling is white, and for added detail, I have a chart of the Keys pasted to it. Storms come up fast, so I have to be able to get to the nearest harbor. So I have to know the best entrance to each harbor, and any rocks or dangers I might find along the way. So the last thing I look at before I sleep and the first thing I look at in the morning is that chart. Caring for my passengers is a responsibility I take seriously. So the next time you brag about being on your back in my boat, you can add that nugget."

"I have so much more to say to you, including using my lodge for a meeting place for plant protestors, but that can wait." As he said this he moved more deeply into me, and started moving faster. He pushed again and again and again and then ejaculated. I was suddenly incredibly hot. I was sweating and breathing fast through the gag. He held me tight. I would so have loved to hold him and kiss him. The only thing I could move was my legs. I slowly brought them around him, hoping he would not object. He let me, and he kissed the side of my face.

"You are so good in bed, and such a mess everywhere else. The perfect solution to you is to find a man who will put you in bed and keep you there. He needs to fuck you twice a day and maybe let you up long enough to cook and clean. You need to find that man." At this point he kissed the side of my face again, slid his rough hands over my breasts, and gradually got off me.

"I have more to say, but I need to know if you are even listening. I'm going to get some sleep. If you are still there in the morning, I will explain all the trouble we are both in. Or if you rather, you can get up, pack your bags, and go back to your trailer." He rolled over, facing away from me. Maybe he was sleeping. Maybe he wasn't. I just laid where I was and silently cried. I cried all night. I had hurt him. Could I leave him? No.

Just around sunrise he was back on me and in me. I hadn't moved all night. I had hoped he would still want me in the morning. The fact that he was in me again made me feel somewhat better. He didn't say anything. He just moved in me, and I tried to move with him. I felt him come, and then I wrapped my legs around him as tightly as I could. He let me. I felt hot, happy, and relieved. He held me tight, and I felt even better. I hoped he would just keep holding me. That's what I wanted – him. Then he started talking.

"They think the six of you killed the plant – and that you are the leader of the group. One bunch wants revenge. I was told all kinds of stories. One was to break all the windows in your trailer. The cold would freeze the pipes, they would burst and water would pour all over, wrecking your floors, and probably warping your frame. Your trailer would be toast. Others want to hurt you. Rape is on the top of the list."

"You aren't alone. You used my lodge for a meeting, so my business gets killed. They sent me a Yelp review they will use. Basically it says the food here is bad. They will follow up with a constant stream of complaints so that no one will want to come here."

"There are a group of moderates, led by a preacher, who think if you just stop your protesting, they can get the company to come back. They don't want you hurt (well maybe they do), but they want you to stop. That's why I was getting the texts about my boat. You had such a good time there, I should get you there again. When you are with me, you don't do stupid things. So the Yelp reviews stop if I get you under control. That's the deal – I get you under control, and bad things don't happen to either of us."

"This is probably where you think you say 'yes' or 'no.' It's not. I still don't want to hear a word from you. I'm still deciding if I want any part of this, or if I just drive back to my boat and let the bank take the lodge. I might fuck you once or twice more before I go, but at this point I am still thinking Florida is the best option. You can go back to whoever you were fucking in December."

He got off me, took a shower, got dressed, and went down to his office. I still hadn't moved. Now what? He might be better off in Florida, but why should he lose his business? It was my fault. It had never occurred to me that pretending to be in Florida with him would be a danger to him. As for the meeting in the lodge, yes, that was stupid. I should have known better. Nothing is secret up here.

How do I get him to stay? I badly needed a shower, so I started there. The gag? I left it on. I put on another satin nightgown, and then sat at my dressing table. I got my hair from around the gag and combed it out, then I worked on my makeup – eyes only of course. I looked as good as I was going to look with a gag in my mouth. I walked down to his office, and kneeled down next to him. I put my hands on my thighs, looked at him, and waited. He continued working through his emails. I waited. After two hours my knees hurt so badly I couldn't stay in that position, so I slid onto my ass with my legs pulled up under me and my hands still on my thigh. I waited.

Noon came. I got up and made him a sandwich. I brought it back to his office, also carrying a cloth napkin that I had rolled up. I put the sandwich on his desk, then turned my back to him. I handed him the rolled napkin and put my hands behind my back. I motioned for him to tie them. He did. I kneeled down next to him again. I lasted an hour in that position, then slid onto my ass, my legs pulled up, my arms behind my back. I looked at him and waited.

What was he thinking while I was going through all of this? He never said a word. Occasionally he would look at me, so I knew he was thinking about me. One time he looked at me, and I slid closer and laid my head on his leg. He didn't push me away. After a time he put a hand on my head and started petting my hair. I knew things were improving.

A few minutes later he pushed back his chair and said "Come, sit here." He helped me up, and I sat on his lap, leaning into his chest, my head on his shoulder. He had one arm around me and the other on my thigh, pushing the satin gown up and down my leg. I knew that nightgown had been a good idea. Face it, I needed all the help I could get.

"I loved sleeping with you," he said. "But funny as it sounds, my favorite time was our time out on the glider. I held you and we talked, and it felt good. Maybe we solved a few problems or just got caught up on each other's week, but it was the conversation that mattered, not the content. I felt like we were getting close. I really wish we had those conversations now, because frankly I have no idea what the hell is going on. I feel like I started from Miami to Nassau but ended up in Buenos Aires. I have no idea how we got here. Some company wants to build a water bottling plant, and next thing I know a bunch of guys are going to kill my business. Are there lives at stake? Mountains of gold? What the hell is going on?"

"This summer we could have talked about all this and I think it would have helped. But you lied to everyone about me. I don't know why. Another mystery loaded onto all this. So now, when and if we ever talk again, I will be thinking, is this the time she is telling me the truth, or is this another lie? Which means our conversations will never be the way they were." As you can imagine, at this point I have turned my face into his chest and I am crying my eyes out. You see, I know I will miss our conversations as much as he does – maybe more. I have lost a friend.

"I still haven't decided what happens next. I'm thinking a two day drunk and then a long drive to Florida. But I don't want to leave you in the lurch either. So, what do I do? I don't know. But. If I stay, there is something you have to do, and it is best if you do it now. The preacher has decided that you fallen women will respond to the season. You will wear pink for Valentine's Day as a sign of your love for your man. I had an email today that explains it all. But at its heart is this – there is a shop on the main drag in Iron Mountain. Everyone says you will know it. You will buy two or three pink satin dresses. It appears you will be wearing pink for some time. Essentially it is your flag of surrender. You will get matching shoes, and a big pink ribbon for your hair. You will dress for your surrender. This guy is all about women obeying their men. You show them you are sorry, and that you will obey me, and you are safe. That's the deal. You take it, and the preacher will call off the dogs. You will be embarrassed, but you will be safe. You keep your trailer, and I keep my business. Or you can fight. You do that on your own, far from me."

"Now I am going to untie you, and take the gag. But you will say nothing. I mean that. I really don't want to hear excuses, sorrys, or any words at all. Until I tell you different, you are a mute. I am not going to ask you what you will do, I will just untie you. What happens after that is up to you."

He took off my gag and I immediately kissed him. He held me while we kissed, so I knew he liked it. Good. One more step. He then untied my wrists and I went upstairs to change. I knew which store he was talking about. It was on the main street and had seasonal clothes in the window. I would have to hurry to get there before closing. I rushed upstairs, put on a touch of lipstick, pulled on a slip and a dress (it is easier to shop for a dress if you are wearing a dress) and low heels. Then I was back to the office to kiss Mark one more time.

The drive up took almost forty five minutes, meaning I would have less than an hour before they closed, but I thought that would be enough time. I needn't have worried. They had the dresses easy to find and arranged in two racks with several in my size. I picked out three and took them to a changing room. All were satin and all had flared skirts. Two had skirts that reached my knees with slightly scooped necklines. One had short sleeves, and one had half sleeves. They fit well and would wear well.

Then there was the third dress. It was a mini. The skirt barely made it halfway down my thighs, and the top only covered about two thirds of my breasts. It had spaghetti straps, but those would only pretend to hold the top up. This dress was designed for one thing – sex. I remember in high school girls were talking about a dress another girl was wearing to home coming. They said it wasn't a dress, it was an invitation. That was the perfect description of this dress. I would never wear it out of the house, but around the house, and in Mark's presence, it was the perfect invitation. Mark, forgive me, it said.

I laid the dresses on the checkout counter and had the clerk show me where the matching shoes were. I bought two pair – one pair of pumps and one of sandals. Both had three inch stiletto heels. So far so good. Now, I asked the clerk, where do you keep the hair ribbons? As she rang me up she explained the ribbons were at the craft store farther up M95. She also asked me for four hundred dollars for shoes and dresses. Surrendering was not cheap. I gave her four bills from the pile Elias had given me.

The craft store was an interesting experience. As I would have guessed, it was someone's house. It was ranch style. I would guess three bedrooms with a finished basement. She used the living room for the store, and probably kept her inventory in the basement. Husband and kids? Probably in the basement with a TV.

"I would like a pink hair ribbon," I announced when I walked into her home.

"So, you are number four. They told me to make six."

"I expect the other two will come in tomorrow." As I'm saying this, I am recognizing what she is saying. This was all planned. Someone – the preacher? – has prepared this all for us. And so far four of us have come in to buy our surrender flag. I wonder which two are holding out. Denise? Who else? Since she had been prepped for this purchase, she reaches up on a shelf, pulls out a box, and hands it to me. It is a pink hair ribbon, already made up with multiple folds. The ribbon is maybe an inch and a half wide. This flag will be visible from a distance.

"Could you help me put it on?" She motions to a mirror and has me stand by it.

"Just use bobby pins," she says. She pulls a couple from a drawer, and has the ribbon pinned on me in moments. "See? I just put one on either side, back under the first layer." I look back at the mirror and see what she is pointing at. Okay, no problem.

"How much is that?"

"Fifteen dollars." For ribbon? I wonder if the preacher is getting a cut. I pay the lady and point my truck south.

Here's where I got a little nervous. I have been gone a couple hours. Is Mark still there? He made no promise to stay. With me out of the house, he might already be on his way back to Florida. Those were my thoughts as I drove. And I was still thinking them as I drove along the lake, and as I opened my garage door. Was his car still there? Yes. I still had Mark for a little while.

I took in my purchases. Mark was seated in the great room with a drink. I said nothing, but I pulled the dresses out of their bags, and held them up next to me. Which should I wear, I was asking. No surprise, he went for the short one. I smiled and took everything up to our bedroom.

I didn't just put on the dress. I redid my hair and makeup, put on good hose and of course went with the heels as well as the dress. I checked myself multiple times in the mirror, and when I was certain it all worked, I stepped out onto the landing. I stood at the top of the stairs and let Mark look. He looked exactly liked I hoped he would. And I, Jessica the temptress, took the stairs ever so slowly. Let him wait. Finally I walked over, sat on his lap, and kissed him. He was still here. He deserved a kiss.

What happens when you wear a dress that is really an invitation? I sat on his lap kissing and teasing him for no more than fifteen minutes before he picked me up and carried me back to our room. Off came the shoes and the dress, and on came my man.

# Chapter 18

# Strangest Valentine's Day ever

We got up around midnight, and I made us some eggs and bacon. Then we were back to bed and more fooling around. It was a busy night. I enjoyed every bit of it, but in the back of my mind I was also thinking I need this guy. The twisted men threatening us think the world is fine if women obey their men. I need to show that, and to do that, I need Mark to stay with me. For at least a short time, we need to be a couple. That would have been so much easier last summer, back when I really loved him. Before he had all those women. Before I had been with Elias. Now this was all an act. I was acting for Mark. We both would be acting for some preacher and his followers.

Or I could fight. But they cheated. I wasn't me against them. It was me against them, with Mark the instant loser. Why had I ever said I was on his boat? Why had I invited the women to the lodge and not to my trailer? That had been so stupid. I had pulled Mark into something he had not been part of.

And where was Elias in all this? I needed him to ride to my rescue. But did he also think I had joined the protestors? Is that why he never answered my emails? Was he sitting back in Bern thinking he had wasted time and money on me? Did he think I had betrayed him? Shit. If he would at least email me, we could write, maybe even talk. Instead I had this scary wall of silence.

So now what do I do? I'd love to say I had some brilliant plan. I didn't. It looked to me like the preacher had won. He was making up the rules. We played by his rules and we didn't get hurt. Mark didn't get hurt. I had messed up. This was how I would fix it. I would do what the preacher ordered. Whatever that was, I would do it. So far, it involved wearing pink. What else? I would find out soon enough.

In the meantime, I needed to satisfy Mark. He wanted me mute. Fine. I could do that. It actually helped me. If I did talk to him, what could I say? Nothing that made much sense. I had messed up, please forgive me, I am sorry I killed your business? Just keeping my mouth shut seemed so much easier.

So, I just went about my day. About midmorning we got up and played in the shower for a while, and then we went down for food, me wearing just a nightie. I spent the rest of the morning cleaning the kitchen and great room while he worked on emails back in his office. Those emails scared me a bit – what if he was hearing about some charter they wanted him for? I brought in coffee, and then a sandwich, and then some chocolate, really just coming in to shake my ass in his direction. If he didn't look at me fast enough, I sat on his lap and kissed him. I might not be able to talk, but that didn't mean I couldn't use my mouth. Finally around two I just took his hand and led him back upstairs. I didn't have to pull very hard.

We napped for a while. When you are pushing forty you need some sleep, even in mid seduction. He woke me around six and told me we would be going out to dinner – the Valentine's Day dinner in Wausaukee. He told me to wear the short pink dress. I just looked at him. I had taken a vow of silence, and I didn't even shake my head, but I froze and hoped he would change his mind. That dress was never to be worn in public.

"You will wear that dress for two reasons. First, you will do it because I told you to, and you choose to obey me. The second reason will occur to you if you think about it."

I got up and spent a long time doing my hair and makeup. If there was a good reason to wear that dress, I couldn't think of it. I hoped if I stalled, he would change his mind. When he didn't, I finally slipped into the dress and pinned on my surrender bow. I went to him. He was downstairs with a drink in his hand. Whatever came next, he was relaxed and ready for.

"Smile at me." He said." Put your arms around my neck, and hold me close. When we get there, you will look only at me. I am your world. Stay close, and this will go fine." I managed a smile. He took my hand and we walked to the back closet, got our coats (which covered a lot more of me than the dress), got in his SUV, and drove to Wausaukee. He held my hand most of the way. That helped.

The American Legion building in Wausaukee looked like they all do – a big box with concrete walls, a concrete floor, and a huge bar. There were sixteen or eighteen small tables set up for dinner, and a large open area where we would dance later. There was a coat rack by the door. I stood as close to Mark as I could while he hung my coat. I felt like everyone in the room was staring at me, and maybe they were. There was certainly a lot of me to see.

Mark took my hand and led me to a table. I was hoping for something in a far corner. No such luck. If there was a dead center to the dining area, there we sat. A waiter came quickly and gave Mark a menu – nothing for me. Mark ordered white wine for me, scotch rocks for him, and gave our meal order too.

"I'll have the prime rib, medium, with French fries. The lady will have a salad with the grilled chicken breast." So, could we make it any more clear that he was in charge? I hate chicken breasts. They are always dry as dust. But at least I was getting a glass of wine. I thought four or five would be very helpful.

While we were waiting for our drinks, Mark held out his hand, and I took it. We smiled at each other. His smile was genuine, and that helped. I held his hand probably more tightly than he expected. I was very uncomfortable. While I was supposed to be looking at him, I did check to see if there were any other pink hair ribbons in the room. I spotted two, with one more at the door. Had all six of us surrendered? Or was it just four? I saw that Denise was one of the four, and I was a bit surprised.

After two or three eons had passed, we got our drinks. I put my wine away faster than ladies are supposed to, but ladies don't usually show up at affairs half naked. The wine helped, but I kept looking down at my empty glass hoping Mark would be merciful and let me have another. Finally he ordered a second round. I loved him.

The food arrived and I picked at my salad. They had used French dressing. Yuk. I sliced off a corner of the chicken just to confirm it was as awful as they always were. And it was. Well, we weren't there to eat, we were there to publicly acknowledge that we had been bad girls and would not do that kind of thing ever again. I kept my back straight, my shoulders back, my hands in my lap, and my hair ribbon surrender flag high in the air. You win folks. Let me have some more wine, and then let me get my man back into bed.

But at the far end of the room I could see a band setting up - three old guys who might have been rockers back in the sixties. Now they were in their seventies, with paunches and bald spots to prove it. Won't they be fun?

What saved me was Mark. He knew I was having a hard time. So he kept my wine glass full, and he kept a hand out for me to squeeze, and he kept giving me a reassuring smile. He was there for me – with me. Thank God.

Eventually the band did a couple minutes of "check check" and then started playing. I don't know if it was their ages, or the fact that it was Valentines, but they didn't jump in with "Proud Mary" or "Gloria", songs they probably had burned into their DNA. Instead they stayed with a series of slow ballads.

Mark took my hand, I wrapped my arms around his neck, he grabbed my ass, and we were dancing. This was more like it. The higher I reached around his neck, the higher my dress rose, but after three glasses of wine I didn't care. Let them look at my legs – there was only one man who was going to get anywhere near them. We danced continually for almost an hour, me with my head on his shoulder. Periodically I would kiss his neck, and he would pat my bottom. This wasn't so bad after all.

Eventually the band took a break, and I thought we would go back to our table, but Mark kept me on the floor. I noticed the three other hair ribbons stayed out too, while the rest of the floor cleared. Okay, something was up. The four couples formed a line across the dance floor. The band area was to my right, the seated people to my left. Mark put my hands on his shoulders, and he held my waist. Well, we were all posed for something. I guessed cameras were out.

Then the Reverend James Watson took the microphone. I know that because the first thing he said was, "Good evening. I am the Reverend James Watson of the Community Gospel Church. Are we all having a good time tonight?" He got a good cheer. Were we going to be shouting alleluias soon? "I love Valentine's Day. It is the day we celebrate the love between a man and a woman. Each of you here tonight are here out of love. Am I right?" Another cheer.

"As you know, there has been some discord in this community. Some things have been said, and some things have been done, not out of love. But that ends tonight. Tonight we rebuild God's holy order. Tonight we put things right." (Cheers in the background. He is working the crowd. He is now walking toward the audience, between us and them.) "Tonight we rebuild our community by rebuilding the most essential element – the love between a man and a woman, and the proper relationship between a man and a woman." (More cheers.)

"We know what God wants between a man and a woman. He told us two thousand years ago through his holy apostle Paul. Let me tell it to you." And he held up a Bible. "It is all in here. The truth that will give us peace." I am not sure how I can explain to you what he is doing. He is phrasing his words, and accenting them, and getting a good reaction – cheers and amens – from the audience. The man knows how to work a room.

"Listen for the words of God. Paul's letter to Ephesians, chapter five, verses twenty two to twenty four. We hear you God. 'Wives, obey your husbands as you obey the Lord. The husband is the head of the wife, just as Christ is the head of the church people. The church is his body and he saved it. Wives should obey their husbands in everything, just as the church people obey Christ.' Let me hear an Amen." He got it.

"As in all things, God tells us clearly what to do. And the world is beautiful when we do it. Yes, we sometimes forget, and trouble arises. But we can always find peace. We just need to open this beautiful book and do what God commands. Can I hear an Amen?"

"Tonight, as we celebrate love, we have four women who have asked to make a public commitment to their husbands – to repeat vows they may have taken many years ago. They wish to be healed. They wish to be right with the Lord. Listen, as each woman recommits to her role as wife."

At this point he took his microphone to the first couple – Denise Wells and her husband. He stood close to them and moved the microphone between himself and Denise.

"Please repeat these vows to your husband. I love you, and I know that you love me." She looked at her husband and repeated the words. He grouped the words, and she repeated them, looking directly at her husband as she did so. Here are the phrases she repeated: "Because of this I desire to be your wife." "Through the pressures of the present and the uncertainties of the future" "I promise to be faithful to you." "I will love, serve, and obey you as long as we both are alive." "Christ told us" "that the wife must submit herself unto her husband" "As unto the Lord." "For as Christ is the Head of his Church" "So is the husband head of his wife." "I submit myself to you."

Well, okay, that was way over the top. Hearing Denise say it, I wondered what pressure had been brought onto her or her husband. Maybe it was all an act to get the crazies off her back for a while, but it still took something to say those words. Yes, we were all wearing surrender dresses and surrender hair ribbons. What did that make these words – our surrender document?

Reverend Watson moved on to the next couple. I think her name was Jennifer. As she repeated the phrases, I wondered about her too. Why? It occurred to me these women might have more at stake than me. They had kids in school that might be pressured, husbands who were feeling the heat, but maybe they were also getting it from women in the town. Women can be hard on women. Everyone acknowledges junior high girls are vicious to each other. They know exactly how to hurt. Since social circles are important to females, they block access. They bully by excluding. But does that ever really end? I escaped all that pressure since I was an outcast from day one. These women had been included. Were they now being met by stares at the IGA? Did the neighbor lady no longer wave? Were they left out of parties? What social price were they paying? I would never know.

Jennifer said what she was supposed to say, and then it was Elaine's turn to submit. We were next. Would I say the words? Sure. I wanted to save my trailer, and I wanted to help Mark. When Watson came for me, I looked at Mark and smiled.

"I love you, and I know that you love me. Because of this I desire to be your wife. Through the pressures of the present and the uncertainties of the future I promise to be faithful to you. I will love, serve, and obey you as long as we both are alive. Christ told us that the wife must submit herself unto her husband as unto the Lord. For as Christ is the Head of his Church so is the husband head of his wife. I submit myself to you." Then I reached up, wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. The room cheered.

Reverend Watson finished with a few more comments, and then he gave the mic back to the band. They played "Unchained Melody" and everyone came out onto the floor. Couples slow danced and held each other tight. It was Valentine's Day and love was in the air.

As we danced, Mark asked me "Were you being honest?"

"Yes."

"Why."

"I owe you for lying to you and for endangering your business. I really will do anything for you. I want to help fix what I messed up."

"Finish it. Why else have you agreed?"

"I want to save my trailer. It is just a trailer, but I have lived my whole life there. My girls grew up there. I don't want to lose it."

"There's more. Say it."

"I have loved our time together. I don't want to lose you. I am so afraid you will leave."

"That's what I want from you – complete honesty."

"Will you stay here?"

"I need to take another charter soon, or I will lose my business. But I can stay with you another week, and I will come back the end of April."

"Thank you." I hugged him so hard, if he had been weaker I would have snapped his neck. Then I whispered "I love you." He squeezed my tush in response.

This would have been a good time for all this to end, but there was another layer of local officialdom involved. As we danced, men would stop near us and ask, "So, Mark is she done protesting?"

"She has other things to do with her time now." And he would pull me tighter.

"Jessica, is that true?"

"Yes. My job is to care for my man. You won't see me on the street anymore."

That guy would wander off, and then we would be approached by another guy who asked some variation of the same questions. I could see that all four couples were getting the same treatment. The others seemed to be handling it well. I figured I could too. I worked in a bar. If I didn't deal with at least one moron a day it didn't feel like I was earning my pay.

But I did wish for this to all end. My feet hurt and my legs were cold. I watched for one of the pink ribbons to leave, assuming once one left, all of us could. But it took another five or six dances before Denise left. She was followed pretty quickly by the other two couples. I mentioned that to Mark.

"We're staying."

"Why?"

"You don't get to ask why. You need to obey." Okay, fair point.

"I am sorry."

"Good. Now let me tell you something important. First, I love dancing with you. Why have we never done this before? I get to hold you tight and feel you move against me. This is great."

"I like it too." And I put my head on his shoulder to prove it.

"Second, we are staying the longest for the same reason you are wearing the shortest dress."

"What? How does that make sense?"

"These people fear you the most. They have the other five figured out. You are different. They really do think you are the head of the group, and they don't know why."

"They have no idea how wrong they are."

"Maybe it's you that's got it wrong." I had no idea what to say to that, so I said nothing. We danced several more dances while the place emptied out. Finally the band wrapped up and we left too. My feet hurt and my legs were frozen, but there is one advantage of doing so much slow dancing. When we got home and hit the sheets, we were already primed.

# Chapter 19

# Back to the bar

When Mark first arrived at the lodge he had called Morgan and asked her to take my hours for a couple days.

"She staring at ceilings again, huh?" Such a classy woman.

But the day after the dance was a Sunday, and it was time for me to get back to work. Under the terms of our surrender, I was to wear pink until sometime in the future (Mark was the one who had gotten the email, after all he was the one in charge of me now, so he knew whatever details were included in the arrangement). All I knew was to wear pink. Mark allowed me to wear one of the dresses with more reasonable length, but he insisted on heels. If I didn't have pneumonia by the end of the month it would prove I was one tough woman.

I got the bar open about five minutes before the church ladies came in. They all complimented me on my dress, and their husbands all gave me a good looking over when they thought their wives weren't watching. It was mid-February, the Packers weren't playing, baseball hadn't started yet, so what was there to think about? I guess it was the bartender.

Customers dribbled in all afternoon. Business was still lousy. We may have surrendered, but that didn't mean all was forgiven. All that changed was the number of eye balls watching my every move. You would think they had never seen a woman in a skirt before. I kept looking for something on TV - anything – that would attract more attention than my backside. Eventually I found a good pro basketball game. But the thing about skirts is if you move, they move, and every time they moved, eyes moved from basketball to me. Ugh.

I was mostly through the afternoon when Chuck White came in. I can pretty much count on him Monday through Friday after work, but Sunday was unusual for him. Trouble with Melissa? He sat down, I brought him a beer, and he pointed to the far corner where we usually talked privately. I guess I was going to hear about whatever was on his mind.

"You look really good today." He was already sliding his hand over my arm.

"Mark likes me to dress this way."

"Yes, I heard he was back." His hand now moved from my arm to the small of my back. I knew its next destination.

"Is something on your mind, Chuck?"

"I hear the protests are over."

"Four of us agreed to quit. I don't know about the other two. They might continue."

"That would be dangerous." His hand was now firmly on my ass, and he had turned so his back was to the bar, and I was hidden from view. "I am glad you quit. There was some ugly talk going around."

"So I hear. Anything else you want to say?"

"Will construction start again? Billy is really unhappy."

"Chuck I have no idea."

"Oh." He really had nothing to say, and all that was on his mind is casual groping.

"Chuck, I let you grab my ass for two reasons. First, you are pretty good at it. Second, I like reminding you of what you might have had if you had used your head twenty years ago. Yes, I had two crying babies, but Melissa? Really? I assume you are here groping me because she won't let you grope her. I'm going to count to ten while you grab your last feel, then you are going to drink your beer and go home." Actually I counted to fifteen and did it slowly. I felt sorry for the guy. But really. Finally I kissed him on the cheek, pushed past him, and went back behind the bar.

Sad as that is, it was the highlight for the day. I shut the bar at eight and drove home to my lord and master. I was in a nightie and on his lap before he could take another sip of scotch. He was mine until next Sunday, and I intended to enjoy him. It was clear my nights were going to be much more fun than my days.

What else happened at the bar that week? Not much. I wore a pink satin dress every day, and I think a few extra men came in just to look. If I bent over to get something I had one hundred percent of their attention, and if I turned and the skirts flared out, well, you can imagine. That was my time at the bar – pouring beer and being ogled.

At the lodge, Mark and I were trying to rebuild what we had had over the summer. I did everything to please him. I cooked for him, did his laundry, sat on his lap, pulled him on top of me night after night. A couple times I gave him rolled napkins and had him bind my wrists. I was all about sex in any form. And it worked.

But I also recalled he said he enjoyed just talking to me. So more and more I went in that direction. If he was busy with email, I would let him finish whatever message he was on, then I would lead him by the hand to the leather love seat by the windows. I had a scotch rocks waiting, and I sat close. I pulled his arm over my shoulder, leaned my head on his chest, and asked him to tell me about Florida and the charters.

He told good stories. There were customers who got excited and lost all their tackle over the side, there was a shark they landed and then took an hour to kill while it terrorized their boat, there were storms that came out of nowhere and chased him into harbors he had not visited before. He was having adventures down there.

But he was a good listener too. He asked about my girls, and I told him about Britney's graduation, and our Christmas together. I also told him about the meeting the protesters had had in the lodge and how we had been scared earlier. I didn't tell him about Swtizerland or Elias, but I tried to describe everything else. He listened and he held me as he had before, and I felt better about our relationship. Was I being fully honest? No, but I wasn't willfully lying either, and I hoped that was rebuilding some trust.

He was probably right that we would never be like we were before I took off in December, but I hoped we could be better. Even half or three quarters of that feeling we shared on that glider last summer would be wonderful.

Did we get there by Sunday? Maybe we got close. I helped him load his SUV early Sunday morning. We had had an active night and a great shower, and I had made him the best breakfast I knew how, so the ingredients were there. And once the car was loaded he held me, kissed me, and said he would miss me. I told him I loved him and thanked him for all his help. I would keep wearing pink and thinking of him. He held me, even though I knew he needed to cover some serious miles yet today.

Finally I said, "On Valentines night I said – 'I love you. I desire to be your wife. I promise to be faithful to you. I will love, serve, and obey you as long as we both are alive. I submit myself to you.' You asked if I was being honest. I meant those words then, and I mean them now. Drive carefully, think of me, and come back to me."

We kissed, and then he got in his SUV and drove away. I stood outside the garage in my nightgown and watched him circle the lake and then drive down Town Corner Lake Road. I was going to be alone for two months if he came back, much longer if he did not. I went back to bed and cried.

# Chapter 20

# The Shoot out

Wednesday morning I got a text from Denise. Some men had shot up Samantha's house. She was okay. Denise thought I should know, and she was going to meet with Marsha at 10, did I want to join them. Of course I said "yes," and she gave me Marsha's address. I had time for breakfast and to hand wash yesterday's pink dress before putting on today's pink dress. How much longer would I stay with this wardrobe choice? I didn't know, but it would certainly be some time after they stopped shooting at women. While my legs were cold, the dress was actually comfortable. What I found annoying was the hair ribbon. It was hard to get on straight and when I drove, I kept hitting it on the head rest. But I kept wearing that too.

I got to Wausaukee early because I wanted to see Samantha's house. I didn't have her address, but when your town only has two residential streets, I wasn't worried about finding it. Of course police tape helped. I drove as close as the police would allow, then parked and looked. Two of her windows had been boarded up, and there was duct tape several places on her siding. I assumed they had covered over bullet holes. February is no time to have holes in your house, no matter the cause.

I tried to imagine the scene. Someone had parked, not too distant from where I was now, and fired a gun into a house. What could Samantha possibly have done to deserve that? We had already stopped our Wednesday protests. The battle was over. Our surrender was complete. Why do the shooting?

I drove around the corner and found Marsha's house. It was your basic three bedroom ranch, probably built in the sixties since it had a large picture window and one car garage. Both were now out of style. Maybe that was one thing in favor of trailers. We were never in style, so we never went out of style. Denise's car was already there. I slid out of my truck and knocked on Marsha's door. She let me in, but rather than a hug or even a "hello," I got a disapproving look as she pointed to the couch where Denise was seated and she returned to a chair in the corner. I couldn't help but notice the shotgun leaning against the wall behind her.

"You know you two look ridiculous." She said as she sat down. Denise was also wearing a pink satin dress.

"That is the whole point." I said. "Dressed like this, we are obviously not a threat to anyone."

"Even hair ribbons?" Marsha had spent thirty five years teaching algebra at Crivitz High. She was in her early sixties now, with gray hair and a few extra pounds, but I could imagine her looking at students the way she was looking at us now. Denise and I either had not done our homework, or we had failed a quiz. Mrs. Mason was not happy.

"We did this," Denise replied. She seemed perfectly comfortable facing her math teacher. "We let Samantha force those men out, so we became a women's movement. I have to admit it even felt easier that way. But once we were about women as much as about water, it was just a matter of time before the other side used that."

"You should have just told them to stuff it."

"It wasn't just about us." I replied. "They threatened Mark. They were going to use social media to attack his business and shut him down."

"And neither one of you was willing to fight." Marsha was not going to let up on us.

"There was no reasons to fight." Denise wasn't going to let up either. "We had already agreed we would not protest any more. It was too dangerous. I was going to talk with town board members and tell them what we knew, and Jessica was going to inform the company person she knew. That was it. I had my meetings, and I thought they took the information well. Jess?"

"I emailed everything we had learned. I haven't gotten a response yet, but they have been slow to respond in the past too."

"They responded," Marsha replied, sarcasm dripping from her words. "Monday morning a moving van pulled up outside their office and took out all the furniture. Yesterday they took down the 'Now hiring' sign."

"So last night they came for Samantha? They wanted to kill her?" I asked.

"It was more complicated than that." Marsha paused and then told her story. "She came by this morning and we had a cup of coffee before she hit the road. She will be staying with her sister in Eau Claire for a while. Anyway, she said she was asleep on the couch with her twenty gauge shotgun on the floor next to her. She thought there might be trouble. A little after midnight she heard a car pull up and several men get out. She had her yard lights on so she knows who it was, and she saw them carrying something onto her yard. She opened the door a few inches and fired her shotgun over their heads. They ran back to their car and came out shooting. She fired back. She was loaded with birdshot, so she may or may not have hurt them through all the winter clothing, but she is sure she hit two of them. They used up whatever bullets they had, and sped away. End of shoot out."

"What did the police say?" I asked.

"It was an hour before they even got there. There was only one deputy on duty, and he was dealing with a traffic accident in Niagara. By the time he showed up, she had put some cardboard over the two broken windows and was putting duct tape over the holes in her siding. One of the neighbors came by and helped her."

"Did the deputy go after the men?" I asked.

"She said she didn't get a look at them."

"Why would she say that?" I asked. Denise answered.

"She doesn't like men, and she really doesn't like police. She had some problem when she was in her twenties. She never said what it was, and I didn't push. But something bad happened."

"But did she tell you who did it?" I asked Marsha.

"Yes, it was the Baronski boys. They live on that farm south of town. They are in their twenties and thirties, all unmarried. They live with their parents and spend most of their time drinking. I hope she put some bird shot into two of them. They were long overdue."

"So now what?" I asked.

"Jay and I take turns watching the street at night. I've got a twelve gauge loaded with buck shot. If they stop here, they are going to the hospital or the morgue."

"This is all nuts." I said. "I know there is disappointment over the plant. Maybe it is never going to happen. But shooting? Mark told me one time he thought this whole thing was like expecting to go from one port to another and ending up in Buenos Aires." Both Marsha and Denise were staring at me. "I know, it was something to do with ports, whose names I can't remember, but the point is still correct. We have gone from building or not building a bottling plant, to a town where people shoot up other people's houses. This is nuts."

"I don't know what more we can do," Denise said. "We have explained what we have learned about the wells. We have stopped protesting. We even stood in public and said we would be good little girls and listen to our husbands. We have done what we can do."

"If they come this way," Marsha, said, pointing behind her at her gun, "Jay and I will end this." What do you say to that? Neither Denise nor I could think of anything, so we said our good byes, and left.

As we walked out to the street, Denise asked, "Can you talk for a minute?"

"Sure." I slid into her SUV and she started it and cranked up the heater. It was late February and we were still lucky if we had daytime highs of 20.

"It worries me that Marsha and Jay will be sitting up with a shotgun every night." She said.

"We have some loose screws in this town, but we also have good cops. I bet there will be a squad parked up the street for the next couple weeks. Eventually things will cool down."

"So how much longer do we dress like this?" She asked.

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"Mike actually didn't want me to do it. I know he had been catching some flak at work, and I had become persona non grata with the women I play bridge with, but I went along as a kind of Valentines gift to him. I didn't like the minister, and I knew they were trying to make it some kind of public humiliation, but you have to ask, how many times do you get to stand in public in front of a man and say, I love you?"

"And I will submit."

"Hell, we all do that. How many times have you had a really bad day only to have your man come home with a head full of ideas? You do what you need to do, because he is your man."

"And I will obey?"

"When I said that I thought Mike would burst out laughing. He thinks I never obey. Actually I do obey – mostly." We both laughed. "Actually that was a pretty good night. Between the slow dancing, and my pledge to him, he couldn't wait to get me home. The kids are off at school now, and we are on our own. I didn't mind spicing things up. I think I can get another week out of this dress. He is all over me every night, and he hasn't smiled this much since he was twenty two and he was groping me in his car. How about you?"

"Mark left for Florida Sunday."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"He said he might be back the last week in April, but he might not be back at all. The business up here is pretty marginal, even if he doesn't have locals trying to hurt his business. He might just stay down there and let the lodge go."

"But he has you up here."

"Last December I was with another man. He knows about it."

"But he came back to you, and he knows how you feel about him." She took my hand. "He'll come back to you again." What could I say to that? I thanked her and slid my shiny satin bottom out of her SUV. I waved, she waved, I looked back at Marsha's house and saw her in the picture window. I waved. She nodded. I got back in my truck.

It took me a minute to decide what to do next. My heater eventually put out a trickle of hot air. Where to next? I decided since I was in town, I would do my weekly grocery shopping. Off to the IGA.

I was in aisle two, looking through bags of dried pasta when I saw an older lady stop and look at me. She stood like she wasn't sure if she would talk to me or not, but finally she stepped up to me.

"I was at the Legion hall for Valentines. I thought you were beautiful."

"Thank you."

"The way you stood, looked your husband in the eyes, and told him you loved him was the most romantic think I have ever seen." I just smiled.

"Tell me," she continued. "When you wear a dress like that, does it help?" She looked down at her hand. Her index finger was curved, and she slowly straightened it. I leaned in and whispered to her,

"It works every time." We both laughed and then went back to our shopping.

Since I mostly live on pizzas at work, I shop pretty carefully. I liked a good salad with fresh ingredients, and I augment that with pasta in some variation. Add some ground beef, a couple onions and tomato sauce, and I have food for a week. I was picking these final items when another lady came up to me.

"They had no right to do this to you." She was about my age, a wife and mother was my guess. She pointed to the pink skirt down below my coat.

"They were afraid of us. Now they aren't. A wise man once told me frightened people are dangerous people. If I have to wear pink the rest of my life to calm people down, I will do it."

"That shouldn't be necessary."

"No, it shouldn't. But at least for the moment, I think it is."

"Thank you." And she actually gave me a hug. It shocked the hell out of me. I didn't know what to think as I finished my shopping and then drove back to the lodge.

Back home I emailed Elias and told him about the shooting, and I asked him about closing the office in Wausaukee. I also mentioned I missed him, but not as often as I had in previous emails. I doubted there would be a response to this email either, but that was his business. My job was to keep him informed of what was happening here, and maybe to remind him I still existed.

The rest of the day I cooked, cleaned, did laundry, and yes, I had a couple glasses of wine. I thought of changing into my maid's uniform while I worked, but for some reason I stayed with pink – and even stayed with the heels. Something was percolating in my mind. I hadn't formed a complete idea yet, but something was going on up there. I went to bed still working on pieces of an idea.

# Chapter 21

# I Protest

Thursday morning I began the usual way – shower, wash one pink dress, put on the other, a little work on my hair, and a little makeup. Yogurt and coffee in the dining room staring down the table at where I wanted Mark to be. So far, the standard routine.

Then I took the dishes back to the kitchen, put on a coat, and started rummaging around in the garage. There was a sign board out there, somewhere. Mark had stored so much of his stuff in the garage, it took me a few minutes to find it. It was half inch plywood, about three feet square, painted white all over. One side named the lodge and had an arrow. He put it out at Town Corner Lake Road so customers would know to take the private road to the lodge. Fine. It was the other side I was interested in. It was blank.

I took it into the kitchen and laid it on the table. I was going to put a message on it – Amberg – Wausaukee / Stop the Hate / Respect your Neighbors. Okay, I know it was not poetry. And I might have said "love your neighbors" but I wanted to stay within the realm of the possible.

Before I started putting ink to plywood, I got out some paper and tried several different arrangements. "Amberg" and "Wausaukee" needed to be the top line, and I thought they would fit, but I had to measure for size. Then there was the big design issue – did I make letters in the next two lines the same size? Or should they be smaller – or italic? Would "Respect your Neighbors" fit on one line, or should I break it into two, and if I did, did I put Respect alone on the line, or Neighbors? All this detail might sound silly, but I wanted my sign to look good. So I traced things on paper, got out a ruler and drew pencil lines to see how things might fit, spending an hour before I even wrote my first letter. The sign mattered to me.

Eventually I got it done. Then came the real question – would I actually go through with this? And if I did, how much trouble was I asking for? Before I could change my mind, I put on my coat, got the sign out into the truck, and drove to the Wausaukee IGA. Once parked there, I had another case of the doubts. Did I really want to do this?

Again, I decided if I sat there I would talk myself out of this, so I got out of the truck, stood on the sidewalk in front of the store, and held up my sign. There. I had done it.

Now what? Well, actually very little at first. As cars drove by I turned my sign so they could see it. The first three cars either didn't see me, or chose to ignore me. The fourth car slowed down a little so he could read the sign. He nodded – I think – then drove away. And that seemed to establish the pattern. Most people had no idea I was standing there, and those who saw me had pretty muted responses. Of course I was happy not to be seeing fingers in the air, or shouts, but an occasional smile or wave would have been nice. Eventually I did get a wave, but not until I had been there a half hour.

That was also about the time the IGA manager came out to see what I was doing. He was about thirty, and a local, but young enough I did not know him from school. It occurred to me that was going to be more and more common as I got to the big four oh.

"Hi." He said. He had thrown a coat on over an apron. I guess he had been working back in the store when someone told him about me.

"Good morning." I said.

"I hope you don't mind..." He stepped around to the front of me so he could read my sign. "Oh." He said after he had read it. "I was afraid maybe you were complaining about the store."

"No, it's a good store. I shop here all the time."

"Yes, I thought I remembered you. Mrs. Thorpe, right?" He might have been clever enough to be a store manager at thirty, but there was no way he knew the names of all the customers who shopped in his store once a week. Someone had told him. Fair enough. I wasn't trying to hide anything. And he did call me Mrs. Thorpe, not Jessica.

"That's correct. How nice of you to remember." I smiled. A white lie never hurt anything, and I was standing outside his store. I think I was legally entitled, but why get into a fight? I would be nice, he would be nice, and I would hold my sign a little longer.

"It's a good sign. I hope people respond." He reached up with his hand as if to shake my hand. That's what people in business did when they were finishing a conversation, but in this case both my hands were occupied holding the sign. So at the last second he rather awkwardly patted my shoulder. It was odd, but I smiled and thanked him, and he went back to whatever job he was doing.

Since he had seen my sign and had no objections, I felt somewhat more at ease standing in front of his business. I relaxed a little. Or at least I did until the first pedestrian walked up to me. So far people in cars had looked at my sign. They were somewhat distant, and they were in motion. This man was close. I would put him at seventy, walking for exercise, or walking just to fill his day. In any case, he walked up to me and then seemed to memorize my sign.

"We are told to love our neighbors."

"Yes. I hope we do."

"My neighbor's dog craps all over my yard."

"Yes, I can see where that would be a problem." Those were the last words I got in before he filled the air with stories about the neighbor's dog, his kids, his barbeque grill (smoke), and the quality of his lawn (dandilions). Meanwhile I turned the sign to face cars as they drove by. I got two more waves. I smiled. My friend kept talking. He used to like fishing, but he didn't do that much anymore. Would I believe he was seventy three? Cars came by, I displayed the sign.

About this time a woman came out of the store, saw my sign, put her groceries in her car, and then came to talk to me. Did her neighbor have a bad dog too?

"Jessica? Hi. I am not sure you remember me. I am Angie Martin. Do you mind if I take your picture? I would like to show it to some women at church." I am pretty confident I have never seen the woman before in my life, but what the heck. I am here trying to make a statement. Why would I object to a picture? She took out her phone and took several pictures from various angles. She was putting real effort into this. Meanwhile, I noticed something. Now that there were three of us standing there (the older man was now telling me about his grandchildren), more people slowed down as they drove by, and more people waved. I had gained visibility.

"Thank you, Jessica," my old friend Angie Martin said when she was done with her picture taking. "What you are doing here is so important." And she tried to give me a hug, but getting to me through a piece of plywood wasn't easy. She finally settled for hugging my shoulders with her hands.

As she was leaving, two other women came up to me, and I did know one of them. We talked for a while. I kept turning my sign so drivers could see it, and the two women moved so that they would not be in the way. The women wanted me to know how sorry they were that Samantha had been attacked, and how important it was to get the town "thinking right" again. They were embarrassed it had happened in their town, and they didn't want anything like that to ever happen again. More cars slowed down, and more people waved. I was beginning to do the math on this. I figured two or three more shoppers with me and I would really get some attention.

That never happened, but I did usually have one or two people stand and talk with me (eventually the older man left after telling me he hoped he would see me tomorrow). Cars slowed, most people waved, and even if some drivers did not wave, no one shouted or gestured at me. That came as a big relief.

But after two hours I had had enough. It was a sunny day and I was getting some sun reflection off the IGA store, but still it was barely twenty five. My legs and feet were pretty well frozen and my heels bit more and more. So I called it a day. I got the sign back in the truck and headed home.

Waiting for me was an email from the Marinette Eagle Star. They had received an image of me standing with my sign. Could I confirm it was me, agree to let them use it, and comment on the purpose of my sign. I responded yes, yes, and added a paragraph stating the obvious – things hadn't been going very well in town, but I hoped we would all remember to be nicer to each other.

All this time I was massaging my feet. Finally I put heavy socks on and went upstairs to take a nap. Holding a sign was hard work.

The next day was Friday and I needed to open the bar by noon. So I went down to Wausaukee around ten. I thought I was good for two hours. That would still get me plenty of time to get up to Amberg and clean up whatever mess Morgan had left.

I got lucky with the weather. We had sun again, and instead of twenty five, the radio said we had hit twenty seven. Who knew, in another month or two we might see thirty. I got my sign out, found my spot on the sidewalk, and started showing the sign to cars. Only four cars later I got my first wave. Three cars later I got a beep and a wave. There might even been a smile in there, but with tinted windows, who can be sure.

At this point it might have been good to evaluate my goals. I had my sign and I had actually used it. Did I expect a mass conversion in Wausaukee? How would I know if I was doing any good? I realized I had two goals. First, I wanted to just express myself. People thought I had been one of the protesters, but I really hadn't been. I had stayed out of that argument. Was I concerned about water? Yes. Was I concerned about jobs? Yes again. To the extent two sides had been formed, I was on both sides and neither. Now I wanted to say something important – but different. Start treating each other better, folks. Was anybody going to pay attention to my little sign? Maybe not, but I thought it was important I say that anyway.

Second, Marsha and her husband were sitting up night after night waiting for the Baranski boys or some other loose screws to come for them. Could I take the temperature down a degree or two, make shooting people seem less reasonable? People on talk radio got paid to turn up the heat. The wilder the things they said, the more listeners they got. Don't ask me why. Could I take them on? Not a chance. But maybe a woman standing in a pink dress with a small sign by the grocery store could shrink the number of people who would want to come for Marsha. Maybe if I stood there enough days, the virus currently running through town would run its course. These had once been good people. Maybe they could be again.

So I showed my sign, shifted from one foot to another to keep warm, and smiled whenever I saw a hand wave. I could do this day after day for weeks if necessary.

And by eleven thirty I was not doing it alone. Two other women came and stood with me. I was happy to see that, but also aware that if this was a woman's issue, I was just creating a new set of problems. Fortunately, an older man came and stood with us too. I actually put down the sign and hugged him. I think I shocked him. But the four of us talked, and waved to cars, and felt really good about any smiles we got in return. Four people is not exactly a mass movement, but it felt a whole lot better than when I was standing there alone. Oh and the old guy came by to tell us about the latest with his grandchildren, so for part of the time there were five of us.

The two hours went by in a flash. We all hugged (even the old guy) and talked about doing it again tomorrow, and then we all rushed to warm cars or warm homes.

I got up to Amberg and opened the bar. There was a large delivery stacked up by the front door. I carried all that in, cleaned the johns, and swept the floor. By two I was ready for the Kaminski Twins. I even had two glasses out, ready to pour their wine when they came in. But then they did something they had never done in the nine years I had been pouring their wine. They sat at the bar.

"We like your sign." I wish I could tell you which one of them said that. It was the one on the left, but I didn't know her name. I am not sure anyone in town knows their names other than "Kaminski Twins" since the ladies didn't talk much to others, and they certainly didn't talk to me, since I was trailer trash, good enough to pour them a glass of wine, but not good enough to speak with. So we had never been introduced.

"Thank you." I wondered if they had driven past in Wausaukee, but I wasn't sure they still drove.

"We thought you might like to see the picture in the paper." This was the one on the right. She carefully unfolded a page from her purse, and showed it to me. There I was, standing with the old man and one woman. My sign was clearly readable. The headline said, "Wausaukee responds to shooting." My name was right but they had me down as a Wausaukee resident.

"That's very nice. Thank you for showing it to me." I offered to take their wine over to their table, but they said they would play cribbage on the bar. Really? I poured their wine and continued talking to them while I cleaned up after Morgan. I learned they had a younger sister who lived in Crivitz who visited often, and I also learned they had not been surprised there had been a shooting in Wausaukee, after all what could you expect from that town? All the wild ones moved there from Amberg. Okay. I told them a little about my dress and the Valentines dinner. They were interested in that.

About three o'clock men started coming in, and I expected the sisters to go home, or at least move to a table, but they stayed where they were and even said hello to one of the men they apparently knew. They showed him the picture from the paper, and he showed it to others. Not much was said. These were men who could spend twenty minutes on why referees were always unfair to the Packers, but probably hadn't said more than five words to their wives in any stretch. But one guy did say "Good idea, Jess." I was pleased – and relieved.

Loggers started coming in around five. It was pay day so I sold more pizzas and a few brandies to go with the beer. Chuck White came in, paid his crew, and then sat at the bar. He smiled, I smiled. No groping today. He asked the twins how the game was going, and they showed him how the pegs were positioned. You would think they sat at the bar every day.

All in all it was a good night. Clark made a few bucks, the Kaminski twins stayed two hours later than usual – and left a fifty cent tip – and I made some Packer draft predictions that I knew were unlikely but still fun to argue about. Aside from cold legs and tired feet, I counted it a good day.

What do I say about Saturday? Mostly that it was busy. I needed to open the bar by noon, so I went down to the IGA a little before ten. I was determined to get my two hours in before opening the bar. Saturday traffic is different because many people have the day off and there were more shoppers, so I was busy from the start showing my sign. The other difference was that I had company from the very start. One man had even brought his own sign – Stop the Hate. I hugged him. A man, and a sign. What a combination.

People going in or out of the IGA wanted to stop and talk, and all of us standing there talked. At one point there were six of us standing around the signs and another four or five talking with us. That kind of crowd draws a crowd and I – and Norm – were waving our signs all over the place and getting beeps and waves in return. Pretty cool.

Rick walked down from his office around eleven. I gave another woman my sign and Rick and I hugged and kissed. He was mostly a gentleman, limiting his groping. And he stood with our group talking for nearly half an hour. Of course part of what he was doing was reminding people that his insurance agency was just up the street, but there was some genuine interest in our effort and some concern for the shooting. He did point out that most insurance policies would not cover bullet damage. I punched his arm and he changed topics – back to how important neighbors were.

Two hours flew by and I explained I had to get to work. Four of the others – and Norm – said they would stay for a while, and as I drove out of the lot I saw them still talking to people and showing his sign.

Up at the bar, things went well. I found an outdoors channel. Clark must have changed the cable package. Once I had that channel on, there was never a break in the conversation. Essentially every man on the show was an idiot. None of those techniques would really work, and all the equipment they were peddling was over priced garbage. One of the guys wanted to start a drinking game where everyone took a shot whenever the expert said, "Well, Stan..." I had to put an end to that. Within five minutes not one guy in the bar would be able to legally drive.

I poured beer, made pizzas, life was good. I kept the place open until eleven, then sent everyone home. You would think tending bar for minimum wage would be a burden, but there were lots of nights like this one where I felt pretty good going home. I had spent eleven hours talking to people, many of whom I considered friends, the conversations had been interesting, and I felt I made a contribution to their day. I had been a good hostess. I took some pride in that.

# Chapter 22

# Swiss Miss

Sunday morning the airport limo came for me at nine. It was the same older driver who had come in December. I invited him in, but he said he would wait in the car. He gave me an envelope with _Naturale_ in the corner. Inside Elias had the world's shortest note – "May I speak with you about the water project? The driver will bring you to me." While no other words were on the paper, I knew he had meant to add – my bed is empty without you. I cannot sleep for thinking of you. Just the thought of your perfume sends my heart a flutter. Okay, maybe the last one was over the top. But somehow, at some level, there had to be some feelings for me, didn't there? Hidden someplace in this message, or in the emails he never sent.

Lack of words aside, it was certain I would go to him. So I went upstairs and off came the pink and on came the black traveling dress, the pearls, and the black wool coat worth more than last month's paycheck (who am I kidding – it was worth three month's pay easy). Should I pack a bag? How could I? Who knew where I was going and how long I would be there? I slipped my Mrs. Gruber Swiss passport into my coat pocket and went downstairs. I did a quick check that everything was off in the kitchen and all the doors were closed and locked, put my keys in my pocket and got in the limo.

Would he be in Green Bay? In New York? Would I be flying to Bern again? I got out my phone and started texting. I did Morgan and Clark first. I would be visiting with the head of the water bottling company. I might be gone a few hours or a few days, would you please cover for me. Next were my daughters. I was going to visit Elias. I wasn't sure where, but I might be going back to Switzerland, so my phone would not work. Don't worry about me. I should be back in a few days. So far, so good.

Now for Mark. This took some thinking. Was now the time to tell him where I had been in December? No, that would be best done face to face, if I ever did it at all. I would keep this simple. I had been invited to speak with the head of the bottling company. It might involve some travel. I might be gone a few days, but I didn't think I would be longer than that. I was sorry to leave the lodge unattended for even a few days, but so far everything had been running fine. I read and reread that message so many times we were almost to Green Bay before I hit Send. There. Done. Hopefully he didn't get too angry.

We got to Green Bay and drove to the GA area. The corporate plane was waiting. I have to admit I hoped Elias would not be on it. I wanted to fly to him and spend the night in his bed – and of course learn more cooking from Frau Klemp. I was in luck. One of the pilots came out of the plane when my limo arrived. We would be flying to Bern with one refueling stop along the way. He did ask to see my passport to make sure I was prepared. Once inside the plane, he took my coat, explained about the meals in the galley, and wished me a pleasant trip. Then he joined the other pilot in the cockpit, the plane started moving, and pretty quickly we had shot into the air.

Including the refueling stop, we took about nine hours for the trip. They had left a tourist brochure for me to read – "Beautiful Bern" and I did browse through it. It had a map. So now I knew where the city was. I was going to the northern part of Switzerland, the part closest to Germany. I read about the river flowing through town, the history of the town, and even had a pretty good idea of where Elias' apartment was. Look at me – the Bern expert.

Okay, now I knew where I was going. What I didn't know was why. Maybe more importantly, I didn't know how I would be received. Was I returning as his lover, or was I returning as the woman who had betrayed his project? I had nine hours to worry about that.

When we landed, the immigration process was the same as last time. I hand my passport to one of the pilots, he gave it to the official while I sat, back straight, hands in lap, gaze direct – the model European lady. My phony passport got yet another phony stamp, and the process was done. The pilot helped me with my coat, I thanked him for a great flight, and the corporate limo took me to Elias' flat. The driver had a key to the apartment building, and I went up the open staircase to Elias' door. He was standing there in his robe.

Now what? I studied his face for just a second, trying to read his feelings for me, than then I decided, to hell with it. I knew what my feelings were. I jumped into his arms and kissed him. His turn. He could either pull me off him, or he could carry me into his apartment. He carried me into his apartment and straight into his bed

"I missed you." He said.

"Prove it." I said. The next hour was well worth the nine hour flight.

Gut Morgen came far too early. Frau Klemp pointed to the clock, but I didn't care that it said eight. I rolled over and wanted to go back to sleep. She sat down on the side of the bed, talking and playing with my hair like she might with a child. And eventually I got up and went to my room to shower and change.

Hanging in my closet were two dresses – the black traveling dress I had worn yesterday, and a maid's uniform. Still? Shouldn't there just be the black dress which I would wear to the company offices I had never seen, where we would have a very professional meeting about the bottling plant? Isn't that why I was here? Sure, bouncing around his bed was nice, but he hadn't just flown me here so he could get laid, had he?

I decided the maid's uniform was there for a reason, so I put it on and joined Frau Klemp in the kitchen. She gave me some yogurt and fruit for breakfast, then indicated I was to make the bread. I guess that showed trust in my skills. We spent the morning in the kitchen cooking and baking, and cleaning up after ourselves. I kept thinking going back to bed would be a good idea, but she kept me busy while I battled jet lag.

Lunch was cheese and sausage and my fresh bread. When we were done, Frau Klemp led me back to my room and indicated I was to change into my black dress. Okay. So I would go to the office after all. But no. After I had changed and she had done a quick touch up of my hair, she gave me a card for a shop with a woman's name written on the back. She also gave me a phone with a maps app. Apparently I was going to take a walk. She led me to a window at the front of the apartment and pointed to the street, then to the street on the app. Okay, now I was oriented. She then typed in the name of the shop and a route appeared. I would be going about six blocks. I thought I could manage that.

Frau Klemp walked with me to the building entrance, pointed to the left, and I was on my own. I have trouble telling you just how proud of myself this made me. The Amberg girl was walking around Switzerland on her own. She didn't speak a word of the local language, or have a franc in her pocket, but look out world, she had an app. It was a cool day, not much warmer than it would have been in Amberg, but I had my beautiful wool coat, and a real sense of pride, so I took my time, looked into lots of shop windows, managed to avoid breaking a leg slipping on cobblestones, and only took one wrong turn on my way to the shop.

What was the shop like? It was a women's shop – dresses and shoes in the window. The building was old, but weren't they all? I straightened my shoulders, pushed through the front door, and looked for a clerk. A younger woman stepped forward and spoke to me in German.

"English?" was my response.

"Yes, mam. I speak some English. May I help you?" She spoke slowly, but the words were clear. I handed her the card Frau Klemp had given me. "Yes, Mrs. Gruber. We are expecting you. Please follow." She led me through the back of the store to a small changing room. It was maybe twelve feet square and had the usual trifold mirrors at the far end. "Please wait." She disappeared and I stood looking around the room. There was a chair to sit on if the wait got too long, and the room was nicely finished with good quality carpeting and fresh wall paper. It was several steps up from the Green Bay J.C. Penney.

The clerk came back with a second lady, both of them carrying dresses and shoes. Obviously someone had already made my fashion choices for me. Since someone else would be taking the check, I could live with that, but it would have been fun to see what else was available. I took off my black dress, gave it to the second woman, and tried on the first dress. It was a cotton print, knee length, V neck with short sleeves. Basically it looked like the dress you wore during the day while shopping at better stores. I liked it, but the two women had a long conversation in German as they slid the dress around my waist. It was a little loose, but otherwise I thought it fit very well. Out came some chalk and they marked places along my back as they talked. It occurred to me they were going to tailor the dress. Who did that? I didn't think it was even possible any more. But unless they were playing tictactoe on my back, the dress was being marked for resewing. My my.

That dress done, they moved up to a forest green satin number that resembled my black dress in many ways. It had the same tea length flaired skirt, but it was off the shoulder with sleeves that were maybe two inches long. They seemed to like it fairly high on my shoulders, and spent a lot of time marking up the bodice so that would happen. I saw it as the dress I would wear the next time Frau Klemp showed me "dinner date" on her translation app. Marking this dress took more time and lots of conversation, but eventually they finished.

Then they brought me the ball gown. Wow. It was deep red satin with a rose pattern printed on it. It was strapless, but did come fairly high across my chest. There were stays in the dress to hold it, and the women spent time making sure everything was fitted correctly. My only concern was whether this dress would stay up, but as they worked I was fairly sure I would not be spending my time pulling up on the top when no one was looking (and of course everyone was looking when you did that – been there, done that). That done, they gave me a petticoat and had me step into four inch heels. Time for the skirt. Both of them got down on their hands and knees with a mouth full of pins. This thing was going to be maybe a half inch above the floor. As they worked, I looked in the mirrors. Sorry, but I just had to. They say every girl wants to be a princess. At thirty eight, those days are long past, but I still liked looking good. I tried a few poses, hands clasped in front, hand on hip, glance to the side, I looked good, and oddly enough, I felt comfortable. I looked like I might actually belong in such a gown. Go Jessica.

When they finished pinning, I took the gown off. That was the last dress they had brought, so I put my black dress back on. What was Elias planning for me? At least one dinner date, and maybe a flight to Vienna for a night of waltzing. Sure. In the meantime, the clerk had more for me to do.

"We deliver tomorrow." She was pointing to the dresses the other woman was taking out of the room.

"Thank you." I had no idea what else to say.

"Now, to the salon." She led me out of the room and up two flights of stairs. Even if she had used whatever the German word for salon is, I would have known where we were going by the smell. So, I was going to get some work done. Okay. My clerk talked to a woman who looked like the manager, then said good bye. I was done with dresses.

What was the salon like? It was somewhat nicer than the Cut and Curl in Wausaukee, but the basics are pretty much the same. They worked on my hair first, then my face, then my nails. I think there is some rulebook for that order. I was a little concerned about my hair, assuming they would color it. Yes, it needed it since I was beginning to get some gray, but if they went with a bright blond, I would need to have it redone every month or two or face dark roots, and I really couldn't afford that. What's the German for "no blond"? The woman working on me tried a phrase or two in English, but I didn't understand, so she stopped trying. She concentrated on her work, and I hoped for the best.

What I got was pretty good. Rather than go blond, she had just taken me two or three shades lighter, and then cut and curled for shape. I liked it. The facial also went well, but then we got to nails. I work in a bar. I carry twelve-packs all day every day. I clean toilets and wash an endless stream of beer mugs. So what do my hands look like? Not like a lady's. I could see the woman deciding if she even wanted to make the attempt. Finally she took a deep breath and charged ahead. How well did she do? Better than I expected. She gave my nails a nice gloss and good shape, even where I had broken nails. They weren't the hands of a lady, but they weren't a complete disaster either.

That seemed to wrap up my visit. They helped me on with my coat, said "Gut, gut" several times, which I hope means "good", and I was down the stairs and out the door. Now as beautiful as I was likely to be in this lifetime, I walked down the street, looked in the shops, smiled, and thought Elias might be pleasantly surprised this evening. I took my time getting back to the apartment, even walking down two streets that weren't on my route. Jessica Thorpe, world traveler, enjoying an afternoon visiting her favorite dress shop in Switzerland. How could I not smile at that?

I found the apartment building with only two more checks of the app, pressed the buzzer for the Gruber apartment, and stood very proud of myself, waiting for Frau Klemp. She led me upstairs, full of enthusiasm. I was pretty sure somewhere in the storm of words she produced was the phrase, "You look beautiful." We went back into the kitchen, where she took all the wind out of my sails. She held up the translation app – "traveling."

What the hell? Why would he fly me here and then not have time for me? I was not happy. Frau Klemp had prepared some soup for dinner, and we also ate some more of my bread, but I wasn't very hungry or very happy. After we cleaned up the kitchen and put away the dishes, Frau Klemp gave me a hug as if I was a daughter having a bad day. I thanked her, and then motioned that she should go home. I would be fine alone – again.

How did I spend the evening? I changed into my nightgown, put on one of his robes, and sat in my chair again, looking out at the street. After a couple hours, and in a final act of desperation, I went to sleep in his bed. Maybe he would come home late. But he didn't.

The next day was pretty unpleasant. I had not slept well – a combination of annoyance and jet lag will do that – and I really disliked being a maid. I wanted to help Frau Klemp. She was being a really good sport about my attitude, trying to cheer me up with lots of words and several hugs, but I was not happy. I baked bread again, kneading the dough with more vigor than required, and feeling stupid that I was taking my anger out on dough. After lunch we dusted the great room and I got the baseboard again. My knees hurt, and God help any dust that happened to get within my reach. I practically took the paint off those boards.

The afternoon passed, four o'clock came and with it the text that translated as "traveling." I said nothing. We made dinner and then cleaned up after ourselves. Frau Klemp went home and I went back to my chair. I decided he was playing with me. When we first had met, he told me three rules for touching women – he liked to do it, they usually liked it, and he also did it to prove he could do it – that women would accept his touch. I thought he also had a fourth rule he had not told me about – he could also withhold his touch.

I slept in his bed again. And again I slept badly. Jet lag had me awake at the wrong hours. Having my teeth clenched for much of the night didn't help either.

Wednesday I got up tired and grouchy. I showered, put on the maid's uniform, baked bread, did laundry, ironed his shirts and slacks, pounding them pretty good with the old heavy iron. Take that, Elias. Frau Klemp talked softly as you might to a pouting child, which pretty well described me. We cooked, we cleaned, we ate, we waited to four.

Then my luck started to change. First, my gowns arrived. Frau Klemp and I carried them up the stairs, along with a box of shoes and package of underwear. She had me try each one to make sure they fit well. And they did. Frau Klemp of course was full of praise for the dresses and for my looks - I didn't understand the words, but I did understand the look on her face.

Then the text came – "late night." Okay, not a dinner date or a meeting at the office, but at least he would be home and we could talk. And, yes, we would do more than talk. My smile pretty well telegraphed that.

We made dinner and cleaned the kitchen, then Frau Klemp worked on my new hairstyle and helped with my makeup. She got me ready for my "late night," and left me with a smile. I put on my nightgown, sat on the couch facing the door, pulled up my legs, placed my hands in my lap, and waited. It was a long wait. Too long with me fighting jet lag. Finally I just went to his room and got into his bed. I was asleep when he crawled in with me. He had a hand on my breast and was kissing me before I was fully awake.

"Elias." I kissed him and put an arm around him. "All you get are kisses until you tell me what is going on. I have been here four days."

"I will tell you all about it, but one thing at a time." You can guess what the "one thing" was. He was all over me, and, yes, I was all over him. We had a very good time. But when it was over, I was insistent.

"Now," I said, my head on his chest and my arms around his neck, "before you go to sleep, tell me why I am here."

"You are here because I love having you in my bed. And you are here because we are negotiating the sale of the bottling plant."

"What?"

"It may be a good thing for you and your town. We are talking to Nature's Flavors. They may complete the plant."

"Okay. That may be good. But why am I here?"

"Kiss me and tell me this is the last question before we sleep."

"I promise." And I kissed him.

"We may need you in the negotiations. They can't find your city on a map, and they have questions. Now sleep."

"But..."

"You promised." He kissed me to keep me from talking any more. He put a hand on my back, closed his eyes, and went to sleep. Easy for him. How was I supposed to sleep? What would I tell these people? How could I "sell" my town so they would want to complete the plant? I worked on that and came up with no good answers, until I too, fell asleep.

# Chapter 23

# Dinner date

I had hoped to talk with Elias more in the morning, but he was gone when I woke up. How did he do that? Or maybe the question was how could I sleep while he got out of bed, showered, got dressed, and got out the door? Was I deaf? Whatever the reason, I had lost the opportunity for follow up questions, and I had lots of them. My head was filled with them as I got up, showered, and dressed again as a maid.

Frau Klemp was in a good mood, smiling at me with that knowing look. Yes, it had been a good night. I stripped the bed and did the laundry after breakfast. She helped me remake the bed, smiling and talking as she did. She was happy for me. I hoped she was also happy for Elias.

After lunch Frau Klemp decided I should go with her. I had no idea what she had in mind, but I put my black coat on over my maid's uniform and followed her out the door. It turned out she wanted to go grocery shopping. There was a place about four blocks away, a Tesco Market that looked pretty much like any other supermarket in the world except for two things. First, it had the longest chocolate aisle I have ever seen. Frau Klemp spent a good deal of time selecting her favorites and pointing to suggestions for me. I guessed if you shopped, your reward was chocolate. Worked for me.

The other difference was fruits and vegetables. The Wausaukee IGA was not in the same league as this place. And I noticed here Frau Klemp was very selective. She took her time, looked, touched, smelled. She bought lots, but bought the best. We each had a pretty big load to carry back to the flat. As we walked, she talked about many of the shops we passed. She had lots to say, and the fact that I didn't understand seemed not to slow her down. I smiled, nodded, and looked where she was pointing. We communicated – at least to a point. We walked down the street together, two women shopping, me feeling good about being out and about, and good that we were doing something so normal. I was fitting in, wasn't I? Might I fit in longer term?

Back at the apartment we put away the groceries and cleaned the dining room. Had it been used while I was gone? More "negotiating" with some sales lady? I couldn't tell, and I didn't want to go there anyway. I had him now. That's what mattered. I gave the woman's end of the table an extra scrub to get rid of any ghosts of ladies past.

As four o'clock approached, we both started looking at the phone Frau Klemp had left on the kitchen table. Unfortunately, when the text came, it said what I did not want to see – "traveling." That was really irritating. I wanted to talk with him about the other company. I wanted to ask about negotiations. And, of course, I wanted to hold him as I asked. Now that wouldn't happen for at least another day. Frau Klemp hugged me, said something I was sure was sympathetic or encouraging, and started making our dinner. We ate together, cleaned the kitchen, and she left, giving me another hug at the door.

I thought about sitting at the windows again, but decided I could be more productive. I rummaged around the drawers in the kitchen and found paper and pencil. I decided I would make a list of things to know about Amberg. I sat down at the table and listed a few items from the town's history. Would that be helpful? What about recent history? I summarized the things that had been happening since the plant had been announced. What about problems? I listed what concerns there were over possible water depletion. I quickly filled up four sheets of paper. Is this what they would want to know? I wanted to be helpful. But how could I help? It would make such a difference if the plant was restarted. Or at least it would make such a difference if it were restarted and did not damage the water table. Where was Elias to help me talk this through?

I was trying to stay up until ten each night to force my body into local time, but by nine my head was dropping. I decided to go to bed. And this night I would sleep in my own bed. If he came home late, he could try to find me. That would show him. On second thought, I went to his room. If he came home, I wanted to be with him right away.

Friday was my sixth day in Bern. I had told people I might be gone four or five. Were they worried? If the sale of the bottling plant went through, I would have lots of good news to share when I got back. But when would I get back? I was already gone longer than I had told Mark, and he would not be happy that I had gone at all. Getting back with him was going to be complicated – and maybe impossible.

But my main concern as I went through the usual routine – baking, cleaning, laundry – was when I would hear from Elias. As four o'clock approached I made sure I was in the kitchen doing dishes and helping prepare a salad for dinner. I stayed where I could see the phone. He was punctual, and I saw Frau Klemp smile as she read his message. "Dinner Date" was the translation.

We immediately put everything down in the kitchen and went to my room. This was the night for the forest green gown. First there was hair, makeup, stockings. Frau Klemp chattered at me, apparently pleased with the new hairdo, and she was insistent that she could improve my eyebrows. I let her. We had time. Finally we were ready for the dress. It fit perfectly, and was beautiful. I spent far more time looking in the mirror than I should have, but I couldn't help it. This was going to be a good night.

As we had in December, Frau Klemp went into the living room with me, and she "staged" me. I think she moved my hands four times. But when she was happy with my look, so was I. Then we waited. She sat with me and talked to help pass the time. It was somewhat over half an hour later when he came through the door. Frau Klemp immediately left the room. He was to see only me.

"You are one beautiful lady." He stood in front of me and just looked.

"Thank you." I didn't move. If he wanted me, he would have to make the effort. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long before he did.

"Please." He reached out to take my hand. Once he had me standing, he took another long look, then pulled me to him and kissed me. I slid my hands to the back of his neck, he slid his hands towards my backside. I couldn't help but smile. I wondered if we would actually make it to a restaurant or if he would take me here and now. Either choice was fine with me.

"I have much I need to tell you," he said. "We should eat and talk. But when we are done..."

"Let's eat and talk quickly." That got us moving.

We put on our winter coats and walked to the same Italian restaurant we had been served in back in December. Once again Elias had a conversation in Italian with a manager and a waiter. A table was moved and we slid into a private booth. Elias put his hand on my thigh. I took his hand and put it around my shoulders. I leaned into him and kissed him.

"I assume you told the waiter your woman is hot for you, so we should be served quickly so you can get me into bed."

"He's Italian. He took one look at us and knew food was not on our minds."

"Smart waiter. While he is getting our wine, tell me about negotiations."

"We are close. They like the idea of getting water in the US, and we have given them all our test results, so the deal looks likely. The unknown to them is the town. What they can find via Google is not very encouraging."

"Is that why you have pulled out?"

"Let me test your patience with a long story. Do you mind?"

"No. I can be as patient as you." I smiled and put my hand on his thigh.

"You aren't going to make this easy, are you?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," and I slid my hand across his pants.

"Just for that, you get the full version. We are responding to the triple bottom line."

"What?"

"Profits, planet, people. It is our job to make a profit for our owners – the shareholders – but a new theory is that we also have responsibilities to the planet and to people. Legally, that is nonsense. US court cases have established our sole responsibility is to maximize profits for owners. Sorry, but that is the law. But – here is where new thinking comes in, there will be no profits if we kill the planet or if we treat people so badly they won't buy our goods. So, at least at the margins, people and the planet contribute to profit."

"So you are not a charity, but you need to be aware of the environment and people. Fair enough."

"Don't agree so quickly. As we evaluate business opportunities we look for return on investment – profit - and now we look at planet and people. In your case, we think the water situation will work out. So the planet is fine. But we want nothing to do with the people. Five old ladies holding signs won't hurt our corporate image – they just take off the sprinkles. But roughing up women in front of our office? Threatening them? Threatening their families? What kind of people do that? It's almost safer to invest in Nigeria."

"They were just sacred about the jobs."

"Scared enough to hurt six women, one of whom I love. Our office in Wausaukee has windows. We have seen the video of what happened every Wednesday. Our board wants nothing to do with such a place."

"So you want out. Why would Nature's Flavors want in?"

"They need an additional water source more than we do, and as a new company, they can say all the nonsense going on in your town happened before their arrival." By this time both my hands were in my lap and my appetite was long gone. Our drinks arrived, and I finished my wine almost in one gulp.

"So we poisoned the deal."

"Sorry, but yes."

"Is there any chance I can save it?"

"Sunday night you will have dinner with Matteo Schweig, the CEO of Nature's Flavors. It will look like a casual dinner while he wife is away skiing. He will ask you about your community. If he likes the answers, he will take the deal. If he does not like what he hears, the plant will never reopen."

"I won't lie to him."

"Don't. He will check everything you say. If you tell even one lie, it will confirm everything bad about your community."

"Is there no way your company will finish building that bottling plant?"

"No, Jessica. We are done there. I am sorry."

"Would you take me home, please?"

Fifteen minutes later we were back in his apartment and back in his bed. I was determined not to cry, but I needed an answer.

"Sometime next week, either you will sell the plant, or you will just walk away. But in either case, you will not be back to Amberg, and I assume there will be no more planes waiting for me in Green Bay. Can you do one thing for me? Each night for the next week, can you come home to me?"

"I promise." I have never cried while making love before, but I did that night. I also wrapped myself around him so tightly he had to ask me to loosen up so he could breathe. I loosened my hold, but not by much. And I held on until morning.

# Chapter 24

# Our Last Weekend

Saturday Elias actually took a day off. We stayed in bed until noon. Or maybe I should say, I kept him in bed until noon. So many men have left me before, I should have a regular process to end the relationship and salve my grief. But just like other times, what I wanted was every bit of love I could get for every second that remained. I would cling. Yes, I knew I did that. So what. I would keep him for every second I could.

The way he finally got me off his chest and out of bed was to offer to take me for a ride. Okay. Why not see some of Bern for the last time? Once out of the shower, I put on one of my cotton day dresses and Frau Klemp brought me a pair of boots. I didn't know where we were going, but at least my feet would be warm when we got there. Quick work on my hair and a little makeup, and I was ready. Frau Klemp helped me on with my coat, gave me a pair of gloves, and I was off. Elias, meanwhile had gotten the car from wherever he kept it, and he met me out front.

Where did we go? First, he drove along the river so I could see that. The town is built around a river that does a turn like a bobby pin in the heart of town. Elias talked history – protection, water, transportation. I looked out the window. I also kept a hand on his leg. Done with the river, he drove up into the mountains. To the south were the Alps, and I was beginning to get a better view of them as we came up over the rolling hills around the city. Then he stopped at the base of a small mountain and parked.

"This is Gurten," he said. I took his hand and we walked to a building housing a tram that ran up the side of the mountain. At this point I have to admit my eyes were everywhere. I could see ski runs in the distance, buildings on top of the mountain, and off in the distance, the Alps. Did I ever describe the geography of Amberg? Any hill over ten feet high had been scraped off by the glaciers and moved to Illinois. Had I never seen a mountain before? I had never seen a hill before. And very quickly we were in the tram and riding up the side of a real mountain. I kept spinning around, looking in every direction. Up top was the mountain and the Alps. Below us was Bern, all orange roofs and bended river. Wow.

I was still spinning when we got to the top. Which direction do you look, when every direction is spectacular? Elias led me to one of the many lookout points, and held me while I slowly turned again and again. Somewhere in there I said "Thank you" which completely understated my gratitude, but I could think of nothing else to say. Somewhere in there I kissed him, but then I was back to turning and looking. I was convinced I had just seen the most beautiful scene on earth, when I noticed a small cloud coming through a gap in the Alps. It was soft, and white, and looked like an artist had drawn it there.

"Let me get you inside before we get too cold," Elias said.

"I like it here." I was never going to move, and certainly not to any place in doors.

"We will come back here, but I have another place you will like." He took my hand and walked toward one of the buildings. I was moving so slowly and looking in so many directions, he practically had to drag me. But finally he got me to a restaurant. A restaurant? Really? I wasn't in the least hungry. But he kept a firm grip on my hand, led me inside, and after a brief conversation with the Matre D, followed a waiter to a table near the windows.

And that's when I saw why we were there. The far wall was glass. From our table, if I looked left (and I did, often) I could see skiers and a toboggan run. If I looked right, I could see Bern. And basically if I looked anywhere I saw beauty. Elias and I were seated next to each other, and I took his hand and put it around my shoulders. I don't know how many times I thanked him, but it was not enough.

When the waiter came, I still had no interest in food, so I asked Elias to order for me. He did, and he talked to me about the mountain we were on – what it was like in the summer, various events held here. I listened, but I am glad there was no test afterward. My mind was on what I was seeing. I loved seeing the kids skiing. Even the little ones seemed pretty good, and the older ones were doing tricks like you see on TV. I put my head on his shoulder and thanked him for the twentieth or thirtieth time.

Lunch, if you are curious, was soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Only, being Switzerland, the bread was fabulous (yes, better than mine), and there were three kinds of cheese, none of which were Velveeta. I wasn't the least bit hungry, but I ate every bite.

We sat for a long time. I kept his arm around me. He talked, I looked, and I did at least some listening. Then he was up and we were out.

"I have another place to show you, and I want to get there as the sun sets." I really felt like digging my heels in and standing right where I was, but I let him lead me back onto the tram and down to the car. For the next hour we drove a two lane road through the hills. I saw farms and forests, similar in some ways to Wisconsin, except the farm houses all had tile roofs, and the forests had much taller trees than what we have around Amberg.

The end of our drive was Schwarzsee Ice Palaces. We got there just as the sun dropped behind the mountains. What was there? A local artist builds a kind of fairyland with ice. He has castles and caves, igloos and grottos (that's what Elias told me some of the places were), and all of them are lit up with colored lights. There is a path you take through them, and you are able to go into most of them. There are over a dozen structures and multiple pathways, so we spent over an hour wandering through the display. We held hands as we walked, and whenever we stopped, I stood in front of Elias and put his arms around me. And I probably wore out "Thank you" again, but what else was there to say?

The artist has a small building with a bar, and we had some warm red wine, then took another walk through the display on our way back to the car.

"You have been good to me, Elias." I said as we drove back to Bern.

"I have tried."

"I didn't like it the nights you didn't come home, but you were with me when you said you would be."

"I enjoyed every minute with you."

"So did I." I said no more. This was not the time to plead for more minutes together. Why ruin a fabulous day? I kept my hand on his leg as he drove, and I kept my hand in his as we walked from his garage to his apartment. Inside, I steered him straight to his bedroom and unbuttoned his shirt. He held me, I held him, we got undressed, I put on my satin nightgown and slid against him. I didn't know if this would be our last night together. I didn't want to waste a minute of it sleeping.

# Chapter 25

# My interview

Sunday was uncomfortable from the very beginning. I was wrapped around Elias all night. We had made love when we first went to bed, and I hoped we would again in the morning. But around nine Elias separated himself from me, showered, dressed, and told me he needed to go into work. I didn't believe him.

"Dr Schwieg will come for you at seven. Frau Klemp will help you dress. He will take you to a small dining room at a good hotel. Answer his questions. Be honest. He is a fair man."

"And when dinner is done?"

"I don't know." So that was the issue. He was passing me off to another man. Would he get me back? He didn't know. So he wanted to be out when the handoff occurred. Even now, he was uncomfortable being with me. Well, that was his problem. It was not my job to make this easy for him. I slid out of bed and wrapped my arms around his neck.

"You don't get to leave like this. You have to tell me you love me and will miss me."

"You know that is true."

"Then say it."

"When we first met in October I knew you were special. I sent a plane to the US just to get you in December. We could have talked via email, but I wanted you here in my bed. I made you wait a few days just to keep up appearances. And now, if I could get my board's approval, I would keep that stupid plant, just to have you. But I don't have their approval, and so I don't have you."

"Thank you." I unbuttoned his shirt and tore off the rest of his clothes. I wanted him one last time, and I had him. Then he dressed again and I watched him leave.

I spent the rest of the morning in bed. I was tired and I was annoyed. I loved Elias, and I wanted Elias. Now, because of some business deal, I couldn't have him. Would our relationship have lasted anyway? Maybe, maybe not. But we would have been together longer. Was that too much to want?

About midafternoon I went into see Frau Klemp. I had showered and put on a slip, but I wasn't wearing much of anything else. Eventually she would help me dress. In the meantime I just wanted a shoulder to cry on. And that's what I did. She led me out to the living room and we sat on a couch. I put my head on her shoulder and she petted my hair. She had lots to say, none of which I understood, but all of which was calming. Finally she put me back to bed. What else do you do with a crying baby?

About six she came for me. She washed my face free of all the tears, put drops in my eyes to get the red out, and then worked on my makeup. She talked nonstop. Encouragement, I suppose. And eventually she did at least lighten my mood. Then it was my hair, which she played with as a joke. Again, that helped.

Then it was time for the dress. What did she give me? The ball gown. So there would be no Viennese waltz, there would just be me, looking beautiful to improve the chances of a successful negotiation. She helped me into it, and then we did the petticoat, the hose, and the heels. I was now ready for dinner – and whatever came after it.

Precisely at seven we heard the bell. Frau Klemp helped me on with my coat and walked with me down the stairs and to the front of the building. We hugged before she opened the door. There, waiting for me was Doctor Schweig. I would guess his age about midforties, his height almost the same as mine while in these heels, his hair was gray at the temples, but thick on his head. His face and body would best be described as square. Or you could say "thick." He was wide but not fat. Solid. What I really checked was the expression on his face. What was I getting myself into?

"You are beautiful." He said. "I thank you for dressing so good. I am sorry, my English is simple. But you understand me?"

"Yes. I understand you very well. Thank you for your compliment."

He pointed to his car and opened my door for me. Getting in involved a great deal of pulling at my skirts, but I got everything where it needed to be. He waited patiently while I did that, then closed my door, got into his side, and drove to the hotel.

"Thank you for meeting with me."

"I understand you have questions about my town."

"Yes, I hope you help me understand some things." His English seemed pretty good to me. He hesitated while he talked, but he had little accent.

It was just a short drive to the hotel. We were there in maybe ten minutes. A valet opened my door. Now I had the problem of getting my skirts out without dropping them all over the wet sidewalk, but I managed. Doctor Schweig gave his keys to the valet, and led me inside and to the elevators.

The restaurant was on the top floor. There were large windows facing the river. There were multiple dining rooms. Ours was smaller, holding maybe eight tables, only half of which were in use. My guess was he wanted some privacy for our talk, but not so much that privacy itself led to suspicions. After we were seated, a waiter brought a glass of wine for me and a glass of water for Doctor Schweig.

"I hope you don't mind, but I have ordered our meal."

"I am pleased that you did. I am sure you know the best meals on the menu."

"I hope that is true." Then he pulled two things from his pocket. One was several sheets of paper, and the other was a small tape recorder. "I hope I may ask a favor. Since my English is not so good, I have written some questions to make sure I say them right. Also, if I may record your answers, I should play them for managers who know English better, so we can be sure I do not misunderstand you. Okay?"

"That would be fine." I sipped my wine and he turned on the recorder.

"First, I thank you again for eating with me. And I must say you are beautiful as they said."

"I am wearing a beautiful dress that Mr. Gruber bought for me. If you saw me in my home town, Amberg, you would find me wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a sweater. I am just a bar maid -- a very simple woman. I work in a small bar pouring beer for loggers and fisherman."

"I think you are more, but I..." here he struggled a minute "appreciate modesty."

"May I ask about you? You are a medical doctor?"

"No, no." He thought I was funny. "I am an engineer. I have advanced university degrees. So I am honored to be called Doctor."

"Then you understand the concerns about the water."

"Yes." He looked down at his question list. "Please tell me about the concerns some people have about the water."

"In one part of Wisconsin pumping has already lowered the water table and created problems. There has been some concern it might happen in our area too."

"What do you know about the test wells?" He read that one too. Good. We were already getting to the main issues.

"Three wells were done by Water Services Incorporated. Two wells pumped fine, but they had trouble with granite when drilling the third well. That has led some to be concerned our area might have a limited aquafer." He stared at me a minute before he asked his next question.

"You seem well informed. Could you tell me where you got this information?" I didn't think the question was from his list.

"No, I can't. We promised the source we would protect his identity."

"It would help us learn more about these test wells."

"I am sorry. No." He looked perplexed. Had I just killed the deal? Sorry Elias.

At this point the waiter brought some soup. He also opened my napkin for me and placed it in my lap. Napkin or no, I was deathly afraid of getting anything on this gown. I leaned well forward and took very little with my spoon. It would take me forever to finish the soup in this way, but I could always get more soup. When would I ever get another dress like this?

"The people who worry about the water..." He was back to his list. "They are the majority of your citizens?"

"No. It is just five women. They are worried that some families will have bad wells. But most people are more concerned about jobs. Our area has a poor economy. Most young people move away. The water plant would bring jobs, and that is what people want most."

"These women are leaders?"

"No. They are just concerned. For several weeks they protested in front of the Wausaukee Naturale office, but they have stopped. They have presented their information to our community leaders. They expect the leaders to make a fair decision."

"You were one of the five?"

"No. Some people think I was. I admire their efforts, and I did meet with them, but I asked for evidence of water problems, and they had nothing definite. There might be problems, but there will certainly be jobs. So I support the plant. But – I also support the right of these women to evaluate how large pumps might affect the water table."

"We are told the concern is the impact on sand-point wells. What are those?"

"A pipe with a point on it is pounded into the ground – usually by two men. After fifteen or twenty feet they reach water."

"This is legal?"

"Yes."

"Such water is not safe. A well should be at least one hundred feet to filter bacteria."

"A drilled well is expensive. We are a poor area."

"You like the soup?"

"Yes."

"Would you like more wine?"

"Yes, please." It appeared we were taking a break from my interrogation. Or he wanted to loosen me up. I thought I could handle a second glass. I sat with my best posture – elbows in, back straight, hands in my lap. Bring it on. The waiter took our soup plates away, brought us a pork dish, and came back with another glass of wine for me. Doctor Schweig continued to sip his water. The pork was buried in mushrooms and gravy. I really liked it.

"I am afraid I must raise two uncomfortable issues." He was reading this. It must be really uncomfortable that they needed to work out the phrasing so carefully in advance."

"As you wish." I put down my fork and looked directly at him.

"A man hired by Naturale bribed state officials. This is true?"

"Mr. Gruber said that was done. I know nothing more than that."

"Is it common for officials to be bribed?"

"Elias, ah, Herr Gruber told me he had bribed the governor to get the water permit. I believe him. Our governor has a history of taking large campaign contributions before issuing permits. While state officials are corrupt, I think most local officials are still honest. I know this because I have spent nine years working in a bar. We have health inspections and license renewals. We have never been asked to pay for either."

"Thank you. We have just one more issue. We are told one of the women who protested the plant was attacked by gunmen. Do you feel safe in your town?"

"There is a sickness in American right now. It is causing sick people to do sick things. I am concerned, but I think we will get through this."

"Thank you. I know I have not asked you pleasant questions. But I am responsible to evaluate risk for my company. If we bought the bottling plant, we would face financial risk and reputational risk." I think he was reading this off the second sheet. Good. It meant they understood how unpleasant their questions had been.

"I appreciate your need to know. And yes, it was unpleasant. We all like to think we live in a perfect world. We don't. But I will return to Amberg and my friends, and we will do fine."

He smiled at that. He had a pleasant smile. While the questions were hard for me, I sensed maybe they had been hard for him too. The inquiry done, he could relax.

"Will you dance with me?"

"What?"

"Can you hear the music? There is a small dance floor down the hall. I would love to waltz with you."

"I can barely remember the steps."

"There is nothing to remember. You do what the music tells you. Please." He stood and held out his hand. We walked down the hall, and sure enough, there was a small room with a small band and several couples waltzing. We joined them. He led very well, so I quickly relaxed and just went where he took me. By the second waltz we were both smiling and enjoying the music. I was never going to make it to Vienna, but I did get my waltz. I liked it.

We did four waltzes and then returned to our table. He kept his hand on the small of my back while we walked. I didn't mind. Back at our table there was a chocolate dessert and another glass of wine for me. Was I being set up? I reached across the table, and he took my hand. We both smiled. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. No need to stress. If he took me to his house, that was fine. If he took me to Elias' house, that was fine too (Sorry, Elias).

We talked about nothing for a while. I mentioned the ice castles I had seen yesterday. He asked about winter in Amberg. We finished our desserts, I drank my wine, we got our coats and the valet brought the car. Where to now, Doctor Schweig? It turned out he lived in the country, about fifteen minutes away. As near as I could tell in the dark, he had an old farm house remodeled and maybe expanded. He parked in an old barn that was obviously now the garage. The yard between the barn and house was wet and possibly muddy. Not a problem, he picked me up and carried me to the house and through the front door.

I decided to make the seduction simple. "What a beautiful house. Would you give me a short tour?" He commented on several rooms that we could see from where we stood. "And the second floor?" He took my hand and led me up a large open staircase. I grabbed a fistful of skirt and climbed the stairs with him. Guess what – the first room was the master bedroom. Oh my. I walked in to take a look. He walked in behind me and closed the door. I turned back to him and undid his tie and the several buttons on his shirt. He unzipped my gown. Even with the dress off, I had several layers on, so I stepped away to finish. I happened to look at his bed. Neatly folded on one side was a white satin nightgown that I would swear I had on this morning. I put it on and slid into bed.

As he climbed over to me, I wondered if title to me had been signed over, or if I was just on loan while the negotiations continued. Either way, I was where I was, and what happened next was obvious.

# Chapter 26

# Negotiations continue

It turned out Matteo's wife was a very lucky lady. He was a great lover. He had sensitive hands, and used them well. He moved slowly and took his time, but he built to a great climax. By the time he was done I felt practically on fire. I kissed him again and again and kept tight against him all night. Even in his sleep, he seemed to know where to put his hands. I was a very happy lady.

At six he was up, showered, and dressed. He lay on top of the covers and kissed me Gut Morgen. Nice way to wake up.

"The maid will show you around and get you your meals. Enjoy your day. I will be home to have dinner with you." We kissed, he left. I went back to sleep. Whatever was going on with his company would be decided soon, and when it was, my future would be decided. In the meantime, I might as well get some sleep.

I don't know what time it was when I finally got up, but I showered in his very fancy bathroom, wrapped a towel around me and went looking for clothes. I didn't have to look far. The maid had gathered up my clothing from yesterday and put it to one end of the large walk in closet. Was this temporary space for visiting ladies? Next to my ball gown were the other dresses I owned, a suitcase with my underwear in it, and several shoe boxes. So I had been transferred from company A to company B. When had this occurred? Already last night while we were having dinner? They must have been confident in his powers to persuade. Or maybe they thought I had a limited ability to say "no". Either way, this was looking more and more like a permanent transfer.

In the meantime, I was missing my day dress. Then I saw it – the maid had laid it out on the bed along with my underwear for the day. OK. That was helpful. Like Frau Klemp, she would make sure I wore whatever was required.

I went downstairs to find the maid and thank her for her help. Things didn't start well. Some of this I will put on me. I was wearing an expensive dress that had been tailored for me, and since I had no other shoes, I was wearing four inch heels. I must have looked like I thought I was a movie star. But there were problems on her end too. She was maybe twenty. She had long blond hair that she waved about like a flag, and she was wearing a uniform that rivaled anything Elias could have dreamed up. "Skimpy" doesn't begin to describe it. Either she found it at a specialty shop, or she took a regular uniform home and spent a lot of time with a scissors. And there was the way she moved that skirt around. She was a man trap. Why Matteo's wife left the two of them alone together was one of life's bigger mysteries. She must really love to ski.

My problem was her attitude. I would be in this house for a few days, I guessed. I didn't need to fight with her all day every day. But based on the look she gave me when I walked into the kitchen, she was not happy that someone else was sleeping on her side of Matteo's bed.

"Hi, I'm Jessica." Can't go wrong with a smile, can you? Apparently I could.

"Something, something, Arianna." The tone of her voice and look on her face said, "I am Ariana and this is my turf."

I looked for some way to avoid a major conflict. It was clear we were not going to be able to speak to each other and work things out that way. She spoke as much English as I spoke German. We were two women who should have spent more time in language class and less time with boys. I saw a pad of paper on the table. She was making a grocery list. I recalled from the two years of Spanish that I had taken (and had totally forgotten), that we found it easier to read Spanish than to listen to it. I would give that a try.

I turned the page over and started writing – "I am 38 years old." I gave her the pad and the pencil. She wrote 20. See, young one, you have great blond hair, a uniform that shows all your charms, and you are half my age. You can relax.

To make the point even more clear, I wrote – "I leave in 3 days." Then I made a motion with my hand like a plane. I looked pretty stupid. She laughed, I laughed, and most of the tension left the room. I would occupy Matteo for a few days, and I would be gone. I am no threat to you. Did I actually know I would be gone in three days? Of course not. But I didn't think that was too far off the mark, and in the meantime it meant she was less likely to spit in my soup or bleach my clothes into fragments.

I held out my hand, and we shook. We had found a way to share a man. That negotiation wasn't so hard. Hopefully Matteo and Elias were doing as well.

"Coffee?" I asked. That's the same word in every language isn't it? She gave me a long answer while she poured me a cup. Then, while I drank it, she made me a sandwich. She talked while I ate the sandwich, maybe hoping my German language skills would click "on" at some point. I ate my sandwich, smiled, and then asked for another cup of coffee. "Dunke" is thanks, right? I said that a couple times, and then wandered the house with coffee cup in hand.

What did I see in the day time? The house was large, but not as big as our fishing lodge. It stood on some land, presumably the remains of the farm. The courtyard was wet, and the drive was gravel. I would not be taking a walk in these heels. Besides, where would I go? I saw no stores anywhere. We were out in the country. There were lots of red tiled roofs down the road, but all of them topped houses, not shops or restaurants. I would stay in the house.

I wandered a few rooms looking for a comfortable place to sit. Matteo had an office, and a dining room, the central area where I now stood, and a smaller room that looked like a parlor. I wondered if that was Mrs. Schweig's room when she was in town. The walls were papered in a lemon yellow color with a slight pattern, and the pictures on the wall featured family shots and paintings of landscapes and home scenes. Yes, this was her room. I looked at the family pictures checking for children. None. So that is why she was free to go off skiing. I wondered how she felt about not having kids.

There was an upholstered chair near one of the windows. What did she see when she sat here? Part of an orchard was visible, and a small vineyard. So they did weekend farming. Well, maybe she sat and watched weekend farming. In any case, it was a nice chair and a fair view even in the winter. I took off my shoes, curled up my legs, and sipped my coffee.

It didn't take long before I started asking myself the obvious question – what was I doing here? I had been seduced, but why? It's not like he was missing his wife and hadn't been laid in a while. I was pretty confident Miss Hot-to–trot wearing the Come-hump-me dress jumped his bones the minute he stepped in the door each night. He had no trouble getting laid. So why me? Why go to so much effort? Sure, they wanted to get more information about Amberg and general attitudes. That much I believed. But that could have been done in the corporate offices. And if he had done the interview there he could have had other English speakers with him to help with any misunderstandings, and they would have been there to ask follow-up questions.

Instead, there was the fancy restaurant, the dinner, dancing, wine – and his bed. Why? Of course another fair question would be why had I said "yes?" But that question wasn't so hard. I said "yes" because Elias wanted me to. He had used Saturday to say good bye. We were done. I needed to be around to answer a few questions, and the bed I ended up in belonged to Matteo. He seemed a good man. Here I was. Yes, here I was. I looked out the window, wondered how the negotiations were going, and thought about Elias. I would miss him.

That's how I spent the afternoon. I never left that chair. I might have dozed a while, but mostly I looked out the window and thought about men.

Eventually Arianna came for me. She did a lot of talking, but I guessed it was time to dress for dinner. She pointed up stairs to confirm the obvious. I went with her and changed into my forest green dress. Arianna insisted on helping with my hair, but I did my own makeup. I also waited until she was gone and then played with my neckline. The dress was off-the-shoulder. I experimented with "off." I decided to take it down as far as I could without having it end up around my waist. Arianna might not like it, but I thought Matteo might. Then I went downstairs and found a seat in the main room – and waited.

He arrived about fifteen minutes later. Ariana opened the door for him, curtsied, and then kissed him on the cheek. He patted her backside -- out of my sight – he thought. So I had been right about how things were. No problem.

"I hope you had restful day." He said to me. "You look beautiful, by the way." He took my hand, pulled me to a standing position, and put his hands on the small of my back. He had a nice smile.

"Yes, it was very restful. How was your day? Are negotiations continuing?

"We spent the morning going over your comments. The other officers liked what you had to say. We have decided we will make an offer. Our people are drafting a document that will go to Naturale early tomorrow."

"That is great news." And I kissed him. It just felt like the right thing to do.

"Let me get us some drinks and we can relax before dinner." He disappeared into the dining room and came back with two glasses of white wine. He pointed to a couch, and we sat. He took my hand. I took his hand and placed it around my shoulders. I should have a written manual for men. If you want me in your bed, first hold me – make me feel wanted and protected. Don't grab me – hold me.

"Is this from your grapes?"

"Oh, you saw the vineyard. Yes, I hope you like it." I took a sip. No, I can't say I liked it, but it was better than some I'd had.

"It's very nice." What else could I say?

"Thank you." He followed up with a very long description of the vineyard and where they had the grapes processed, and the bottling. He was an engineer. I smiled and sipped the mediocre wine. What else could I do? Eventually Arianna come and told us that dinner was ready. Actually she told Matteo, but I got the drift. We took our wine with us. Too bad.

The dining room had obviously been decorated by his wife. For one thing, the table was small – intimate. It seated six as it was now, and I assumed it could be expanded, but not too far. This was not a room for large banquets. Even seated at opposite ends of the table, we were not very far apart. There was wood in the room, but also color. There were wall sconces – and – candelabra. I thought I could like this lady. Ariana had the candles lit, and the wall sconces turned low. That was nice of her.

Dinner was a salad and a pork dish – these people do love their pork. There was more wine, unfortunately, although the first glass made the second go down better. I noticed that unlike last night, Matteo was drinking too. He had just one glass, but that was more than he had had last night.

For dinner conversation, I told him about the fishing lodge where Elias and his people had stayed in October. He laughed when I told him about the huge fish that hung on the wall over the far end of the dining room. That got me started on my job as hostess which led to stories about Amberg that continued as we left the dining room and headed off to sit and talk. I was curious where he would take me. But even though it was clearly his wife's room, that is where he led me. There was a gas fireplace that he lit with the touch of a button, and a very comfortable couch across from it. This time when we sat, he knew to put his arm around me.

I told him story after story and the evening passed. Finally I was in mid-sentence when he kissed me and said, "Let us go to bed."

Upstairs we undressed quickly. On my side of the bed I saw a red satin nightgown Arianna had left for me. It wasn't mine. Was she giving me the wife's clothes? I put it on, liked the fit, liked the way Matteo looked at me, and we were off. He was strong yet gentle. One of his hands started massaging my breast, a nice attempt to please me. One thing led to another, and soon we were both smiling – panting – but smiling.

At this point I made a decision. After sex, women want to be held, and men want to roll over and go to sleep. Both women and men will deny it, but it's the truth. I didn't want Matteo to go to sleep yet. I held him so he couldn't roll away from me, slid in tight against him to keep him interested, and put a hand on his ass. It was my way of saying – pay attention.

"Matteo, why am I here?"

"What?"

"Yesterday you asked me lots of questions, but you could have asked me the same questions – and more – at your office. Instead, I get all dressed up, you take me to a fancy restaurant, ply me with wine, dance with me, and then take me here. Why?"

"Yesterday you said you were a simple woman."

"No woman is too simple to ask that question. Did I make a mistake?"

"You did not make a mistake. But the explain is complicated."

"Keep it simple."

"I liked taking you from Elias."

"He let you have me."

"That is partly true. He let me have dinner with you. I was the one who got you in my bed."

"So you bested him by taking me. Could you not have competed by beating him in golf or in handball?"

"You are so much better."

"In the meantime, I betrayed Elias."

"Yes, but in a good way. His board is very angry with him over the mess with the bottling plant. And there is talk he did the deal so he could spend time with you. When he brought you here again, they almost fired him. He needed you gone, so I took you."

"How generous of you."

"I don't understand the phrase, but I can hear your anger. Don't be. Before, he was angry with his board. Now, he is angry with me. It is making negotiations more interesting."

"This isn't a game, Matteo. The plant matters to my town. And I don't like being a pawn."

"You are not a pawn. I think you are the whole game."

"Now you are lying."

"I think not. Wait and see. Now let me get my sleep. Tomorrow will be an important day." He took my hand away from him and rolled away from me. But I wasn't done with him. I slid up tight against his back and ran my fingers down his arm.

"I loved Elias. He is a good man. I think you are too. I will wait and see." Let him sleep on that.

# Chapter 27

# The Deal

Matteo woke me about six. "I am a good man, and you are a good woman. Today and tomorrow we will do good things. Just wait." At that point he started to slide out of bed.

"Not so fast." I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on tight. I kissed him, and then slid out of bed with him. His shower was huge and I used all of it as I washed him, and grabbed his hands so he could wash me. There was never a time when we were not touching. Well, mostly it was me doing the touching, but he was right there. I was all over him like a crazy lady. We were practically drowning as I kissed him under one of the shower heads. Finally, I let him go.

"Now, go to the office and do good things. And" I said as I kissed him one more time, "Think of me." I jumped back into bed, still wet. He dressed, but did a lot of it while sitting on the bed, looking at me and running his hands over my face. I had his attention.

What happened next? Nothing on my end. I laid in bed, gradually drying off. Eventually I went back to sleep. I guess I could say my contribution to the day was to be available for questions should they have any. They didn't. So I slept late, put on the same dress I had worn the day before, and went down to get some coffee. Arianna gave me a look (maybe I should have been quieter when I was romping with Matteo), but I headed that off by taking the pad and pencil and writing – 2 days until I fly. I waved with my hand again, and she seemed better. But really, how insecure can you be? She's half my age with great hair. Relax, little one.

The rest of the day I sat around like I was waiting to hear Santa and his reindeer on the roof. Hours passed. I ate some food, had some more coffee, stared out the window, and waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally around seven he called. They had an agreement. Some language had to be clarified in the contract, so he would be there until around eight. Did I want to go out to celebrate, or stay at the house? I said "I like it here." And he asked me to give the phone to Arianna.

Now what? I had three gowns to choose from – the green one, the black one, and the ball gown. I went with the ball gown. My guess was Arianna would be working in the kitchen on whatever last minute request he had given her, so I was on my own for hair and makeup. I was fine with that, although it took longer than I expected. All day with nothing to do, and now a rush to get ready. Ugh.

Pulling on the gown, petticoat, hose, and heels took some time too, but I got it done. Now what? Do I go down and sit as I did yesterday? Wait up here and make a grand entrance? Sit in the wife's room and wait for him? I went with the grand entrance. I sat on the bed and waited to hear the front door open. I waited over half an hour, wondering if something had gone wrong at the last minute. But then I heard the door.

I walked to the top of the stairs and I waited. Assuming I could make it down the stairs without falling on my ass, this was going to be a great entrance. And it was. He took his coat off and waited for me at the bottom of the stairs, a big grin on his face. I smiled and slowly descended like I did this sort of thing every day. I never looked down at the stairs. I looked at his face and trusted my feet. Two steps from the bottom, he grabbed me around the waist and lifted me down.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world."

"You are my man." And, at that moment, he was. We hugged. Then he led me into the room with the fireplace, and we sat on the couch. He put his arm around my shoulders the way I hoped he would.

"We will have a signing event tomorrow at eleven. I would like you to be there. You would look perfect in your ball gown."

"I would like that."

"Good. Also, we would like you to work for us. We will be taking several of our managers over to do the initial supervision. But we need someone local. We want you."

"You know I never finished high school, right?"

"We need community connections. You have them."

"Okay. But tell me about negotiations. They went well?"

"You mean did Elias come out okay? Yes. Both sides are happy with the deal. His job is safe. But, that is the last question about him, right?"

"Yes. Tell me about you. You got what you wanted?"

"Yes." And he gave my arm a squeeze.

Over the next three hours he talked about several of the meetings, a major goof when one of the calculations was done wrong, and a power point presentation that had to be ended when the projector burned up. All I heard was that he had been busy, he was happy, things had ended well. I was happy too. We were going to get the water plant.

Interspersed with stories of office doings, Matteo opened a bottle of champagne, and drank most of it, while Arianna served us a pork cutlet and potatoes. I guess pork is the meat you celebrate with. I had a couple of serious questions – when will the construction restart, and when will I go home, but I thought both could wait. He was having fun telling his stories.

It was close to midnight before we went up to bed, but he was still lively and still celebrating. I held him close and enjoyed the moment.

The next morning I let him shower without interference, but I insisted on tying his tie for him, while I leaned in to him still wearing my night gown. He put his hands on my back, but slowly slid them down to my ass. I smiled, he smiled, I said, "think of me today."

He said, "A car will come for you around 10:30." It took him a little longer to get his hands off me, but finally he did.

I went downstairs in my nightgown to get a cup of coffee. Arianna looked at me and then moved her hand as I had – motioning a plane. I nodded. She smiled and gave me a bowl of oatmeal.

Upstairs I showered, and then worked as hard on my hair as I ever had. The salon had given it good color and body, but I needed to shape it somewhat and of course dry it. Then I spent forever working on my makeup. There is a reason why most days I don't wear any. It is a lot of work to get on. That done I started getting dressed, but I still hadn't finished when I heard the car pull into the drive. Well, he could wait. Putting all this stuff on was not simple. Finally I finished, went downstairs (very carefully), got my coat and got in the car.

It was about a twenty minute drive, and I wondered what his office looked like. It turned out I already knew – his building was like every other building in Bern. Whatever the building code was, it seemed to demand a height of four or five stories, a red tile roof, and a regular array of windows – no glass walls. I was dropped at the front door.

Two women waited for me in the lobby. I was welcomed, addressed as Mrs. Thorpe, and led to a bank of elevators. Up we went to the top floor and what was obviously a reception area. A very ornate table was placed in the center, along with three chairs. There were several buffets set up along the sides of the room, and people were taking coffee, champagne, and small sweets. I was led along one side of the room and introduced to many people, mostly men, all of whom nodded and shook my hand. There were probably more than fifty people in the room, so it was slow work moving through the room. Standing near the table I could see Matteo surrounded by several men, and Elias talking with other men. The two warring sides? Was the table for the peace treaty? I just kept moving, saying "Hello" and shaking hands. At one point I made the mistake of saying "Gut Morgen" which just confused everyone since they now assumed I spoke German. I was saved by one of the women accompanying me who said "English." After that I held myself to "Hi" and "Hello."

Eventually I made it to the other end of the room where Matteo and Elias were standing. I approached each group, shook hands, listened for their names and titles, and of course forgot all of it instantly. When I shook the last hand in the two lead groups, Matteo took charge.

"Now we start." He began by addressing the room in German, but after a few sentences changed to English. "Since we are here to celebrate a new acquisition in America, and since we have a guest from there, we will speak in English. I will start with my bad English, so all others will feel good about their good English." That got him a laugh.

"We are a company that brings the flavors of nature to our customers. That includes good natural water. Today we add another source of that natural water. Our friends at Naturale have begun this project." He paused and looked at Elias and his group. There was no real audience response. "We will finish it." That got a cheer. This wasn't quite a locker room, but there was a bit of that in the air. The other guys flubbed it, we will score and score big. It was fun to watch Matteo build on that response. "We have developed products in seventeen countries. Every time we provided quality for our customers, and profits for our stockholders." Some men were knocking on the buffet tables with their knuckles. What was that about? A local cheer? "Now we enter a new country. There may be challenges. But we already know the end results. We will provide quality for our customers, and profit for our shareholders." Much more knuckling.

Now, for some reason, he turned to me. Why? I decided to work on my posture. Back straight, hands clasped in front of me, chin up.

"I would like to introduce Mrs. Thorpe. She has just joined us as our Director of Public Relations for the new plant." What? "She is a lifelong resident of the local community. And she is a natural leader. I am sure she has a few words for us." What? He was too busy fucking me to tell me I was going to give a speech? Thanks.

I stepped forward two steps and made sure I did not move my hands. I had taken speech in tenth grade not because I wanted to give speeches, but because I didn't want to write essays about Shakespeare. Well Mrs. Lawlor, let's see if I remember anything you said.

"When Naturale first came to our community we were very excited about their effort. We know we have exceptional water. We are grateful for the good start they gave this project." And I looked over at Elias and nodded. No response from the audience. Hmm. "Now that Nature's Flavors has taken over, we are even more excited. We know you will create a great product and bring fame to our town. I can assure you when this new agreement is announced, there will be celebrations across the town. We will be filled with pride, and happy to help in any way. We are grateful for your skills, and for your vision." That got some knuckles. Way to go Jessica.

I stepped back and Matteo stepped forward. He looked to his right, and I knew whose turn it was.

"Herr Gruber, do you wish to make any comments?"

"Thank you." He stepped forward. "I know that our two companies compete. That is the nature of business, and ultimately it is the best thing for our customers. But both our businesses thrive by helping people gain access to quality water and other natural products. So, while we will always compete with you, we also salute you." He raised his hand in a salute, and there were a fair number of knuckles rapping around the room.

Matteo took over again. "We will now sign the documents that transfer ownership of the Wisconsin properties." He motioned for Elias to take the seat on the right, he took the seat on the left, and apparently I was to take the seat in the middle, although I had no idea why I was included, or what I was to do. I determined from now on I would not get under this man until he had given me chapter and verse about any actions he was expecting of me. He could damn well wait until I knew what was going on.

As it turned out, most of the signature lines had already been filled in. This was all for show. Matteo and Elias each signed on lines for corporate executives. They pointed to a lower line Matteo said was for witnesses. I signed. Everyone applauded. And that was that. A little show with coffee and sweets for the Swiss, an important bottling plant for Amberg. The three of us stood, Matteo told everyone to enjoy the buffet, and three cameramen came forward to take various shots. Many of them involved the three of us standing together. In one I put my hands on each of their arms as if we were walking down the street. That was the one that got the most press later. But there were lots of other pictures with and without me.

As various pictures were taken, there was a time when Elias and I were sidelined together. He used the opportunity to take my hand.

"Jessica, we all appreciate your help with this. Our bank in New York will be transferring a consulting fee to your bank in Wausaukee."

"Thank you, but that is not necessary. I am grateful for everything you have done for me. I am grateful for the time I had with you." I stopped and looked directly into his eyes. "I will always love you." I really wanted to kiss him, but this wasn't the time. I did give him a kiss on the cheek and shook his hand again. Then I turned away before I did anything stupid.

About this time one of the women who had met me earlier came and got me. She led me back to the elevators and down one story. I saw a long hallway with offices on both sides. She led me halfway down the hall and then into an empty office.

"Mrs. Thorpe, this will be your office until you move with the others to the US. A number of managers will want to stop by and introduce themselves, and several support staff will have various resources for you. In the meantime, may I bring you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"I would love some coffee." And the woman was gone. My office had a large desk, a computer, and two chairs. Otherwise, it was empty. It had windows that looked toward the river. That was nice. I gathered up several yards of skirt and sat down in the chair behind the desk. I found the "on" switch for the computer only to discover the home screen was in German. Hmm.

When the woman – Mrs. Wagner – came back with my coffee, I pointed at the computer. She immediately apologized and showed me where to change the screen to English. Who knew computers could do that? Not me.

Over the course of the afternoon lots of people poked their heads in. I said "Hi" and then wrote their names down after they left. I would try to learn at least a few. Besides the introductions, two people came by who helped me. First was a lady from Human Resources. She gave me a hiring contract in English and German. According to the English version, I was to be paid seventy thousand dollars per year. I signed the contract of course, but I couldn't really grasp the salary. Clark paid me nine dollars per hour. With tips, I earned somewhere between twenty and twenty five thousand dollars a year. Both fathers paid me child support when the kids were with me, so that kept food on the table, but with them gone, I was back to what I made at the bar. Seventy thousand dollars? I reacted pretty much as I would have if someone had told me space aliens would be doing my laundry from now on. If I actually lasted a year, I might put new tires on my truck.

The other helpful person was a young man from IT. He gave me my email address, my initial password, and then showed me a gmail feature that let me translate German text to English. Where was this when I needed it in December? He also gave me a digital camera and showed me how to send pictures from the camera to my email account. I had to sign for the camera.

Anyway, between talking to people and playing with emails, the afternoon went pretty fast. Around six, Matteo came for me. I wanted to pop him one for making me speak without warning me, but I decided it could wait until later.

Later turned out to be after drinks, after dinner, and after he had made love to me with an intensity that was amazing. I could barely breathe. Well done Matteo. Was this the time to say, "Next time warn me?" No. I wrapped myself around him like an anaconda and said "Thank you."

# Chapter 28

# Preparations

Since I was now an employee, I would go in to work with Matteo. This brought both good and bad. Good, we showered together. Bad, I needed to work on my hair and makeup, and I knew he was waiting downstairs. Good, we ate breakfast together – coffee and oat meal. Good, we rode in together and that gave us (me) some time to talk when we weren't groping each other and so weren't distracted. My big question was when we would be going to Wisconsin to restart the plant.

What did I learn? It would probably take another ten days before we had picked the people to handle the initial work on the plant, got construction contracts signed, and arranged travel. I would be going, as would another three or four managers, and he would go over for a few days. This led to a question I thought would best wait until we were in bed – how much longer would we be seeing each other? I was hoping for a better answer if my arms were around him at the time.

Once at work, we kissed once in the car, then took the elevator up to our offices. Most days I barely saw him until he came for me around six or seven. But I stayed busy all day.

My first project was letting the world know about the new owners. The local PR lady came into my office about midmorning and showed me what she planned to release to the local business press. She had an English translation for me. She also went through about twenty pictures that had been taken. All of this was very helpful to me. Of course I had never seen a press release before, so I didn't even know what headings they used or what form they took. Now I had a model. I explained to her that I had several local news outlets to use, would she mind reviewing a draft I hoped to have later in the day. She agreed, and I felt like I was off to a good start.

What did my press release say? I wouldn't be sending this initial release to business publications, I would be sending it to general newspapers. So I organized it around what I thought people would want to know – 1) the project was on, 2) construction would resume soon, 3) we expected completion of the plant by early fall, 4) we expected to hire about twenty people in the fall. For a picture, I went with Matteo and Elias shaking hands at the signing table.

Bridget (the PR lady) liked everything but the picture. "No local interest. Why does anyone in Wisconsin care about two Swiss guys shaking hands? For that matter, almost no one anywhere cares to see two guys shaking hands. I recommend this one." And she pointed to the one where the three of us are standing together, and I have a hand on each arm. It's almost the Debbie Reynolds pose from "Singing in the Rain."

"Are you sure?"

"It has local interest, and that gown is beautiful. Every woman who opens the paper will stop at that image. They may even read the story." We chuckled and I went back to my office to put the release together. Where would I send it? Neither Amberg nor Wausaukee had a newspaper – not even a weekly. The Marinette Eagle Star was down to five days a week but at least they were still publishing, so they got a copy. I sent it off to the Green Bay Press Gazette unsure if they would run it, but I thought my girls would really love it if they did. The Iron Mountain Shopper might also use it. That was the only surviving publication up there and it was a weekly. I worked out email addresses for all three, put proper headings on each release, and got them on the way by mid-afternoon. What time was it back in Wisconsin? Early morning.

I spent the rest of the afternoon doing a Google search for business publications and Chamber of Commerce offices where I might also pass along the good news. I had a pretty good list started when Matteo came for me at six.

It turned out it was twelve days before we would fly to Wisconsin, but most of my time at the office was like that first day – in early, out late, pretty busy all day.

What else happened during that time? First, when we got home at night, I went up and changed into either my green gown or the ball gown. I wanted to keep him interested, and based on the way he held me, I succeeded. We would sit opposite the fireplace while Arianna got dinner on the table, and then we would eat by candlelight. I was pretty sure I looked good by candlelight.

We had a couple of conversations that mattered. One night as we sat opposite the fireplace, I waited until he had finished his wine, and then asked, "Can you tell me about your wife?" There was a very long pause. My head had been on his shoulder. Now I raised it and turned to him so I could look at him when he finally answered.

"I love my wife. I think she loves me. But we should not have married. She is Italian and from a large family. Her family practically fills the town they live in. She has aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, all kinds of nieces and nephews, plus her parents. I try to spend Christmas with them each year. I can't believe how many of them there are. Isabella and I dated when I was working at one of our companies in Italy. I brought her up here for a weekend, but we spent no real time here. She had no idea what life would be like up here, and I didn't see the problem either. So, when I was transferred back to headquarters, neither of us was ready for the change."

"Now she comes and lives with me for three or four weeks at a time, but then she goes back to Italy and stays for months. You have the expression, fish out of water? She does not speak German, we had no children, she is wealthy and does not want to work. So she comes here and sits, waiting for me to come home at night. By the end of two weeks she is fighting with the maid, after three weeks she goes home. She says this house is empty like the grave."

I asked the question, so I guess I should have some response. All I could think to say was "Thank you." And I squeezed his hand.

Another morning on the drive in to work, I asked him for some money. I had gone out to lunch the day before with Bridget the PR lady. We had coffee and a yogurt. I had to explain I had no Swiss money. In truth, I not only had no money, but if I had it, I wouldn't know what it was worth. Matteo was very apologetic and gave me a hundred francs. As for what Swiss money was worth, he said one franc was worth roughly one dollar. It would be a few cents off one way or another, but not enough to matter for things like coffee. So that day I was able to buy Bridget lunch, although I was amazed by how much it cost. Life in Switzerland is not cheap.

Two days later I was after Matteo for new dresses. I had two evening gowns plus my black traveling dress, but only one day dress for the office. I couldn't keep wearing it every day. Bridget and I had taken a walk doing some window shopping, and she pointed out a dress shop she liked. So a day later I asked Matteo if he would go there with me at lunch time. He offered to give me his debit card, but I explained I wanted him there. He agreed, and sat with me in a fitting room. The clerk brought me several dresses that would be good at work – all knee length cotton, short sleeve, scoop necks. My style. I tried each one on and had fun modeling for Matteo. I took some of the poses I had seen in magazines. He seemed to enjoy it. I mentioned that some of the women had blazers. He need to translate that for the clerk, but she quickly brought me a navy blazer that was slightly trimmed at the waist and flared at the hips. It was perfect. None of this had taken too much time, so I decided to push my luck. Could I look at an evening gown? He agreed, and the clerk sensing a large sales commission was quickly back with four satin gowns. I looked them over and immediately knew which one I would take. At that point I ordered Matteo out of the room. I would surprise him. He left, and I put on a beautiful deep blue ball gown with a very plunging V neck. It would show far more of my cleavage than anything I had worn, but the gown was nicely made and I thought it looked good on me. So I took it. I put my original dress back on while she put my dresses in bags and Matteo paid the bill.

As we carried the dresses to his car I told him I would pay him for the clothes. He just smiled and said he would pay to keep his beautiful woman beautiful. My man.

A few days later it was determined we would stay in the fishing lodge when we got to Amberg. The travel man had asked me where the Gruber group had stayed, asked for my recommendation, and for any contact information I had. I gave him Mark's email address. I don't know what we were paying, but Mark gave them a lease for March, April, and May. Since fishing season started in May, the fact that Mark would lease out that month made me wonder about his business and about his plans. When I first was given an office and an email account, I had emailed my girls with the news, then Clark and Morgen to tell them I had taken another job and would not be back to the bar for a while, and then I had emailed Mark. I explained to him I had flown to Switzerland to meet with the plant CEO, had been involved in the sale of the plant to another company, and that I would still be in Switzerland for a few more days. He had not answered my email. I was almost grateful that he hadn't. What would I say if he had – I had spent days (and nights) with one CEO, but now was with another? Where did that leave him – or us? I think it left us done, but did I want to say that in an email?

What else happened during those twelve days? I worked all day learning more about my employer, and learning more about press releases. Bridget was a great help. And I was successful getting releases printed. Clark told me the Eagle Star had printed my release and my picture. He had both taped to the mirror over the back bar. I was pretty sure it was just a matter of time before Morgen "accidentally" spilled beer on it. My girls said the Press Gazette printed my release, and they were really proud of me. I smiled a lot that day.

As good as my days were, my evenings and nights were better. I wore the new gown the night I brought it home. Matteo was sitting across from the fireplace, waiting for me while I changed. I came down and stood opposite him for a long time, letting him look, and when I sat next to him, one arm went around my shoulders and the other hand went right to my chest. The gown did a great job of raising and highlighting my breasts. I kept my shoulders back and let him play.

I waited with the big question until a couple days later when we were in bed and had just finished making love. I kept my body tight to him, and my face maybe two inches away. Then I asked – "What happens with us?"

"We have another week here, and I can stay with you a week in Wisconsin, but then I will be here, and you will be there."

"Can you visit me? Can I visit you?"

"Yes, and yes. That would be enough for you?"

"I'm not asking you to marry me. I am asking you to hold me as often as you can, to take me to bed and make love to me every chance you get. That is what I want."

"I promise to hold you, to make love to you, to be at your side as often as is possible. It will give me great pleasure."

"The pleasure will also be mine." We kissed and hugged, and held each other as we drifted off to sleep.

He was good to his word. He held me each evening when we got home from the office, he smiled at me in the dining room as he looked at me through the candlelight, and we made love every night.

He even took me dancing again. It happened on a Saturday. We slept late, we needed to go into the office to take care of some loose ends, but we had most of the day free. So he asked me what I wanted to do. That was easy. "I want to waltz with you."

So we did. We went home after our time in the office, and I put on my red ball gown, complete with petticoat and heels, he put on a nice suit, and around seven we went back to the hotel where he had seduced me. We had a great meal in the same restaurant – pork of course – and some wine.

During the second glass I asked, "When did you know you could seduce me?"

"When we danced. The first dance you were uncomfortable. You were thinking of the steps. The second dance I could feel you change in my arms. The hand of my shoulder relaxed, the hand I held let me hold it more comfortably. You moved with me. We were together. Once we moved together I knew we would stay together."

We took our time with our meal, and then asked for a table in the room with the music. A waiter put our drinks on a tray and led us to our table. We sat for a moment, and then were up and dancing. How many waltzes did we do? Many. And after each one he held me close while we waited for the next number. It was a marvelous evening.

# Chapter 29

# Going Home

It was the first week of March when we finally flew to the US. Nature's Flavors did not own a jet, but they leased one for this trip. There were three managers, a woman to work as maid and secretary at the lodge, Matteo, and me. The plane had a large cargo compartment, and we filled it. I wore my black traveling dress and my pearls. I felt much more comfortable in them now, than I had in December.

The trip back was uneventful, but I had my usual fears when the immigration agent boarded the plane in Connecticut. The other five all had special visas since they would be working in the US. They had not gotten one for me since I could legally work in the US (once I actually got back in the country). So, why did I not have such a visa? I (Jessica Gruber) was a guest on the flight. I was traveling with Doctor Schweig, and I would leave when he did in a week. Matteo was standing next to me during this discussion. He had a hand on my shoulder. I put my hand on his hand and smiled up at him. That seemed to be enough for the agent.

When we put down in Green Bay there were two SUVs waiting for us. Rental agents were sitting in them, and as soon as we had all our gear loaded in them we drove to the rental car office and signed lots of papers. Besides my truck, we now had two other vehicles to get back and forth to the plant. That done, we drove up to Amberg and straight to the lodge.

As for the lodge, I was relieved to see no obvious problems. Over breakfast I had explained to Matteo that I was caretaker for the lodge, and that I had worked for Mark last summer. If I was more than an employee, he didn't ask, and I didn't say. I had been avoiding that conversation for several days and was glad it was over (at least I hoped it was over).

I asked them to stop at the mailbox, and I gathered all that in. Up at the lodge, the snow had been plowed, and we walked in to a warm building. Nothing was broken. I would email that to Mark as soon as I had time.

We each carried cases up to the bedrooms. I showed Matteo ours. I also closed the door and dragged him to our bed where we could kiss, and he could feel me up. Back in Bern it was getting near bedtime. Here it was early afternoon. I reminded him he had promised to hold me, and he did until we heard noises in the hallway. Apparently the others had unpacked and were ready to explore the lodge. I whispered "seven more hours" and got up. Once my clothes were back where they belonged, I went out and explained where everything was in the lodge.

Jet lag works both directions, and I thought everyone would be really happy for an early dinner and an early night. So I showed them where the bar was and said I would check on the caterer. The arrangement was that the maid (Hannah) would make breakfast, pack our lunches, and then do administrative chores. Dinner would be done by the Swansons. I called them to tell them we had arrived, and to see what time they would serve. I suggested earlier than usual would be helpful given the time differences from traveling. It was now three. Mrs. Swanson said she would have food for us by four thirty. What a great lady.

Back in the great room, beer seemed to be popular. The Heineken went first, then the Bud. Matteo joined right in. I had not seen him with his employees before, so I was not sure how informal he would be. He had two beers, and did not look askance when a couple of his managers had a third. I had one. Hannah had one. We sat around on the leather furniture, enjoying the sunlight coming in through the huge windows. I am not sure how it started, but I fell into storyteller mode and began talking about the history of Amberg. I doubt that I was riveting, but they were tired, and I bet liked the fact that they could sit back and drink a beer while someone else carried the conversation. And I did.

About the fourth story (What happened to the farms), the Swansons arrived. I went to talk with them, taking Hannah with me. Half an hour later food was on the table, Hannah had been shown the location of all pots and utensils, and I had lit the candles on the dining room table. Matteo took the end of the table under the fish (which we all called the fish seat), I took the other end, and the four others found their own seats. The Swansons served the standard three course meal, except Mr. Swanson poured beer rather than wine. I cued Mrs. Swanson for course changes, and it felt like old times. I kept talking history, heads started nodding pretty seriously, and by six thirty we had finished the meal and headed upstairs "to unpack." I am pretty confident every head was on a pillow within five minutes.

As for me and Matteo, we managed to stay awake for another half hour.

I felt sorry for Hannah the next morning. It was her job to make us breakfast, but she was doing it in a strange kitchen, and she was doing it when she was just as tired as the rest of us. I suspect the only thing that kept her going was knowing that the minute we were out the door, she could go back to bed.

The rest of us finished breakfast and then headed up to the plant. It was time to see what the company had just bought. We left one SUV for Hannah so she could buy groceries, and the three managers took the other. I drove my truck with Matteo beside me. He looked around my truck and said, "You are a cowgirl?"

"I am a country girl." At the moment I was wearing one of the day dresses I had bought in Bern, my blazer, and that marvelous wool coat Elias had given me. I didn't look much like a country girl, but I was wearing boots and driving a piece of garbage. Matteo was wearing a suit and overcoat, but no tie, so I guess that meant he was roughing it.

Since I actually knew where we were going, I led the SUV. As we drove, I tried to give Matteo a basic orientation – main highway here, rail line here, that sort of thing. He didn't say much. As he looked out the window at the flat landscape and miles of plantation pine, I wondered if he regretted his decision to buy.

It only took about ten minutes to get to the plant. The construction crane was back. I bet that caused a stir when it came up the main street of Wausaukee. There was also the usual construction trailer. We stopped at the gate and talked to the guard – Billy. HR had asked if I knew anyone, I emailed Clark who contacted Billy, and here he was, our first employee. March is still cold in Amberg, and I don't know how long he had been standing by the gate, but he had a big smile when he saw us. I introduced him to Matteo and both reached across me to shake hands. It felt like a good start to the day.

When we parked up by the plant, I expected Matteo and the others to walk over to the construction trailer, and I guess the contractors thought the same thing because they came outside and stood by their door. But Matteo waved, then ignored them. He and the other three took some equipment out of the SUV and headed into the partly completed plant. I didn't know what all the equipment was, but I did see a laser level, and a lot of measuring tape as they chalked up the floor and spray painted some markings on the one wall that was up.

I had brought the digital camera I had been assigned. It occurred to me I should be recording this first visit, so I took lots of shots. I also wandered through the place. At the moment it was a huge expanse of concrete, at least two hundred feet square, with a wall on my right – towards where the rail spur would be, and some girders overhead. Snow had fallen in and had mostly been shoveled out, but there were some remnants here and there, and the floor was generally wet.

While Matteo and his managers worked, I saw one of the construction guys come into the plant and approach Matteo. They had a brief conversation, and then the man left, and he and the other workers went into the trailer. Apparently no work would be done today until after Matteo had completed his inspection. I took lots more pictures, including close ups of Matteo and the others as they stood over their equipment. I thought I did a pretty good job of staying out of their way.

Finally Matteo came over to me. "Some things are good here, some things are not. We will probably be here measuring all day. There is no reason for you to stand out here in the cold. I am sure you have other things you need to do."

"Yes, there are people I should talk to." Now what. Do I kiss him in public? Then I thought they know we shared a bed last night, so... I kissed him and went back to my truck. Before I went anywhere, I fired off several emails. This close to the highway I got three bars.

The first email went to Mark. We had arrived, the lodge was in good shape, I would pay his bills and forward any inquiries later in the day. I hoped he was doing well. The next email was to Denise, but before I had finished it, I got a response from Mark. He had arranged with all his vendors to send bills directly to him in Florida, and I should not bother with the inquiries, he was reconsidering his business options. No personal comments. I read the email three times, and each time it said the same thing – good bye. One more man that might have been the one.

I shed no tears. I did what I did. No one forced me to climb into those beds in Bern. Still, I felt some loss.

I texted Denise, my mind half on Mark, half on Matteo, half, I don't know. The message was a bit garbled but I managed to ask if she wanted to have lunch. Then I walked over and talked to Billy. The first thing he did was hug me. That was a first.

"Thank you for this job."

"You aren't too cold?"

"It's just as cold when I work in the woods, only here I get paid more."

"How is Chuck doing without you?"

"He is brushing fire lanes in Nicolet Forest. He can do that on his own. He says you owe him for stealing me, by the way."

"I'll bet he did." This time I hugged Billy. "I hope this works out for you." I walked back to my truck. By the time I got there, Denise had replied. Lunch at twelve, Wausaukee Diner. It was already eleven thirty, so I got moving.

I discovered two surprises in Wausaukee. The first was at my bank. They require a minimum of $500 to keep an account, which meant my usual balance was about five fifty. I hadn't updated my checkbook register for a while, but I thought I could safely take out a hundred dollars. Which I did. When the clerk handed me a receipt, it showed a balance of $10,580. I asked if I could see a manager. He spoke to me like I was a simpleton, and explained a transfer had been made from Mellon Bank in New York two weeks ago. There was no error. The money was mine. Did I want to get a CD?

I thanked him and left. So Elias had sent me a consulting fee. I hoped it didn't get him in trouble with his board. But I had helped with the sale – at least a little. And I thought -- he was one more man that might have been. I would truly miss him – and Frau Klemp too.

Down at the diner I saw not just Denise, but three of her protest group as well. Samantha appeared to still be in Eau Claire, but the rest of the gang was there. I didn't see any signs, and I did see smiles, as each of them stood to hug me.

For the next two hours we talked nonstop. There was some food mixed in there – the usual soup and half-sandwich they serve women at lunch, but that barely interrupted the talk. It would have helped if we had taken turns, but it was all jumbled as we interrupted each other and rushed from one topic to another. I gave a short overview of the negotiations and the current plan for the plant. They wanted to know about my dress and blazer. I described Swiss dress shops. They told me about the reaction to the picture in the Eagle Star. It improved the mood in the town considerably, although they were already getting lots of apologies and best wishes for Samantha. Somehow this led to what one of their grandchildren had said, and then to laughter about the Valentines dinner, then to the upcoming prom at the high school. Like I said, a jumble, but a happy one.

Interspersed in all this was people who stopped by to shake my hand and say "Welcome back." Some of the people I knew, some I didn't. Two wanted to know when hiring would begin. I said that was probably a couple months off yet.

Finally we finished and then struggled over the check. Why are separate checks impossible to get? And don't blame it on computers. Eventually we got enough money together to pay the check and leave a tip. Why make that so hard?

As we left, I asked Denise if we could talk some more. We got into her car. I had to ask – "Are things really as good as they sound?"

"Yes, they are. And this is just between us. Those pink satin dresses? If Mike comes home grumpy or distracted, I just change into that dress and magic happens. I can play him like I used to play clarinet in the band."

"I bet you can."

"There is just one thing." She was serious now. "You know we never solved the problem. Whatever impact that plant has on the water table, dollars to donuts those around it with sand point wells are going to have problems. Maybe there won't be larger consequences. You would know more about that than me, but there are six families that will have problems."

"Those properties are all in Amberg Township. When you talked to the town chairman, what did he say?"

"It's Vern Stevens. Do you know him?"

"He's been into the bar a few times, but he's not a regular."

"Well, I don't know him either, but he seems a decent guy. I'll bet he's a lifelong Republican, but he didn't jump all over me about killing jobs and interfering in business. He seemed aware there might be a problem. I suggest you talk to him."

"Thanks. I will." I made a move toward the door but she stopped me.

"Not so fast. I dished on my love life. Spill yours."

"The CEO's name is Matteo Schweig. He had really good hands, and he loves to waltz. We have been waltzing in bed for a couple weeks. Enough?"

"Enough for now." She smiled and we held hands. "It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back, but I have to tell you, Switzerland is beautiful." With that I got out and went to my truck. I got my phone out and checked the Amberg Township website for Vern's contact information. Wausaukee gets four bars. Must be nice. It only took a second to get an email address. I used it to ask if he would see me tomorrow.

Next stop? My trailer. I picked up my mail, went in to see if the heater was still working and none of my windows had been smashed. Everything seemed fine. I pulled the bills out of my mail, wrote some checks, and put the bills back in my mailbox as I left. The whole thing took maybe fifteen minutes.

I decided to go back to the lodge rather than the plant. I parked in the garage. Inside, I took off my boots and hung up my coat. As I stepped into the great room I saw Hannah come down from upstairs. I guessed she had been resting or sleeping but got up when she heard me come in. How can I describe her? The first word that comes to mind is "pudgy," not the ideal word when describing a young woman. I would guess she was eighteen or nineteen, maybe five six, longer blond hair, not a bad face, but twenty or thirty pounds that changed her looks. She was wearing a shorter dress with long sleeves. It was a darker color in the standard effort to appear slimmer, and she had on three inch heels to help with her legs. She understood her challenge, and she was working on it.

"How did shopping go this morning?" I asked.

"I think I found what we needed. Would you like to see?" I followed her into the kitchen and watched as she pointed out the boxes of breakfast cereal she had selected and then the lunch meats she had in the refrigerator. For a European shopping in a rural American store, she did fine. She had found oatmeal and several versions of cold cereal, none of which had colored marsh mellows or other kid additions. For lunch, she had found colby cheese, which was about as flavorful and exotic as the Wausaukee IGA got. It would do.

"I think you did a fine job. The store here is much smaller than the stores in Bern. I am sure it took you longer to find what you needed."

"Yes, but I enjoyed it. I have never been to the US before." As she was talking, I led us out of the kitchen. I sat in one of the love seats and she sat right next to me. She wanted to talk. She pulled her legs up under her and faced me. She told me about her home town, the foreign exchange student who had helped her with her English, how she got this job, how she really wanted this chance to work in the US and to be part of this new project. Basically I got an hour of enthusiasm. She reminded me of Britney in that way, and I couldn't help but smile.

About midway through a description of the apartment she shared with three other girls, the men came home. All four of them had dirty knees. I got a quick "hello" and then they went upstairs to change. I decided to stay with Hannah.

Fifteen minutes later they were back with clean pants. The younger men brought their laptops and set them on the coffee table we surrounded. There was a lot of talking in German. Hannah got up and poured each man a beer. I noticed she took a little extra time to set the beer in front of the youngest man. He never looked up from his laptop. Having served the men, she brought over two glasses and a can of Miller Lite. She poured half in each glass and handed me mine. "This is good beer for a woman." Had she been sampling while we were out? Obviously she knew nothing about beer. I took a sip of mine and put it down.

Matteo paused in his conversation with his men so he could fill me in. "It is good I brought three engineers with me. The construction has problems. And the design is not right. There are two flows in – the plastic to make the bottles, and of course the water. There are two flows out – one to the trucks and one to the trains. But the flows – I don't know the word." He gestured a crash with his hands.

"Can it be fixed?" Leave it to me to ask the most obvious question.

"They will work on the design tonight. Tomorrow we will talk with the construction boss." He was clearly also working mentally on the problem, but he remembered to be courteous. "How was your day?"

"It went well. May I make a suggestion?"

"Yes."

"You and I should eat in town, tonight and every night. It is good for you to be seen." I could see him hesitating. He was an engineer, and this was an engineering problem he wanted to be part of. But I pushed. "They will have figures for you tomorrow. Tonight let people see you. It is important."

He was willing to accept that. It was already nearing six, and people around here eat at five. I would need to move him along. He had another long conversation with his men, while I took his hand and pulled. Eventually we had coats and boots on and were in my truck. I got us straight down the road to the Wausaukee Diner. Fortunately there were still a couple dozen people eating, and fortunately I knew two of them, so I was able to introduce him. "Hello, this is Doctor Matteo Schweig, the President of Nature's Flavors. He is here to supervise the construction of the bottling plant." I went through that twice, which was enough for everyone in the place to hear. Men stood up and shook his hand, women explained how nice it was to meet him. I got him seated only to have more people come over to say "Hi" and "Welcome." In short, it went as well as I had hoped. He got the reception he deserved, and they got to see he was a real person who ate at the diner like everyone else. I was certain we needed to do this every night.

We ate slowly so he stayed visible as long as possible, but they roll up the sidewalks in Wausaukee around seven, so finally I got him back in my truck. Where next? Amberg Bar. He might as well see it all. I parked and told him this is where I had worked. Inside there were maybe a half dozen customers – and Clark. Now I felt guilty. Because I had quit, he had had to come back from Florida early. But he was pretty good about it. I introduced Matteo and the two got talking about the EU, something Clark knew something about. Don't ask me how or why.

We stayed for a beer, and then I took Matteo to our next stop – my trailer. This was a risk. He had ridden in my shabby truck, seen where I worked, and now I was taking him to where I lived. I was not doing my image any good, but I was determined he see me warts and all. I led him inside, turned up the heat, and left him in the living room to look around. Back in my bedroom I put on my favorite nightgown – red satin and very low in front. He could see all of me – warts, and maybe some beauty – or at least the effort at beauty.

I walked back to the living room, put my arms around his neck, and kissed him until both of us were struggling for breath. "This is me. All of me. Take me or leave me." He took me. We spent the night in the trailer, and nearly knocked it off its foundation.

# Chapter 30

# Problem Solving

Matteo tried to get up at six. I wasn't having it. I crawled on top of him and wrapped my arms around his neck. "Your engineers get you all day. I get you for another half hour."

"Fifteen minutes."

"So now we are negotiating?"

"I think you are negotiating from a position of strength."

"I hope so. Now put your arms around me and talk to me."

"What should I say?"

"You are the one with the Ph.D. You should know what to say." And he did. I kissed his neck, and he talked, and ran his hands all over me. He said all the right things and made all the right moves. He was one clever guy.

Eventually we got up, showered, and dressed. My shower is tiny, but that just meant we stood closer to each other. I walked out into the March cold with a big smile on my face. Every day should start so well.

Back at the lodge, we were in time for breakfast. It was apparent the young engineers had been working most of the night. They had calculations and drawings. They seemed in agreement on what needed to be done. Matteo ate his oatmeal while scrolling through the data and drawings. He was not happy, but he agreed with the work the men had done and thanked them for it. He pulled out his phone and scheduled a meeting with the construction people. The four of them were in the SUV and gone within ten minutes.

That left Hannah and me, sitting in the kitchen sipping coffee.

"You and Doctor Schweig had a good night?" Oops. Did I want to discuss my live life with an eighteen year old employee of my lover? No chance.

"What is the name of the man you like?"

"Theo."

"Do you two talk?"

"No, he is busy."

"He will not always be busy. Do you know what town he is from?"

"No. Find out, and ask him about it. Show interest. Maybe the rest will follow. But – sometimes it does not." Having imparted the wisdom of the ages, I went upstairs to put on fresh clothes and check my email. Matteo wasn't the only one who had work to do.

Stevens had returned my email. He was free early this afternoon, and he gave me directions to his house. Good. In the meantime, I went down to the office and uploaded the pictures I had taken the day before. Most were trash, but some were interesting. I had a good one of Matteo down on one knee inspecting the laser level and pointing at something. There were others with him and the young engineers inspecting some welds. I had no idea if these shots might work their way into a press release, but I thought they might be interesting to the folks back in Bern. I sent half a dozen to Bridget, thinking she might want them for the company newsletter - your boss working hard for you.

I broke for a sandwich around one and then headed down the road to see Vern Stevens. I had no trouble following his directions. He was off a small town road, maybe three miles from 141. He had an old two story farm house, and I guessed about forty acres. The farm house had to be a hundred years old, but he had updated it – newer roof, vinyl siding, new soffit and fascia. It was probably as warm and comfortable as a hundred year old house can be.

I parked in his drive and walked up to the front door. It occurred to me, since he was single, he had lots of rooms, so he probably had an office. We could have our meeting in there, or in the living room, or in the kitchen. The room he chose would tell me how formal he wanted to be. He opened the door, said "Hi" and led me into his office. Okay, this was going to be formal. He even sat behind his desk. I sat opposite. What did he look like? He had to be sixty five, but he still looked to be in shape. He had short hair – gray – and dressed in pants and a sweater. No jeans.

"Have we met?" He asked.

"Yes. I tended bar at the Amberg Pub for nine years. I saw you in there a few times."

"And now you are working for this Swiss company? That's quite a change."

"I would label it miraculous. I work for a great company, and I am not spending my evenings pouring beer. It's a pretty good deal." So, was he trying to embarrass me? If so, let him try. I could deal with it.

"As I understand it," I resumed. "You are a local boy. Like lots of other local boys you left to join the army. Now you are back."

"I did my thirty. My folks were in their eighties by then, and needed some help. I came home, they are now gone, but I am still here."

"I hope you like it here."

"Actually I do. But let's move on from the personal connections and get to why you are here."

"Good. I am here because Denise Wells suggested I talk with you. As she probably told you, she is concerned about the water situation some people who live near the bottling plant will face. Engineers I talk with think the effect on the water table will be minimal, but even a small impact may be a problem for the families that live closest. The biggest impact may fall on those with sand point wells."

"That seems likely, but why would your company care?"

"My company is confused. When I described the problem, they couldn't understand why such wells are even legal. They would not be in Switzerland. They don't think such wells are safe."

"I spent a dozen years stationed in Germany. If you want to see laws, that's the place. But to answer your question – yes, they are legal. Are they safe? We have no way of knowing. There is no requirement you get your well tested. It only has to be tested when you sell your house. Then the county will test for nitrates – basically fertilizer. Until you sell the place you can be drinking fertilizer for twenty years for all anyone knows."

"Could we do something about that?"

"We already have people up there who think you are going to drill them a free well."

"That's not going to happen."

"So what happens?"

"I was hoping you would tell me." He decided this would be a good time to stare at his desk. I could wait. Back straight, hands in lap. I could wait.

"If this were a public utility, we would just put in the new well, and then do an assessment of their property. They would have ten years to pay for the thing, just like municipalities do for sidewalks and such. Bing, bang, done. But a township has no authority to do that. What we could do, if we had some money, would be to administer the funds on behalf of the township. Homeowners apply, they agree to pay half, the fund pays the other half, the town board determines eligibility and need."

"How much would you need?"

"If we are just talking about sand point wells, and – if the plant does as little to the water table as you think – it would just be a small number of older wells and could probably be done for ten thousand a year for five years. But – if that well sucks us dry, all bets are off."

"Let's start with the problem we know about and not the problem that might appear. If I can get the money for such a system, can you get the administrative procedures in place to make this happen?"

"I'll talk to a few people, you talk to a few people, and let's see. I'll get back to you in a couple days."

"Fair enough." At this point we were both standing. "By the way, thank you for your service."

"Thank you for caring about some people's grandparents. That's who lives up there." And that was the end of our meeting.

I drove back to the lodge and found the late afternoon meeting was already in full swing. They were sitting around the coffee table like yesterday, lap tops out, Hannah putting a beer in front of each. When I sat down, she poured me half a can of Miller Lite. I need to teach her about beer. I took a sip to be polite, and then put it down.

The conversation was in German, so I listened for expression, not words. What did I hear? Determination. They knew what they wanted to do and were in complete agreement. I guess that was good. Finally Matteo took the time to fill me in.

"It took us all day, but Janos made a complete list of work that needs to be redone. We expect it to delay completion by three weeks. Liam made a detailed list of the additions we need. That will add another three weeks to the schedule. We were hoping to be done in June. Now we think mid-August. We have given both lists to the contractor. They tell us they will give us a cost estimate tomorrow."

"That doesn't sound very good."

"It is annoying, but we expect such things in projects. It is actually a sign of progress when you can detail your needs. These men did a good job today." He raised his beer to them. They looked like kids who had just won the spelling bee.

"Can I take you away for dinner?"

"Give me another half hour to work out the details, and I will go with you." I agreed and went upstairs to our bedroom. There was really nothing up there I needed, but it was a comfortable place to wait. Good thing it was comfortable because he didn't come for me for an hour. But, these things happen. I made him take off his tie, and then we went down and began our dinner trip.

Wausaukee actually has two places for dinner (three if you count the bowling alley – which I don't). Tonight we would go to the other – Edge of the Woods Supper Club. Dinners were about five bucks more than the diner, but it had a salad bar – and the real attraction –a bar where you could get a brandy old fashioned sweet. It was after six thirty by the time we got there, so I was a little afraid it would be empty, but there were ten couples there, including Rick and what's-her-name, the teacher he dumped me for. I had a great time bringing Doctor Schweig, President of Nature's Flavors of Switzerland (look it up in your geography book Mrs. Rick) to their table and doing the introductions.

But Rick, being the consummate salesman, immediately took over and introduced Matteo around. "Doctor Schweig, I would like you to meet Mr and Mrs somebody," about whom he would say something nice. There would be handshakes, small talk, and then Rick would move on. The guy knew how to work a room. By the time Rick was done, two things were absolutely clear – an important man was in the restaurant, and Matteo was there too.

I took a seat, ordered a drink, and waited. I could see Mrs. Rick looking at me from time to time, but I never looked back. I sipped my drink, sat straight in my Swiss dress, and wished I had worn heels. Still, this was fun. Finally Rick brought Matteo back to me. I am sure he wanted to sit with us, but he knew better. He shook Matteo' hand, welcomed him to Wausaukee as if he were the mayor, said I looked great, and went back to the biggest mistake of his life.

That was fun. How did we follow it up? I introduced Matteo to the concept of "salad bar", he found a pork dish on the menu that wasn't too terrible, and we ate relatively well despite the interruptions from every single couple that stopped on their way out the door and thanked him for coming. Well, if you are a celebrity, you need to put up with some things.

Next stop, Amberg Pub. I explained this is where his workforce was going to come from. He needed to see them. And it appeared there were more of them. It appeared they were talking about his visit the night before, and suddenly, here he was. He and I sat at the bar, had a beer (a real beer), and Matteo talked to people. He was fascinated by logging, and asked all about that.

Almost two hours later, I got him out of there and took him to my trailer. I wanted him to myself. I went with another really nice satin nightie, and I had him in bed in minutes. This was Jessica time, and I used it.

# Chapter 31

# Solutions

We both woke up about six. He was lying there, very still. I was pretty sure he was thinking through the contract negotiations he would be handling later in the morning. I decided to change his agenda. I crawled on top of him, wrapping my arms around his neck. Then, just for fun, I started sliding my hips over his to see if I could light a fire. Once I had all that going, I laid my head on his shoulder and made my pitch.

"I need your help with something. Remember how we talked about sand point wells and how they might be impacted if the big pumps lowered the water table at all?"

"Such wells should be illegal. They are not safe."

"They may not be safe, but they are legal. I talked to the town chairman yesterday, and he thinks it is possible for the township to start a program to replace such wells. He needs some money – ten thousand dollars per year."

"If you like the idea, take it out of your budget."

"What budget?"

"Sorry. I think we train hourly workers better than our directors. Each facility has a twenty five thousand dollar public affairs budget. It supports the local community. We sponsor children's sports, food banks, hospitals, and that sort of thing. As public relations director, the money is you."

"I have a budget."

"Yes, but if you support such a project, be careful what you call it. If you call it "safe water," people will wonder if the water here is bad. You see?"

"Thank you." I gave him a kiss and moved my hips even more.

"I am trying to concentrate."

"Good." I kept one hand at the back of his neck, and started putting the other one in interesting places. Let him concentrate on that. A few minutes later I knew I had his undivided attention. We got to breakfast late.

I didn't see Matteo again until the end of the day. He and the men were off at the plant working through final negotiations.

I sat in the lodge office writing up potential press releases – "Nature's Flavors supports home well upgrades" – or a dozen other versions. I played with lots of words hoping to find the right combination. I couldn't hint that water was bad, since we were selling water. And I couldn't suggest that the changes might be required since the water table might drop. We were doing the right thing, but it had to be absolutely clear we were doing it for the right reasons. By lunch I had filled five pages of Word with starts and stops and possibilities. After lunch I worked on it some more. It was important that I get this right.

Around four the men came back. Once again they had dirty knees and went up to change, but I saw smiles. Hannah started putting out mugs of beer for the men, and once again split a can of lite beer between us. Before I could explain to her that real beer actually had a taste, the men were back down. Matteo joined me on one of the love seats, and I took his hand – it's not like I needed it to drink beer.

How had things gone? Apparently there had been just enough conflict and drama to raise all their testosterone levels. They had won, and were celebrating. Every change they wanted would be done at a good price, and the construction schedule would be observed. If there had been more women in the room, I think we would have all been thrown over a shoulder and carried up to bed. As it was, I knew Matteo would have me back in the trailer early tonight. As for Hannah, Theo was paying much more attention tonight. She decided she need to sit on the arm of his chair in order to put a beer in front of him. Things were moving along.

Where did that leave us? Matteo explained because of the changes in the contract, he would stay an extra two days. I moved his hand so it was against my leg. He and the other men spent an hour summarizing the events of the day, essentially telling the women in the room how they had approached and slayed the dragon, thus saving the village and the corporation. I was fine with that – happy lovers are the best lovers.

Sometime after five I dragged him away. I wanted him out in public again – at least until I had him alone. We did the Wausaukee Diner again, we talked to even more people, then we went to the Amberg bar, and he talked fishing with several guys. We also got our first job requests. He asked that the men give their contact information to me, and I would get back to them in June when we started hiring. On the way to my trailer he explain he had expanded my role. I would do the hiring for the plant. To prepare for that, he would fly me to Bern in June for three days of training. I said I was a slow learner. I might need six or even seven days. He told me I could take some vacation days and be over there a couple weeks if I wanted. I wanted.

Back at my trailer, we had another very good night.

That day set the pattern for the last six days Matteo had with us. He would go off to the plant to monitor the construction. I would follow some days and take pictures of the progress – and of his involvement (Bridgett had loved the earlier shots I had sent her). I stayed in touch with Denise and with Vern Stevens. This new plan to deal with sand point wells was going to take some work, but everyone agreed with the general direction. I promised ten thousand a year, and that took the idea from concept to reality. Now we just had to get the town council to approve, and good things would start happening.

At four we met for beers and updates. At five I took Matteo to one restaurant after another. Each day he talked with more people. Each night we went to the Amberg bar, and each night there were more men there – and a couple women – and many of them wanted me to have their contact information. I was going to be a very busy HR lady.

Nights we spent in my trailer, where I was very busy and very happy.

For Matteo' final night we decided to stay at the lodge and have a celebration. Liam would be leaving with Matteo. Janos would be taking over as project director, and ultimately would be the plant manager. He was thirty five or six, and a big man -- six two or three, and an athlete. One time Matteo had told me Janos had been given a tryout with the Swiss Olympic soccer team and had practiced with them for a week. I believed it. We didn't have much free time, but when we did, Janos went out for a run. And I mean run – not jog – and he would be gone for over an hour. Theo, much to the delight of Hannah, would also be staying, to assist with the project and then to be operations director in the plant. I would guess his age as thirty. He was fairly small and thin and wore glasses, but his most distinguishing feature was his smile – he always had one. I could see why Hannah liked him. He was off on an adventure just like her. The first time in the US, the first time with this kind of opportunity. He was having a great time.

Janos immediately stepped into his new leadership role by contacting the Swensons about the evening banquet, getting a cake from somewhere, and planning for music after dinner.

Every bit of the evening went well. Hannah and I both dressed up. She also had a ball gown along, so that is what we wore, both of us showing lots of chest and enjoying the smiles we got from our men. Dinner was great, Mr. Swenson poured wine as well as beer, and both were consumed in substantial quantities, and after having an obligatory piece of cake, we went out to the great room and waltzed to a CD that Hannah had brought along. With four men and just two women, Hannah and I made sure each man had several dances, but I gave a few more to Matteo, and Hannah gave a lot more to Theo. But I think everyone had fun.

Eventually I was able to get Matteo upstairs. I clung to him all night. In the morning I was still lying on his chest, refusing to let him up. He whispered lots of things in my ear, and made some pretty interesting promises for my trip to Bern in June, and finally I let him up long enough for us to shower. My hope was he would always remember that shower.

The nice thing about a private plane is they will wait for you. But sooner or later, even with a beautiful lady in your arms (me), you need to pack up, get in the rented SUV, and drive off. And he did. I stood and watched until he disappeared. Was I stuck on the guy? Yup.

# Chapter 32

# After Matteo

Matteo was barely out of sight when Hannah came up to me – could she talk to me – in her room. Okay. What was this about? No surprise, it was about Theo. He had danced with her last night. Yes, I noticed. He had said nice things. He had held her close. He seemed to be interested in her. Okay. So? She wanted more dancing. And she wanted us to wear our gowns again. She was sure she looked good in that dress, and if she danced with him, one thing would lead to another. It usually did, I thought. But she was less certain. She wanted me to help her set him up. Hmm. Well, who was I to stand in the way of young love. I agreed. We would dress for dinner, and I would suggest we dance.

That taken care of, I went downstairs. Janos wanted to know my plans for the day. Technically he was now my manager. It was going to take me some time to remember to report to him, but I knew I should. I explained I had some people in town to meet over the sand point well problem. He asked that I also come to the plant to take some pictures of their progress and look over the revised plan. Made sense.

And so my day was defined. I talked on the phone with Vern Stevens, worked on the press releases for the program – whenever there actually was a program – and had lunch with Denise and two other ladies from our protest group. That was becoming a regular event, and I liked it.

After lunch I drove up to the plant. There were now girders across the entire plant, and more concrete had been poured. You could now see the final shape of the building. Jonas stood by me and suggested which shots to take, and even asked me to retake a couple after he saw how some of the shots came out. I wasn't used to being ordered around quite so much, but he was newly in charge, and I could imagine he was feeling some pressure to be successful as the new manager.

Four o'clock rolled around and we drove back to the lodge. It took me a minute, but I saw that the furniture in the great room had been rearranged. There was now a love seat on each side of the coffee table. Hannah? Was this part of her plan to get next to Theo? Apparently, since as soon as the men had changed pants and came back down, she brought us beers and then sat next to Theo. That left me to sit next to Janos. Two couples. Hmm.

Janos sipped his beer, but he ran this session as a real meeting. He asked each of us to report in turn. Hannah explained some shopping she had done and some correspondence that had come in. Theo explained how some new excavations were coming. I explained the conversations I was having over the wells. It was more formal than we were used to, but Jonas was the new leader, and if he wanted formal, well, we were formal. However I did notice that Hannah and Theo's hands were touching, and then they were holding hands. Good for them. On my side of the table, Jonas had one of his hands by his side, which just happened to be up against my leg. Hmm.

The last report completed, Hannah announced that the ladies needed to go upstairs to change for dinner. As the two of us climbed the stairs, Hannah asked that I come to her room and help her once I was dressed. So that is what I did. I put on my green off-the-shoulder dress, and arranged it as high as it would go. I did a little work on my hair, touched up my makeup, put on heels, and went to Hannah's room.

She needed help with a corset. Like I said, she was easily twenty pounds overweight. This thing would take a couple inches off her waist, and probably push up her breasts in the process. She thought it would help. I worked on the laces. She wanted it tighter, no matter how hard I pulled. Why take two inches off your waist when you can take off four? I pulled, she gave up breathing, and we got it done and her dress on. The dress was something she had obviously thought about carefully. It was floor-length so it hid the heaviness in her legs. It was a light yellow satin and cut low enough that her breasts seemed perched on the edge of a satin precipice. In candlelight there would be a glow, and any man would be overwhelmed. I hoped Theo was ready for her, because she was definitely ready for him. I helped with her hair and makeup, and said lots of reassuring things. If this gown didn't work on Theo, she had no plan B.

Dinner was quite a show. I sat in my usual seat, and Janos took over the fish seat. Hannah and Theo sat opposite each other. Mrs. Swanson (or Hannah) had set the lights low, so mostly we ate by candlelight. Hannah never let up on Theo. She wanted to learn about his town, about what he had done there, his favorite places, all of which she found fascinating and was eager to see for herself. Theo talked with her, looking into her eyes while also staring at her chest. If she had swung a bright object in front of him, she would have had him hypnotized in seconds.

Janos and I looked at each other periodically and smiled. We let the evening take its course.

After dinner I suggested we dance, and surprise, surprise, Hannah had a waltz CD all ready to go. So we danced. I danced with Janos, of course, but I mostly paid attention to the other couple. I was wondering how many dances it would take before she took him upstairs. It turned out to be four. They were whispering to each other near the end of the dance, and then she was holding him by the hand and leading the way up to her room. Both were smiling, and so cute about it, I felt like cheering her on.

Janos said we should keep dancing, so they didn't feel self-conscious. Okay. We danced. He was very good – and strong. I could feel that as we danced. In one of the turns he had actually lifted me off the floor. And each dance his hand moved farther across my back, and the hand holding mine was brought in closer to our bodies. Finally it was down touching my breast, while his other hand was sliding down my waist.

"I don't think this is the proper waltz position," I said. Meanwhile, we had stopped covering as much ground, and in fact gradually just came to a complete stop where we just swayed from side to side. "What do you call this dance?"

Instead of answering me, he leaned me back and kissed me.

"Don't do that." I took my hand from his and put it on his shoulder to push him away. He let me. There was no struggle. But now he put his other hand behind my back and held me.

"We will be together many nights."

"Stop this. You just want to say you made love to the boss's woman."

"I am your boss now."

"That doesn't mean you get to inherit me." As I said that, I realized that's exactly how I moved from Elias to Matteo. Wrong thought to have at this time and in this position. "I want you to let me go."

"No you don't." He bent me back again and kissed me. I slapped him.

"Don't do that. Next time I will use my fist, and you can spend tomorrow explaining your bruises."

"Kissing you is worth a few bruises." There's a line I had never heard before. Meanwhile, one hand was across my back, and another was on my ass. This was going nowhere good.

"I want you to let me go."

"I will if you dance one more waltz with me." Is everything a negotiation with these guys?

"No."

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes." He let me go, but rather than lift his hands, he slid them across my ass as he released me. He was looking directly into my eyes as he did so, looking for a reaction. I looked back, not showing any feelings at all. When his hand were clear, I stepped back and then walked around him, up the stairs, and to my room. I closed and locked the door.

It occurred to me he was probably thinking, okay, lost round one, but there will be more rounds and I will have her before the fourth. Given my poor history with saying "no," he would probably have me by round three. He danced well and knew where to put his hands. I needed to avoid any future rounds.

I hung up my green gown and put on the long satin nightgown from Elias' place. It would keep my feet warm and would help me think of Bern. I slid into bed and eventually fell asleep.

Around four I heard a knock on my door. Was Jonas looking for some late night action? I didn't answer. I heard the knock again, and this time Hannah's voice. "Jessica? Are you awake?"

I opened the door and she was in my room like a shot. She jumped into my bed and pulled the covers up. "Jessica, I am a woman now." Just what I needed - pillow talk with a love sick teenager. I closed and locked the door and got into bed with her. I could see she was still wearing her corset, but she had changed to a satin gown like mine, except it was stretched pretty tight across her hips. The minute I was in bed she lay her head next to mine and put an arm across me.

"Did he treat you well?" Our heads were close, and we were whispering.

"Oh yes. He was very tender. But also strong – at the right time." Okay, at least he had the right skills. She was off to a good start.

"Did he talk to you?"

"Yes. He told me he loved me. And he said I had great breasts." That was probably the one advantage "pudgy" girls had – larger breasts.

"I am glad it went well for you."

"Yes, it was marvelous." She had turned in towards me and had her head against my shoulder. She was yawning. Her hand came up, settled on my breast, and she was asleep. I stroked her hair. Young one, I hope it goes well for you, but men being men, it will not surprise me if two or three weeks from now you are sleeping with me and crying your heart out. I hope you enjoy what love you have, while you have it. Then I went to sleep too.

Around six she was up and out of bed. "I am late to make breakfast. I should get dressed, but I don't want to be late. I guess I will go down like this." Oh to be eighteen and so transparent. To want to show your body and the success you had the night before.

I rolled over for another half hour and then showered and dressed in my usual business attire – a day dress with my blazer. Still, I waited until nearly the end of breakfast. I wanted Hannah and Theo to have some time together - and – I wanted less time with Janos. I went down to the kitchen and saw pretty much what I had expected. Hannah was parading around in her nightie, and touching Theo every chance she got – whether it was to give him coffee, or take his empty oatmeal bowl. If he was regretting last night, I didn't see it. Good.

Janos was sitting there taking this all in. I tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to come with me. I led him into the office and closed the door. He backed me against a wall and reached inside my blazer to put his hands around my waist – his thumbs in front of me and his fingers behind. It was like he was positioned to lift me off the ground and put me someplace.

I put my fingers over his lips and said, "Hold me if you want, but I need you to listen. Hannah is in love. Theo is her first man. I don't know if things will work out, but I want you to do the right thing. I know you are an engineer. What I don't know is if you are a good man." I kept my fingers on his lips.

"A good man will not interfere. A good man will not criticize Hannah, or criticize her relationship with Theo. A good man will let them work out things on their own. You won't comment or make jokes. You will respect them and their choices. You will enjoy their happiness, if that is what they find."

"Yes, you are right. They are away from home, they only have each other. They should be together if that is what they wish." Oh. I guess I hadn't expected that.

"Good." I wasn't sure what else to say. He continued to hold me around the waist. I looked up at him. Even in my heels he was five of six inches taller than me. He had deep blue eyes.

"And you? You are also alone."

"I have a man."

"He is in Switzerland. You are here." His eyes never left mine. His hands never let go of my waist. My hands wandered off and ended up on the back of his neck.

"He is still my man."

"You are here." Was he moving closer to me, or was I moving closer to him?

"I can't stay here. With you."

"You are here. With me." He was slowly lifting me up. Or was I just pulling myself onto my toes?

"Today I will be moving back to my home."

"Why do that? It will be inconvenient for you."

"You know why I will do it. I will come here for meetings, and even some of the dinners. But I will not sleep here. And if you are smart, you will be glad to hear that. You will have a much longer career at this company if I am not here."

"You talk about Hannah's happiness, but what about yours?"

"I have a man."

"He is there, I am here. We could be very happy."

"It's time for me to go. Let me go."

And he did. I was tempted to give him a final kiss, but I controlled myself. He dropped his hands from my waist, but stayed right in front of me, watching my face. I remembered to take my hands down, and then I slid to the side and left the room. He went off with Theo to the plant, and I went upstairs to pack. I have a lot more clothes these days, and it took all morning to get things in bags and in my truck. But it was absolutely the right move. My place was in my trailer.

# Chapter 33

# Finishing the Plant

It took five months to finish the plant. What happened from the day I moved out of the lodge until the day of the dedication? Quite a few things.

The first was us just getting from day to day. Janos may have had wandering hands, but he was a pretty good manager. He had a schedule sheet posted in the office in the lodge, and later in the office in the plant – when we had an office with a wall. He kept us focused, and he kept us succeeding. We had daily meetings at the lodge until July, and then we started using the offices at the plant. There were problems, but no panics. The plant got built and the machines got installed.

For my part, I wanted to get that sand-point well initiative completed. I got the impression the town board liked to meet, just to meet. Every member was retired, and none seemed to have other calls on their time. It got so I went to each of their homes to run through various drafts of the initiative. Somewhere in those weeks we started calling this the "Modern Plumbing Initiative." It sounded like we were upgrading outhouses, but it involved financial support for better wells, and people went with that. It took two months, but I finally got them to make the process official. I was happy to write that first check, and even happier when the first three families used the program. Two were near the company wells, but one was near the south end of the township and just had a bad well.

During April there were also lots of little things. I bought a small Toyota SUV down in Green Bay. I read all the car websites, estimated the value of my truck, read reviews of small SUVs and bought a car coming off a three year lease. The only unpleasant part was financing. I had been a bartender for nine years and a PR director for two months. Guess which had more influence on my credit rating? I ended up paying far too much interest, but I lived in the hope I would pay it off early.

I also fixed up my trailer – new carpeting in the living room, new flooring in the kitchen, and a dead bolt lock for the front door. I left the back door nailed shut. I know that might not be safe in a fire, but I had worries other than fire.

Also in April was Easter. I invited the girls up, and they not only were able to come, but both of them brought their men up with them. These were the same two men they had been seeing in December. So, together for four months? At that age, that is some kind of milestone. And the fact they were showing these men their home – a trailer – said lots about how seriously they were taking these men.

As always, we spent much of the day cooking, but talk was nonstop. At one point they started asking about the dress I had worn in the Bern photo that had been in the paper. So I took the girls back into my bedroom and showed it to them. They immediately had to try on that gown and my other blue ball gown. We played a bit with their hair and makeup, and they put on heels, and then went back to show the boys. They were quickly teasing the boys, doing modeling walks in front of them, then sitting on their laps and practically pushing their favors in the boys' faces. I got them all standing up and took lots of pictures. Then Bridget's boy asked if she needed help with her zipper. She looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I smiled and nodded. Both girls took their boys by the hand and led them back to the bedrooms. They were gone about forty five minutes and came back with very flushed faces.

I got dinner on the table. Later, as the girls left, they both whispered "Thanks Mom." The boys both hugged me and thanked me – for the dinner. I think we are getting closer to marriage and grandchildren. At least I hope so.

May was not so good. I had been leaving the lodge every night after our afternoon meeting, but one night Hannah pulled me aside and begged me to stay for dinner. She was having trouble with Theo. That was pretty obvious as I watched them at dinner. They sat across from each other, but said little, and the looks they gave each other showed anger and general unhappiness. Janos and I maintained some conversation as we ate, but it was not a good meal. The agony was finally over around nine, but Hannah kept hold of my hand and led me up to her room. She wanted to talk.

Mostly it seemed she wanted to cry. She was pretty upset. While she started this conversation she was also getting undressed. Apparently we were going to have a sleepover. Okay. I took off my dress and got into her bed wearing my slip. She put on a satin nightgown. If it was the same one, there was now a little more room around the hips. She was losing weight. Good for her.

Once under the covers, I got an earful. He was about to take vacation back in Bern. He was taunting her about seeing his old girlfriend. He wasn't being very nice. As she's repeating his comments, she's crying all over my shoulder. I have two daughters, so I have had wet shoulders before. I listened, stroked her hair, and let her talk herself out. She wasn't asking me to solve her problems. She just wanted to share her feelings. Eventually we both fell asleep.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, there was a knock on her door. I barely heard it, but Hannah was up in a flash. Had she been expecting it? She opened the door to Theo and they both stood in the doorway whispering. She was crying but also challenging him, and he was apologizing and hugging her. Eventually he took her hand and she let him lead her to his room.

The second they were out of the doorway, Janos was through it and into my bed. "We need to talk," he said. He was just wearing his pajama bottoms, and he was lying maybe six inches away from me. Talk? Really? But he gave it a good effort, explaining what Theo had been doing, and why that was bad, but he thought that would stop... Basically it was lots of words while his hand reached out and started stroking my side. He kept talking, his hand kept moving, and I didn't have the sense to throw him out of bed.

Somewhere in the middle of "Theo needs to treat her better..." He kissed me. He leaned over me, one hand now behind my head, this other hand still stroking my side, his knee now between my legs. He kept talking softly, gently, about how beautiful I was, how great I felt, how much he liked being near me... He kissed me, and things progressed from there. He was good. He didn't rush me, he said all the right things at all the right times, his hands hit all the right places, and well, we made love. In fact we spent the rest of the night in each other's arms, and I liked every minute of it.

Then morning came and I realized I had just betrayed the man I loved. I was overwhelmed by that idea. We heard Theo and Hannah go downstairs to make breakfast. Janos held me and kissed me, and kept the spirit alive, but I was quickly regretting what I had done, no matter how good it had felt.

And things kept getting worse. About ten minutes after Theo and Hannah went down, Janos got me out of bed and started leading me down to breakfast. I wanted to get dressed first, but no, he wanted us to go down as we were – him in pajama bottoms and me in a slip that was now clinging to my body. But he didn't ask, he just put a hand on my ass and basically herded me out of the room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. I had no doubt what he was doing. I was a trophy. He had scored the winning goal, and he was showing me off – see, I finally had her last night. We took two chairs at the table. He pulled his close and kept a hand on me – my hips, my ass, my waist, once even my breast. The message was clear – yes I had her, and I'm going to have her again – whenever I want. She's mine now.

Hannah brought us oatmeal and smiled at me. I smiled back. I was glad she was happy again. As for me, things were not so good. Janos now wanted me to get up and get him another cup of coffee every two minutes. Did he want the coffee? No, he wanted to show I was now his servant. Why did I do it? I wasn't even thinking about him – I was thinking about Matteo. Had I messed that up? Why had I been so stupid? What was wrong with me? I brought another coffee, Janos patted my ass, and I wondered why I had let this happen.

Three coffees down, he turned to Theo and said, "I think we can start work forty five minutes late today." Then he looked at me and smiled, as if it were not perfectly clear what he had in mind. His intentions made public, he took my hand and led me back upstairs, this time to his room. He put me in his bed and took me again. This was my time to argue or plead, but I didn't do either. I lay there and let him take me. But once he was in me, he wanted to talk.

"Put your arms around me." I had let my arms lie on either side of me. Now I put them around his back. "When I ask you to stay for dinner, you will stay. You will change into a nicer dress, and you will sit at the table and smile at me. After dinner, you will come up to my room and wait in my bed for me. You will bring several dresses from your home and put them in my closet. You will put other clothes you need in a drawer in my dresser." As he was saying this, his face was four inches from mine. I looked in to his deep blue eyes and knew this was not a request. He had taken my measure and knew he now owned me. I didn't see love in his face, or even pleasure. I saw command. He had achieved what he wanted. This was the face I would see at the office every day now, during our meetings, over dinner, in his bedroom. He owned me.

Having defined our future together, he finished with me. He pushed himself deep inside me again and again. When he finally climaxed I felt a burning inside me. I couldn't help myself. I kissed him and wrapped my arms around him tighter. He stayed on his knees and elbows, watching me.

When I had caught my breath, I told him, "You can get any of the local girls. Go into town any Saturday. Every bank teller, store clerk, or waitress would sell her soul for a date with you." This was his chance to say "But I'd rather have you." Instead, he said, "I may do that." He wasn't going to give me an inch. He took me, he had me, I was his.

That morning, when he finished with me, he got up to shower and dress. I started to get up but he told me to say in bed. I would be spending the morning with Hannah. Now I was half-maid too? Was I to do his laundry? He didn't say. He showered, shaved, dressed in his suit, knotted his tie and combed his hair – very professional. When he was done he took my wrist and led me out of bed and out to the landing. Theo and Hannah were already there. Hannah and I both had rumpled hair, and night dresses sticking to our bodies. We had been well and truly fucked. We stood next to each other, on exhibit, looking at our lords and masters. Our men, perfectly dressed, kissed us and then left to conquer the corporate dragons.

When they were gone, Hannah took my hand and pulled me into her bed. She lay facing me, and told me all about how good Theo was now being to her. He didn't even have a girlfriend in Bern, that had just been a lie, etc. Then she told me how happy she was to see me and Janos together. Was he good in bed? When I didn't answer, she just kept talking. We now worked together, lived together, and had men together. "Now we are sisters." And she kissed me. She looked at me, waiting for a response.

I said, "Yes, we are sisters." And I kissed her. We arranged our arms so we could hold each other, we shared a long kiss, and then we laid our heads down. She went to sleep. Sisters. It could go that way if I let it. Would I? No.

I got up, dressed, and went back to my trailer. I showered, changed, drove to Wausaukee to get groceries. This was my home. This was where I would eat and sleep. Midafternoon I drove to the plant and did some work in my office. I processed job applications and interviewed three people – two women and a man. I liked all three (I had known two of them since grade school), and I hired all three. Five o'clock came and I went home to my trailer. I never went back to the lodge unless Matteo was there.

Over the next few days Janos put the moves on me in my office, but I held him off. After the third attempt, I emailed him a copy of the company sexual harassment policy. He still put a hand on me anytime we were close, but he stopped coming into my office.

Early in June I flew to Bern. I got a passport – American this time – and flew commercial. Since this was my first time in airports, it was confusing and exciting, and I was proud of myself for managing the long flight. The HR training actually did take three days. Of course no one is an expert in three days, but that did give them time to show me the hiring rules, take me through the HRIT system, and show me where to find manual after manual online. I had spent the last month reading up to be ready for the training, and I knew I would be reading for months back in Amberg.

But, first I was due some vacation. I took two weeks. Matteo took several days off too, and we went on hikes in the Alps. His wife had fired his last maid. The new one wore at least a size fourteen, so Matteo's wife must have thought he would be safe around her. The maid packed us a lunch and we went up into the mountains. We took trails up through high meadows. I kept stopping to look at the views – and to rest. It was hard hiking. By noon Matteo could see I needed a rest, and we found some place in a meadow to sit and eat. I had no interest in eating. I waited for him to finish, and then I asked him to lie down. I lay alongside him. I had found a great place to put my head – just between his shoulder and his chest. I put one arm over his chest, and he put an arm over my back, and we laid that way while we rested. What made the position magic was that I stared out at the Alps while lying on his cheat. So as he breathed, my head rose and fell, and the Alps went up and down, up and down, up and down.

I could not believe how beautiful that was. On the third day we did that, I was overcome. I crawled up to his face and kissed him, then I lowered my head next to his ear and said, "You are so great to me." And then I started crying. Don't ask me why. I held his shoulders like I might fall off the mountain. He put both arms across my back and stroked my hair. I cried, and then I felt ridiculous, so I started laughing, and I had to apologize. "Forgive me. It's just a girl thing." He stroked my hair and said "I love you." And of course that just started me crying again. That was an afternoon I will never forget.

On days when he worked, I went in to town with him some days and went shopping, other days I slept late and waited for him at home. Many nights we ate at nice restaurants, but the real treat was dancing. He bought me a new ball gown – strapless - and we waltzed night after night. After each dance we would stop to catch our breath, and I would be standing there, my chest heaving in this satin gown, and he would stand smiling, looking at my face, and at my chest. I loved that look. To know I was beautiful in his eyes. He held me, he danced with me, he looked at me with love. I am so grateful someone invented the waltz.

Nights were phenomenal. I let him get some sleep, but it had been three months since we had last made love. I told him he owed me. He promised to pay me back with interest, and I think he did. Finally my seventeen days in paradise were over, and I was back on a plane. I would see him in early August. Until then, I had work to do.

I needed to hire more workers for the plant. Back from Bern, I downloaded a lot of software, and sat for weeks talking to people. They had not finished building the plant and installing all the machines, but the front offices were done enough so we at least had a table and chairs we could sit in to talk. I think I was more nervous than any of the applicants. I was the one who gave them a job, so if they screwed up, I must have screwed up in hiring them. At least that's the way it felt to me. We had a math test we gave them, a drug test, and reference checks, but mostly it was me sitting and talking with them and trying to see if they fit. I talked to nearly a hundred men and women and ended up hiring nearly equal numbers of each – twelve men and ten women. Each day I walked through the plant I hoped I had made the right decisions.

We dedicated the plant August 15. By then it had been running for two weeks, and we had been shipping by both truck and rail. There were plenty of glitches along the way, but overall, our local engineers and the folks back in Bern were pretty happy with how things went. Matteo came back for the dedication. He spent one day with his staff reviewing every machine and every rivet in that plant, but aside from two adjustments he asked for, he was satisfied.

The next day was the big event. I had been working on the dedication for weeks, and had been given plenty of help from Bern. They gave me tapes of other dedications, and even process manuals showing how to do dedications step by step. They were a great help, but still I was the one who had to get out all the invitations, make the calls, write the agenda, and prepare our people for a ceremony and a tour. Hannah was a big help all the way, but ultimately, this event was my responsibility, and I felt the weight.

The event was really two events. First, we would have a ceremony by invitation. This was for news media and elected officials. Matteo would talk, and then there would be a guided tour. Following that ceremony, there would be an open house and tour for the general public.

Matteo was great at the ceremony. He talked about the quality workmanship of the contractors, the efforts of the twenty two men and women we had hired to operate the plant, the support of the local community, the benefit to the world of this new source of water. He spoke for about ten minutes, and then let me have the mic.

My turn. We had a huge screen in the room and I used it to show some pictures – of Matteo on his hands and knees back in March when he was first reviewing the plant. Here's what I had to say:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I think all of us who work here share Doctor Schweig's appreciation to the local community for its support. A number of local contractors were instrumental in completing this project, and of course our local workers produce a quality product every day. But I think we owe a lot to Dr. Schweig. This is not a company president who sits in a board room. This is a company president who takes personal responsibility for quality. (I was showing more pictures of him on ladders and under machines.) Later today you will be able to take a tour of the plant and look at the machines that will be producing your water. You should know they were all designed by Dr. Schweig, for which he holds thirty seven patents. What I am saying to you is this... (at this point I held up a bottle of water) every bottle that comes out of this plant names its source – Amberg, Wisconsin. People drinking the water may not know where Amberg is, but they will know it is the source of the finest, purest water – water that will make you proud to say you are from Marinette County."

That got a pretty good round of applause. Before it could die, Hannah and I led the people out on the plant tour, with Matteo along, fielding questions.

By the end of the day, we were convinced the ceremony had been a great success. It was time to celebrate. The night before, I had made Matteo make the rounds of the Wausaukee Diner, the Amberg Bar, and my trailer (he was a hit in all three), but this night we decided he should be with his staff – the Germans, and the twenty two employees (and spouses) from the plant. We filled the lodge, but with the help of the Swansons we fed everyone and got them enough liquor to feel good, but not so good they were a danger on the highway. Every person in that room was proud of what they had accomplished getting that plant in operation. Matteo spoke with each person in the room and built on that pride. It was quite a night.

Later, Matteo and I had our own celebration up in his room. We were both exhausted, but he wanted to talk.

"I would like to offer you a position in Bern. You were marvelous today – the planning, the public speaking, the selection of the employees. You have done so well here, we could use you in our corporate offices."

"The only place I would be useful in Bern would be in your bed. I know what to say to these people, because I know what they want to hear. I know nothing of the Swiss. I don't speak a word of German. I would get lost crossing a street. No, I stay here."

"Then I will get you there another way. In October we have a four week training course in machine maintenance. I will say you need the course to improve your skills in hiring employees."

"Four weeks?"

"Four weeks, with waltzes every night."

"Sign me up." And that is how we resolved at least the initial stages of our long-distance romance. It was not perfect, but four weeks of waltzes is about as close to Heaven as this girl can get.

Beyond those events, I think I should close with two changes in my life. The first involved the protest group. Somehow we got in the habit of having lunch at the diner every Wednesday at noon, the same time they used to protest. Lunch always took at least two hours. I told them a little bit about the plant, and they had questions about the pumping and the water table – no effect so far – but mostly we talked about family – kids, grandkids, events in town, old friends. Two hours sped by.

Every month or two Denise would have a "pink night." She had a huge sectional sofa that wrapped around three walls of her basement and a huge TV. We would put on our pink dresses (Marsha wore a pink sweater), microwave bag after bag of popcorn, go through bottle after bottle of wine, and laugh at two or three romantic comedies. Half the time Denise would bring down blankets and we just slept where we were.

It took me several months to feel really comfortable with these women, I guess because I had never had female friends before. Finally I made that connection, and I almost cried. For the first time in my life, I had friends. I can't tell you how good that felt.

The other change happened at the bar. Clark had found a replacement for me – a woman in her early thirties, divorced, but a good talker. Saturday nights he took a place at the end of the bar and helped her if she had questions or got busy. Otherwise, he sat at the bar. I started sitting on the next stool. We talked. Mostly it was Packers. Even if they weren't playing, there was the draft, and trades. And sometimes he would talk about the old days. He had been at the Ice Bowl, and he could really make you feel every minute of those final plays. Eat ice, Cowboys. Was he my father? I don't know. I may never know. But he was a connection to my mother, he was a nice man, and he had been to the Ice Bowl. So Saturday nights I sat, sipped a beer, and talked with him. It felt good.

So where did that leave me? I was in love with a man in Switzerland, nine hours away. Not an ideal love life. But I had a good job, I had friends, and I had a guy who would talk to me about the Packers. Life's highway had taken lots of bends to get me to this new road, but I liked it. All I all, I think I had it pretty good.

