Day 1

Union Station was bustling. I heard the All Aboard call and hustled down the platform to my car. I lugged my suitcase through the narrow passageway and up to my stateroom, boy wasn't that an exaggeration, and stuffed it into the little closet. The room wasn't much but it would be home for the next fifty hours, if everything ran smoothly. I really didn't expect it to. I figured we'd be late arriving and I didn't give a damn how late we were.

I didn't care because I didn't have anywhere I needed to be or any time I needed to be there. I had worked all my life, mostly helping others get rich. A few years ago, I decided to make a go for myself. I started a web company, built it up, hired a few dozen people, built it bigger and started to pull some market share, just enough to be noticed, from the big boys. I made some inquiries about going public that got back to them. The IPO business is a small group of powerful people and they all know each other.

One of the big boys made me an offer I couldn't refuse. At first, I was worried about my employees. What if Macro Behemoth bought my baby just to close it down? I got assurances that the employees would keep their jobs. So I sold the company, lock, stock, and web design to Macro Behemoth, and a covenant not to compete, for an unseemly wad of cash.

Here I was in Seattle with more money in the bank than I could spend in three lifetimes and absolutely no responsibilities. And because of the covenant I couldn't even work in the computer industry. I'd always wanted to see the US, but never had the time. Now I had time and money. I made reservations to travel on the Empire Builder from Seattle to Chicago, then the California Zephyr from Chicago back to San Francisco.

The trip from Seattle was a novelty since it was the first time I'd ridden a train for more than an hour or so. The Empire Builder is the northernmost train route in the US and travels through some beautiful parts of America. It also goes through some of the loneliest - Montana, North Dakota. When a town like Grand Forks is a welcome diversion to break the monotony you know you're in the backwater of the world.

I'd spent a couple days in Chicago, wandering around downtown, seeing the Chicago Art Institute, eating dinner at Charlie Trotter's, which I could now afford. It had been a fun lark but, frankly, I was starting to look forward to getting home. I thought about changing my mind and getting on a plane. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought that sense of hurry was what was wrong. I needed to be able to relax and enjoy. And I would never have met Chloe.

After the train lurched out of the Chicago station, I went up to the observation car and grabbed a choice seat. I'd learned to be early to the car if you wanted good seats. The car quickly filled up.

I was sitting in an individual swivel seat with an empty one next to me. Most of the rest of the seats were filled. I heard a soft feminine voice from over my shoulder, "Is this seat taken?"

I looked back to see a striking young woman. I took in her beauty in a glance. She had shoulder length black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a ton of freckles. It was an unusual combination; a young Elizabeth Taylor and an Irish girl-next-door combined. "No, nobody is sitting here," I answered.

She sat down as I turned to look back out the window. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. I couldn't help it; she was remarkable and drew my attention to her like steel to a lodestone. I tried to guess her age; anywhere from sixteen to twenty-two. She was wearing tight jeans and a tight belly shirt. I think the belly shirt was invented by a sadist to make fat girls objects of scorn. She, however, looked good in it. I realized that she had a killer body to go with her exotic looks. She was beautiful enough to be intimidating. Six weeks before, I probably would have been intimidated. But I was still slightly euphoric with my good fortune. It didn't occur to me to be tongue tied.

I've noticed that many people, including me usually, act strangely around attractive people of the opposite sex. Like trying to be cute, or suave, or funny, or they get tongue tied. All those add up to be being fake, not being themselves. But I was, for once, completely unconcerned and myself.

So, we started talking. At first, she was closed up. But then she uncrossed her arms and eventually she turned her swivel chair towards mine. Soon, she was chatting away. I found out she was in high school; she had been visiting relatives outside of Chicago. She was a little vague as to why, during the school year, she was traveling by train instead of plane, and why the visit at all. There was something she wasn't saying, but I let it go rather than push and maybe turn her off. I also was able to look a little closer. I noted that she didn't appear to be wearing anything under that shirt. If so, she had an amazing rack. I watched, surreptitiously, and saw that her tits moved naturally as she laughed. No medical enhancement there. 'Wow, ' I thought.

Since she was happy and chattering away I decided that manners demanded I introduce myself, "I'm Mike."

"Chloe," she answered.

"I've never met a woman named Chloe... seen the name of course, but never met anyone."

"I hate it. Nobody ever spells it right," she said disgusted.

"I hated my name too. I think everyone hates their name to some degree. I mean, we all have some name that we wish was ours."

"I suppose," she said.

Again, I noted the sadness just below the surface. I changed the subject, "I'm glad I met you. I rode the train from Seattle and it can get a little boring without someone to talk to."

She thought for a second, "Yeah, me too. You're kind of cool for a guy who's..."

"Old?" I ventured.

"Not old, older," she corrected me.

I dipped my head, "Thank you from the old guy."

"Okay, I was going to say old. But I didn't mean it that way."

I laughed and she joined me. I was a little surprised how easily Chloe and I had hit it off, what with most teens being so stand offish. I guessed that she was a little worried to be traveling alone and a friendly face was welcome.

The train was pulling out of Princeton, Illinois, after a quick stop, when the steward came through the car taking dinner reservations. "Would you care to join me?" I asked.

She did a quick look at the steward and back at me. I could see the decision hanging in the balance. She answered, "Yeah, sure."

"Early or late?" She looked up as the steward explained to another couple that there were two seatings; six and eight.

"Early, if you don't mind," she said.

"I'd prefer it," I said.

The steward stopped and looked at me. "Two for the early seating," I told him.

"Room number?" he asked.

"412," I told him and he was on to the next couple. Chloe looked bemused. "Yes?" I asked her.

She shook her head, "Nothing."

"Baloney."

She laughed. "Okay. I was thinking it's almost like the movies. Meeting a stranger on the train then a date for dinner. Are you a spy?"

I said very quietly, "Retired. Don't let anyone know or I'll have to kill them."

Her eyes started to get wide, then she realized I was teasing. "Okay. I won't tell as long as you don't tell anyone that I am too."

"It's a deal."

We sat back and watched the scenery change, talking only occasionally but quite easily. Again, I was surprised how well I was getting along with Chloe. She certainly seemed older than sixteen.

We had crossed the Mighty Mississippi into Iowa when they announced dinner. Even this far north, before all of the other rivers empty into it, it is an amazing river. Chloe and I watched the traffic on the river below the train bridge. I led Chloe to the dining car. It was a scene out of the movies, the stewards dressed in white jackets and black slacks, the tables all with white linens and sparkling wine glasses on the tables. Chloe stopped momentarily as we entered, letting the vision sink in. She smiled as the steward motioned to a table. I let her sit next to the window. The steward caught my eye before I sat and motioned me forward. I followed him until we were out of earshot of the table.