Chapter 2: A Plant in Peoria

Paul woke first on a Saturday morning. Lying on his back, he couldn't see the clock. He judged the time to be early—before six—considering the hue of the light streaming into the cabin window and birds singing in the surrounding forest. Partly alongside, and partly atop, Glenda lay in bed with him. Her deep, rhythmic breathing told him that she wasn't about to wake up very soon.

Paul thought that a change of pace might be enjoyable. He and Glenda had not seen one another for three weeks. A few e-mails, a phone call were all they managed. That didn't mean that Glenda had been far from his thoughts. When he called with the idea of a weekend at his lakeside camp on the Peninsula, he thought that Glenda sounded glad, too. He had an airline ticket waiting for her at Midway check-in.

Paul would normally be 'up-and-at-'em' by this time when he was at the cabin. He didn't mind the change of routine, though. It had been an all day travel the day before, to his camp on the peninsula nestled in the forest and the lakes. They both took Friday off from work. She flew from Chicago to Saginaw. They drove the rest of the way. With a stop for dinner, the drive had been nearly six hours. They didn't arrive at the camp until nine that night. Then, they went to bed—but not to sleep, at least right away. They expended a lot of energy together before drifting off. So, he didn't wonder why she was sleeping late.

Paul liked the feel of Glenda's body resting on him. It wasn't just the feminine softness or the warmth created by their flesh pressed together, although those things were a big part of it. He had waited a long time to feel them. Sally had always loved the cabin in the forest. It always seemed to bring out her sensual side when they could spend time there together. When she died, Paul had thought that he would never feel a woman pressed to his body again. Then, Glenda saw him by chance in that store in Chicago.

It was the ease with which they blended together. Glenda's head rested in the crevice between the ball of his shoulder and his collarbone. He felt her breath stir the hair on his chest, a gentle wind on his bare skin. Her arm was thrown across him. She was lying on her hip, and one of her legs, bent slightly at the knee, crested over his thigh to find a nestling place between his parted legs. It was a comfortable, perfect fit. The two bodies interlocked like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

Without thinking, Paul stroked lightly from the nape of Glenda's neck, across her small shoulder blades, down the length of her backbone, ending at the far end of his reach at the very top of the crevice at the bottom of her spine. Glenda stirred. He realized that he had broken her slumber without wanting to. He half-regretted having done so. The deed done, he indulged himself once again, feeling pleasure in the soft skin under his fingertips.

Glenda stirred again. Paul decided to wake her all the way. He stroked again. The deepness of her breathing ceased. Paul stroked again. She woke with a start, lifted her head and settled back down atop him. She played idly with the hair on his chest.

"Good morning!" Paul said to her. "How did you sleep?"

"Pretty well, I think!" she said. "The last thing that I remember..."

She broke off the sentence, and followed with a long pause and a purred recollection of pleasure.

"Well..." she continued in a playful voice, "I think you know what the last thing I remember is. I recall that you were a big part of it! I always sleep better after a hard workout." She gave out a laugh, which bridged the gap between pleasure and teasing.

She nestled closer into him, signaling a desire to start the day where the night had ended.

"Let's go for a morning swim," Paul said.

"Maybe later," she sighed. "Let's stay here for a while." She shifted her weight to be a little more on top of him.

"No! Let's go swimming," Paul commanded.

Glenda rolled her eyes as he bounded out of the sack and disappeared into the bathroom.

"I'll need my suitcase to get my bathing suit," she called out as he emerged.

"Stay where you are. I'll bring everything that you'll need," he called back.

Paul was waiting for her as Glenda stepped out of the bathroom.

"You won't need your suit. Here's a robe."

Glenda held the terrycloth robe and paused. She knew that it had to be Sally's. She looked at Paul with a questioning look.

"It's alright," was all he said, and she took the robe from him and slipped it on and tied the belt. She saw that he was wearing a matching one.

"You're not really saying that we're..." she asked, or perhaps pleaded.

"It's not even six," Paul assured her. "We're in a private little cove. Once you're in the water, it won't make any difference, anyway."

"I've never done anything like this," she protested.

"I can see that you've become a real city girl!" Paul laaughed. "Trust me!"

She didn't have a chance to answer as Paul strode out of the cabin. Glenda followed in hot pursuit. She saw the lake in daylight for the first time. The chill of early morning made vapor rise from the silent depths.

"We'll dive right off the end of the dock," he called over his shoulder.

They strode out on the dock, past the boat house. At the far end, Paul ripped off the robe, set it on the planks and dove head-first into the cold water in one motion. The splash broke the silence of the morning, disturbing a pair of loons about fifty yards away. They flapped to be airborne and skimmed across the surface. The iciness bit Paul, as he expected; a refreshing nip to wake him up all the way. After a few seconds he was used to the temperature.

He floated to the surface, treading water, looking for Glenda. She remained on the dock, wrapped in the robe.

"C'mon, jump in!" he called.

Glenda slowly unwrapped herself, setting her robe on top of Paul's. She stood at the point of departure at the end of the dock

"It looks cold!" she protested.

"It is!" he called back. "You'll love it!"

"I don't know if I can, Paul; maybe after it warms up."

Paul laughed as he effortlessly treaded water. He took a second to view Glenda's slender body, with the pink nipples hardening on her small breasts, and the triangle of red hair in the center of her narrow pelvis.

"Take all the time you want!" he replied sarcastically. "Just remember, while you're taking your time, you're standing there in the nude and..."

She dove in head first before he could utter another word. She came up a few yards from him treading water as he was. Paul observed that she was a good swimmer.

"Ohhh, it's cold!" she cried after her head broke the surface.

"Yes, it is," Paul said, laughing, "but it feels great, doesn't it? It wakes up every sleeping nerve."

"Yes—yes it does," she agreed with a sheepish smile.

A small boat trolled by about a hundred yards offshore carrying two early morning anglers. They saw Paul and Glenda and waved to them. Paul waved back.

"Time to go in!" he teased. "Just climb up to the dock by that ladder over there. Those guys wouldn't mind the view."

"No!" she shrieked with her eyes opening wide. Then, realizing the joke, she laughed. She laughed long and hard. It was laughter that started deep in the belly and erupted from a face that knew only the moment. It was a laugh that chased away the demons hidden in her. Paul had yet to see it until that moment and wondered to himself if it might chase out some of his demons, as well.

"They're my neighbors from down the cove," Paul explained. "We'll probably see them for drinks tonight after dinner."

They swam together for a while. The water of the lake immersed them in a splendid isolation. They watched the loons in low flight over the water. They were happy to share the empty cove with them. The tactful angler had moved on. They stretched muscles tightened from the long hours in the car the day before.

Too soon, it was time to go back to the cabin. They climbed out on the ladder at the end of the dock, put on their robes and walked back to the cabin.

"I have to admit it," she called ahead to him as they trod the planks of the dock in single file, "the water really wakes you up. I feel great!"

"I knew you would," he called back over his shoulder.

They walked into the cabin and stood in the kitchen.

"Why don't you take a shower to warm up?" he suggested. "The water in the lake is clean, but hard with minerals. You might want to shampoo it out of your hair. I'll get breakfast started."

"Why don't you finish what you already started," she cooed as she opened her robe.

Paul was confused as he was concentrating on locating a skillet to start bacon and eggs.

"I don't know how to answer that, Glenda," he said, puzzled.

Glenda stepped to him. She took hold of the ends of the belt holding his robe together. She put her lips next to his ear. He could feel her lips on his lobe.

"You answer..." she whispered as she pressed her body against his, "by saying that you're getting in the shower with me."

She tugged the belt and the robe fell open. She looked down and saw Paul's erection forming. It showed that he finally understood.

They made love in the shower as the warm water caressed them. It was different from the night before. That time, they devoured one another in celebration of their defeat over loneliness. In the morning shower it was a sharing of sensuality. It began with their flesh pressed together in the waking bed. It heightened as the lake chilled them in their nakedness. They swam together like Adam and Eve; the sights and sounds of the forests enlivened primal instincts. The warmth of the shower touched new nerves.

They weren't very interested in washing themselves, except that the soap made their skin slippery. It allowed them to glide over each other as they pressed together. Paul guided his hand over Glenda's slippery skin. He stopped at her small breasts, cupping them, and then turned his attention on her hard nipples. He bent to suck the warm water from them. It tasted of the lake and of her. He pulled her to him and let his big hands course the length of her back, and lower. He captured her buttocks in his strong hands and pulled her against him. They shared a hungry kiss. He released her globes and placed his fingers at the juncture in the front of her. He gently probed in. He could feel the difference between the water of the shower the moisture that Glenda created. She moved against him and began to moan, that Paul could hear over the sound of the shower. She took him in her one hand and pulled his face down to kiss him once again with the other.

Glenda stood on her toes in an attempt to mount him, but she wasn't tall enough. As if on cue, Paul grasped her firmly under her round buttocks. Her slender body was light and Paul was strong. He lifted her; and the next second Glenda was impaled. Her arms held tightly around his neck and her legs around his waist. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, counterpoint to Paul's thrust into her. He made a quarter turn to lean her against the wall for a little support. He lifted her slightly and set her back down. As her weight fell on him, she squeezed around him. It took a long time for them to approach climax. By that time, the hot water had run out; the shower ran cold. They didn't care. Climax crested over them, not as a release, but as fulfillment of a search. They relaxed and became aware of the coldness. Paul set Glenda down and shut off the water.

As they toweled dry, Paul thought how satisfying had been their sex of that morning. He understood why. It was a justified self-indulgence. They knew they deserved the pleasure—having waited so long— having neither hurt any person nor trespassed any boundary in the partaking of it.

"Now I think that we're ready for breakfast!" Paul declared.

"I never washed my hair," she teased.

"Maybe I'll help you with that later," he offered.

When Sunday came he asked her, "Can you call in sick tomorrow?"

When she answered 'yes', he said that he had already taken a personal day for himself.

So their weekend went. They boated and canoed around the lake, swam in that special style that they developed that first morning and grilled steaks and sipped scotch with friends by night. In between they joined to fill one another with their bodies, and with the feeling of being alive.

It had been six weeks since Paul had attended a 'Peoria Plant' meeting. Jim Spencer did a good job of filling in, as Paul knew he would. Paul's schedule was busy with other projects and the Shareholders' Meeting preparations. He had no time for sparring over Peoria details if it led to more of nothing. This day's meeting promised to be different.

Around the table was a familiar roll call. Paul sat at the head of the long table and to his right was Jim Spencer, both representing Dunn Chemical Company. Harry Carmichael, who owned the general contracting firm for the project was next to him; the Mayor of Peoria was next. Dr. Arthur Hopkins sat at the far end of the table, looking especially dour. He was consultant to the State Environmental Agency in name, and suspected agent of Montgomery Chemicals, the competitor of Paul's Company which stood to lose greatly if the new plant was built. A reporter from the Peoria newspaper waited in a chair outside the room. On Paul's left, between him and Hopkins sat two representatives from the State Agency. One was Craig Morehead, second ranked on the State team; the other was a younger, more junior woman whom Paul did not know. Missing was the lead state engineer on the project, Ed Grafton. It bothered Paul that he was missing.

"Where's Grafton?" Paul demanded of Morehead.

"Ed's no longer with the Agency," Morehead answered. "He walked in last week and declared he was retiring. He cleaned out his desk and walked out without saying 'good-bye. The 'golden thirty', I guess. Once he finished that thirtieth year, he was 'good to go'.

"We should have been informed," Paul replied in a stern tone.

"I was appointed to fill in for him on this project," Morehead answered.

"Where is he now?"

Morehead shrugged the question off, but as he did the young woman next to him spoke up.

"He got an offer from Montgomery Chemicals and went for it. He's got a full ride on his state pension and a plush office at Montgomery."

Morehead shot the young woman an evil look, but the canary had already sung her tune.

Paul felt his anger rising, but held it in check. He'd been certain that Montgomery had been behind the governmental delays of the project. He stole a glance at the far end of the table to gauge a reaction, but Hopkins stared out the meeting room window at the Sears Tower.

"I'm not going to stand for this!" Paul muttered to himself, but for all to hear. He turned to Morehead. "Tell Larry Wilton to expect a call from me!"

Wilton was the Administrator of the Agency.

"No need for that!" pleaded Morehead. "I'm sure that we'll wrap up the project today. We'll all get what we want. Let's just do it."

"Oh we will do it, but give Wilton my message, Craig," Paul insisted.

"Well..." began Morehead, "there are some things that we have to insist on before we can issue the permit. First on the list is to install landscaping on the security containment dikes."

"The plans already say..." the Peoria Mayor piped up.

Harry Carmichael touched the Mayor's arm to halt him in mid-sentence. He knew the game was almost over. Jim Spencer sat motionless but his expression showed that he knew it, too. Everyone knew that the Site Plan already included the landscaping.

"Consider it done!" Paul exclaimed. "Good suggestion! You should have been the lead man all along, Craig."

"Then, there is the matter of the backup emergency generator," said Morehead. "It should be solar-powered ... if possible."

As Paul listened to a litany of a dozen minor demands, he knew that it was the Agency's way of saving face in retreat. Their proposals amounted to nearly nothing, less than window-dressing. Paul agreed to all of them. The permit would be issued.

As Morehead droned on, taking advantage of his place on the center-stage, Paul's thoughts drifted to putting together the jigsaw puzzle of what was happening. Grafton had been on the dole from Montgomery, as had been Hopkins. The strategy of meeting Hopkins stride for stride had convinced Montgomery to pull the plug and accept the reality of the new plant. That meant that Hopkins' fees and studies had ceased, too. It explained his unpleasant visage. Montgomery Chemicals hired Grafton to keep him silent and out of sight.

The meeting concluded and they repacked their brief cases. Paul started thinking about giving Glenda a call.

"We've got a reporter outside waiting!" called out the Mayor.

They all filed out of the room except Hopkins and Paul. Paul stood at his place, peering at his defeated adversary at the end of the table.

Hopkins was a shallow, thin man, lost in a tweed jacket. He was in his early sixties. He had a full beard of salt and pepper whiskers that descended from his chin to a point. His head had less hair, just a thin ring of grey. His eyes were sad and sunken.

"Win some, lose some, Arthur," Paul said. He would have admitted to a tinge of smugness in his tone, and would have also admitted that he didn't care, either.

"The people and the planet have lost. I am only their servant," Hopkins answered.

Paul didn't like Hopkins very much and the sanctimony only reminded him of that fact.

"What is this, Arthur, the 'Sermon on the Mount'? You know better than to pull this on me. We both know what was 'lost'. It was your tab from Montgomery."

Hopkins turned his head away and stared out the window at the Sears Tower again, which Paul considered an act of disrespect.

"Is someone in a window over there flashing you the answer, Arthur? You shouldn't be so upset! Look at what you got—something for nothing. Isn't that your stock in trade? How long did you expect it to last?"

"You're very animated today, Paul," Hopkins said, without turning his gaze from the window.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. You just get to me sometimes," Paul admitted. "Going out to 'Meet the Press'?"

"No, I don't think so," Hopkins said in a whisper.

Paul walked to the door. He started to leave, but then stopped for a final word. "You can tell Grafton that I'm not done with him."