Chapter 2

"When my marriage failed, I didn't make a very good choice the second time. If I had learned something, wouldn't I have done better? You need to read the letter about that failure, too."

"Okay, while I put the steaks on, go get the letter."

"Okay," Gail turned to leave the kitchen area and as she walked across the old adobe tile floor, she told Howard, "And the same rule applies, you have to read it out loud to see if there's anything I want to change."

Seriously, I doubt this letter will cause you more than a moment of guilt. That's not my reason for writing. What I really wanted to tell you is, "Thanks." You taught me something, even if it took a black eye and a few broken ribs to learn it. Next time, don't tell your wife that her mother is a better lay than she is. She might not be as nice about it as I was. After all, weren't you supposed to be my teacher? I thought that's what being a virgin when you married was all about.

Someday, when your extraordinary good looks begin to fade, you better have something to sustain you because you are going to run out of women to support you. When your sexual prowess fails, or your promiscuity results in an illness that can't be treated by a few shots, you better have something to live for, because that mirror will tell you how far you have fallen. It is a fate I consider myself lucky to have escaped.

Gail

When Howard finished reading the letter, he looked at Gail where she sat, mesmerized by the flames in the big fireplace as if she were in some kind of trance.

"You don't want to change any of this one, either, do you?"

"No, not really, I'd probably make it a lot worse and it wouldn't faze him. He'd just laugh and consider himself lucky to have me out of his life." Her tone of voice changed when she said, "You know, a month or two after the divorce was final he called and asked me for a loan."

Howard walked over to the old rawhide covered couch and sat beside Gail. Like her, he was staring into the flames that were licking the bacon strips wrapped around their venison steaks.

"Gail, about this Ricky guy, why did you marry him?"

"I don't know Howard. Truly, I do not know. I've asked myself that same question at least once a day for the last couple of years and a lot more often than that the two years before that."

"But didn't you know, or suspect, what kind of a person he was?"

"No, and that's the absolute truth," she answered. "I was just barely eighteen years old. I could not stand to live in my mother's house for one more second. All I saw, were those other girls, getting married, wearing fabulous white dresses, opening piles of presents, moving away from home and into their own apartments. If I'd had any idea how easy it was, I could have done it all by myself and saved myself an awful lot of misery."

"Yeah," Howard admitted, "we aren't very smart when we think we know it all, are we?"

As Gail sat, staring at the flames in the fireplace, snatches of a conversation returned as if they were being spoken for the first time.

A gruff voice demanded to know, "What do you mean, you're quitting?"

"I'm resigning from my job and I am not giving two weeks notice," Gail answered.

Her boss was surprised. "Gail you've been here for five years. Have you accepted employment elsewhere?"

"No, Mister Abrams." Gail shook her head. "Although I've had offers in the past, I'm not going to work for your competition."

"Then why are you quitting?" Mister Abrams still sounded surprised, but he was beginning to accept that Gail was serious.

"Mister Abrams, in the last two years, two people in my department, with less time on the job than I have, have been promoted."

"Yes," the man answered, proud that he had people from his department advancing in the company. "Both of them had good experience before they came to work here. We like to promote from the inside. The company feels it retains more loyal and better trained employees when it does so."

"You are right." Gail's voice turned cynical. "Joan had six months at her previous job, less than a year here, and she was promoted. Alice had two years secretarial experience and was promoted in six months."

"Yes, they may have had less time with the company, than you have," he agreed, but he reminded her, "but both of them are fully licensed."

"Mister Abrams, I am also licensed, at my own expense and outside of office hours. Joan and Alice went to school at company expense during office hours. Not only that, all of my performance reviews, copies of which I have, show quote "this employee is considered an excellent candidate for promotion" unquote. I also applied for both of the jobs Joan and Alice were promoted to."

Dismissively, Mister Abrams said, "Now, Gail..."

"Mister Abrams, I have enough proof to file a lawsuit for discrimination against this company. I would win and you know it. I think I'll just ask to be paid my two weeks severance pay and two weeks vacation pay, which I'm entitled to, and I'll just leave. It will be less trouble for you."

"Well, if that's what you want to do, I'll see if I can get a check for you, at least by the end of the week. I'm not sure I can pay you for the vacation time, though."

"Mister Abrams, I'd like to have my check, for the vacation time too, today, maybe within the next hour, or so. I think you would like to see me leave about as bad as I want to be gone. You can do that, can't you?"

Alice Bennett had two years secretarial experience and was promoted in six months. She found a different way to gain a promotion, did she not? I suspect Mrs. Abrams would be interested in learning the number of times you took three hour lunches on the same days Alice chose to take an afternoon off.

No, I have not shared any of my information with anyone else, nor will I do so because, I hope that if I ever seek another job, I will have a good reference from you. I will not ask a prospective employer to refrain from contacting my previous employer, but I may say that I had a "personal problem" with my supervisor. I'm sure anyone hearing that will understand they might get better information about my work habits, from someone else in the company.

Gail Fisher

It wasn't that Gail didn't like her job, she did. She liked it so much she planned to make it her career. It was the history of the city and the state, told in documents of who owned land, how long they owned it, and to whom they sold it, or a portion of it. From the date when thousands of acres were given to a long—ago Spanish or Mexican soldier, settler, or nobleman, until Johnny and Susie bought their little house on a very tiny portion of that land, documents detailed all the conveyances between those two dates.

Howard was saying something, and Gail was not listening until he tapped her on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I think the steaks are done. Let's eat."

Gail cut a piece of steak, put it in her mouth, and smiled, "Oh, this is venison? I didn't know it would be this good. I thought it might taste, I guess I've heard the word, 'wild, ' used so many times." She laughed a little and added, "I'm not even sure what wild tastes like, but this is good."

"It's all in the way the meat is treated before it's butchered. You've heard of aged beef, right?" Gail nodded and he continued, "It's the same with game. It needs to be aged to develop a good flavor."

"Is that what you do with all the cows around here? Sell them to be butchered for steaks?"

"Yeah, eventually, that is, if I ever get enough of them."

"And now it's your turn to tell me about your world crumbling," Gail reminded Howard. "You've already learned about two of my big mistakes. What's your biggest rock look like?"

"Rock?"

"Yeah, my life is a rock wall," she explained. "I'm sitting on top and all the rocks breaking loose and falling are going to cause me to fall off. So I figure that's what I mean by my world crumbling."

"Hey, that's pretty good. I might even use that analogy myself."

"Ah, Howard, what does your biggest rock look like?"

"Oh," he grinned. "It didn't work did it?"

Gail liked his grin. It changed his face into the look of a little boy caught doing something naughty. "Nope, I'm persistent, I'll keep asking until you answer."

"Okay," his face, once again turning serious. "See, I work at a hardware store. I guess it's a good job. I get paid for it. But I can't stand my boss, and since he's the owner, I don't have much choice."

Pepper's Hardware was a small town hardware store, which meant they sold plumbing supplies, appliances, hammers, nails, or an electric drill — if that's what you needed. They also stocked batteries, tires, oil, and antifreeze for your car. But it didn't end there. The store sold bicycles, blue jeans, western shirts, and in the back you could get a one—hundred pound sack of deer corn, sacks of special feed for chickens, cows, pigs, and even dog food. Just about every thing you couldn't find at the local grocery store, you would find at Pepper's and a hook to hang it on.

Every year, Pepper hired, as part—time employees, at least two players of the local high school football team. Thursdays were spent with local football fans going in and out the store, talking about the upcoming football game. Fridays, the students even wore their game jersey to work. Local football fans filled the store, taking up aisle space, pre—playing the game. Saturday was even worse, more fans crowded the store congratulating or commiserating with the players over the previous evening's game, describing how the different plays appeared from their perspective in the bleachers. As soon as football season was over, the next sport, with usually the same players, went through the same process of pre—play and post—analysis.

However the conglomeration of people was not customers who came to purchase Pepper's merchandise. The genuine customers had problems finding what they wanted with so many people standing around, and they often left without buying anything, remarking they were going to drive to the next town where they could shop in a less congested store.