Summer 1975

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Mark Palmieri said under his breath as the blond-haired twenty-three-year-old looked out the hotel lobby’s bay window, watching the downpour from the unexpected storm that had washed out his plans for the weekend. “I might as well be back home in Brooklyn.”

Twenty-four hours before, Mark had been standing in the office of Teresa Gennaro, the dispatch manager at Amalgamated Trucking. Prior to stepping into the forty-eight-year-old’s office, the rookie driver had been looking forward to his first weekend off in two months, but it had only taken seven words for any plans he might have had to evaporate like ice on a skillet.

“I need you to work this weekend,” Teresa said before Mark could even sit down in the chair in front of her desk.

A stern look filled the woman’s face as she waited a long moment to see if Mark cared to protest. When none was forthcoming, she motioned to the seat and, once he had sat down, began to explain why he would be doing so.

“Toby Tyler quit this morning,” she began, “and I’m sure you know what that means.”

Mark knew all too well, and with that realization he sank back in the chair and let out a low but noticeable groan. He’d started with Amalgamated eleven months ago, during which he’d only managed to take one step up the ladder of seniority — on which everything from assignments to vacation picks were based. The only name below him on the company roster had been Toby Tyler.

“Toby was supposed to make a run up to Clayton Springs this weekend,” Teresa said after she’d given Mark what she considered enough time to absorb his change of status, “and since all the more senior drivers already have prior assignments or weekend plans, you fall into the slot.”

‘Lucky me,’ Mark thought.

“You’ll be delivering exhibition material for an Industry Expo being held at the Mountainview,” the stocky brunette explained, “but don’t worry, all you have to do is show up on time. The people on site are responsible for unloading the display and then packing it back up for you to bring back on Sunday night.”

As she spoke, she handed Mark a brochure about the Mountainview, the back of which showed an address and local map. There was also a trip ticket attached that showed a more detailed map that outlined the route he would follow to get there. Flipping the pamphlet over, Mark took a more interested look at the photos of the lakefront beach and other amenities the resort offered, causing him to think this might not be so bad after all.

“Will I be staying at the Mountainview?” Mark asked.

“Not at what they charge for a night,” Teresa laughed. “No, you’ll be staying at a motel about a quarter mile down the road.”

“Oh, okay,” Mark responded, his tone showing his disappointment. Knowing how tight the company was with money, he could only imagine what kind of dump that might turn out to be.

“But nothing says you can’t hang around the hotel during the day and make use of the spaces open to the general public, which I’d like to point out include the beach,” Teresa stated, causing Mark to again look down at the long stretch of pristine sand bordering Lake George.

Mark again pictured himself sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs in the photo, soaking up the sun with a drink in his hand.

“You have to be there by seven,” Teresa said as she then handed him an envelope with expense money for fuel for the return trip and such, “which means that you need to leave the depot no later than three in the morning.”

“I’ll be there,” Mark promised as he checked the amount in the envelope and then signed the receipt that had come with it.

As he put the brochure and cash into his pocket, handing Teresa the receipt afterwards, Mark could well understand why no one with any seniority ever wanted to make this run. It would’ve been a lot easier to leave tonight and get there by midnight, but that would mean that the company would have to spring for another night of lodgings. And that wasn’t going to happen as long as old man Callahan owned the company. He ran the place by the motto — every nickel counted.

“Well, I guess that’s it, except to wish you a safe trip and have a little fun if you can,” Teresa concluded as she turned her attention to the papers on her desk.

As he left her office, Mark cursed the bad luck that had put him once more at the bottom of the totem pole. Even so, he couldn’t really get mad at Teresa. She’d gone out of her way the last few months to get him as many good runs as possible. The reason why she’d done so hadn’t exactly been innocent, however, because anyone who cared to notice could see that she had the hots for him. It was pretty much common knowledge that the very married mother of four liked to screw around with some of the drivers, and Mark was the latest target on her radar. So far, however, he’d managed to avoid her bed.

Stepping away from the window, Mark walked over by the front desk where a large, oversized board rested on a tripod display stand. On it was written the latest weather forecast. His heart dropped as he read that the rainstorm wasn’t expected to move out of the area until tomorrow afternoon, just a few hours before he was scheduled to start back home. As a result, all outdoor activities had been canceled, and Mark didn’t need to be reminded that most of the activities open to the public were held outside.

‘Well, at least I brought a book,’ Mark thought as, pulling the well-worn tome out of his back pocket, he headed toward the lounge in search of a comfortable chair.

After about forty minutes, he’d had enough of John Jakes’ The Rebels, the second book in his American Bicentennial Series. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying it; he was, it was just that he had to be in the mood to read, and right now he wasn’t.

Looking around the room, he counted about a dozen guests, six of whom were sitting around a large round table with folders scattered across it. His guess was that they were here for the exposition. A few other chairs were occupied by individuals reading newspapers or other periodicals. Two were women, but of an age that made any thought of striking up anything more than a conversation rather doubtful.

‘Maybe I should head down to that motel the company made my reservation at,’ Mark thought as he got up from his chair. ‘There should be a television in my room, or at least I hope so.’

Rising from his chair, he started out of the lounge, only to pause when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed another guest sitting by himself in the far corner. Gray-haired with a crew cut and a tightly trimmed beard, the man was wearing a light blue denim shirt and darker jeans, a sort of work uniform that made him look a bit out of place. Yet it wasn’t so much his appearance that caught Mark’s eye, but rather the portable chess set on the small rectangular table in front of him.

The seat on the opposite side of the table was empty, even though it looked like a game was in progress. Curious, Mark came up from behind him, stopping only a few feet away. After watching for about a minute, Mark realized the man wasn’t playing a game, at least not against a current opponent. What he was actually doing was working out a problem from some earlier contest. It had been a good number of years since Mark had played himself, but chess was a game that he really loved playing while growing up.

Intent on the problem, the man didn’t notice Mark, at least not until, after studying the board himself for a long minute, the younger man inadvertently expressed the move he would make, not realizing until the man reacted that he’d done so out loud.

Turning to the sound of Mark’s voice, the man displayed an expression of surprise. Not that he’d been interrupted, but that the suggested move was exactly the one he had decided was the one that should have been played in the original match.

“Do you play?” he asked.

“Not in a while,” Mark replied. “My uncle taught me when I was a kid, but nowadays it’s hard to find anyone to play with. The guys I work with are more into checkers or cards.”

“Well, if you’re not busy, would you like a game?” he then asked.

“You know, I think I would,” Mark smiled, thinking that was better than spending the afternoon cooped up in some dingy motel.

“Donald Harrington, my friends call me Don,” the other man said, extending his hand as he rose to his full height.

“Mark Palmieri,” the younger man said in return, reaching out with his hand as well. “Nice to meet you, Don.”

Handsome, with rugged good looks, Don was, Mark noted, a couple of inches taller than his own five seven. Weight-wise, he was about fifteen pounds heavier, with a frame that suggested he either worked out regularly or had a very physical job. Later, Mark would find out that both were true. Also, Mark initially thought Don was in his mid-forties and was surprised to learn he’d recently turned fifty-two.

Returning to his seat as Mark pulled out the empty chair on the other side of the table, Don quickly reset the chess board. Since the white field was already on the driver’s side, the first move was his.

“So, what brings you to the Mountainview, Mark?” Don asked as he made his counter-move.

As he studied the board, Mark shared his story, including how his vision of spending the weekend relaxing in the sun had been washed out by the storm.

“Ouch, that has to really hurt,” Don said as, after watching Mark’s opening move, he made one of his own.

“What are you gonna do?” Mark said with a shrug. “As they say, you can’t fight Mother Nature.”

Over the next few plays, Don shared that he was also here on business, his company having a contract to maintain the resort’s air conditioning system. The unit had been acting up of late, and in checking it out, he’d found a part that needed replacing. The problem was, it couldn’t be delivered until tomorrow. Fearful of having the system go down again on a busy weekend, the hotel manager had offered to put him up for the night, while still on the clock, so that he’d be available to try and fix any problem that might come up overnight.

“I didn’t have anything else planned for the weekend, so I figured, what not?” he concluded.

After about twenty minutes, each man had an almost equal number of captured pieces off to the side, showing that they were evenly matched. Halfway between that point, they’d been approached by a waitress who asked if they’d like something from the bar. Each ordered a beer, with Mark saying he’d pay for the first round. Then the game continued apace, with the younger man coming out the victor.

“I don’t think you’re as rusty as you thought,” Don smiled. “Another game?”

“I was about to ask the same,” Mark replied, sharing the smile.

This time the game went a little slower, each player taking more time to consider their next move. Spurred on by the beer, as well as a mutual enjoyment of the game, conversation became easier as well.

“Doesn’t your girlfriend mind you working all these weekends?” Don inquired in response to Mark having mentioned that he hadn’t had one off in two months.

“Don’t have a girlfriend,” Mark stated as he watched Don reach for one of his bishops.

“With all the time you spend at work, I’m not surprised,” Don said as he made his counter-move. “Still, all work and no play as they say ... a man has needs.”

“Oh, I didn’t say I didn’t play,” Mark clarified as he responded to Don’s action. “I just don’t always score.”

“I see,” Don observed as he studied the new configuration on the board.

“How about you?” Mark asked, having seen no ring on the other man’s finger.

“Are you asking if I have a girlfriend?” Don said.

Mark nodded his head.

“No, I don’t,” Don replied, pausing for a second and then adding, “but to be honest, women were never my thing.”

The answer seemed to confuse Mark for a second, enough that Don felt the need to clarify it.

“I prefer guys,” he simply said as he turned his attention back to the board.

“You’re gay?” Mark asked cautiously, the response not being one he expected.

“No, but my boyfriend is,” Don quipped, then added. “Sorry old joke, but yes, I’m gay — no boyfriend though.”

Then, as casually as if he’d simply said it was still raining, Don reached out and moved a rook.

“That doesn’t bother you, does it?” Don asked as he released the piece.

“No, of course not,” Mark said, a slight quiver in his tone.

“I’d understand if it did,” Don said as he looked up. “Some guys suddenly feel uncomfortable once I tell them, almost as if I was contagious or something.”

“That’s crazy,” Mark remarked.

“But unfortunately true,” Don pointed out.

As much as he might not want to admit it, Mark had a few friends that would’ve felt exactly that way. He hoped his expression didn’t reflect that.

“Well, I’m not like that,” he offered.

“I can see,” Don again smiled, indicating with his hand that it was Mark’s turn.

Again, Mark studied the board.

“It does make me wonder, though,” Don added, “if you have any friends that are gay?”

“Why would you think that?” Mark asked in turn, delaying his move.

“Your reaction,” Don replied, “or rather your lack of one. People with a gay friend or family member tend to see beyond stereotypes. At least enough not to make snap judgements.”

“No, I don’t know anyone who’s gay,” Mark said as he used his castle to take one of Don’s knights. “I just don’t define people by who they sleep with.”

“That’s a very liberal attitude,” Don noted as he quickly counter-moved, protecting his king. “It sort of makes me wonder who you like to sleep with.”

The question took Mark off guard for a second, just long enough for Don to take note of it.

“Are you asking if I like guys?” Mark asked.

“It’s just a question,” Don responded, “but not one you have any obligation to answer.”

“I’ve never slept with a guy,” Mark said without looking up from the board, making his facial expression difficult to see.

“That’s not really the question, at least not the one you presented,” Don pointed out, “but I can see that it’s not one you’re comfortable with, so why don’t we just forget I asked?”

Several more moves followed with two more of Mark’s pieces leaving the board. He was considering a change in strategy when he unexpectedly returned to the question.

“I have sometimes been curious about other guys,” he said.

“Only curious?” Don inquired.

“Well, sometimes maybe more than curious,” the younger man admitted.

Even though he was sure there was a story behind Mark’s admission, Don didn’t press him to share it. If he wanted to do so, it would have to be of his own volition. After another exchange of pawns, he did just that.