Off the Beaten Path (9 page)

Jack smiled and agreed, “I guess I am.”

As Jack reached the door of his office Mr. Hendricks asked,

“Where do you want me to send your cut of the Gathier Trial?”

Jack didn't hesitate, “Send it to Jennifer Conley, Anonymously. “

Tuesday morning Kristin was standing in front of the massive bay windows on the second floor of the Palmer Agency. She was looking west at the first rays of sunlight bouncing off the windows of the office buildings across the bay. She could almost feel the heat from the hundreds of bright orange windows reflecting the morning sun back at her. The sun was also slowly burning a thick layer of fog off the bay. She couldn't quite see the water yet due to the thick coating of fog that completely covered the bay but the half a dozen cruise ships moored in the bay was proof that the brilliant blue sky would soon reveal the dark blue water. The huge cruise ships stuck out of the fog like man-made luxury islands engulfed by billowing clouds of pure white smoke. The contrast of light and color was an amazing thing to watch unfold, but it wasn't quite as breathtaking as the valley she had left two days ago.

She glanced down at the parking lot and watched as her staff began to arrive. The first five or six staff members that had arrived immediately noticed Kristin’s car parked in the reserved space. Kristin hardly ever showed up before her staff. She believed that her staff needed a little time to prepare for the day without her presence in the building. They all gathered around her car and starred at it like a bad omen. When Dean arrived he deactivated the alarm and rushed into the building like he expected to find something dreadfully wrong. As Dean burst through the front door followed by the rest of the staff close behind they stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of Kristin
coming down the staircase in a pair of old blue jeans, a University of Montana sweatshirt, and a Rockies baseball cap. She was carrying a cup of coffee and her shoes had been kicked off at the base of the staircase.

Her manner could not have been more relaxed. Kristin reached the bottom of the stairs turned toward the break room and said casually,

“Coffee’s ready,” The small group of staff members stood speechless. Dean took it upon himself to follow her and find out what was going on. As he walked into the break room Kristin was just finishing filling his cup. She handed him the coffee and said, “Black, right.” He took the coffee and said with a question in his voice,

“Boss, I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until Wednesday?”

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek and said sweetly,

“I missed you too Dean.”

As she was almost out of the break room she through a wink and a smile over her shoulder and said with a devious giggle, “I left you a present on your desk.”

As Kristin walked out of the room she left her good friend and one half of her security team standing there coffee cup in hand and a dumbfounded look on his face. Dean pulled off his Seattle Seahawks baseball cap and scratched his dirty blond hair. He was astonished at the change that had taken place in his boss since he had seen her last.

One week ago when she had left for Los Angeles there were a good percentage of people in the building that didn't think they would see her back at work any time soon, if ever. There was even a strong suggestion by some of her closest friends, him included believed that one of her two body guards should follow her to LA to make sure that nothing bad happened to her. After all, Los Angeles was not known as a place you went to get your feet back under you. In Dean's opinion, it was the most luxurious gutter on the planet.

Dean wondered off to his office still trying to figure out what he had just seen and what might have happened over that last week that had
caused just a change. When he reached the door of his office he stopped at the door and starred. He saw a brand new fly rod and reel lying across his desk with a red ribbon tied around it and a note that read,

As much fun as you can have with your boots on.

K.

There were other presents scattered throughout the building left on the desks for each one of the members of her staff. The gifts were expensive and personalized for each person. There was a pair of amethyst earrings on the desk of her receptionist, Marcy, it was her birthstone. There was a signed first edition Stephen King Book, the Stand lying on the light table for the house photographer, Jeremy. No one in the building knew what to say or even what to think. It was as if the clock had turned back to when the Palmer Agency had opened ten years ago. There were whispers and looks of apprehension from everyone; it was as if they were waiting to see if this was real or if Kristin had finally gone off the deep end.

The only comparison that Dean could envision was that of a race car. He had spent his fair share of time under the hood of fast cars. The one thing that every high performance engine that had ever blown up had in common was that just before they exploded and sent shards of metal, oil, and fire surging through the engine was that the engine ran faster and smoother than they had ever run before. He silently prayed that Kristin wasn't about to explode.

Most of the rest of the staff was in the building by the time Kristin finished making her morning rounds. She headed up the staircase toward her office with her coffee cup in one hand and her shoes dangling in the other, she looked like she could have been going for a walk on the beach. She stopped at the landing and turned around, everyone in the building drew a breath.

Kristin looked down at the concerned faces of the people that had been so supportive of her for the last few months. Her voice was firm
but friendly as she announced a little louder than she needed to with the authoritative tone of a CEO,

“Shoe’s will not be worn in the building today.”

She heard a round of applause and an obviously loud throat clearing from Dean. She responded cheerfully, “Okay, Dean you are exempt, besides, your sister told me your feet stink.” The comment sparked a round of laughter form the entire staff and a healthy red blush from Dean.

He shot back at her, “I could share a few of her secrets at the next staff meeting.”

“Deal,” she said as she reached the landing and went into her office. She had just given all of them permission to relax, to breathe, to get back to business as usual.

The second floor was the envy of every photographer, makeup artist, and hair stylist in the northwest. It had been equipped with state of the art photographic lighting and a half a dozen permanent backgrounds that ranged in color from white to black. There was a fully stocked hair salon and makeup area that could handle a full scale runway model shoot, and occasionally did. The massive windows that surrounded the second floor were fitted with electronic louvers that could either black out every bit of outside light or be adjusted to let in just the right amount of burnt orange sunset. The sole purpose of the second floor was for the familiarity and comfort of the models. It had been constructed so that the models would feel at home in an environment they were used to working in.

Kristin’s theory was that if a model didn’t have to waste time searching for a studio that they had never been to before why should they. Safety was another reason for the elaborate facility she had constructed, she recognized the inherent dangers within the modeling industry and that it had its share of sleazy characters. She remembered the model calls she had been on early in her career and it seemed to her that most of the time someone was wanting more than pictures of her. 

Legitimate photographer’s jumped at the chance to shoot at what they called the “Palmer Palace” because most of the equipment and facilities were better than what they had in their own studios. The photographers that were invited to the “Palmer Palace” could use any and all of the amenities available to them, however, they all knew the
one House Rule, “Don’t Touch the Model’s,” that is what assistance were for. Years ago Kristin had read an article about the lady that ran the shoots for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue, Georgia something or other was her name. In the article the women had one hard and fast rule. Photographers DO NOT touch the Model. Georgia's theory was that there was a tension between a model and a photographer, possibly a sexual tension. And the moment a photographer touched a model it broke the tension between them, game over. It only took one infraction of the rule for a photographer to be escorted out of the building by Dean and not be invited back.

Including Kristin there were twenty five members of the Palmer Agency staff, most had been with her since day one and all of them were ex-models that could still turn heads on their worst day.

Besides Kristin and her two assistants the staff included Kristin’s Business Manager and Best friend Rebecca, Melissa the receptionist, eight client representatives, each of them had their own assistant, two staff photographers, and two body guards. The two body guards, Dean and Jake, accompanied the models if the job required that they go out on location. Even though the Dean and Jake were older brothers of one of the models all of the girls treated them like big brothers and they took their job very personally.

The clientele was international; among the client representatives there were two that spoke French, one that spoke Russian, and two that spoke Italian.

Jack searched every corner of the upstairs and most of the downstairs. He looked all around the guest bedroom and bathroom. He searched every possible hiding place in his bedroom from under the bed to behind the night stand. When he was convinced that what he was looking was nowhere in the house he sat down on the edge of the bed and laughed loud enough to bring Sam running up the stairs. He looked down at Sam and said out loud,

“By God Sam, she did take one of the towels.” Sam barked an I told ya so at him.

Jack spent the rest of the morning straightening up the house and doing the dishes. He found a couple wine glasses they had left in the master bath a pair of Kristin’s unmentionables buried in the covers and an ear ring she must have dropped on the bedroom floor. He put the earring in his pocket and thought to himself that the ear ring would be a good swap for a stolen towel. On his way down the stairs he caught sight of a folded piece of paper tucked under the corner of the end table lamp. Jack picked up the note opened it and read,

Thank You for everything!

K.

He walked into the kitchen and reached over the fridge and pulled down a box of letters and unused postcards he had been saving to send
to friends. As he was putting the note in the box he thought, one good note deserves another. He rifled through the box until he found an unused postcard of the Mission Mountains. He wrote a short note on the back of the postcard.

Trade you a Missing earring for a stolen towel,

Jack and Sam

Jack wrote her business address on the postcard placed a stamp on it and put it in his pocket. He finished his morning chores grabbed the keys to the pickup and headed out the door. Sam could tell that they were going to t
ake a ride, she could always sense it.

“Come on Sam, we have some people to see and some business to take care of”

Their first stop was at Ruby’s cafe. Ruby came around the counter and gave him a big squeeze as he came through the front door. She held onto his fore arms as she looked him directly in the eyes and said with the hint of a smile,

“I thought I might see a female with you this morning.”

“Oh, Sam is out in the truck.” He responded innocently.

Ruby poked him in the ribs and said,

“That wasn’t the female I was referring to, and you know it.”

Jack smiled a sly smile and headed for his usual stool at the counter. After Ruby poured his coffee and put the pot back on the warmer she leaned against the counter and asked,

“Something on your mind Jack?”

Jack took another drink of his coffee and said offhandedly,

“I was thinking of taking a little trip.”

After a short pause Ruby said, “Seattle is nice this time of year.”

“Ya, Seattle might be a good idea,” He answered like it hadn’t occurred to him.

“When were you thinking of taking this little trip out to the coast.”

“I was thinking about leaving Thursday morning,”

“Sounds like as good a time as any.”

“Would you mind holding my mail while I’m gone?” Jack asked.

“Be glad to, when do you think you will be back?’

“Tuesday or Wednesday of next week.”

“Are you taking Sam with you?”

“I think if I didn’t I would have one female mad at me.”

“Probably two females mad at you.”

“Probably.”

Jack got up to leave and put a dollar down on the counter.

“Thanks Ruby, has the mail been here yet?”

“No not yet, are you expecting a package?”

“Nope, I just wanted to drop a postcard in the mail bag.”

Jack walked over to the mail pouch and dropped the postcard in with the rest of the day’s mail. Just as Jack reached the door Ruby called to him,

“Jack, she’s extraordinary.”

“I think so too.” he responded.

After Jack pulled out of the parking lot Ruby walked over and peeked into the mail pouch. She glanced down at the two lines written on the back of the postcard. She smiled and looked out the front window at the truck driving away and uttered one sentence,

“It’s about time, good luck Jack.”

Their next stop was at Ben and Mary’s house. He pulled up in the front yard and grabbed his tool box out of the back of the pickup. Ben came out of the barn as Jack pulled into the drive.

“Son, I didn’t expect you until later in the week.”