I called back. Gluuuurrrrggggghhh. “Excuse me, guys. Duty calls.”
Great. Not only was my stomach making Exorcist-type noises, but I had to trot up the path thirty feet or so to join the big guns, Bowie leaping at my side. And my biking shorts were making themselves known to me. The thing about clothes made from plastic bags … they don’t breathe that well, as you might imagine. They smother, and right now, they were asphyxiating my thighs. Swatting at the gnats that danced around my head, I tried not to inhale any as I panted.
“How’s everyone up here?” I gasped when I reached the front of our line. “Aren’t these woods gorgeous, Mr. deVeers?”
“I told you to call me Charles,” he reminded me, grinning. He might’ve been seventy or so, but the man hadn’t broken a sweat. Neither had his daughter, but then again, I suspected she was half reptile. “By the way,” he added, “I loved your idea for the new logo.” Goodbye, long silly name with floating plastic bag, hello simple, stylish initials.
“I’m so glad,” I said, not daring to look at Muriel.
“Callie, I was telling Charles about the ad campaign we put together for that ski resort last year,” Mark said. He gave me a little grimace, which I read clearly. He needed help buttering up the client, and no one could pitch woo the way I could.
I smiled at Charles. “Oh, that was a great time, let me tell you, Charles.” Wwwweeerrrrrggghhh. I quickly burst into laughter to cover the gurgling slosh of my stomach. Was that one over? Apparently not. Boooorrr … I talked over it, hoping no one else noticed as our feet crunched along. “Well, we like to know our products, of course, so Mark and I went up there to get the lay of the land. Now, Mark here, he grew up on skis. Me? No.”
“Uh-oh,” Charles said.
“I love to ski,” Muriel said. “Dad, we should go to Utah again.”
“That would be fun, honey. Go on, Callie,” Charles said to me. Muriel’s mouth tightened.
Wwwwweeerrrrrgggghhh.
“Are you hungry, dear?” Charles asked, striding manfully along.
“Oh, no! Well, I skipped lunch. Didn’t want to cramp up on this lovely hike. But I’m fine!” I said, beaming, trying to suck in enough oxygen at the same time. I reached down to pet my dog, hoping the motion would somehow assuage the alien life force in my belly. Another cramp lanced through my side, making me gasp. I coughed to cover. “Anyway, Mark told me not to worry, just go up the mountain with Skip, the owner of the resort. It wasn’t really about skiing.” I gave Mark a look. “So he said, right, Mark?”
“I’m still sorry,” Mark answered, smiling at me.
I’d worked with Mark long enough to understand his signals. He needed me to work the crowd, and work it I did. I continued with the story, which involved me, too terrified to get off the ski lift, clutching Skip so that he couldn’t get off, either, riding back down the hill, then up once more, finally tangling skis with Skip, causing him to fall about ten feet onto hard-packed snow. The ski patrol had to come not only for their fallen boss, but to give me a ride down, since I could neither ski nor walk in those boots.
“Did you get the account?” Charles asked, smiling at me.
“Of course we did!” I said. Berrrrrrroooo. “Hahahaha! Skip was so impressed that I’d gone six thousand feet up a mountain I couldn’t get down, he had to hire us.”
“So you’ll do anything for a client, is that it?” Charles winked.
“Anything within reason,” I confirmed. Unfortunately, my stomach was seriously cramping, and the trail was becoming steeper. Hopefully, my panting would cover the occasional bizarre noise coming from my intestinal tract. I felt a little dizzy.
“That’s a wonderful story, Callie. Mark, you have a gem here,” Charles said, slinging his arm around my shoulders.
“I sure do,” Mark answered, smiling at me. His dark eyes were grateful. For a second, it was like the old times. Mark and me, getting our job done. A great team.
Then Muriel said, “Well, I’m dying to get to the top. Shall we stop strolling and start making time? Dad, think you can keep up with me, old man?”
“Them’s fighting words,” Charles said, releasing me. “Mark? Callie? You in?”
“Absolutely,” Mark answered.
“Um, I’ll wait for my brother,” I said, glancing back at Fred and the rest of the gang, who were now maybe thirty yards behind. The stitch in my side was more like a quilt now.
“See you at the top, then,” Charles said, and with that, they forged ahead, long athletic strides. Bowie whined to go with the fast people, but the second they were a safe distance off, I staggered over to a relatively flat rock and collapsed, draping an arm over my eyes. These bike shorts were awful! Would that I could peel them off and jump into a shower right about now. Curl up in some clean pj’s, watch a little Deadliest Catch and have indoor plumbing ten feet away.
“You okay?” Pete and Leila asked in unison as they approached, Damien just behind them.
“I’m good. Just resting a little,” I lied, peeking at them. Just cleansing and purging, more like it.
“You look like death,” Damien said.
“And you look like a monkey in those clothes,” I returned halfheartedly.
“See you at the top. Don’t worry. We’re almost halfway there.” Leila slapped my knee and kept going.
Almost halfway there. God, take me now! And how could those pale computer dweebs be in such great shape, huh?
Bwihhhhheerrrrgggghhh. Ack! That one hurt! I pictured that notable scene from Alien all too clearly. If only the creature would just burst out and end my misery! Cleanse and purge, my God! Was childbirth like this? New sweat broke out on top of my old sweat, and I tried to breathe, Lamaze-like, through the pain. Too bad Hester wasn’t around to slip me an epidural. Bowie looked up at me and smiled his doggy smile, and I managed to smile back.
“Hey, Calorie.” It was Freddie this time. “You got a beer?”
“No, of course I don’t,” I said weakly. “I’m dying.” Bowie licked my face, attempting revival.
“I call your car,” my brother said.
I struggled to sit up. “You’re such a sweet brother. If I die, everything goes to the nieces, okay? Nothing for you. Fleur, you’re a witness.”
“Can do,” she said, sitting next to me. She was panting, which made me grateful. “I could murder a cuppa right now.”
Ian, however, seemed irritatingly unaffected by our little hike up the mountain. He ignored me (and I was grateful, as I didn’t want yet another person commenting on those god-awful noises). Instead, he put his hands in the pockets of his hiking shorts—L.L. Bean, not the sweaty plastic kind—and surveyed the view. I surveyed it as well … the view of Ian, that was. Nice legs. I’d guess soccer as a child. Excellent ass. Lovely broad shoulders.
“What
