Free You Are Here by Donald Breckenridge Page B

quit smoking?” “Yeah well,” Karen clenched her jaw, “please don’t try and change the subject.” Stephanie said, “he’ll pay for it,” before looking away. The blond lifeguard continued twirling his silver whistle. “It’s really too bad that he can’t have the abortion for you as well.” Stephanie turned to Karen, “he’s getting me an interview at his friend’s law firm.” “Oh yeah,” Karen made no effort to hide her skepticism, “And when is this going to happen?” A long wave rolled against the shore. “Pretty soon I guess.” Karen tapped the ash off her cigarette, “Is this firm under Alan’s desk?” “No,” Stephanie shook her head, “it’s at the World Trade Center,” and smiled before asking, “Have you found a new gallery yet?” “No…” Karen’s eyes narrowed, “Why do you need a job if he is paying your rent?” Stephanie leaned back and took her bikini top out of the beach bag, “because I don’t want him to support me,” that covered her breasts as she tied it on, “I’m going for a swim,” then stood up, “see you later,” and walked across the warm stretch of sand before the shore.
    Alan and Stephanie sat across from each other at her favorite Thai restaurant. “My father was always very cautious with money and I’m not saying that there is anything wrong with that, but at times it was a real hindrance, especially when it came to some of the more ambitious projects we would bid on.” The remnants of their dinner, barbequed pork and a cold duck salad, lay on the green plates. “So you don’t worry about the costs at all?” “Not in the initial stages,” Alan refilled his beer glass, “ultimately it comes into play but that’s why engineers exist.” “Do you use the same engineer for every project?” He shook his head, “it depends on the project,” then drank from his glass, “our senior engineer was very close to my father and to his way of doing things,” and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, “but we rarely see eye to eye anymore.” Stephanie was trying not to be distracted by the large color television behind his head, “Why wasn’t your father able to turn the company around the way that you have?” There was silent footage from a congressman’s news conference and a black and white still of his missing intern. “My father was too loyal to a few individuals who always insisted on doing things the same way and my main objective has always been to have a solid working relationship with the client and to really explore what their needs are. The greater an understanding I have for what they want increases the project’s potential and its chances for success.” A dog commercial followed. “It’s the client that always comes first,” Alan rested his elbows on the table, “and I’d really like to work with a younger team of engineers… who have fresh, open ideas as opposed to a few of my father’s old cronies who are set in the past.” She looked away from the television, “my friend Karen has a reproduction of the “Tower of Babel” in her kitchen.” He blinked twice, “Have you seen the original?” “No,” Stephanie shook her head, “have you?” He nodded, “it’s in Vienna.” “Karen lives in Greenpoint,” she poked her fork into a piece of duck, “she’s a really good painter.” He nodded, “Where did she go to school?” She placed the duck in her mouth, “Pratt,” and began to chew, “like a decade or so ago.” Alan caught the waitresses’ eye, “they really aren’t known for their painting program,” and held up the empty beer bottle. Stephanie nodded, “she’s