Fair Winds, Fair Game

Dave stared bitterly as the 44-foot white and blue Catalina sailboat tacked toward the horizon taking his future with it. Fighting back tears, he turned away and began the long walk back to his car. He and Reilly had been competitors for many years, but Dave always viewed their relationship as a friendly rivalry. Until now. He never imagined that Reilly would resort to such petty trickery to beat him, but there had never been this much money on the line before.

Dave slid behind the wheel of his 2013 Honda Accord and slammed the door. He forced the key into the ignition but did not start the car. Instead, he just closed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands. He straightened his arms and locked his elbows, pushing his shoulders into the worn, comfortless driver’s seat.

A series of taps on the window spurred Dave to open his eyes though he did not release his death grip on the steering wheel. He blinked away his uncried tears and recognized the face peering through his windshield. Exhaling, he allowed his body to slacken and opened the car door.

“Amanda? What…?” Dave stammered. He searched for a coherent thought, but came up blank. He glanced away and bit his lip.

“I take it your 'negotiations' with Reilly didn’t go as planned,” she said without a hint of surprise.

“No… they didn’t.” Dave’s voice was flat. The anger and self-loathing he felt moments earlier were replaced with an emotionless void. He shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other and back again. Finally, he looked up from the pavement and met Amanda’s gaze.

“If I never trusted him,” she said plainly, “why did you?” Her voice was soothing despite her clear indictment of his judgment.

Dave searched for a reasonable answer, but couldn’t find one. He sighed heavily and looked away again, shaking his head.

Firmly gripping his chin between her thumb and forefinger, Amanda forced Dave to look up at her. “Enough with the drama,” she said. “What are we going to do now?”

Dave straightened his posture and locked his eyes with hers. He tried to portray a confidence he wasn’t truly feeling. “Let’s head back to the office.”

Amanda nodded. She smiled at him, quite possibly for the first time in all the years he had known her.

*****

Inside the cabin of the Catalina, Reilly lounged on the striped settee. He gently swirled a glass of Pinot Noir before inhaling deeply. “This is what victory smells like,” he told himself.

He looked at the chestnut brown leather briefcase on the table and smirked. Sitting up, he reached out and patted the briefcase the way an awkward child might pet a small dog. “David, you were always such an innocent fool.”

*****

What are we going to do now? That was the question she asked in the marina parking lot. It hadn’t registered at the time, but sitting in the office Dave realized the word choice was intentional. She was emphasizing that she had chosen him over Reilly. Not in a romantic sense -- that wasn’t something that either of them was interested in -- but as a business partner. At least he had that going for him.

So, what next? The briefcase, the one Reilly conned him into giving up, contained everything he’d ever created: every story idea, every character sketch, every fictional place. Everything. He couldn’t recreate those things if he tried, even if he hadn’t signed that damned contract.

While Dave was lost in thought, Amanda sat across from him at the conference table, patiently waiting. He’s a fool, she thought, but a good-hearted one. A dreamer, in need of protection... like a little woodland creature. She smiled the same smile she’d flashed earlier as she thought about the steps she’d already taken to safeguard him from predators like Reilly.

Dave noticed Amanda’s grin and the similarity to its predecessor at the marina. He almost asked her about it, but thought better of it. He enjoyed seeing her this way; she’d always seemed so serious, even dour at times. This was a welcome, if inexplicable, change. Inspired by the moment, Dave grabbed a notepad and began to write.

*****

When Amanda returned to the office the next morning, Dave looked as if he’d been writing and sketching all night. Papers were strewn across the conference table, some with character biographies, some with rough portraits, some with story outlines. One of the sketches even looked a little like her. She allowed the briefest hint of a smile to grace her lips before attempting to stifle it.

“There it is again!” Dave enthused. “Three times in twenty four hours! What’s that smile all about?”

She allowed the smile to broaden. “Look at all of this. This is proof that Reilly hasn’t won. You were the creative force behind everything we’ve accomplished so far. Even if he has all the unused content you created, he won’t be able to do anything with it. Not anything of substance, anyway.”

Dave admired the doodles and drawings and notes and story fragments laid out haphazardly on the table before him. Amanda’s words lingered in the air like the hint of fresh flowers after a spring rain. He didn’t need Reilly. If anything, it was the other way around.

Amanda continued, “Even if we don’t have all the wonderful things that were in that briefcase, we’re bound for bigger and better things. Don’t you feel it?” The smile gradually diminished, but the sentiment was still visible in the brightness of her eyes.

Dave’s expression slowly changed from proud to slightly puzzled. Perhaps he was reading too much into her words, but he’d noticed something. “Amanda, is there something you’re not telling me? Twice you said ‘even if’ when talking about the briefcase. What’s that all about?”

Amanda smiled again, but there was something different that Dave couldn’t quite identify. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “You gave Reilly the briefcase yourself, didn’t you?”

*****

A lukewarm cup of black coffee, still three quarters full, was left unattended on the galley countertop. Nearby, Reilly was hunched on the settee, head in hands with his fingers intermittently clawing through his hair. He was muttering to himself, mostly unintelligibly if anyone had been there to hear.

The briefcase he patted so awkwardly yet affectionately the night before sat open next to him on the settee. Children’s drawings, crudely written love poems, and photocopied pages of already published screenplays cluttered the cabin as if they had been tossed about in anger. A pile of twisted, crumpled, and torn banking records littered the floor between Reilly’s feet.

He couldn’t believe that Dave would have had the guile to pull this off. He could not accept that he’d been outwitted by such a naive stooge. It just wasn’t possible.

An incoming text caused Reilly’s iPhone to vibrate. He glanced at the screen and read the short message: “Good morning? Or maybe not so much…” It was followed by two emojis, one green-faced and vomiting, the second crying and laughing.

"Amanda."