Whale Bay

The wind was timeless, primordial. It tore at the clouds and swirled birds in flight, rocked the fleet in the harbor and howled through the rigging. It wailed at our windows like a lover bereft. It was the one constant, here on the icy edge of the seething Bering Sea.

I'm Aidan, a third year lawyer. I'm a self-made guy from the ragged coast of Maine. I got here by working hard and leaving nothing to chance. It's possible that a few parties were missed along the way, but I really couldn't afford to take risks. And it worked; I had wangled my way into a big-league environmental law firm.

The firm had assigned me to a small team camped out on the coast of Alaska. Our task, a high-stakes one, was to prevent drilling on newly opened oil leases in Bristol Bay. Unfortunately for everyone, the leases were right in some of the richest fishing grounds in the world, and also in one of the stormiest drilling environments on the planet. What could go wrong? Nothing, said the oil companies and their friends in government. It would be a bonanza for everyone, at least in this generation.

We had taken an entire boardinghouse in Whale Bay, a tiny native village far out on the Alaska Peninsula. Our office was the cramped living area on the ground floor, our desks were the dinner table, and our copier sat on a chair. Like the neighboring Aleutians, the area was primitive and remote. The dilapidated building must have been a blinding blue many years ago, but now it was fading into patchy shades of turquoise. It was mostly cinderblocks, plywood and tarpaper. The wind moaned though it like an army of ghosts.

Our on-site legal team was just a senior partner and me, along with a law school student, a "summer associate," who was due to join us soon. We associates would do the grunt work. So it goes. Just getting hired had been a major achievement. The next steps in my program were to work hard, make partner, and secure my finances. Maybe I could save the world, too, but more realistically I needed to build a decent résumé, since very few hires make partner in elite firms.

The partner on the case, Mr. Primm, was an elderly but interesting guy, perceptive, highly principled, and driven. He was a big believer in the law with little sympathy for cheats, and his easy moral outrage made him a fierce defender of the environment. I admired him for it, and we got along pretty well despite the fact that he was a prickly workaholic who held my career in his hands. Dinner table conversation, unfortunately, was usually a monologue about the latest environmental scandal, and he tended to work late. We spent our time reading, writing, calling and emailing, sometimes for twelve hours a day. Naturally, my hours had to be longer than his. The atmosphere was quiet and intense, but then, big law isn't meant to be fun.

The day we had flown in was overcast, cold and, of course, windy. We had approached the narrow airstrip from a horrifying angle before the pilot dropped us hard on the dirt runway. Our summer associate was arriving in even windier conditions, so I thought it would be friendly to meet the plane. Also, her name was Ciara, and she and I were going to be the only young college grads for hundreds of miles.

****

It was, as usual, another gusty, darkly overcast day. The plane bounced twice and rocked to a halt. Ciara bounced out and hit the ground talking. My first impression was that her all-black clothes - parka, tights, clunky shoes and choker - seemed pretty sophisticated for a frontier town. Her artfully tangled black hair looked stylishly wind-blown, or maybe just-fucked. By contrast, her eyes and nails were a shocking, brilliant blue. I glimpsed a matching blue tongue stud as she swooped down on me for a hug that was unexpectedly friendly, considering we'd never met. I bent into it, but even so, I felt the bumps.

We chatted as I hefted her giant suitcase into the pickup. She was nice enough looking, but primarily, she just oozed personality. It took about ten seconds to figure out that she was going to be a major distraction, a sunlit disco ball here in our gray little world. It wasn't just the constant chatter. The problem was charisma. She was going to be the life of the party, one of those people you really couldn't tune out. Of course, the firm non-fraternization policy was clear. I steeled myself. I'd be doing that a lot, I figured. I could still feel the hug.

Nevertheless, rather than drive her out of town and drop her off among the wolves, I made a fateful decision and took her back to the boardinghouse. She talked easily all the way. She was charming, funny, smart, and much more socially gifted than me.

We talked some more as I dragged her suitcase up to her room. Her parka came off, revealing nice curves under a stretchy black shirt and tights. Unpacking, she talked non-stop over the hum of the wind about her big family, her many friends, her law school buddies. She was going to miss them all but she was excited to be saving the environment. This was her first hands-on work. She wanted to do meaningful things. She hoped we would give her something difficult. She was raring to go. And on and on.

With the constant patter, I sank into kind of a reverie, watching her boobs trying to pull the buttons off her stretchy shirt and her tights cradling her ass. Those tights said: "Look at me, world, I'm wearing a thong." It all seemed pretty risqué. But then everything about her seemed urban and sophisticated.

Suddenly she pivoted to asking me about myself. She almost convinced me that I was interesting, but obviously it was just good technique. Still, I found myself talking way too much. It was nice to feel important for a while, even though her sparkle made me feel slow and dull. I suddenly realized the day had fled and it was time for dinner. It was annoying to realize I was going to have a high school crush all summer.

****

There were only two dining options, the bar or the boardinghouse, and we always stayed in because the bar could be rowdy at night. That first dinner with Primm was typical. Our indigenous landlord, whose real name was so unpronounceable that we called her Shirley, cooked and served. As usual, the menu was fish or other fish. The wind carried the occasional wolf howl in from the gloom, the dim lightbulb over the table swayed gently in the drafts, and the corrugated roof vibrated with a deafening resonance whenever the wind was just right. Oblivious as usual, Primm was on a diatribe about salmon migration routes, which went right through the new drilling leases. Even Ciara was having difficulty getting enough air time to charm him. I spent the evening barely aware of the ongoing rant, sneaking glances at Ciara as she minded him politely.

Primm finally ran out of steam and Ciara seized the moment. Shifting gears and practically sparkling, she asked what there was to do here after hours. She was asking the wrong guys. Shirley happened to be clearing dishes and, hearing an awkward pause, she answered that in the morning you could watch the fishing boats go out to sea, and even better, in the evening you could watch them come back with fish. Ciara digested this news quietly. I added that the bar in town was usually okay for lunch but was filled with drunken roughnecks at night. She nodded again. No other options were forthcoming, apparently. She suddenly looked like a dog on a chain. Primm went back to his rant.

Someone started running their shin up and down my calf. It wasn't Primm, I was pretty sure.

I looked at Ciara. She arched her eyebrows at me fractionally. I didn't react. I had to be careful. The leg went away.

A guy in the home office had been summarily fired for being caught in flagrante delicto with his secretary. I wasn't going to be that guy. Also, realistically, this had to be some kind of joke. No way was she interested in me like that.

****

The days went by and no one mentioned the leg incident. I was sure I had misread the situation. It could have been just a comment on Primm's rant, or maybe she had mistaken me for a table leg. Either way, she had obviously put it behind her. On the other hand, our working relationship was going pretty well. I was getting more at ease with her being so constantly 'on,' and I was actually looking forward to work, just because she was so amusing and decorative sitting across the table from me. She often persuaded me to go out to the bar for lunch, and we would get into these amazing long discussions about absolutely nothing related to work. Somewhere along the way I had decided she was beautiful even if she wasn't perfect, which probably meant something dire. Her proximity and unavailability were starting to gnaw at me.

But that's where it rested until one night when Ciara seemed uncharacteristically silent at dinner. After Primm went to his room to read advance sheets, Ciara opened her laptop on the dining table and started surfing. I did the same. We were both quiet. That lasted about five minutes.

"Is this what you guys usually do in the evenings?"

"Sometimes we read or watch the news."

She glumly continued surfing. I found myself looking at r/cats.

"Are you sure the bar is too dangerous?"

"That's what I hear. Ask Shirley." Shirley had gone to bed.

"What time do the fishing boats come back?" That was either sarcastic or pathetic.

"They're back already." In June it was daylight twenty hours a day, but even fishermen had their limits.

". . . . Do you have a girlfriend?" Clearly desperate for conversation.

"Not at the moment." Everyone knows big law requires 120%. I was about to add, defensively, that there were no girls up here, but that might get complicated.

Long pause. Then, plaintively: ". . . . Don't you think we could find something more interesting to do than watch cat videos? . . . . I mean, we're already pretty familiar with each other. We seem to get along really well. Maybe it would be fun to spend some more time, like, doing things together."

Huh. But if she was, incredibly, interested in me personally, it was just because of the isolation. For most people, this was probably hell. And but for the leg incident, which had almost certainly been nothing, the proposal was completely innocent. It probably was innocent. Definitely innocent, actually. I was getting ahead of myself. Back to reality. "Sure, we could do that. It's just that there's not much going on up here."

That got an eye roll. I stayed quiet. If I was wrong she might think I was playing dumb, but in my position, I had no choice anyway. Showing a flicker of interest in a subordinate was a disaster these days.

"I can think of some things that might be fun. Better than cat videos, anyway." It sounded casual but she had locked eyes with me.

Unless she meant board games, we were at an impasse. I couldn't legally break it even if I dared, and she would be crazy to risk taking it any further with an employer.

I looked away. There was a long silence.

"Look, even If you're not that interested in a law student, we could do the 'benefits' thing." She air-quoted the word. "I'd be up for that."

How did she get this far in life taking risks like that!? But now I had to make a choice. I could continue to be intentionally dense and refer her to HR for benefit questions. But I was sympathetic. I decided I owed her a real answer.

But what? The sudden prospect of a relationship made me realize I already had that familiar hollow feeling when she wasn't around. I had never thought there was any possibility, and yet here we were. She was so charming and fun and sexy, and . . . if I passed up the chance, I might regret it for life. But this was career-ending stuff. If I went for it, I might lose everything I had worked for so hard.

No contest.

"Ciara, I think you're great. Any guy would jump at the chance to get to know you better. But the firm has rules about employees getting too familiar. Primm believes in rules. And there are workplace harassment laws, as I know you know. We wouldn't want to do anything that could be misconstrued." Ouch. That sounded like managing partner-speak.

She gave an exaggerated sigh. "So are we just going sit looking across the table looking at each other all summer? Can't we just be discreet?"

I'd been daydreaming about this, of course. Fruitlessly. "Even if that were a good idea, how would we do it? The walls here are what, quarter-inch plywood? There's no hotel, and outside it's freezing, with wolves. Remember the firm can review your email, by the way. It's safer to follow the rules."

"Well, I'm glad to find you've been thinking about it." She frowned in thought. "In the meantime, are there any rules against flirting?"

I couldn't come up with any, at least not when the subordinate was doing the flirting. I probably should have thought longer. I usually do, but with her I was always trying to keep up. She was so quick on her feet. I'm kind of on a seven-second delay, like people on TV. . . .

"OK, then," she interrupted before my seven seconds were up, "flirting it is. Until I can bring you around, which I will. By the way, I'm great in bed. I can tie a knot with my tongue."

****

So it began, the great struggle to get me fired. Actually she said she was just trying to motivate me. Whatever. She was creative and persistent, and for lack of alternative, I suppose, I was her project.

That night she asked if she could kiss me goodnight. I said no, obviously.

"I mean just on the cheek. People do it all the time. HR couldn't object, could they? And you've been so sweet!" She gave me the comical lost-fawn look.

I grudgingly said OK. I didn't fully appreciate the terms of engagement yet. She came in and turned her cheek for the kiss but suddenly assaulted me with her boobs. She just stood there, holding me and pushing them brazenly into my chest while transfixing me with those bright blue eyes. I was briefly frozen, but I eventually realized she was pressing against my quickly stiffening cock, too, and I had to bend away fast. She went upstairs in a better mood, smiling and humming. That was the end of the kissing, but it felt like a little power had shifted.

****

The very next morning Primm was out early. She came down to work in just a scoop-necked tee and sat across the table from me. Her boobs were darting around under the shirt whenever she moved. I tried to ignore her but it was impossible. I could only hope she wouldn't notice.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Going for absent-mindedly, I said "Sure."

"Do you like boobs?"

Amazing. Didn't she have any inhibitions at all? Should I kid around with her, or try to get stern? Middle ground: "I'll have to take the fifth on that."

"I like boob guys. You're so easy." Smiling, she shook herself at me. Her breasts heaved and swooped around under the shirt. I had to watch. She was right. I was easy. I couldn't avoid a grin.

So now it was a game. She knew I wasn't going to get offended and reprimand her. She was too likable, too funny. We were buddies. I wondered how she could be so spontaneous and still so socially deft. It was magic.

We decided to go to the bar for lunch. She looked out the window to check the weather while I tried to estimate the number of millimeters by which the shirt covered her ass. She saw me and, with her usual nice smile, came over and leaned on the table to give me a little peek down the neck of her shirt. She asked whether I thought she would need underwear because of the wind. I had to laugh again. But I noticed she hadn't really done anything scandalous. Apparently there were ground rules. This was going to be a mind game.

****

She dressed and we walked slowly to the bar through the cold, swirling air, talking work. We had beer and fish and chips, and somehow she got me laughing. A squall was passing through and Primm was still out, so we didn't hurry to leave. As usual, we had a great time but because of the rain we got slightly buzzed, which I never do at lunch.

Near the end of our third beer, she suddenly got personal. "Look, Aidan, I hope this teasing idea isn't too annoying. That's the last thing I want. It just kind of popped into my head. I was just frustrated. I'd been wondering what you'd be like way before I got here. I was hoping that since we're both young environmental lawyers who signed up to work in this god-forsaken place we might have some things in common. It's like a sign that we both have Irish names!" She toyed with her beer coaster. There was a picture of a fish on it. ". . . And when we met, you were just like I imagined. I was nervous and I got going too fast and I probably talked your ears off. I don't usually fall all over myself...."

I suddenly felt badly for my harasser. Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome. "I can handle it. You're pretty funny, actually. But you know Primm and the firm. They're all about purity. If they thought we had something going, we'd be tossed out the same day. If you get fired, you can just say the firm was your summer job and apply somewhere else after you graduate. That's normal. But if I get canned after just a couple of years with no good explanation, I'll be damaged goods. The flirting is fun, but if Primm gets a whiff of it, I'm toast. Any chance it could stop?" That was way too passive, I realized. One problem was, she had looked so hot in that shirt.

"Afraid not," she said with a wry smile. "I really don't want to give up on you. You're kind of adorable in your own way, you know? A little cautious, but we can fix that. I think we'd be a terrific together, so I want to keep you motivated. I'll be careful, OK?" She stroked my calf gently under the table as though she really liked me. Then she finished her beer and licked all around the rim of her glass while staring at me.

****

So the flirting continued. A few days later we were doing on-line research at the dining table. It was lunch time. Primm was off in a corner, on the phone. The copier was noisily printing a 150 page brief.

"Got time for a question?" she asked quietly.

"My door is always open," I intoned, the old law firm line.

"Do you like tongue studs? They're kind of a pain but I'm told guys like them. What does mine make you think about?

"I think it goes well with your nails."

She huffed cutely. "Actually it goes with my nipple bars, but I don't suppose you want to talk about those either."

"No! Not now. Not ever, actually."

"I'll take that as a qualified 'yes' because you're a guy. I think they make my tits look hot in a tee shirt. They're meant to be suggestive. Like maybe I'm a bad girl. What do you think? Am I bad? Tell me I'm bad!"

She almost had me laughing again. Almost. "You're bad, alright," I confirmed tonelessly.

"Not like that! Maybe you'd do better just spanking me. You might want to know if it turns me on, for when we're alone together. I'm still working on that, by the way."

"You're off limits and that's for good reason," I said with all the seriousness I could muster.

"Maybe, but my door is always open!" She smiled nicely and squished her boobs at me.

****

A week went by, seven more evenings at home. Ciara said she felt like we were on house arrest. She wanted to go out after dinner, but the warnings about the bar were so dire that in desperation we went to watch the fish being unloaded.

I expected huge commercial boats with derricks hoisting big nets full of fish, but here the boats here were modest, and the fish were sucked out of the holds with a giant vacuum that pumped them through tubes into wheeled plastic containers. A butterfly valve shifted the flow to a new container when the old one got full, as though they were a fluid.

"What an ignominious ending," Ciara said. "One minute you're a beautiful silver fish swimming through this pristine -- well, temporarily pristine - sea with your thousands of friends, and the next you're all sucked into a bin to be ground up for cat food."