family was known around the region for their philanthropy involving the arts, and his grandmother had endowed the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company with enough money to keep them flush for years, but Bloomquist’s greatest ambition was to play in a garage band.
Bloomquist was also a longtime, second-tier suck-up of Kasey, as was Ryan Perry. The number one sidekick had always been Scooter. After Zak had gotten to know the group earlier that summer, he realized the social tier was structured, coincidentally or not, on a hierarchy that ran from wealthiest on down. Of course, that placed Zak squarely on the bottom rung in any group function. “I mean it,” said Bloomquist. “Don’t get too worked up about us being here.”
“How did you guys know where we were?”
“Dumb luck. Some guy in North Bend told Kasey.”
“You just happened to be in North Bend talking about me to the one person there who knows where I was going?”
“Somehow Scooter got wind of it. I’m not sure how.”
“Scooter or Kasey?”
“Scooter.”
Nearby, Muldaur, aka Hugh, had convinced Chuck Finnigan to show him the interior of the Porsche Cayenne. Chuck patiently answered each of Hugh’s inane questions, not realizing that Hugh considered it his duty to exhaust the patience of anyone who tried to treat him civilly.
“Okay. Okay. Okay,” said Hugh. “Three men are in a rowboat and it’s in the middle of the ocean. One is a kindergarten teacher. One is a professor. And one is a pimp with a razor knife. What do they say to each other as the boat sinks?”
“I don’t know,” said Chuck. “What do they say?”
“I got it right here,” Hugh said, pulling a scrap of paper out of his pocket and holding it close to his glasses. “They say…they say…no…wait…this is for the turtle and the stripper. Wait. I got it here somewhere.” He fumbled through his pockets. Zak knew there was no joke and no punch line and that he would perform this stunt as many times as they let him get away with it.
“So you guys found out what I was doing and came out to hassle us?” Zak said.
“Kasey and Scooter thought it would be funny,” said Bloomquist. “They don’t mean anything by it. We were just going to grill some steaks, listen to music, and party. I mean…well, you know these guys. Just go with the flow.”
“In the morning are they going to chase us around in those trucks again?”
“No. Of course not. I mean…I don’t know what their plans are. I’m just along for the ride.”
“You know this is all about me and Nadine and Scooter, don’t you?”
“We’re just going to have a good time and go home. Nobody means anything by it.”
“Sure.”
On the other side of the campfire, Stephens and Morse were chatting with Perry, Scooter, and Kasey. Stephens was playing that game of “who do you know” and finding they had more than one acquaintance in common, mostly businessmen in the Greater Seattle area. Then Stephens asked about investments, and soon they were discussing the stock market and Japanese real estate and REITs.
It was interesting to watch the dynamics of the two groups mesh. Fred Finnigan, who was almost as taciturn as his brother Chuck, remained on the sidelines of the stock market conversations. Jennifer watched silently as Chuck showed Hugh various gadgets on the trucks and answered his questions. Kasey, Scooter, and Perry chatted amiably and passed bottles of beer to Stephens and Morse; Bloomquist drifted over to join them. Zak thought Stephens and Morse were finding more in common with these Jeep boys than they had with the firefighters, money apparently forging tighter bonds than bicycling. Giancarlo got along with just about anybody and had soon embarked upon an earnest conversation with Jennifer about religion, which was at the core of Giancarlo’s life.
Zak was still mulling over the fact that he’d been followed into the foothills by his ex-girlfriend’s former boyfriend. Maybe Bloomquist was
Bloomquist was also a longtime, second-tier suck-up of Kasey, as was Ryan Perry. The number one sidekick had always been Scooter. After Zak had gotten to know the group earlier that summer, he realized the social tier was structured, coincidentally or not, on a hierarchy that ran from wealthiest on down. Of course, that placed Zak squarely on the bottom rung in any group function. “I mean it,” said Bloomquist. “Don’t get too worked up about us being here.”
“How did you guys know where we were?”
“Dumb luck. Some guy in North Bend told Kasey.”
“You just happened to be in North Bend talking about me to the one person there who knows where I was going?”
“Somehow Scooter got wind of it. I’m not sure how.”
“Scooter or Kasey?”
“Scooter.”
Nearby, Muldaur, aka Hugh, had convinced Chuck Finnigan to show him the interior of the Porsche Cayenne. Chuck patiently answered each of Hugh’s inane questions, not realizing that Hugh considered it his duty to exhaust the patience of anyone who tried to treat him civilly.
“Okay. Okay. Okay,” said Hugh. “Three men are in a rowboat and it’s in the middle of the ocean. One is a kindergarten teacher. One is a professor. And one is a pimp with a razor knife. What do they say to each other as the boat sinks?”
“I don’t know,” said Chuck. “What do they say?”
“I got it right here,” Hugh said, pulling a scrap of paper out of his pocket and holding it close to his glasses. “They say…they say…no…wait…this is for the turtle and the stripper. Wait. I got it here somewhere.” He fumbled through his pockets. Zak knew there was no joke and no punch line and that he would perform this stunt as many times as they let him get away with it.
“So you guys found out what I was doing and came out to hassle us?” Zak said.
“Kasey and Scooter thought it would be funny,” said Bloomquist. “They don’t mean anything by it. We were just going to grill some steaks, listen to music, and party. I mean…well, you know these guys. Just go with the flow.”
“In the morning are they going to chase us around in those trucks again?”
“No. Of course not. I mean…I don’t know what their plans are. I’m just along for the ride.”
“You know this is all about me and Nadine and Scooter, don’t you?”
“We’re just going to have a good time and go home. Nobody means anything by it.”
“Sure.”
On the other side of the campfire, Stephens and Morse were chatting with Perry, Scooter, and Kasey. Stephens was playing that game of “who do you know” and finding they had more than one acquaintance in common, mostly businessmen in the Greater Seattle area. Then Stephens asked about investments, and soon they were discussing the stock market and Japanese real estate and REITs.
It was interesting to watch the dynamics of the two groups mesh. Fred Finnigan, who was almost as taciturn as his brother Chuck, remained on the sidelines of the stock market conversations. Jennifer watched silently as Chuck showed Hugh various gadgets on the trucks and answered his questions. Kasey, Scooter, and Perry chatted amiably and passed bottles of beer to Stephens and Morse; Bloomquist drifted over to join them. Zak thought Stephens and Morse were finding more in common with these Jeep boys than they had with the firefighters, money apparently forging tighter bonds than bicycling. Giancarlo got along with just about anybody and had soon embarked upon an earnest conversation with Jennifer about religion, which was at the core of Giancarlo’s life.
Zak was still mulling over the fact that he’d been followed into the foothills by his ex-girlfriend’s former boyfriend. Maybe Bloomquist was
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