First Posted:

At a small noise at my office door I glance up, motioning Stephanie to come in. "Right, then," I say to Roger. "Thanks again. You going to beat the club tomorrow, usual time? How 'bout dinner after? Excellent. See you then Roger."

Very carefully I replace the phone receiver in its cradle. (I've broken one already in a fit of disgust over bureaucratic foul ups. I'd rather not smash one when receiving good news.)

"So?" asks Stephanie, coming over to perch on my desk. "Don't keep me in suspense!"

"It's a go. The committee approved the project this afternoon. They go to planning tomorrow. The call for tenders will go out the day after."

"Yes!" exclaims Stephanie. Then, "But, why do you know now?"

"Ah, young thing, you have a thing or two to learn yet about netwrokin'."

Steph snorts. "Uh huh...justifying your expense account, don't you mean."

"Nothing of the sort, girl!" I exclaim in mock sterness, getting up from my chair and going around the desk. "Ev'ry penny spent's well worth it. Important business connections, I'll have you know. Like Roger there." Motioning Stephanie out of the office we head towards the main work area. "Nice enough bloke, for a drone. And willing to give me advanced notice of the Highway 101 upgrade. Take my advice, lass, cultivate a good contact when you find one."

Another snort.

"But seriously, now, ye have to play within the confines of the game. And that means knowin' who's your friend." Heads look up as we enter the main work space of the small engineering firm. "'Course, you've also got to know when to cheat."

"All right, people, time to apologize to your foresightful boss, now," I announce, receiving a few groans and one piece of crumpled paper tossed in my direction (which I casually pluck out of the air and toss back the way it came without looking). "The Highway 101 project is going forward and tenders will open on Wednesday. There'll be only three weeks for bids to go in."

I pause for a moment to let the deadline sink in.

"Now, are you not all glad that I made you work overtime for the last month and a half to get the work done on our bid in advance o' the official notice?"

"We aren't going to hear the end of this, are we?" asks Brad, opening his desk drawer to pull out a bottle of Bushmills malt.

"Aye, well, apologize nice to me for all the hard grumbles you've given ol' Jonathan and maybe I'll let you off the hook easy like. And none o' that there, now," I command, pointing at the Bushmills. At Brad's surprised look (I've never been one to say nay to Irish Whisky before) I add, "It's criminal to be drinking such fine whisky from a stained coffee mug like I know you're going to. Come on, y'all. Close it down. I'm rewarding the lot of you for your back breakin' work and takin' you all to the pub."

A small chorus of happy noises greets this announcements as people turn back to their computers and desks, shutting things down for the night.

"Keep in mind, though, that you're to be back here regular like tomorrow mornin'! We've still got to pound the contracting bid into final order, don't forget."

"Ok, ok, maybe you've got a point with your networking, expense account padding, business dinner ways," Stephanie says with a grin as we head back to our offices to pick up our jackets.

Chuckling, I take my sports jacket off its hanger before going to shut down my computer for the evening. I quickly scan my daytimer for tomorrow, type in a quick note about dinner with Roger and, glancing at the icon I see that no new e-mail has come through, so I cue the shut-down command. Arnie's authoritative "I'll be back", sounds out before the screen goes blank. As I put my jacket on I glance around the office, checking to see if there's anything I've forgotten to do. Ahhhh...nope. Nothing that can't wait. I get tonight off as well. On my way out the door I pick up my waterproofed duster and my rather battered architectural plans tube. True, at nearly four feet long the heavy plastic tube might seem rather a cumbersome load to carry around, but after all these years I'm used to it. Besides, the padded handles and adjustable shoulder strap helps.

Heading back to the main office I see that Tracey has herded the lot of the staff into the lift. Just before joining them I punch the activation key on the security system. A minute later we're exiting the renovated warehouse and the security system is live.

Since it's not raining (a pleasant surprise, although the leaden clouds threaten sullen weather to come) we elect to leave our vehicles in the garage portion of the warehouse and walk the six blocks or so to the pub.

"Hey, what's with the tube, big guy?" asks Darcey as we head off.

"Oh, do ye not see the load I suffer under," I reply with mock severity. "Be most glad that you're nae the leader of this scruffy company, for then you'd have to do some real work!"

"What do you mean, "scruffy"?" Darcey demands.

"Darc," interjects Linda, flicking his fraying, brown, turtleneck sweater, "you're a superlative engineer and an excellent programmer, but GQ you ain't"

"Humph. I'll have you know that women find my particular style most appealing."

"Uh-huh. They take pity on the poor ragamuffin and take you home to nurse you back to health," Linda laughs back.

The banter keeps up until we round the corner and head through the door of the Fallen Crown, a rambling, old, field stone and brick two story structure with architectural (to use the term loosely) add-ons from half a dozen different owners over at least as many decades. The six of us file in and head for the main floor bar, a long hardwood affair, well scarred with decades of use. Jim's behind the bar, pulling a Guinness for another customer. I see Mandy disappearing upstairs with a tray of whiskey and a couple pints of bitters (there is an upstairs bar, but they only open it up later in the evening when it really gets busy).

As we approach the bar I hear Steph answering a question from Brad. "...Phoned from work, but Jay's got some sort of University function thing." She pronounces "thing" nasally so it comes out as "thaang" while rolling her eyes. "So it's just going to be me tonight." As soon as Jim's done with the Guinness she wastes no time flagging him down for a black and tan. As expected, Brad orders the most expensive Irish whiskey he can find. ("For making us work so bloody hard for the last month and not letting on that you knew about the project in advance," he tells me as he picks up the crystal glass with the blessed amber liquid. "Aye, well, tonight you get to fill up your glasses; whatever it costs I will pay. You've all done capital work for me and I know you will again. Despite the grumblin' I receive...") The rest quickly place their orders. I decide to start with a Glenkinchie, neat. I also order a couple plates of dry ribs, wings, and a cheese and vegetable platter for Tracey (which earns me a "Thanks for remembering," with a shy smile.)

Linda has already secured the large table near the fieldstone fireplace that has the padded bench on one side and a mishmash of chairs on the other. I notice she's also secured the most comfortable chair for herself ("My name may be Standing Rock, but it doesn't mean I want to stand or sit on something rock hard," she says, toying with her long braid, woven through with a white deer leather thong.) Steph and Tracey slide onto the bench. After wedging my case along the top of the bench's back I sit next to them. Brad and Darcey take the chairs on either side of Linda. Discussion and spirits flow freely and by the time the house band is about to begin we're all a long way towards feeling immensely...relaxed. Mandy has already come by a couple of times to bring the food and refill drinks. (More than a couple of times for some of us. Darcey and Linda seem to have gotten into some sort of drinking contest. Heh...poor Darcey.

The Sons of Skye are a decent enough pub band with a good selection of songs from the Old Country. Maudlin' of me, I suppose, but I guess no matter where you travel to, or for how long, you never get your land of birth completely out of your veins. Beginning with Black Velvet Band the Sons progress through a half a dozen more (including Streets of London, and Barrette's Privateers, a Stan Rogers song) before launching into a tune made moderately popular relatively recently by the Pogues, reinforcing, in a non-threatening way, that coincidence is a funny thing in this world in which we live.

          "Oh my name is John Stewart,
          I'm a canny young man,
          And a roving young fellow I have been.
          So be easy and free when you're drinkin' with me,
          I'm a man you don't meet every day.
          I have acres of land,
          I have men I command,
          And I've always a shilling to spare.
          So be easy and free when you're drinkin' with me,
          I'm a man you don't meet every day.
          So come fill up your glasses with brandy and wine,
          Whatever it cost I will pay.
          So be easy and free when you're drinkin' with me,
          I'm a man you don't meet every day.
          Oh I took out my dog and him I did shoot,
          Oh down in the county Killdeer.
          So be easy and free when you're drinking with me,
          I'm a man you don't meet every day.
          So come fill up your glasses with brandy and wine,
          Whatever it cost I will pay.
          So be easy and free when you're drinkin' with me,
          I'm a man you don't meet every day.
          So be easy and free when you're drinkin' with me,
          I'm a man you don't meet every day."

Oh, aye, I chuckle to myself, tossing back the remainder of me drink and calling for another round. Ye don't know th' half o' it...