Sheila Berry sat at the glass topped table in the shade of the green sun umbrella. She glanced up at the poolside activity, then back to her laptop, thinking over the figures of venture capital funds for the partnership among Warhaven, the PUD, and River Currents Power. She was early, waiting for the principals of RCP who were guests at the motel. Sheila was pretty certain the money would be solid and that the business plan would proceed. It appeared that trust was mutual and that the risk taking would prove healthy for the city and its residents.
It was a warm afternoon and Sheila had worn her suit beneath her slacks. She had dipped in upon arrival, and hoped to repeat the process when the meeting was over. Billy the cabana boy was doing a brisk business selling drinks to the folks at the pool-and was on top of keeping Sheila's tumbler of iced tea filled.
Grandparents held hands poolside, their feet and calves in the water at the shallow end, encouraging their wide-eyed preschool granddaughter, who walked in the water, orange inflatable waterwings around each shoulder.
To Sheila's left a young blond woman reclined in a chaise lounge, smaking a cigarette, reading Valley of the Dolls. Next to her, an older woman in a straw sun hat, who must have been her mother read War and Peace.
Across the pool, beside Billy's concession stand, two old geezers sat at a table, drinking long necked beers, eating potato chips from a bowl, and playing dominoes. From the looks of it, thought Sheila, double twelves.
She looked out over the two stories motel at the jagged peaks of the Craggies. She sighed, "Not bad," she muttered, "Not bad at all."
"You talking to me, lady?" Sheila looked up. Gus Chapman stood, smiling down at his fellow city councilor. They both laughed.
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