Robin Alexander: Murky Waters

After arriving at the office, she made a pit stop at the galley and got herself another coffee and made her way to Tristan’s office.

The crew coordinators were already there when Claire arrived. She took the time to chat with them and did her best to remember their names. Claire noticed that Tristan had her back to the room while she worked on her computer.

Claire poked her head in the office to let Tristan know she had arrived. “Good morning, Tristan. I just wanted to let you know that I’m ready when you are.”

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Tristan turned to look at her and stared for a moment before saying, “Good morning, couillon .” All four of the crew coordinators burst into a fit of laughter.

“What is so funny, and what does couillon mean?” Claire could feel anger creeping up the back of her neck, sensing she had been made the butt of a joke. The raucous laughter dropped to snickers.

All the crew coordinators looked to Tristan to explain. Claire stepped through the doorway and stared daggers at Tristan. “What does it mean, Miss Delacroix?” Claire demanded angrily.

“It’s a Cajun French word that means foolish or funny person,”

Tristan replied with a smirk.

Claire slammed the door to Tristan’s office hard enough to make the walls shake. “I may not know a thing about the Cajun language, but I assure you I am not a fool! I’m not so sure you can say the same.”

Tristan’s face turned cold, but her voice remained low. “Let me remind you, Miss Murray, I am still the customer, and you work for me. Furthermore, there was nothing degrading or malicious meant by what I said.”

“Well, Ms. Delacroix, although I do work at the company that provides a service for yours, that does not mean I am any less human than you are. I would appreciate it if you would lay off busting my chops every time I come in contact with you. And furthermore ...” Claire fought the urge to grin as she threw the word back at Tristan, “if you think being referred to as a foolish or funny person in front of a roomful of people is not degrading, you have a really warped sense of humor.”

Tristan stood slowly and walked around her desk to stand face-to-face with Claire. “I have to go to the warehouse and get our hardhats.” She handed Claire two life jackets. “Meet me in the back of the building; my truck is the red Ford F-150.”

Tristan had switched gears, knocking Claire off kilter. Claire stood there blinking for a moment before she took the life jackets from her. Tristan turned and walked out of the office, leaving Claire to stare at her, once again dumbfounded. To top it off, Claire could not help but notice how nice Tristan’s butt looked in her jeans, and that pissed her off even more.

Claire found Tristan’s truck unlocked. Even better, she had left her keys in the ignition. Claire reached over and started the engine 28

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and cranked the air up as high as it would go. The oppressive summer heat was already making its presence known. In addition, she had been drinking hot coffee all morning, which made her sweat, adding to her ire. Truth be known, her blood pressure was up a few notches, as well, and she had an overwhelming desire to slap the shit out of the condescending Ms. Delacroix.

Claire stood just outside the open door of the truck to smoke and take advantage of the cool air coming from the cab. “Get in; you can smoke in the truck.” Startled, Claire gave Tristan a quick look and flicked out the cigarette, determined not to follow any orders she didn’t have to. She got in, put on her seat belt, and waited for Tristan to pull out of the parking lot before beginning her verbal assault.

“What the hell is your problem with me, Tristan? We’ve only known each other one day, and you have managed to insult me twice. I understand you and Rhonda had some problems in your working relationship, but that’s no reason to take it out on me!

You haven’t even given me a chance!”

Tristan glanced from the road to Claire. “You’re right.”

Again, Tristan had thrown Claire off with her unexpected response. For a moment, Claire was left speechless, and when it looked as though Tristan wasn’t going to say anything more, Claire’s anger ignited again. Claire played the card she thought would get a response out of Tristan, hoping to really piss her off.

“You can turn this truck around now, Tristan Delacroix, and take me back to the office. I plan to go to Mr. Hughes and tell him no one in my position will be able to work for his company effectively because you, Tristan, are not willing to work with us!”

Claire internally debated if it were a wise move to play that card when Tristan pulled the truck safely off the road, took off her seat belt, and turned to face her. “Yesterday, when I brought you the shirt, I was trying to make peace. My behavior has been very unprofessional. I was frustrated with Rhonda, and you bore the brunt of that. Actually, I’m very happy that she has been replaced and am looking forward to working with you. I am truly sorry we started out this way, and I know it’s my fault. Incidentally, my dad used to call me couillon when I was a kid. It was a nickname. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

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Claire sat and stared dumbfounded at Tristan for a long time. She was still angry and wanted the difficult woman to rant and scream at her. What she got was an obvious heartfelt apology, and that made her even more angry. “Apology accepted” was all she could muster as she chewed her lip, trying to quell the tirade that had been building since she laid eyes on Tristan that morning.

Tristan pulled the truck back onto the road, and after a mile or two, she lit up a cigarette. “You’re welcome to smoke in my truck.

All I ask is that you flick the ashes out the window. I don’t like to use the ashtray.”

Claire pulled out a cigarette, but before she could locate her lighter, Tristan reached over and lit the cigarette for her. They rode in silence all the way to the fleet, neither knowing what to say. By the time they had made it to their destination, all the anger had dissipated, making things between them seem even more awkward.

Tristan navigated the truck up the steep levee, and when it crested the hill, Claire got her first glimpse of the Valor fleet. Not knowing what to expect, she was a little surprised when the landing barge came into view and she noticed an entire office complex had been erected on top of it. She spied the familiar Valor logo on the smokestack of the vessel tied off to the landing barge.

“The office on the very top with all the windows is the fleet dispatcher’s office. They dispatch the fleet vessels that build together barge tows that go out with our vessels,” Tristan explained in detail, hating the idea of leaving the cool truck and venturing out into the heat. “We have a crew stationed here that strips and cleans the barges before they are taken to the refineries or chemical plants to be loaded. Mail and supplies are kept on the bottom floor to be picked up by the boats when they pass through here.”

Tristan was the first out of the truck. She walked around to the passenger side and handed Claire a life vest. She put on her own jacket first, hoping Claire would mimic her actions. Claire wrestled with the straps and, within minutes, had the life jacket looking like a bear had mauled it.

Tristan fought the urge to snicker as she stood watching in amusement. “Would you like some help with that?”

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Claire surrendered the mess she had made, looking a little sheepish. It took Tristan a few minutes to unscramble the straps, after which, she held up the jacket and had Claire slip her arms through it. When Claire turned around to face her, Tristan hesitated a moment, reluctant to fasten the closure over Claire’s well-defined breasts. From her vantage point, Tristan could see Claire’s cleavage, and the sight made her hands shake as she fastened the closure.