As far as Sylvie was concerned, Connor had taken this whole macho, manly-man, man’s man, rugged outdoorsman bullshit too far! She wanted to crawl into bed and die. Her legs were killing her. They felt wobbly, like they were made of jello. She was one big ache: her knees, her ankles, her ass. And her feet, her poor feet! She had blisters on top of blisters, on top of blisters! She suspected her hiking boots were designed by someone who’d previously worked for the Spanish Inquisition. They’d climbed Cascade Mt. It was a four and a half mile walk, round trip. She had to admit the scenery was breathtaking; but she wasn’t nearly as impressed by the company.
At just over 4000 feet high, Cascade had a beautiful view of the Adirondack High Peaks. But she wasn’t sure the view was worth all she went through to see it. Her companions were all six-footers. Their legs were long and so were their strides, requiring Sylvie to take nearly two steps for every one of theirs. Sylvie struggled to keep up. For the most part the men ignored her, catching up with each other, talking over old times. They rarely spoke to her except to tell her to hurry up, to complain about her holding them up, or to warn her to watch her step. They laughed when she got winded and started gasping for breath. One of them told her she needed to start an exercise program and get in shape if she ‘wanted to hang with the boys!’ The thing he didn’t seem to grasp or comprehend was that she had absolutely no desire to be anywhere near him or his buddies. She would rather have spent the day with the anorexic model/actresses or actress/models; whatever the hell they were, that they’d brought up from the city. There were four of them. Sylvie hated being severe on members of her own sex, but from her brief encounter with them, she couldn’t help thinking they were bimbos. They were beautiful all right, but they were also vacuous, shallow, and superficial. Sylvie had watched in amazement as one of them spent ten minutes repeatedly running her fingers through her tousled blond locks all the while staring at her reflection in a compact mirror. Since the women seemed devoid of wit or intelligence, Sylvie could only assume that they gave great head. On second thought, maybe they weren’t as dumb as she thought. They were in Lake Placid having a spa day! She, on the other hand, wasn’t! Connor wouldn’t allow it. He demanded that she accompany him on the hike just in case he had an attack of genius. It was her job to record his brilliant thoughts for posterity. The problem was he didn’t have any. Most of the morning’s conversation centered on dirty jokes, reminiscences of youthful mischief-making, and tales of sexual escapades past and present.
The worst part of hiking was the lack of bathrooms. For some reason, Sylvie had assumed there would be outhouses placed strategically along popular state-maintained hiking trails. There weren’t. Connor had nearly laughed himself silly when she asked him where the restrooms were. ‘This is the wilderness little girl. You pee in the woods like everybody else,’ he told her, grinning. Sylvie had no intention of doing that. She’d heard there were timber rattlers in the Adirondacks, and poison ivy, and poison oak, and spiders, and centipedes. She was not going to squat in the woods. No way! No how! She’d been shocked the first time she realized one of the men was peeing. She thought he was admiring the view until she noticed he was spraying water on the landscape. Guys had it easy: they just turned their backs to everyone, whipped it out, and aimed down the hill. Connor thought it was hilarious that every time one of his buddies would turn his back to take a leak Sylvie would too…but in the opposite direction. She’d done her best to hold it, but with Connor insisting she keep drinking water from her canteen so she wouldn’t get dehydrated, eventually her bladder had to be emptied whether she wanted to or not. They all snickered when she urged them to go on without her, that she’d catch up. Connor sent them on ahead, but insisted that he stay with her. Sylvie refused, but as usual Connor got his way. She frantically searched the area off the trail for a nice big bush she could crouch behind, but there wasn’t any. Eventually, Connor pointed to a low rock and said that would have to suffice. He’d made a big production of turning his back while she struggled to get her shorts and underwear down. She finished peeing and then realized she didn’t have anything to wipe herself with. She could do little more than bounced up and down, and pray for a breeze.
‘Hey! What’s the hold up? How long does it take you to empty your bladder? Come on! Let’s get a move on!’ Connor yelled after a few minutes had passed.
Sylvie drew up her clothes, buttoned her shorts, and quickly returned to the trail, but every time she looked at him for the rest of the hike she would blush.
Sylvie thought her ordeal was over when they returned to the parking area after coming down the mountain. Fat chance! One of the idiots decided they should stop and climb Cascade Falls and then take a swim in the icy waters of the lake. It was like adding insult to injury. Sylvie didn’t want to do it, but Connor overruled her. He laughed as she huffed and puffed and staggered up the trail. He positioned himself right behind her and every time she slowed her pace she’d feel his hand on her back pushing her forward. She wanted to give him a swift kick in the shins.
She made it to the top of the falls and then down again, but her torture wasn’t finished. It was time for her dunking. Sylvie didn’t want to swim. All she wanted to do was take off her boots and soak her aching feet in the water. Connor had other ideas. She was standing in knee deep water when he suddenly picked her up in his arms and strode out into the lake. When she demanded that he put her down, he did. She landed with a splash then sunk beneath the water. She came up for air, pushed her hair out of her eyes, just in time to see him walking back to shore. She was drenched: her clothes, her hair. She looked a mess, a drippy, disheveled, bedraggled mess! She was furious with him, but there were too many people around, including a group of little kids, to unleash her rage and tell him what she really thought of him. She could do little more than mumble her curses and drag herself out of the water. She didn’t say another word to him for the rest of the afternoon.
Sylvie didn’t much like Connors friends: ‘the six’ as they called themselves. They were childhood chums and asshole buddies, emphasis on asshole. Scions of the mega-rich, they represented a who’s who of New York Society. Drake Rowe, whose billionaire father made his fortune in mergers and acquisitions. Victor Tremain, of the banking Tremains, who owned the too-big-to-fail New York Fidelity Bank of Commerce. Alex Monroe Fielder, who took over the family real estate firm after his father died, and parlayed it into a billion-dollar business. Nathan Dyer, whose family owned the largest brokerage house in the country. And last, but not least, Sean Noth, who was the heir to the largest energy company in the world, with interests in coal, oil, gas, solar, wind, and geothermal. His father was known for his support of right wing causes. They’d all attended prep school together in New York City. Collegiate Boys Preparatory, one of the oldest, most prestigious, and most expensive schools in the country. Summered together at their families’ estates in the Hamptons. They went their separate ways for college: Drake and Nathan to Harvard, Victor and Sean to Yale, Alex to Princeton, and Connor to Columbia. But they’d always remained the closest of friends. Drake actually bought one of the Great Camps in the area so he could be near his best friend. He and Connor often hosted the others for weekends.
Sylvie couldn’t believe these guys. They were more like rivals than friends. It was a competition. They never missed an opportunity to try to one-up each other. Who had the more expensive Rolex? Who drove the best sports car? Who dated the best looking women? Who had the most luxurious yacht? She found their endless bragging annoying. It was childish, boring, and rude. Sylvie had barely spoken to them since they’d arrived. Their soliloquies about how rich and important they were, how wonderful their lives, didn’t invite conversation. It was supposed to incite envy. To his credit, Connor didn’t play that game. She wasn’t sure how much money he had. He was a billionaire according to Mrs. Cosgrove. But whatever he had, he didn’t brag about it. From what she could see, he was the most hardworking and down-to-earth of the lot.
