Man in The Woods Read Online Free PDF

damask, and seats himself in a high-backed leather chair behind his desk, which is awash with folders and brochures having to do with the Lundeen family business, which is the manufacture and sale of massage tables.
    “So how have you been, Paul?” Lundeen asks, as if this were a social visit.
    “Things are okay,” Paul says. “How about you?”
    Lundeen smiles, cocks his head. “Couldn’t be worse.” Noticing his chest is exposed, he closes his robe more carefully. “The wonderful world of divorce.”
    “Well I’m really sorry to hear that,” Paul says. Lundeen’s eyes flick avidly, and Paul wonders if he has somehow implied that Lundeen now has the right not to pay his bills, and so he adds, “These things happen.”
    Lundeen folds his hands together and taps them vigorously against his chin. “My finances are in chaos right now, Paul,” he says. “I’ve had to freeze accounts to keep Renee from making off with everything I’ve worked for. And…well it’s complicated and I won’t bore you with all the grisly financial details. Not really your thing anyhow, is it?”
    “It’s…it’s a lot of money,” Paul says.
    “Is it?” Lundeen asks, and then, catching himself, he says, “Of course it is. I realize that. And you worked, Paul. I know that. And the work you did was beautiful. It’s like art, Paul, it really is. I can’t tell you how many people have commented upon it. I’m sure some of them have already called you and asked you to do work for them. Am I right about that? So at least I’ve been helpful in that way.”
    “The thing about the money, Gerald,” Paul says, “is that some of it’s for my work and some of it’s for materials.”
    “I know,” Lundeen says. “You think I don’t know? You think I don’t go to bed every blessed night and think about the money I owe?”
    Paul clears his throat. He knows it makes him sound uncertain, but if he doesn’t cough he won’t be able to speak. “So what are we doing here, Gerald? Can you give me some time frame?” Paul feels odd saying time frame , it is completely alien to him and it feels as if he were suddenly dropping in a French phrase that was somehow apt, the way one of his clients likes to say incroyable when something Paul has made strikes her fancy.
    “What I think we’re talking about here,” Lundeen says, “is a month, at most. But honestly?” He waits for Paul to nod, as if it takes an agreement between the two of them for him to state the simple, unvarnished truth. “Honestly speaking, it’s not really in my hands. It’s all lawyers and assorted sharks. These people, these absolute fuckers.” Lundeen’s eyes redden, as if he might cry.
    Paul feels suddenly lost and hopeless. What more can he say to this man in order to get the money owed to him? He already feels as if he has compromised and sullied himself by coming here. He has made his wishes clear and he has shown his face to Lundeen. The rest will have to work itself out in its own way, at its own time. Paul runs his hands over the etched mahogany arms of the Queen Anne and rises. “All right,” he says. “I’ve got to get going.”
    “Okay, Paul, thanks for stopping by.”
    Paul furrows his brows. Thanks for stopping by makes absolutely no sense, except to strongly imply that Lundeen has barely registered the purpose of the visit. “So will you call me when your finances get straightened out?” he forces himself to ask.
    “Of course I will,” Lundeen says.
    “One way or another, I’ve got to get paid,” Paul says.
    “That’s for sure,” Lundeen says, rising. He comes around the desk and places his hand on Paul’s shoulder, guiding him toward the door, as the mad roar of a vacuum cleaner starts up from somewhere in the front of the apartment. Lundeen glances nervously in the direction of the invisible housekeeper and his steps quicken as he leads Paul to the front door and out into the hall, where, as chance would have it, the elevator man