February was typically a rough month for Preston; but not this year. The idea of the company park, and of his "green initiative" excited him. Preston hadn't felt this inspired since graduate school.

It was easy to be motivated under the firm yolk of a task master like Dimas; more difficult to take the reins as a leader. There seemed to be so much that needed to be done.

Having Rigel on board had made all the difference. She had an uncanny knack for sorting workloads into various priority levels. She never seemed overwhelmed. When she'd first started, Preston had been worried about putting too much on her plate. Now it seemed, the more he asked, the happier she was. Rigel had expressed a particular fondness for difficult tasks.

Sir, my sister used to joke that the more difficult a task was, the quicker I got it done, Rigel replied when he'd asked her to track down a particularly elusive piece of information.

In addition to Rigel's competence, Rhonda had been thankfully off his back lately too. It gave him space to breathe. Though winter limited some of his plans, the adjacent lot next to the power plant could still undergo a preliminary survey for site use.

Of course, there would be forms to file, applications, the whole nine yards. He'd already contacted the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation to see what the land had been designated as so many years ago. He'd learned there was something called an Environmental Impact Assessment that would need to be filed once the park plans were drafted up.

At Rigel's suggestions, in addition to the company newsletter, he'd started sending out a personal memo with it. She'd suggested it could help him get some publicity within the company. Though everyone knew who he was, they still worked and thought under the shadow of Thaddeus Dimas.

Once upon a time, a phrase had been coined. "Dimas willing."

We'll get this request approved, Dimas willing.

Rigel overheard it, and brought it to Preston's attention. Mister Tucci, you might want to start getting your name out into the company. They still think of this as Dimas' plant. What about some little addition to the newsletter? A 'from the President' blurb at the beginning or something?

Preston thought that was a brilliant idea. He'd then asked Rigel how she thought of that.

Once I considered going into political campaign management, she explained. Except once I started down that path, I found I had very little interest in political scheming. This, she gestured to her projects, is just as interesting, and much more honest.

When the January newsletter went out, Preston included his personal memo. He'd never actually even introduced himself to his employees in the newsletter. There had been an article about him, but not in his own words. At Rigel's suggestion, he kept it short and positive. He talked about how employee health and wellness (physical and emotional) was important to him. At the end, he included a link to the online fitness survey.

Out of the nearly one thousand employees, a significant number had actually responded to the survey. Five hundred or so. It wasn't an ideal turn out, but Rigel pointed out from a technical standpoint, fifty percent response was much better than typically expected.

Why? asked Preston as they waited for the polling agency to send them a report. What's the typical percentage?

Rigel shrugged as she brought him a mug of tea. Something around eighteen to twenty percent, I believe, sir. I can find out for certain if you need me to.

Preston declined her offer. He didn't need to know. It did make him feel better about their reply figures. The general response from the employees was positive towards the idea of a fitness and recreation facility on site. Several suggested including a small work out center at the plant itself. Preston added that to his ever growing list of ideas.

Since the Rotary International fundraiser, Preston had attended several other events in town in January. When the Lowry Gallery, an modest art museum downtown announced the opening of a new wing, Preston pulled a small amount from the Nuclear Plant's "disposable funds" budget, and appeared in person to make a donation.

He'd contacted the gallery president, Charles Cosgrove, in advance of course. It was an event staged by both of them to look spontaneous. Preston arrived in his Cadillac, which had been coincidentally polished and detailed the day before, and met Cosgrove. In front of the press, Preston gave his little rehearsed speech about the importance of art and culture in modern society. At the conclusion he passed the envelope over and stated grandly: The Plateau City Nuclear Generating Station family is proud to support the Lowry Gallery and all they do for the arts in our cliff-side river city.

Flowery words, yes; and perhaps a bit ostentatious, but they got the job done. Cosgrove made Preston the guest of honor for the remainder of the event. The reporters and their camera crews followed. Preston put on his mask of confidence; it got easier each time. He repeated Antoine's little mantra until he almost believed it himself. I'm a natural, I'm unique, and the camera loves me. He smiled gracefully when the asked for a statement and gave them something politely brief to pen down. Less is more with the press, Rigel had insisted on reminding him before he left.

Yes, Preston had to admit, things had been going quiet well for him lately.

He was beginning to think perhaps his life was finally normalizing. It was a wonderful feeling.

Preston's reflection was interrupted by a knock at the door. Without waiting for him to even reply, the door opened and Antoine bounded in. He wore his ragged Carhartt jacket partially unzipped, a black knit cap pulled down to his eyes, and heavy work boots still damp from snow. Rigel gave him an annoyed look, and stalked off to her office, leaving the door cracked open.

Though Preston could tell whatever animosity between them had settled down, it was clear Rigel found Antoine's nature a bit hard to swallow at times. Especially the trotting un unannounced. She and Preston both had tried to break Antoine of that habit. It had improved, but it still wasn't perfect.

The blue-haired man was gregarious and impulsive.

"Check it out, Prep- Mister Tucci! You made the cover of the Plateau City Review!" He pranced over to Preston's desk, a glossy magazine held aloft.

"The society pages?" Preston asked, bemused. He held out his hand and Antoine dropped the magazine in it.

Antoine shifted his weight from foot to foot lightly despite the fact he was wearing steel-toes boots. The man must be part jungle cat, or something, Preston thought with amusement. It was almost endearing, in an awkward in-your-face sort of way. Like a jungle cat without boundaries.

Preston turned the magazine over and examined the front page. It was a fantastic photo of him, the light caught just right in his soulful brown eyes, his hair tousled in a way that could almost be described as seductive. It must've been caught with a telephoto lens or something, he definitely did not remember posing for this. Beneath the title were the words: "Preston Tucci; Plateau City's Most Eligible Bachelor. Who is this man, and why has he been hidden for so long? Turn to page 28 to find out more."

Preston blushed a deep scarlet. "Oh sweet Jesus," he moaned putting his head in his hands. Tell me no one's seen this yet?"

Antoine danced lightly about. "Are you kidding me? That's the copy from the break room!"

Preston, torn between being acutely embarrassed and extremely proud rolled the magazine into a tight tube. "Is it now? Well, they're not getting it back."

"Can I have it then?" Antoine jabbed a hand forward.

"NO!" Preston swatted Antoine's hand away. "You're probably the one who put it there in the first place. I'm keeping this!"

Antoine folded his arms across his chest and tucked his hands into the open portion of his jacket. "Fine," he replied smugly. "That's fine…" He gave Preston a wink.

Before Preston could even begin to object, Antoine pulled out a stack of identical magazines copies from his jacket. "Because I got more!" He held them up admiringly. "I'm thinking of framing this one."

Preston leapt to his feet. He tried with all his might to keep his expression serious, but his tone was failing him. "You give those here right now!"

Antoine twirled just out of reach. "Hey, freedom of the press, baby!" He pantomimed kissing the cover and winked again. "Congrats on the title, Mister Eligible." He flashed Preston a peace sign, and capered out, leaving Preston alone with the magazine.

Preston quickly dropped it into a desk drawer and tried to regain his composure.

Rigel, who had overheard everything peeked her head out from her office.

Preston, still awash in aggravated amusement looked over at her. "Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Vought," he asked, trying to look composed.

"Your tea's gone cold."

Preston looked down at his mug. He allowed Rigel to put it in the microwave. Waited patiently while it heated. "Sir, may I have permission to speak freely?"

"You always do, Rigel; except when there's company. I appreciate candor."

Rigel indicated the door Antoine had loped through several minutes before. "He's allowed quite a few liberties, isn't he."

Preston shrugged. "It's not my doing to be sure. Mister Dimas used to let him get away with too much, and though he's more settled now, it doesn't bother me most days. It's easier to ignore him than control him." Preston ran a thumb along his jaw thoughtfully. His eyes focused on the photo of the curling wave, remembering their vacation; Antoine gamboling about in the salt water like some rare, blue seal.

"Antoine does whatever I need him to, and he keeps himself professional at company venues. He's good with people, in his own peculiar way; seems to have a knack for drawing people together." Preston's mind wandered.

"Back before I became CEO, shortly after I'd just started, I was working late one night. I still used your office. He came barging in like some wild animal. The next thing I know he's grabbing me by the arm and telling me I'm joining him and 'the gang' for pizza and drinks. It wasn't even an invitation. He wouldn't have taken 'no' for an answer. It was easier just to go with him even though I didn't want to."

"And?" Rigel asked.

Preston shrugged. "So, I went, and I found myself having a great time. He introduced me to some of the department heads. It became a regular little gathering for me."

Rigel brought tea over. Preston blew on the surface to cool it, then took a careful sip. Perfect temperature. "It was nice, those evenings," Preston remarked thoughtfully. "I miss them."

Rigel said nothing, merely listened. Preston had no doubt that she was memorizing everything he told her. She had a keen mind, even if she didn't draw attention to it. Her memory amazed him. He'd always prided himself on his recall. Rigel was equally adept. It made life easier for him, only having to give her an instruction once. She also had been slowly learning his likes and dislikes, and adjusting things accordingly. She made an excellent personal assistant.

"Of course," Preston added, trying to change the tone, "it would hardly be appropriate for me to do that these days; of course."

Rigel pursed her lips thoughtfully. "There are, of course many reasons not to engage your employees out of work, sir. There are, however, benefits as well; especially if it were pre-existing."

Preston snorted. "It's fraternization."

Rigel raised her eyebrows. "Not if you conveniently happened to be there by yourself at a time they just happened to show up. Then, sir, it's coincidence."

Preston raised his eyes to hers, realization blossoming in his mind. What she said, it was still a risk, but technically true. He had to admit he'd been isolated too long. Even his therapist had suggested getting out and meeting people. Preston hadn't had the motivation to make time. He didn't want new strangers. He wanted his old friends.

The existing management clique hadn't, eh, clicked with him despite his attempts to join in. Preston was too young, too inexperienced. He didn't have decades of leadership under his belt, he wasn't married and raising the American dream of two kids in a suburban home. He had no interest in any kids for that matter. Most of the crew at that level was married, set in their ways, trying to one-up each other between work and family status. Though initially he'd tried to be social, it was a good ol' boy's (and girl's) club that excluded a newcomer like him.

Preston drummed his fingertips against his mouth, debating. Finally, he reached a decision. "Rigel?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Contact Radson. Tell him to find out when the 'old gang' is getting together next, and have him see about inviting himself along." Preston affording himself a satisfied smile and leaned back in his chair. Once Rigel left the room, he fished out the magazine Antoine had left. It really was a good picture, he had to admit. Now all he needed was a decent photo of Antoine someday. Preston chuckled to himself, feeling every inch the executive he was. He bowed his head, pulled out the latest folio, and poured himself into his work.

Antoine sat at the familiar table of the cowboy themed bar-and-grill he used to frequent. The Lucky Lady. The food was good, the drinks were good, the company was what he truly came for. He pushed back his chair and grinned at no one in particular. As usual, he'd arrived first. Antoine never saw a reason to change at the plant. He wore his heavy boots, his increasingly frayed jacket, and classic work pants.

Preston sat at the bar, pretending to be invisible. It was all part of their plan.

Antoine was happy to be here again. Ever since The Incident, Preston had been terribly withdrawn. Antoine had been worried. He saw how much Preston had been suffering inside, and there was nothing he could do to help. Slowly though, Preston was coming around. It was true what they said, emotional scars took longest to heal. Preston wasn't even sure why it had bothered Preston so much; but that wasn't something they talked about.

I'm a guy, Preppy. I'm not good at sitting around and talking about feelings, Antoine admitted. I mean, if the feeling's hunger, I'm all over that. But man, I don't even know how I can help, you know?

Preston had put a hand on Antoine's shoulder. Just keep being my friend. That's what I need.

Antoine put his own hand over Preston's. Yeah. I'm not going anywhere, Prep, he'd replied reassuringly.

Now, they were back at their familiar restaurant, waiting for the familiar crew. Antoine, of course, then there was Sharon as well. Gary, the chief at Engineering said he'd be along shortly. Ruby from accounting? She'd be there. Maybe a few other people. Oh, and Rigel. Antoine invited her too. You can't know about it and not come, he announced into the phone. That's not how we roll.

He put in an order for a pizza, half meat and half veggies, then sat back to wait.

One by one, the familiar faces trickled in through the crowd. Antoine beamed, and waved.

"As if we couldn't recognize you by your hair," Ruby laughed. She dropped into a seat next to him. Gary came next, middle-aged and friendly-faced. He pulled up a chair across from Antoine and Ruby. Sharon, and surprisingly Stewart arrived next, with Rigel in tow.

When Stewart made a move to sit next to Antoine, Sharon grabbed his arm and pulled him into an empty chair at the end next to her and Rigel. "He won't let you sit there," Sharon explained to a confused Stewart.

"Aww shucks," Antoine replied, reddening a little.

Sharon laughed and clapped her hands together. "Look at that, he's actually blushing."

"I am not!" Antoine denied, though he could feel his face flushing even more.

"Don't worry about that. It's still not as good as the time you tried asking Jaime for her phone number," Sharon replied, gesturing with her thumb towards the bartender.

They all followed Sharon's gesture, curious to see if Jaime had somehow heard.

"I didn't even know you could make a martini with the word 'no' written on an olive," Antoine muttered, though no one appeared to notice.

"Hey," Ruby called out, recognizing a familiar and deliberately placed figure, "Preston!" She waved and gestured him over. "I didn't know you were already here. Come join us."

Preston, acting as nonchalant as he could, agreed. He glanced at the full table, then chose the only empty seat: the one next to Antoine.

"You make it look as if you didn't have a choice, Preppy."

Preston regarded his friend with a dash of his old conceit. "I didn't."

"So much the better," Antoine beamed. He draped his arm around the back of Preston's chair as he had done a dozen if not a hundred times before. "We got a new face here tonight," he added, indicating Rigel. "Rigel Vought. Prefers 'Riley' if y'all care to know. She's Preppy's new assistant because apparently I'm a better wrench monkey than a day planner."

Gary took a sip of his beer. "So that's how you got demoted, eh?"

"Hey!" barked Sharon and Antoine in unison, both equally offended.

"I'll have you know, Gary, that working in Infrastructure is not a demotion."

Gary held up his hands. "Kidding, kidding."

Sharon gave him a warning gesture with her fork. "Good thing you're over there tonight." She grinned. "So, Rigel, welcome to the group. Tell us a little about yourself."

Rigel "Riley" Vought had to admit the gathering was different than she'd expected. She wasn't sure exactly what to anticipate, but it hadn't been this. The casual atmosphere felt more like a family dinner than a sit-down of coworkers. It reminded her of her own upbringing, and she found herself hit with an unexpected wave of homesickness.

"I grew up near Ithaca, New York," she began.

Rigel filled them in on her childhood, raised and homeschooled for the first few years in a walled-off hippy commune. She explained how everyone lived and worked together, did chores for the community; how everything in essence belonged to everyone. There was one building with electrical power. That was used for the freezers and laundromat. There was a leadership council, but it wasn't authoritarian. Most of their food came from the commune and trades with other farmers. "We grew corn, soybeans. We had a vineyard and even made wine," Rigel recalled. The wine had been sold to tourists visiting the area, and thirsty college kids from Cornell.

Rigel told them about her parents, her brother and sister. She was the proverbial middle child, born at night. "My sister's name is Storm, my brother's is River. My parents named us after the first thing they saw after we were born." Rigel helped herself to a slice of pizza from the 'meat' side of the pie.

"Not 'Star?,'" Stewart asked, curious.

"Well, they considered that, but my father thought it sounded too plain." She smiled at him. "So Rigel it is. I suppose it's not such a bad name. Here at least, no one's made fun of it yet."
Gary raised his eyes. "Why would we?"

"Once I started going to a public highschool I got teased for it. One of my homeroom teachers actually got in an argument with me, saying I was pronouncing my own name wrong. She insisted it was 'rye-GULL' and refused to change her stance."

Gary made a face. "That's hardly appropriate. If someone tried that with my daughter, I'd give them a very stern talking to."

Rigel rolled her shoulder. "I'm sure, as you can imagine, my parents weren't big on conflict."

"So how did you wind up here?" Ruby asked, genuinely curious.

Rigel explained that it was as much an act of rebellion as anything. She originally majored in politic science: campaign management. However, she quickly decided she didn't like the political rubbish and deceit that seemed part and parcel of the deal.

"A lot of the same skills transferred over into this field, and since I prefer to work for one person instead of a faceless organization, I decided I wanted to be a personal assistant." She glanced at Preston casually. "It can be hard, but it can have its glamorous moments too. I enjoy it."

As the questions largely trickled off, Rigel was able to eat instead of chat for a spell. She wondered how Storm and River were doing. When she left, neither of them had expressed any desire to leave the commune. This is your home, River said stoically, leaning on the fence. This is your family. You're really going to walk away from us?

Rigel watched Antoine teasing Stewart about something work related.

Plateau City is my home now, Rigel thought decisively. And these people, I guess they're my family now. She regarded the little group carefully. A tad unorthodox, especially the way her boss was arguing with Antoine in a way that seemed more like they were equals than supervisor and employee. Rigel reasoned it probably worked for them. It explained their dynamic at work. Rigel was also able to see how much both strived to keep everything professional as possible during the work day.

When she'd first met Antoine, she'd thought him irreverent and disrespectful to her boss. Rigel now saw how deep their friendship went; how detached they actually were at the plant. It was something she'd have to think about later.

Friendships, indeed all relationships, fascinated Rigel.

In listening to the conversation, she learned some of the comraderies at the table had been going steadily for nearly a decade. She was a newcomer, and Stewart was relatively new himself, but it seemed like a good balance. No one might have been related, but at this moment, they were a family.