James Bartlett Bonham Jr. never told anyone his real name. When he was a kid, everyone called him "Trip." Only his parents called him by his given name—James. It was never Jim or Jimmy or Junior. It was always "James". His parents had been formal in his upbringing, and were quite certain that nobody named Jim could be a real Bonham. He couldn't remember how he came by the name "Trip," but he thought it may have come from classmates in grade school saying things like, "he's a trip", and they didn't mean it in a nice way. He had always been a loner, but he was also a great listener. It wasn't that he found other people particularly interesting or their stories irresistibly compelling ... it was more that he found himself completely boring and hopelessly unable to articulate a funny, or even vaguely interesting, account of virtually anything. So he learned to listen.

It wasn't that Trip lacked an education. He had attended a private high school, and with the help of tutors, managed to make good grades. His parents insisted he attend the University of Southern California. He didn't much care where he went, so he agreed. His mother had filled out all the paperwork and dad made a very nice contribution to the general scholarship fund. They both liked to remind him that they had attended Ivy League colleges, but they knew he would never make it at any of them. USC was about as good as it would get for him. Dad wanted him to major in business, maybe work with him someday. Trip majored in History. He remembered his dad confronting him after he'd announced his choice.

"Who in the world majors in history, James? Are you going to teach? What else can you do with a history degree?"

Trip shrugged his shoulders. He had no answer for his industrialist father. The captain of industry finally gave up his questioning on the subject, but that wasn't until the end of his freshman year. James Sr. had moved on to more pressing issues than his son's major.

If you looked at young James Bartlett Bonham, you would never guess this was a person who lived inside himself. He was tall and well built. He had inherited his mother's good looks and his father's strong chin and blue eyes. He had a pleasant smile, when he chose to show it, and his dark brown hair completed a package that said he was sure of himself. But on the inside, there was really no one there.

It was during his junior year at USC that he discovered drinking. It began innocently enough, and Trip would have never guessed the impact it would have on his life. One of the few friends he had made at school asked him to go to a bar he'd had heard of in Hollywood. Trip had nothing better to do than watch TV that night, so he decided to go.

Hollywood had never held much interest for him. Trip thought of it as a place for down-and-outers, drug addicts and male prostitutes. It had lost its interest for locals long before Trip was born. Now it was a place where people from Iowa or Kansas thought they might run into a movie star walking down the street. Fat chance, he thought.

The bar was off Sunset and his friend was sure that the hottest babes in the area "hung out" there. They had arrived at about ten, and the place was just starting to fill up. Trip sat at the bar while his friend walked around surveying the available women. The bartender was a young woman who couldn't have been much over the legal age of 21. She was blond and had a bored stare that said she was somewhere else. Trip was sure he must convey the same image most of the time. She asked for his ID and then only glanced briefly at it.

"So what will it be?" she asked after handing him back his driver's license.

"I don't know, what do you recommend?" Trip asked hoping for some conversation.

"I make a mean martini, but you look like a shot of tequila and a beer chaser to me."

Trip agreed and she brought a shot of clear liquid with a slice of lemon and a salt shaker. A mug of draft beer followed. He knew there was a ceremony that went along with the shot of tequila, but he wasn't sure of the order. He had never drunk straight tequila before, so he just stared at the shot glass for a minute, not sure exactly what to do.

The bartender stared at him and finally a smile crossed her face. "First lick the space between your thumb and index finger." She quickly licked her own hand then poured some salt on the now wet spot. "Like this." She picked up his shot of tequila, licked the salt then downed the drink. She followed this by biting into the wedge of lemon. All in all Trip thought it looked pretty sexy.

"Your turn," she said setting up another round. "I'm really not supposed to be drinking, but we sneak in a couple once in a while."

Trip followed her example and downed the shot of tequila. His whole body rumbled as he swallowed Mexico's national drink. After the initial shock to his system, Trip felt pretty good ... relaxed, for the first time in a long while. After the second round, he was finding the bartender very attractive. He hadn't yet noticed the older woman who'd been sitting next to him.

"Pardon me, would you please pass the salt?" she asked. "I think I might try one of those myself."

Trip turned toward the sound of the earthy, low voice. She had to be at least 40, maybe more he imagined, and she was definitely overdressed for this place. The knit suit must have been expensive. Her legs were crossed, showing off what looked like expensive shoes. A simple gold chain hung from her neck, and a diamond and gold Rolex flashed in front of his face, as she reached for the salt. In an old Bogart movie she would have asked him to light her cigarette, he thought. Now days, you couldn't smoke in bars if you wanted to.

Trip reached quickly for the salt shaker and handed it to her. Her eyes never left his and it made him uncomfortable. She was staring into his brain. Either that or the tequila was really getting to him. Her fingers lingered on his before she slipped the shaker from his hand. In that short second, Trip knew that she was in charge. Even with the tequila, his mouth went dry. He had an instantaneous vision of Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate. He waited for her to talk, but she slid forward in the bar stool and turned to face the bar. The cute bartender scurried over for her order. It was then that Trip realized Mrs. Robinson didn't really need the salt; she ordered a martini!

She took a couple sips of the clear liquid; Trip watched as she checked her reflection in the bar-length mirror. She quickly glanced over at his reflection and caught his stare. He looked down at his now empty shot of tequila and prayed for the bartender to walk up so he could order another. Why was he feeling so uncomfortable? He already knew the answer. He was attracted to her and she was probably his mother's age.

Maybe some of the old movie stars still did come down here, because that's what she looked like. He saw no wrinkles on her face. Maybe Botox, he couldn't tell. She had large intense brown eyes and, unlike many of his mother's friends, she had gone light on the make-up. She didn't need it, he thought. Her body could have rivaled any 20 year old. That made him nervous. He ordered another drink from the bartender and tried to look cool. She turned back towards him as she lifted her drink to her lips. She swallowed and set the drink down on the bar.

"I've never seen you here before. Did you just discover my little hideout?" She asked in the same low, inviting voice.

Trip slid in his barstool towards her. Their knees were almost touching as they faced each other.

"It's my first time. I came here with a friend I go to school with." Trip pushed back his hair which had fallen across his eyes. "I'm Trip." He extended his hand towards her, but she didn't reach out to meet it.

"Trip? What kind of a name is that? You're not some kind of doper are you?" She looked at him suspiciously waiting for his answer.

"No, it's a nickname from when I was a little kid. My given name is James, but I prefer Trip."

"Umm." She held out her hand. "I'm Kim ... not short for Kimberly. Just Kim."

Her hand was warm and Trip was sure he must be blushing. He managed a short handshake.

For a moment she looked like she might be getting bored. She pulled down on her skirt bringing the hemline to just above her knee. "So school, which one? What are you studying?" Again the eyes were focused on him.

"I'm at USC, majoring in history."

She nodded and took another sip of her drink. "That sounds pretty boring."

Trip sank further down in the barstool. She was getting bored, and why not? He was a listener not a conversationalist.

"So what about you, what's your story?" He sat up, hoping he looked completely interested.

"Well first, I'm not here to get picked up by some young stud like yourself." She paused. "Still interested in talking?"

"Yes, I like hearing other people's stories."

The Chairman of the Board was Avery Simpleton. He had made his money by ... inheriting it, and having good business advisors, who had kept him rich. He was conservative by nature and not known as a risk taker when it came to protecting the stockholders in Bonham Industries. Now he was grilling James Bartlett Bonham Sr., president and Chief Executive Officer of the firm that bore his name. His latest proposal was to acquire a new start-up company that produced wind turbines.

Mr. Bonham didn't like it. At one point he started to straighten his tie and caught himself just as he was about to raise his hand to his neck. He had always thought that move was a sign of being nervous, and being nervous showed weakness. It galled him that he now had to sell his ideas to a Board of Directors. That happened when he sold the company. But it made him a billionaire, and they retained him as the president. Now, however, he had to answer to a bunch of white haired pussies. His son could easily sit on this Board, he thought. He didn't have white hair, but he was a pussy. None of these contemptible emotions showed on his face. He would never have allowed them the pleasure of seeing him sweat. Instead, he smiled across the table at the Chairman and the other Board Members, thankful he was still the majority stockholder.

"Avery, this acquisition will put us on the good guys list of green companies even if our other industries don't reflect that thinking. And remember, it's all still contingent upon acquiring the land and permits we'll need to build the plant in Iowa. I think the State will bend over backwards to get us there, not to mention the tax breaks we'll get from the Feds."

Simpleton nodded and seemed to be at least trying to see the big picture. Bonham took a sip from the water glass in front of him and eased back in his chair waiting for an answer.

"I'd like to talk again with our legal department before we make a decision, James." Simpleton looked around the Board table and noted the other members were nodding in the affirmative. "We'll reconvene tomorrow and give you our answer."

Bonham immediately stood up, looked around the table. "Thank you for your time and I'll see you tomorrow." He left the room and returned to his office. He looked out at the City of Santa Monica and the Pacific Ocean in the distance.

He was 45 years old. He had a mansion in Holmby Hills, a beach house in nearby Malibu, a chateau in the South of France and a personal Gulfstream G550 jet to take him there, or any other place he wanted. He was, after all, a billionaire and he wondered why he ever came to work, where he had to listen to the idiots on the Board. His grandfather had started the company. It initially supplied natural gas to Southern California. The building boom after World War II got the old man into the construction business. By the time his grandfather retired, and his father took over, Bonham Industries was one of the largest independent, privately owned companies on the West Coast. His father had made it even bigger. The initial technology advances in the 80's had caught his attention. Not only had he invested in what would become the computer industry, he also bought a small cable T.V. company and built it into a national conglomerate before selling it for millions. Grandfather Bonham had left the company in his 50's to enjoy his money. James Sr. was only 30 years old when he took the reins and he had always hoped that someday James Jr. would take control of the company, finding new and innovative ways to make money. That clearly was not to be. His son had no interest in the business, or money for that matter. No, he was a quiet, introverted young man. He thanked God he was never really a problem child. The truth was that the kid rarely complained about anything and asked for little. Junior just wasn't motivated in the way that his father and mother had been. Bonham Sr. had attended Harvard as an undergrad and then went on to the business school there for his Masters. His wife, Vanessa, was at Radcliffe when they met during his senior year. They married after he graduated in 1987. James Jr. was born two years later.

The company went public in 2000. The terms of the sale dictated he would remain as the company President. He was 40 then, and he didn't think that sitting at home listening to his wife talk about the gossip surrounding Holmby Hills or the latest charity event she was hosting, sounded like much of a challenge. The truth was, he admitted there in his office while sipping on a cup of coffee, he liked the adrenaline rush that big business gave him.

The only problem was what to do about James Jr. His grades would have never given him at shot at Harvard. He was, in the end, able to get into USC, and it looked like he was doing well enough to graduate. He lived in what James Sr. considered a "dump" on campus, even though his parents offered to provide a condo in Santa Monica or Beverly Hills. He declined that offer as well as the new car. He drove a used Honda that he'd crashed into the side of a car while leaving a parking lot. Junior never bothered to repair the damage. But the hardest thing for James Sr. to deal with was his son's nickname. Trip!! Where the hell did that come from?

Kim sighed and then crossed her legs again. Trip could hear the sound of her nylons rubbing together as she adjusted her position. It was very sexy.

"So you like stories, Trip? Well I do have a story. It's one of those flawed Hollywood stories that people have been telling since they started making movies here."

She looked directly into Trip's eyes before downing her drink. She motioned to the bartender for another and waited until it was placed in front of her before she started.

"I grew up in a small town on the coast of Maine. I was bored by the age of 10 and longed to be anywhere other than where I was. My dad was a lobster fisherman who was gone most of the time. My mom spent most of her days drinking beer. You get the picture? I had two older brothers who eventually joined my dad on the boat. My relief from the boredom was the magazines about the stars and their wonderfully glamorous lives. It was all I dreamed about. In high school I had the lead female part in both my junior and senior plays. There was even a write-up in the local paper. They said I was a star in the making. Of course that was in a town of about 5000 people."

She paused to take a drink of her martini and consume one of the olives before she continued her story. Trip said nothing, but never took his eyes off her. He had lost interest in the bartender.

"After graduating from high school, I asked my parents for a trip to sunny California as a graduation present. They acted like I was asking to go to Europe for the summer. My dad gave me $50 and wished me well. I had saved about $300 from a part-time job I had at the Dairy Queen. One morning while my mom slept off the previous night's drunk, and my dad was out at sea, I left on the Greyhound bus heading west. It took 3 days to get here. I got off the bus in Los Angeles at the main station. I had no idea where I was, I knew no one, and I only had about $150 left of my money. It was pretty scary for an 18 year old girl. I found another bus that dropped me off at Hollywood & Vine, the only streets I'd heard of in Hollywood. I found a cheap motel and spent my first night in "Glitter Town."

A band had started playing at the other end of the bar near a small dance floor. It was harder to hear what Kim was saying and Trip moved his barstool closer. She flinched slightly when his leg touched hers. He immediately moved back. She stopped talking and was staring into her drink. She's remembering some bad times he thought, but he wanted her to continue.

"So what happened next?" He asked, ordering them both another round.

She didn't respond and continued to stare into her glass. Finally she looked up. Her voice was slightly slurred when she started to speak. She was on her fourth martini.