After my fourth Path of Glory meeting, the gentleman I had met at my very first introduction weeks earlier, approached me in the parking lot as I opened my car door.

"Hello," he said.

"Oh, hello. How are you?" I asked, impressed at his height, realizing I had met him sitting down.

He was tall, probably close to 6'-6", and from beneath his shirt and tie, I could tell his physique was massive.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."

"Drew."

"Robert."

We exchanged handshakes again, his firm grip and large hand enwrapping practically my entire forearm.

"You play ball?"

He smiled, nodding no. "Too clumsy. Listen, I wanted to give this to you." He handed me a small printed flyer.
"I've seen you at a lot of meetings recently and I thought this may interest you."

I glanced down and in the street light, all I could see was the word MONTANA.

"Great," I said, "I'll take a look at it."

He nodded and then lumbered away to his Range Rover in the corner.

Once inside my car, I turned on the cabin light and saw on the card a pristine country setting. I turned the flyer over and printed in large black numbers was a 24-hour information line, as well as a sentence saying, "YOU HAVE BEEN GIVEN AN OPPORTUNITY TO EXPLORE YOUR TRUE DESTINY AT THE MONTANA P.O.G. RETREAT."

The Range Rover honked. I looked in my rear view and saw Robert waving good-bye, pulling out of the lot and disappearing down the street. I quickly put the car phone on speaker and dialed the number printed on the flyer.

From the receiver spoke none other than Stella Maguire, "Thank you for calling. You have been given this card
because someone cares about you and your journey. The Montana POG retreat will occur."

She continued, and I was mesmerized.

"I want to go, Eric. It's that simple."

Eric rolled over in bed and turned on the light, our "discussion" continuing with the lights on. "Drew, $5000 dollars for a four day retreat is expensive. And we're not talking about getting massage treatments from the Swedish Olympic Wrestling Team or a cooking lessons from Wolfgang Puck."

"That's so typical of you, putting a price tag on something based on material goods. This is spiritual."

"No, for that kind of money I'd say it was robbery."

I rolled over in bed, not wanting to talk about it.

"Fine," I barked. "I'll work it."

"You'll what?"

"You won't have to pay a dime. I'll offer my catering services for free and they'll pay my expenses."

"And if they don't?"

I knew I didn't have an answer to Eric's smug question so I remained silent. I reached across him and turned off the light, sending the room into complete darkness.

"Good-night," mumbled Eric.

"Good night!" I rolled over on my stomach, staying on the opposite side of the bed.