| |
“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” – Dr. Seuss
––––––––
CRATER MCMURPHY ARRIVED at the resort at noon. The Chalet’s normal check-in is 1 p.m., so I had Esmeralda run to his room and check it one more time. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect before we handed the keycard over to the celebrity. I knew my behavior was obsessive, but I couldn’t risk anything going wrong. Bad reputation or not, we needed Crater McMurphy to enjoy his stay at our resort. A celebrity endorsement is always welcome at a place like the Chalet. I remember when Oprah talked about a certain resort in Arizona on her TV show. People couldn’t wait to visit the same resort that the celeb raved about. I’m not saying that a great review from a celebrity is more important than a review from a non-celebrity. I take all of our reviews seriously. The thing is, celebrities have a lot of influence and a bad review from a celeb can be detrimental to a place like the Chalet. I needed Crater McMurphy to enjoy his stay.
I walked to the reception desk to make sure everything was okay. “How was he?” I asked Don, one of our concierge/runners after I saw Crater grab his keycard and head straight to Slopes. Don knew that I meant Crater McMurphy. The entire staff knew the thrill-seeker arrived at the resort.
“He was friendly enough,” Don replied. “He wasn’t worried about the suite. He asked me where he could get a drink. I sent him over to Slopes.”
“Okay, good,” I replied. I was glad to hear that so far, Crater hadn’t caused a ruckus. I didn’t honestly expect the man to throw a tantrum the minute he arrived for check-in, but I felt a bit anxious. We expected several more guests to check in soon. We already had three guests staying and six more parties would arrive at the resort in the afternoon. The Chalet was completely booked for the holiday weekend. I needed to make sure all of our guests were happy.
“Let me know if you need any help with check-ins, Don; I have my walkie switched on,” I said motioning toward the walkie-talkie on my hip. Then I headed towards Slopes to make sure everything was okay there too. I might have been overly cautious, but Tate’s warning rang in my ears. Crater McMurphy can be trouble. People rarely change.
Zander, our young bartender was working at Slopes that day. Zander is a nice guy in his early twenties. He went to bartending college and has an impressive array of bartending skills even though the majority of our visitors ask for a Colorado craft beer in the afternoon. The guests tend to hold off on drinking the harder stuff and cocktails until after 5 p.m. When someone does order a specialty drink or fancy cocktail, Zander can put on a show. It’s fun to watch him. Zander showed off some of his moves when I approached the bar. It was a pity that I was the only one watching.
“How are things, Zander?” I casually asked as I stepped up to the bar. I noted that there were already six customers including Crater seated in the bar. It was just after 12 noon, and I anticipated that we would have a rush soon. Many times, people from other hotels in the village or people who are just checking out the mountains stop by Slopes for a drink or some nachos. Spontaneous visits are welcome of course because they are good for the bottom line. In return for their patronage, we Chalet employees do our best to make sure the visitors get top-of-the-line service.
“Things are good, Mandy,” said Zander with a boyish smile as he tossed a bottle of vodka from his left hand to his right, and upended it to pour a splash into a shot glass. Crater sat in front of Zander not paying attention to the show the young barman put on. He wasn’t watching Zander, but he was watching me. I saw the celeb’s eyes dart from the TV over the bar to one of the mirrors on the wall. I didn’t miss it when Crater caught my reflection in the mirror and gave it a discerning look. The man’s stare was so focused he might as well have been looking directly at me rather than at my reflection. I felt a cool shiver run down my spine.
After a beat or two, Crater turned in his seat and looked at me. He stared at me the way I look at the last donut in the box; I don’t need it, but I still think I want it. I have to admit, I don’t think I’m much to look at when I’m in my resort get-up. My usual work outfit is a knee-length brown skirt and matching jacket over a cream-colored blouse—very drab and business-like. It’s not a pretty uniform, but it is practical and stain-resistant.
Despite my boring suit, I can be hard to miss. I’m tall for a woman—five-foot-ten—and I have long red hair that I usually wear tied in a bun at the back of my head when I am at work. I avoid wearing high heels or too much makeup on the job. Outside of work, I let my long hair fly free and I live in jeans and t-shirts.
Similarly, it would be hard not to notice Crater McMurphy. He was an imposing figure. Even while seated, I could tell Crater was over six feet tall—probably six-three or six-four. His dark hair was speckled with gray and was cropped close to his skull; he had that obvious five o’clock shadow that some celebrities seem to rock every day. I wonder if they have some special sort of trimmer to give them that perfectly roguish look. Crater’s dark features made him look a bit sinister, but also attractive. I noticed Crater was dressed sporty and true to his outdoorsy reputation. He wore tan cargo shorts, hiking shoes, and a tight-fitting blue and white baseball-style t-shirt that showed off the definition of his muscular arms, shoulders, and chest. My somewhat dowdy uniform did not seem to dissuade Crater from unapologetically raking his eyes slowly up and down my body a second time before he spoke to me.
“You’re Mandy Swift, aren’t you?” asked Crater McMurphy in a slight accent that I couldn’t quite identify. His question sounded more like a proclamation than an inquiry.
“Yes,” I replied with an anxious wobble in my voice. I felt my face grow a bit warm at his recognition.
“And you work here?” he asked, his voice rising a bit in disbelief.
“I do,” I replied, “I’m one of the managers of The Chalet, Mister McMurphy. Please, if you have any questions or need any assistance during your stay, don’t hesitate to ask me or any of the staff.”
“I won’t hesitate at all, love,” he replied, as he grasped his drink, and took a sip. I noticed the familiar indentation of a missing ring on his left third finger. He winked at me cheekily from slightly hooded charcoal eyes.
“Actually,” he said, “I understand an old friend of mine works here.”
“Oh?” I asked. It wasn’t my business to mention Tate, and I wasn’t about to. I got the feeling earlier that morning that Tate would rather avoid Crater McMurphy, and I would honor Tate’s wishes the best I could within reason.
“Tate Svenson,” said Crater. I wondered how he became aware that Tate worked for the resort, I doubted that Tate would have mentioned it to Crater.
“Yes, Tate is the bar manager here,” I replied hoping I hadn’t betrayed my friend.
“Yeah, I hope I’ll see him during my stay. It would be good to catch up. As a matter of fact, a few of our old friends will be around later, it’s sort of a reunion. It would be great if Tate could join us.”
“I wasn’t aware of that,” I replied in surprise. As far as I knew, Mr. McMurphy was a single booking. His friends must be staying at another hotel.
“Yeah, it’s a last-minute thing. It will be good to see if old Tater can join us.”
I didn’t reply to the comment, but I doubted that Tate would find time to spend with Crater. Given what Tate told me about the man, it would hard to imagine them reuniting. The fact that Tate’s daughter would be spending the weekend with him, made me doubt Tate would spend any time with Crater McMurphy.
“Have a pleasant stay,” I nodded as I turned to leave. Before I could make my exit, Crater spoke again.
“That injury did you in, did it?” he asked in a voice that showed no obvious judgment but it still rattled me a bit. It seemed like Crater McMurphy knew how to get under a person’s skin without even trying.
I turned to face the man. “I retired three years ago.”
“That’s too bad. Still young, very young.” His eyes raked over me another time. “Do you still ride?” Crater asked. I didn’t like the mixed tones of pity and salaciousness that I detected in his voice. A warm smile settled on his face. His impossibly dark eyes penetrated my flesh like lasers.
“I do. I just don’t compete anymore,” I responded to Crater’s questions regarding my former career as a snowboarder.
Despite my current career in hospitality, I am recognized by guests on occasion. I have learned to handle the questions about my past with aplomb, but for some reason, the way Crater McMurphy spoke to me and looked at me, I felt diminished in some way. I know that some former athletes have had the good fortune of cashing in on their fame. Some get gigs as show hosts, sports commentators, or even spokespersons for different consumer goods, but that didn’t exactly happen to me. During my short snowboarding career, I attended college full-time and only competed in the sport on a limited circuit. When I graduated with my degree in business, I entered the sport on a wider circuit. I still hadn’t reached the level of fame others in my sport had when my knee was torn apart. Although the surgeons were able to put me back together, I couldn’t compete at the same level as my contemporaries. I retired at the age of 25. Offers for a lucrative spinoff career didn’t come to me. I felt fortunate, however, when the owners of Silver Powder offered me the position of Chalet Manager. It is an interesting job and in winter, I get to snowboard during my time off.
“It’s just too bad it’s the off-season. I ride a bit myself. I imagine you could show me a thing or too off-piste,” Crater winked at me again. He set his now-empty glass down and flagged down Zander for a refill.
“Yeah, it’s too bad,” I replied, trying to hide my insincerity. “If you go into town, there are a lot of vendors who can help you sign up for activities. Or our concierge can help you sign-up if you prefer.”
“No, love,” Crater laughed at the suggestion, “that’s not for me. Those kinds of group activities don’t generally offer the kind of adrenaline that I need. Maybe I’ll see you for a drink when you’re off-duty and we can talk about it some more. You can fill me in on how you find your thrills these days.”
On the outside, I nodded noncommittally. On the inside, I cringed uncomfortably. I set a false smile on my lips “Have a nice stay,” I repeated and I walked quickly away from the bar.
When I reached the lobby, I let out a deep breath and then took another one. I tried to find my center, my peace. Crater McMurphy was certainly forward, but I guessed that was what made him appealing to all of his fans. He was a thrill-seeker with a big mouth, a flirtatious nature, and a lot of opinions.
––––––––
IF YOU WILL ALLOW ME to take a moment for a bit of self-reflection and honesty, it rarely bothers me when people bring up my snowboarding career. It was an exciting time for me, and I imagine that because of the sport I got to see and do a lot of things that some people my age never had the chance to do. I’m grateful for the experience for the most part. The truth is, fame, even minimal fame, can be tricky for a young person, and having a good manager is important. That’s where I made my first mistake. Just before I graduated from college, I dropped my dad as my manager and found a new one on my own. I had a lot of lofty dreams for my snowboarding career. I wanted to compete internationally, I wanted to be ranked in my sport. Skeet Wilson said he could help me reach my goals.
I wanted to be the next big thing in snowboarding. I worked twice as hard to get where I wanted to be. Training to become a professional snowboarder was as much hard work as it was fun. I thought I worked hard, but when Skeet wasn’t on my case about not practicing enough at my sport, he rode my ass about my lifestyle. According to Skeet, I was always too fat or too thin. I wasn’t making enough public appearances or I spent too much time screwing around with the other snowboarders—my rivals. I never seemed to meet any of Skeet’s expectations. In the three years that I was with my manager, I never reached the career goals I set for myself. I guess I thought Skeet was part of the problem. By the time I was 25—just three years into my pro career—I was already considered a bit of a has-been in the sport. I became disheartened; I was failing at the sport that I once loved. Skeet kept pushing me for a comeback. He started me on a new training program, on a new diet, on a new schedule. I trained harder than ever, and I grew miserable. I decided that I would fire Skeet at the end of the season and strike out on my own. Making the decision to fire him brought me more confidence. My competition results improved. I was ranked, not high, but ranked, and that mattered to me. I started to feel like my old self again. I thought I found the cure. I took chances, and they paid off. Then, I had my accident. I wiped out during a superpipe competition, and I said goodbye to my career. Skeet dropped me like a hot potato, and that was it for me. My snowboarding ended. As Emily Dickinson once said, “Fame is a fickle food.” Many of the people who once surrounded me disappeared from my life, and I never felt more alone. No, that’s not true. I felt as alone as I had the day that I realized I lost my best friend, but we’ll get to that later.
I guess it’s safe to say I feel lucky to have my job at the Chalet. I enjoy my job, it’s just not what I had imagined I would be doing with my life. I thought that I would be competing in my thirties. I never imagined I would give everything up so young. I guess the takeaway is that I have a good job, nice friends, and a place to call home. Do I really need anything more than that?
Once I left Slopes and regained my cool, I turned toward my office. I needed to work. There is always plenty to do at a busy resort.
When I reached my office, I saw someone was sitting in my guest chair waiting for me. I couldn’t tell who it was until I walked through the door. That’s when I noticed it was my friend Anne Marie who works as a massage therapist at the Chalet. I’ve known Annie for a few years. She’s about my age and a lot of fun. We try to have a GNO (girl’s night out) once a month so that we can catch up and talk about things that aren’t directly related to working at the Chalet. We were past due for a GNO; maybe she was stopping by so that we could plan one.
“Hi Annie,” I said to my friend as I entered the office.
“Hey Mandy,” my friend replied. I often envied Annie because instead of the brown nondescript suits that I had to wear to work each day, Annie got to wear flowy white scrubs when she worked with her clients. She wore her long brown hair in a simple braided ponytail, and she wore comfortable shoes on her feet. On the other hand, Annie had to give massages to people nearly every day—touching their naked bodies—that part of the job was off-putting for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love a massage, I just don’t have what it takes to touch all of those bodies.
“Did we have a meeting scheduled?” I asked, still a bit surprised that my friend was in my office. I’m always happy to see Annie, but we don’t usually hang out together at work.
“No, we didn’t have a meeting scheduled,” replied Annie. “I just felt I needed to talk to you about something.”
“Of course, what’s on your mind?” I replied as I took a seat across from my friend.
“I may have a bit of a conflict of interest in my job this week,” said Annie in a low voice. I noticed that she had her hands tightly clasped in her lap.
“Really? What do you mean? What kind of a conflict?”
“This is about Crater McMurphy. I’ve met him before,” said Annie. Her face flushed noticeably.
“And?” I could see that Annie looked nervous. She’s usually an upbeat woman and a consummate professional so I was concerned.
“And it’s probably best that I don’t meet him again. I noticed that he is scheduled for an eighty-minute Swedish massage tomorrow, and I’m on the schedule. I hoped that we could call in one of the other therapists—preferably a male,” said Annie. Preferably a male the words rang like a warning in my ears.
“Um, is there something I should know, Annie?” I asked cautiously. Annie wasn’t just a co-worker she was my friend, and I knew that Crater had a bad reputation. According to Tate, Crater McMurphy was a womanizer. I had to wonder if Crater’s womanizing was the reason for Annie’s concern.
“It happened several years ago—before I worked for this resort. I worked for a private company that would send me out to do massages for clients,” Annie began. “It was a completely legitimate business—we didn’t do anything untoward.”
“I remember. Your glowing references were why the Chalet’s owners wanted to hire you,” I replied.
“Yes, only, my previous employer didn’t tell you the full story,” said Annie, swallowing, “I think she was trying to protect me.”
I got up and shut the office door to create a safe space for Annie. I wasn’t sure what she intended to say, but I had a feeling it wasn’t something she wanted anyone else to overhear.
“I was on an assignment several years ago. I was sent to work on a production site for one of Crater McMurphy’s adventure programs,” Annie stopped and took a deep breath. “I was still pretty young, just twenty-three, and for most of the shoot, I was the only woman on site. Mr. McMurphy was growing famous. I was really honored and excited to be given the opportunity.”
I dreaded the next words that my friend would say. I felt the skin prickle at the back of my neck.
“He has a very charismatic personality, Crater, and well, he lured me to his tent one night telling me that he was having muscle spasms. I went in to see if I could help him. The next thing I knew, he sweet-talked me into his camp bed.” Annie’s face turned scarlet with embarrassment.
“Oh, Annie,” I replied imagining my friend’s mortification.
“What we did was consensual, Mandy, but it was a very bad idea,” Annie whispered. “I guess I was a bit star-struck, and flattered by his attention. When I realized how stupid I’d been, I snuck out of Crater’s tent before everyone was awake. Anyway, the rest of the crew found out that I spent the night in Crater’s tent. I don’t know how they found out. I always thought that Crater told the crew about what happened between us. They were a good old boy’s kind of network. The next thing I knew, I had to fight off the advances of several of the crew. It was terrifying and embarrassing,” said Annie.
“Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry that happened. Did Crater come to your defense? Did he tell the crew to leave you alone?” I asked horrified that my friend had gone through the experience. She must have been terrified.
“No. He did not. Crater acted amused. I contacted my boss and told her I needed out of there, and she personally came to get me. She confronted Crater, and he flat out denied everything. It seems there is a Mrs. McMurphy who Crater rarely mentions, and he didn’t want her to find out about his indiscretions,” said Annie. “I swear I didn’t know he was married, Mandy. Not that it makes what I did okay.”
“I believe you, Annie,” I said as I reached out and took my friend’s hand in mine. “And I’ll find a replacement therapist for Mr. McMurphy’s appointment. Does Crater know that you work here?” I asked. Crater knew that Tate worked at Silver Powder so it wasn’t completely unreasonable to think he might have tracked Annie down too.
“Not that I am aware of.” Annie shook her head. “We haven’t spoken or been in contact since that day.”
“Good, let’s keep it that way,” I said. “And for the record, another employee voiced concerns about Crater McMurphy too. I think it might be in our best interests to keep an eye out for each other this week. In the meantime, I’m going to talk to corporate about what they want us to do. Don’t worry, I won’t tell them about you. I’ll just tell them that I have concerns.”
“Thanks, Mandy,” said Annie. “I was just so embarrassed by the whole thing. Honestly, it’s been years since the incident so I doubt Crater would even remember me. And maybe he’s changed. I just find the whole thing so humiliating, and I would hate it if Paolo found out.”
“You never told Paolo?” I asked. Paolo is Annie’s husband. He’s a great guy, but he is very protective of Annie. They’ve been married three years, and Paolo is the Executive Chef at the resort as well as a friend of mine.
“I haven’t told him,” confessed Annie. “I don’t know if I should. I know he was excited to meet Crater, Paolo is a big fan, but I don’t want to get stuck in the middle. I don’t know how Paolo will react if I tell him what happened with Crater.”
“That would be a tough position, but only you can decide what to do. Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to Paolo, Annie,” I replied. “Are you okay?”
Annie nodded, “Yes.”
“Hey, changing the subject a bit. We haven’t had a girl’s night out in a while. What do you think?”
“You’re right, we haven’t, and actually, I could really use a break. Do you have plans tomorrow night? I know it’s kind of last-minute, but Paolo will be working at the restaurant.”
“Friday night. I’m free. Imagine that,” I laughed. “I don’t know who else will be free at the last minute, but I’ll call around and see if anyone wants to meet us. Why don’t we get a ride-share and go to Rascal’s at nine?”
“Oh, Rascal’s, huh?” Annie winked at me. Rascal’s is a modern nightclub not far from the village. To be honest, Rascal’s is a bit of a meat market, but it’s the only local club that features live rock music, and I was in the mood for something other than country music.
I shrugged. “I’m not going to meet anyone, Annie, I just want to listen to some good music and hang out with my gals.” My tone must have been a bit defensive, because Annie tilted her head and said, “Whatever you say, Mandy.”
I shook my head.
“I should get back to the spa.”
“I’ll see what I can do about finding a backup therapist,” I said as Annie stood to leave. I walked with her to the door, “I’ll call you later.”
“Thanks for understanding,” Annie opened my door and walked from my office.
Right! I needed to find a substitute massage therapist ASAP. I also needed to call my bosses and voice my concerns about Crater McMurphy.