“Of course.”
“That’s not the job of the General Manager.”
“She got sick at my area.”
“A lot of people have accidents at a ski area. You can’t follow each one to the hospital.”
“This isn’t a ski accident. This is a child, Kurt. A baby.”
“What can you do there that the doctors can’t?”
“I can at least show that we care.”
Kurt shook his head.
“You don’t agree?”
“That’s your problem. You’re too soft with people. And it shows in your relations with employees.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have tea with Gail every day, for example.”
“So?”
“It takes her away from her work.”
“If you mean today, her shift was over.”
“You know what I mean. She’s just a ticket seller.”
“No. She’s a friend.”
“Can’t you see how it looks? She’s an employee. You’re the general manager.”
“And I’m twenty-five years old just learning the business; she’s fifty and been in it thirty. There’s a lot I can learn from her.” She turned her palms up. “Maybe you could too if you took the time.”
His eyes locked onto hers. “I know my job.”
She nodded. “Yes you do, or you wouldn’t still have it. Kurt, you’ve obviously become a fine mountain manager in just two years. I’m impressed with your ability to pick things up. You learn fast, and I don’t have to second-guess you when it comes to the mountain. With people it’s a different story. We’re running a ski area not a boot camp. You can’t treat people here like recruits.”
“You can’t treat them like your flower people and still have an organization.”
Cilla sat back in her chair. She’d left the ashram barely four months ago after two years of what he’d consider aberrant behavior, maybe communist, certainly disorderly living. She knew what he saw: a tall skinny hippie in the seat of authority. Perhaps where he felt he should sit. She studied him. His ski pants were neatly pressed. His muscular frame stretched an expensive Norwegian sweater. Rapidly thinning hair on his head suggested an oversupply on his chest, confirmed by tufts sprouting from his collar. What had Hudson said about barrel chests? Prone to heart attacks. Sometimes that was true about men in general. The stronger they looked the more vulnerable they were. Like big dogs. Irish wolfhounds last only half as long as smaller more fragile looking breeds. This wolfhound liked to strain at the leash.
She sighed. “You’ve got your generations mixed, Kurt. Right now I’m going to finish these checks and then I’m going to the hospital. We’ll discuss this later.” She bent forward over her desk and started signing.
Momentarily taken aback, Kurt opened his mouth as if to speak, thought better of it, did a right about face and closed the door a little more firmly than necessary behind him.
Cilla looked up at the sound. There was a showdown coming with Mr. Britton. She hoped she wouldn’t have to let him go. He was really good at his job, and the men who worked the snowmaking and the grooming of the slopes and trails followed him enthusiastically. If he went they might too.
Ruth, the ski area receptionist, rang her line. “There’s a man named Andre Adams who’s coming by to see you this afternoon at one o’clock. I’m sorry, Cilla, he didn’t give me a chance to say `hold it’, just said he’d be here and hung up.”
“Any idea what he wants?”
“He said he was from Silent Spring, whatever that is.”
“Isn’t that the environmental group that gave Skiway such a hard time with their expansion some years ago?”
“Yes! That’s right! But that’s because Skiway wanted to use some National Forest land, isn’t it? We’re not on National Forest.”
“No, we’re just a neighbor. Thanks, Ruth. I’ll see what Mr. Adams wants.”
As it happened, a flat tire at lunch in the village made her half an hour late. Ruth greeted her at the employee entrance.
“Where have you been?” Her chubby body quivered under a hastily donned ski jacket.
“Sorry. Car troubles. Happened on the way back from the hospital, so I couldn’t call…don’t look at me like that. I didn’t have my cell phone. I take it Adams has arrived.”
“I put him in your office. The way he chewed my head off he may eat the furniture.”
“I’m sorry to put you through that. He’s a bear, huh?”
“Who’s not hibernating. How’s the little girl?”
“Not so good. She’s still unconscious; I’m going back later.”
The bear had his back to the door, gazing out the window at ski lift operators getting ready for the day’s crowds, as she entered saying, “Mr. Adams, I do apologize…
“Mrs. Rogers, you are obviously not aware of the seriousness of the situation…” He turned to face her, a lecturing finger raised. And stopped. “You… you’re Mrs. Rogers?”
“Yes, and I was saying… Are you all right?” Adams indeed looked as though he’d hit a plate glass door that had suddenly materialized between them.
“I… Yes… Yes, of course.” He gained control. Cilla saw a slim, well-built man in his mid to late thirties with rimless, octagonal glasses and a pointed face that right now carried a look of astonishment. “You took me by surprise. You look very much like… another person I know. You don’t have a sister…? No, of course not. At least Loni doesn’t.” He took a breath. “I seem to be babbling, don’t I. That’s not like me. May I sit down?”
“Of course.” Cilla indicated a two chair grouping around a coffee table and took one herself. A strange start. This Loni must be someone special to him.
Adams saw her look. “Loni is, or rather was, an important person in my life.” He peered at Cilla more closely. “Yes, I can see the differences. But you could be twins.”
Cilla waited.
“But of course that’s not why I’m here.” He rustled papers. “There is a report of the sighting of an animal here on your premises, an Indiana Bat, protected under the Endangered Species Act - the animal is protected, not the premises. The actual sighting took place nearly a year ago. I wrote a Mr. Carr, who was listed as Chief Executive Officer.” He referred to one of his papers. “Wrote him several times in fact. He has not chosen to respond. At least we have no record of a letter from him. I see you have the title of President at Great Haystack; is Mr. Carr still around?”
“No, I’m also CEO. Mr. Adams, the ski area has been under new ownership since the end of the year. I found one of your letters from last year in the files after receiving the one yesterday. I am unfamiliar with the situation beyond that. What is this Indiana Bat? And who saw it?”
“The Indiana Bat is a small creature about the size of a mouse, whose habitat - as its name suggests - is generally the Midwest. This is as far east as one has been observed. Only a handful are known to still exist. They have thus been designated an endangered species, and the Federal Government is charged with taking all measures necessary to preserve them. This one was seen by a skier last April 13.”
“I understand it was seen in the Isis Cave area. That part of the mountain wasn’t available for skiing then. We are just now opening it up.”
“Precisely. That work will of course have to cease at once. As will all activity within a radius of a quarter of a mile of the cave.”
“You can’t be serious. That would take in almost the entire ski area!”
“Four fifths of it to be exact.”
“You plan to shut us down?”
Adams put down his papers and looked at Cilla for a long moment. “That is the scenario the way it is supposed to be played out. However, I am not an employee of the Federal Government and thus have a certain latitude unavailable to those who are.” A wry grin. “What I am is human, though if the word gets out it will make my job impossible. The secret of any success I’ve had is in scaring the shit out people, if you’ll excuse the language.”