I met her myself and couldn’t decide if she was a lesbian or not. She had a butch haircut and brusque attitude, so maybe she was. Then again, maybe she was straight and blunt, and not interested in redneck assholes with fragile egos. Whatever she was, she was good at her job and loyal to Susan. And whoever shared her bed was lucky to have her.
Susan and I continued our tour, and she eventually brought up the camp’s future.
“The problem is,” she said, “visitors have been declining for a decade. Nudists are an aging demographic, while younger families have more options than ever.”
“No kidding. We get junk mail all the time, everything from beaches to borscht.”
“Moscow is huge these days,” Susan agreed. “Vietnam, too, if you can believe it. Even Las Vegas is becoming a family-friendly destination.”
“What about closer to home?” I asked. “I mean, what about swingers?”
“AIDS.”
I understood without an explanation. The Moral Majority had started the process, but the AIDS epidemic had been the death knell for the free-love sixties and seventies. Our own group was incredibly selective these days, and we never had sex with anyone new without protection or test results.
“Besides,” Susan continued, “online services like AOL and Prodigy make it easy for people to connect semi-anonymously. They don’t need ads in the back of magazines or traditional word-of-mouth anymore. They don’t need special venues, either. All they need is a computer and a hotel room. So we’ve seen a decline in— What’s so funny?”
“You,” I said. “Talking about swinging in marketing terms.”
“The camp is a business,” she said tartly. “I seem to recall you were part of the conversation when Trip convinced me.”
“Oh, I know! Sorry, I’m not criticizing, but I think it’s interesting how you’ve changed over the years. I mean, you’ve always been a businesswoman, but now you’re single-minded about it.”
“You’re probably right,” she admitted. Then she laughed softly. “I’m my father’s daughter.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I remember him doing this when I was a girl, first with the mills and then with real estate. He bought all the land, but he said it was my job to develop it, so that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m sure my realtor thinks I’m angling for his job, but I’m really just a simple businesswoman.”
“There’s nothing simple about you.”
“Perhaps.”
We walked in silence for several minutes. The day was damp and cold, and the forest smelled strongly of pine, without any of the softer scents of summer.
“The camp is a business,” Susan said eventually, “and it has to change if I want it to run in the black.”
“Mmm,” I said noncommittally.
“My hospitality manager wants me to turn it into a traditional resort and put it under her control. She wants to cater to weddings and corporate events.”
I nodded and gave it some serious thought, although I came up with several benefits right away. (I’d changed over the years too.)
“You’d be able to book events year-round,” I said. “And you’d be able to offer package deals to larger groups. You could upsell them as well, depending on what kind of facilities and services you want to add.”
She gestured for me to continue.
“I’m thinking spa treatments, specifically, but local food and drink packages would also sell. You could even branch into ecotourism.”
“We thought of the spa and local options,” Susan said, “and I’ve seen the numbers. They’re promising. Ecotourism’s an interesting idea. We hadn’t thought of that.”
“I’ve been reading about it. Quite a bit, actually. I’m writing my master’s thesis on sustainable architecture. Most of the focus is on urban settings and the modern built environment, but changing suburban demographics have led to an increase in—” I broke off and laughed. “Sorry, I turn into an urban planning nerd if I don’t watch it.”
“No,” Susan said quickly, “I was following along just fine.”
“Why’m I not surprised? Anyway, back to the camp. I could design an environmentally friendly resort with tourism in mind.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to rebuild entirely,” she demurred.
“It was just a thought.”
“And I like it. A lot, as a matter of fact. But I’m not sure ecotourists would come to rural South Carolina. At least, not in the numbers we’d need to make it worthwhile.”
“You might be surprised. I mean, you’re close enough to the interstate for easy access, with two large airports within an hour’s drive. Still, you’re surrounded by thousands of acres of relatively unspoiled piedmont wilderness. People would pay good money for that kind of retreat. If you advertise and market it right, you could attract visitors from large metropolitan areas like Boston, New York, and Chicago.”
She frowned. “Why not closer, like Charlotte and Atlanta?”
“They have the same ecology, so this is old hat to them. We saw it firsthand with the people in New England. We were amazed the first time we drove up to New Hampshire and saw the fall colors, but the locals are totally blasé about it. They see it all the time, so… no big deal.”
“That makes sense,” Susan said. “And it’s a thought. But even if we don’t go that route and go more traditional instead, I’d still be able to shed the stigma of being ‘the woman who runs the nudist camp.’”
“That still bothers you?” I said in surprise.
“Being the local Jezebel? A little,” she admitted. “Sheriff Pharisee had a point, bless his black heart. I was a social pariah. I still am, to a certain degree. I haven’t had a serious threat to my business in years, but I still don’t have legitimacy. Not around here, at least.”
“That’s important to you?”
“It is. I stopped keeping score with money a few years ago. I have more than I’ll ever be able to spend in my lifetime. Now I want people to respect me. The money gives me influence, but I still have an asterisk after my name, so to speak.” She looked around and sighed as she returned to the original question. “I want to stay true to my parents’ vision, but the times, they are a-changin’.”
“So you’re back to the same choice you had ten years ago,” I said. “Is this a business or your personal estate?”
“And if it is a business, can it survive in the current market?”
“To be honest,” I said, “I don’t think so.”
“Me neither.” She fell silent and considered the future. “I don’t like my options. I think that frustrates me as much as anything. I can ‘fix’ the problem, but at what cost?”
“When do you have to decide?”
“Not immediately, but within a year. We don’t have enough reservations for next season to cover even half of our operating expenses, and the trend will only get worse in the years to come.”
I had a thought. “What if we could bring in a bunch of visitors, even for a week or two?”
“We might break even. Why? What’re you thinking?”
* * *
I returned home after Granville’s funeral and talked to Christy, Wren, and Trip about a swingers’ get-together at camp. They were easy to convince, so I began making phone calls. Everyone I talked to was open to the idea, especially since it might be our last chance to enjoy the camp as we remembered it. Most of us had kids in school, so we decided on the first week in July. We could celebrate the Fourth with a bang.
“Wow, that was quick,” Susan laughed when I called to make the reservations. “I should hire you as my marketing manager.”
“Eh, it was an easy sell. Besides, it’s the least I could do.”
“Still, nine reservations is nothing to sneeze at. Oh, have you thought about Doug and Olivia?”
“No. Are they swingers too?”
“Mmm hmm. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”