The Chief............Part I

CAUTION – ADULT CONTENT: THIS TRUE STORY (save for the legally safe inclusion of false names and heritages) IS FRAUGHT WITH OVERT SEXUAL REFERENCES, FULL FRONTAL AND BACKAL NUDITY, EXCESSIVE USE AND ABUSE OF DRUGS AND ALCOHOL, RAW POLITICAL INCORRECTNESS AND THE MANIPULATION OF SEXUAL DEVICES WITH RUBBER GLOVES.

BE FORWARNED!!!

THE SQUEAMISH AND PRUDENT SHOULD ABSTAIN AND FORWARD TO THE NEXT CHAPTER, WHICH DETAILS CLEAN, FAMILY-CENTERED EVENTS ABOUT KITTENS AND PUPPIES; (ALTHOUGH WE DO END UP GRILLING THE KITTENS, OVER MESQUITE!)

It was mid summer, 2009, and the first few notes of our swan song were wafting through the air; nah, those notes were barking, bleating, honking through the air. I knew that I was out at the end of the month, heading for a paying job in Mississippi – leaving the dregs of our dream to be dealt with by my wife and daughter. Needless to say, my heart wasn’t in it anymore, but my mind knew that we needed every nickel we could squeeze from whatever source of revenue that literally stumbled our way.

Enter Chief Drink and Do the Deed All Night and his spouse; both natives of some country - maybe America, maybe France – political correctness prohibits me from being specific. The Chief was a hulking mass of a man – not as big as that Will Sampson guy from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but pretty damn big nonetheless; you’d notice him when he entered a room. They were wonderful people; warm, friendly and open about their joy of being able to spend a romantic weekend in Hot Sulphur Springs at The Riverside and enjoy the fine fare of The River Room Restaurant before basking in the luxury of the adjacent hot springs. Seasoned high-end travelers would consider that trifecta a proper prelude to a life in hell, but no matter.

They checked in at 4:00 PM and I showed them to their room, Mary, the haunted room at the end of the hall; the room that our dog Lucy wouldn’t enter, not even if there was a juicy smoking rib-eye sitting in the middle of the bed. I put them in this room not for any other reason that it was the last available room – for some unknown reason, we were all but booked this weekend, possibly the only weekend that summer we were fully booked.

I mention this now because it’s ultimately germane to the story. The room adjacent to Mary was Betty; pastel greens with all of our pictures from France – photos we took at Montmartre, Versailles and travel posters purchased at both locales. ‘Betty’ was a very serene room, very calming, but for some reason, it seemed to be the last room we put people in; was I a guest, it would have been one of my first choices. In the Betty room that evening was a couple from Denver – I’ll be judgmental here and call them high-enders; were there a Ritz Carlton in Hot Sulphur, they would have forsaken our homey little hostel and opted for the luxury. But one nice thing about these folks was the fact that while they knew the amenities that they normally sought in a hotel were screamingly absent at The Riverside, the charm of our place served as an adequate substitute. The husband had an early tee-time at Dead Pines Golf Links with some buddies; they’d do the spa, eat dinner, sleep, and the husband would bolt early with his sticks and the wife would sleep in and leave at her leisure. This was our idea of perfect clientele.

In the next room, Mary, was our idea of the clientele we’d pursue if we were broke.

Chief Drink and Do the Deed All Night and his spouse headed to the hot springs shortly after checking in. Not much was thought about them, as the restaurant was packed that night with a full hotel and a crowded town. Near closing time at The River Room, the Chief and his wife sauntered into the restaurant looking for dinner – hair wet and reeking of sulphur from the springs. Showing up in our restaurant in this fashion wasn’t unusual nor unacceptable – like it or not, the raison d’être of our town, our hotel and our restaurant were those dog-ass smelly hot springs and the denizens who’d pay good money to park their bottoms in the sulphurous stink of their healing waters. I went there once, in 1997, and prayed for a heart attack so I’d be taken out in an ambulance so I didn’t have to walk out on my own power through the fetid dressing room.

‘Nuff said… it’s a Colorado thing.

(Small wonder why the locals have less than fond feelings for me.)

The Chief and his wife had the Prime Rib special, a couple of beers and each a glass of wine, then scuttled out at 9:00 PM for one last go at the hot springs, which closed at 10:00 PM. We closed The River Room at 9:00, cleaned up and started to wind down for the night. The hotel was full, but full of a genteel tourist crowd; most had toddled off to bed by 10:00. I was shutting the bar down when The Chief and his wife came in from their last soak in the heated dung water.

“You’re not closing the bar down, are ya?” asked The Chief.

“Well…… maybe. …..Would you like a drink?” I asked with a sense of trepidation so intense that the least observant of people would've immediately known that not only was I not wanting to serve a drink, I was hesitant to take my next breath, even if my life was dependent upon it.

“Hell Yes we want a drink! We came here to party! It’s only 10:00 O’clock!”

“Dad, you go to bed. We’ll take care of things.” my brave daughter Rachel offered. She and Chef Danny were decompressing from the busy restaurant night and had no intention of calling it quits at 10:00 PM.

Without question, that was the best offer that I’d had all day, and I accepted it as quick as a hiccup.

As I quickly slunk out of the bar and headed towards our living quarters, feeling giddy as if I’d just gotten away with stolen money, I heard The Chief loudly proclaim to no one in particular, as if he were exhorting the tribes before battle, “My spirit was low, and my heart was heavy. But the waters have revived me. We will party tonight, and the drinks are on me! Owweeeee!”

I slunked out even more quickly……and double locked the door between the lobby and our living quarters.

To be continued……………