Resort
by Robert C. Waggoner
Copyright 2008 Robert C. Waggoner
The Last Resort
Short Story
2013
Robert C. Waggoner
Just off the beaten path, up a narrow winding road, there is an iron gate blocking your way in. An intercom sits on a steel post similar to the old drive in movie days; if you recall. If not, that is, recall the drive in days with fond memories, I suggest you stop reading right now. This story is for us older folks.
Press the button and someone will release the lock on the gate electronically. However, you must get out of your vehicle and open it. A handy rock keeps it blocked while you drive through. Never mind closing it as you someone else will take care of that job; trust me. A ten foot rock wall surrounds the resort.
Oh, I forgot, not unusual for me to forget, the name of this place is 'The Livin End.' You won't find it in the yellow pages, white pages, or the internet using a search engine. To know this place, one has to know someone who knows. It's that simple.
Your first look at The Livin End will surprise you. Even though it sits on part of the Arizona desert, the foliage and landscaping is second to none. The thanks go to the Mexican gardeners who take pride in their work.
The building itself is like an old hacienda with a central courtyard. In the middle of the courtyard stands a giant old tree that folds out like an umbrella over a fish pond that has short sculptured fountains of small boys with wings peeing into the water.
Parking is where the sign is. An arrow points to the sign that says Office. A walk over a fine red rock sidewalk gives the visitor an opportunity to see some of the clients; not patients. All who live here, other than staff, call this resort home. All, and I mean all, are here because they want to be alone and not bothered by anyone. This is not assisted living for old timers; quite the contrary, few can't take care of themselves. The ones, who need a little help, hire their own from a service that provides what is desired.
My name is Chris Underwood and I'm a journalist. It's very complicated how I came to learn about The Livin End. I'd spent thirty years in the business and had a belly full. For days and months I thought I'd just like to do what I wanted to do and to not talk to anyone unless it was mutually agreed upon.
I think for a lot of older folks this is not an uncommon phenomenon. What I didn't know and wanted to learn, was my emotional feelings common or uncommon? It wasn't that it mattered a whole lot, but if there were others out there who felt like me, I'd like to wave, knowing full well they were exactly like me: a loner.
I shared this encroaching emotion with a drinking buddy of mine. No, I'm not a juicer, but have taken a wee drop now and then. She told me roughly the same thing happened to her. To make a long story short, she gave me the name of her shrink.
From her, the shrink, a very nice woman, by the way, I obtained the name of The Livin End and its location, generally speaking. A top notch investigative reporter like me it was likes child's play to located the hacienda.
I've very little family left. My wife of twenty five years went on vacation and never returned. It really didn't bother me much as I realized I was drifting down the river in one man raft; and loving it.
Financially I was comfortable and my two kids were busy never remembering my birthday, so what hell, I threw caution to the wind, retired and flew to Arizona leaving behind my residence to a real estate company.
Okie dokie readers, this brings us to the red rock path or sidewalk to the office. Nothing ventured nothing gained. I looked over at the nice shaded area where you could hear water running into the fish pond. I saw a couple of old farts standing there gazing at lord knows what. He smiled at the thought of gazing.
A bell jangled as he opened the office door. He knew the resort was a non-profit outfit and already he could see that not a lot of staff was evident. A counter blocked anyone from walking straight into an office. A nicely dressed middle aged woman walked out and smiled revealing a mouth full of gold against a white backdrop.
With her hand outstretched she said, "I'm Ms. Loomis the director. How can I help you as we get few who are lost seeking directions?"
"I’m Chris Underwood and would like to discuss joining the festivities of your fine resort," he said with a coy smile.
"Come into my office Mr. Underwood and let's discuss the possible entry into our exclusive club."
Sitting down across the desk from her, he decided to plunge in. "I have a rough idea about your resort, but would you give me an overview and some specifics."
"We provide isolation and companionship all at the same time. In a sense we live together here under opposites. For example, some like to watch TV with the sound and others without the sound. On and off kind of thing. I'm sure there's nobody here that likes to talk about themselves. I've never asked, but again I doubt if there are very many who know the first and last names of our clients. Anyway, Mr. Underwood, walking around or sitting anywhere, it's remote anyone would disturb you or stop to introduce themselves."
"I think I get the picture Ms. Loomis. Is there a contract or a time limit that I have to sign?"
"Well, yes there is. You're lucky as we've only one room open and it's a first come first serve place. We'd like for you to stay at least six months with an option at your disposal. Our food here is simple, but healthy. Breakfast is very common as you have three choices; lunch two choices and same for dinner. Our clients didn't come here for the food, but the atmosphere."
"I presume you've internet access and what else might I be able to indulge in?"
"We've a puzzle room; chess room; card room; art studio; and a discussion room with a white board of subjects to be discussed. Actually, Mr. Underwood, it's one of our most popular places. Our clients see a subject that someone wants to talk about and the time of starting the discussion. From that information you can decide if you want to join or not. However, nobody is allowed to get angry. We have a moderator and our rules here are very strict. Two violations and out you go."
"Where do I sign Ms. Loomis?"
Chris assumed correctly that all the rooms were pretty much the same. An elevator could be used to transport heavy items up to your room. However, a lovely marble stairway gradually led to the second floor. Each room, he guessed was like his. As a writer his first thought of the room as cozy. The main attraction was the sliding doors to a small deck that overlooked the desert. The deck was private with wood walls at both end as a shield from the neighbor. A comfortable chair with a table next to it was really all a person needed.
Inside a Lazy Boy recliner, chest of drawers and a queen size bed was about all the furniture in the room, besides a computer desk and nice office chair. Of course a side table next to the recliner was a necessity. The bathroom was functional. What more would a guy need, he thought.
Next to the door was a list of times and locations of rooms. He counted thirty living quarters. He saw that lunch was at noon and it was now 11:45. That would give him a few minutes to look around before lunch.
After a wash up, he gazed at the plainness of the building He liked that as it reflected the personalities of its occupants. He really doubted anyone would recognize him as Pulitzer winner some years back. He was proud of that award, but it didn't go to his head. Now he wondered what the others had accomplished in their lives. It was only a fleeting thought.
Coming up was a client watching where his feet were placed. His hand on the rail, he did say, "Welcome and I hope you enjoy your stay."
Chris noted he never stopped, but the tone was friendly. "Thanks and a good morning to you too," he said back to the silver hair.
Chris really wanted to see the fountain and wondered why the sound of water drew a crowd. It was winter in A
rizona so the day was pleasant as he walked up to the water. The fish pond was as ancient as the hacienda. Gold fish lazily swam by. The shadows from the sun leaking through the giant hardwood casting a hypnotizing dance upon the fish pond. Chris was totally mesmerized by it all. He would always remember his first impression of the fish pond.
His trance was broken when he heard a beeping sound coming from nearby. He saw it was coming from another client not so far away. The man's face turned red and offered his apology for his wrist watch alarm going off at noon. Chris told him not to worry and asked him where the lunch room was. The redheaded man said to follow him and he would lead him to lunch.
On the way, Chris decided to ask a question that wasn't too personal he wished. "How do you like living here if I might ask?"
"I love it here. You'll love it too if you like being alone. I live in my own little world and if I want some company, I just look around and if someone gives me the high sign we chat a bit. You'll get the hang of it soon. Well, here we are. Choose what you want."
After a hearty roast beef sand with barely soup, Chris went for a walk around the grounds. People were coming and going, but nobody was stopping and chatting. The irony was the fact that this looked like small town America where people stopped on the street and talked about their ailments or family matters. In cites it was common for folks to go about their business ignoring any and all they came across. Chris liked this place. He walked around looking at the neatly trimmed shrubs and desert plants.
A bench sat appropriately placed to study the plants and the old building. Chris drifted into a pleasant state of being; almost meditating. He saw some chipped places that were probably from days of someone attacking the hacienda. No, I'm not going to look into the history of this place, he vowed nodding his head. With one arm on the back of the bench and one leg over the other, he reveled in his good fortune.
Six months later Chris was called into the office to see Ms. Loomis. When he came in the same bells jangled announcing his arrival. She came flittering out of the office arm outstretched and flashing her golden smile. Chris gently shook her hand following her into her office.
She got right down to business, shaking her hair back like a young woman would. Chris thought, young at heart, old in reality. She said, "Mr. Underwood, your six months are up in a couple days. How do you find our place to live?"
"It seems like yesterday I was sitting here. I'm ready for a year's worth of loneliness. Where do I sign?"