Purgatory's Gate

Chapter 5: The Interview

We wake up well after dawn. I'm decidedly cheerful, doing fifty push ups and fifteen sit ups. Harris observes me and asks nothing, again. But this time I just grunt 'how I stay sane'. He nods that he understands my need for my quiet rituals.
We eat breakfast of power bars and then set out to walk around town and buy some more food.  Purgatory's Gate is bright and cheerful, set against the mountains and lush green trees, the little brightly painted shops are charming. There's a book shop, and a bakery, but neither seem to be open. It's chilly at this high an elevation, but the air is remarkably fresh.  I feel myself smiling without forcing it. And I'm more relaxed than I have been all week. There are few people here. And it seems worlds away from my lifetime of problems. When I catch sight of my reflection in the shop windows I don't see who I was at all. In my faded jeans and t-shirt I look like I might even belong out here.
Harris hears back from the handlers that yes, Nine Locks Lodge is fine employment, in fact the temporary nature only helps my story since I'm likely to be moved again.
About the same time I get the email back accepting me for an interview. The cheery response offers several days and times including this afternoon. 
"I wonder if they have other applicants?" I ask.
"I think—no," Harris says, slowly.
"Why?"
"Well the general store was ready to hire you without an interview according to my boss."
"I will do that. That doesn't settle housing though, this does," I point out. He's required to hang out until I'm moved in somewhere semi-permanent. I realize it's his job but also he's spent more than enough time with me. I'm sure he wants to go back to his own family. And I want to get on with my life. I'd sooner not have a roommate or some informal lease, this way at least I'm guaranteed a private room.
We spend the rest of the morning looking at ads in the papers and on a bulletin board at the general store, mostly looking for housing. There's nothing much except a cabin that's seasonal, you can't drive to it you have to hike. It's that or roommates. I'll take the remote cabin if I have to, it's better than a roommate.
We have lunch at a small diner, then drive on up the mountain to the Nine Locks Lodge. It's off the main road so it's a half an hour drive total from Purgatory's Gate. It has its own private drive, that leads even higher up the mountain. Just a winding, bumpy dirt road that my Subaru seems determined to handle.
The lodge itself is a log cabin, a frame in the front, with wrap around porches. There's a stable and looks like some sort of other outbuilding, shed. According to the pictures around back there's hot tubs. The front is decorated nicely with some plant pots, the plants overflowing them despite the cooler weather. There's a gravel parking lot but it's nearly empty. A sign welcomes you to Nine Locks Lodge, stylized 9 Locks.   I can hear dogs barking in the distance.
I drove, but I toss the keys to Harris when we park.
He shrugs at me.
"Habit, also if we have to make a fast get away," I say, cheerfully.
He shakes his head a little bit but doesn't protest.
I wore one of the button ups and black jeans, two gold hoops in my ears, and no eyeshadow. Such formality was not necessary It would seem. A woman greets us on the porch, wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, clearly come from cleaning, with her hair loosely pulled back in a scrunchie. She's tall, with dark hair and a thick, square face, but warm smile. She's not thin but I'm sure any bulk is from muscle, her handshake is firm. Her manner is warm if quick and she wears little make up.
"Lovett Lyall, everyone calls me Love," she says, shaking my hand kindly.
"Reynard Weaver," I say, smiling my polite smile, as she leads me inside. The lodge is warm and welcoming, with high pile rugs, and a couple of roaring fires. The front desk is wide and circular, behind it there's a bank of keys. Antlers hang on the wall and there's a warm din from what looks like a dining room to my left. To my right is a cozy sitting room and fire going.
"My office is this way, come on in," she says, leading me into a little back room. It's a clearly heavily used office, with papers piled high on the shelf and a cork board. She's got a desk but it too is piled high with papers. "What brings you to Purgatory's Gate?"
"Looking for a change of scene. Call it a quarter life crisis. Got tired of the city, wanted to ah, get to experience something else," I say, smoothly.
"Well you've come to the right place, Purgatory's Gate is unlike most other ski towns. Glacier's Peak is still an active volcano, we lead tours out to it, several times a month in the winter," she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Sounds like fun," I smile.
We get through the rest of the interview with standard questions. Almost the same ones that Harris quizzed me on last night.  As in, several are exactly the same. I feel like I do pretty well. As stated, I'm good at lying. And I can be innocuous when I want to be. Mostly it's standard things, like clarifying customer service experience. I lie smoothly through it and she seems to buy it.
"Do you know how to ski?" Love asks, nicely.
"No, though I'm willing to learn. I know how to ice skate," I offer, shrugging a little. I barely know how to do that, a couple friends in college wanted to go and I went with. I couldn't do it well. I'm just aware of the concept.
"It's similar, that's fine, we are looking for someone to help out inside. How do you feel about animals?"
"Fine," I laugh, a cat has been rubbing my legs this whole time and has migrated into my lap. It's a brown tabby, and purrs happily, rolling over and rubbing its head into my hand.
"As you see they're pretty common here, ah, we have dogs for dog sled rides when there's enough snow, and a couple of horses for trail rides and sleigh rides. You wouldn't have to lead any of that yet but you'd be expected to occasionally help feed or something like that."
"Oh that's fine, I'm good with dogs," I say. When I was a teenager, well preteen, my brothers and I would be breaking into somewhere for whatever idiot reason. Naturally they would throw me over the fence first, my pockets stuffed with meat. I got bitten my fair share of times. But I also got over any fear of dogs. I've learned to be calm even when they bark, and my sisters in law were always annoyed how I could stroll past their guard dogs.
She quizzes me on how I am with computers. I'm brilliant but I shrug that I'm all right. I can't say that I'm used to Chicago winters, but I assure her that I've spent enough time in the North not to be worried. I can drive quite well on ice and snow, even though I'd be living here. She explains that they plow the road down to town as a means to get out, meaning if it's very thick or the truck goes out we could be snowed in for days. I don't say that I have no problems being trapped away from society.
The interview is nearly wrapped up when the door bangs open. I jump more than I'd like to, standing fully up before I realize it's definitely not a mob hit. Just the charming reason this place has only one star.
"You said you'd tell me when we're having interviews," the man stands in the doorway. He's taller than me, with light blonde hair slicked back, but he's got a similar set to his eyes and jaw as Love, so I'm assuming a relation. He has a scruffy shadow of a beard, and flashing blue eyes. He's dressed in jeans, muddy boots, and like Love is wearing a flannel shirt. I consider asking if it's the dress code but choose not to. The man is, I'm sad to say, handsome, but he's wearing a scowl and looks like he wants to throw me through a wall. I'd like to see him try. He's thick shouldered, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal bulging muscles. He glances at me like he would a stray dog before addressing his sister.
"Zev, we're having interviews. Mr. Weaver, this is my brother, Zev, we co own the lodge," Love says, staring daggers at her brother.
"Hi," I say, extending a hand, he looks at it disgustedly.
"I saw your resume. What's a guy like you doing in Purgatory's Gate?" His voice is flat and oddly accusatory. Asperger's? I had a classmate in college with similar tone. Despite how confrontational he sounded sometimes, it was usually an honest question.
"Looking for a change of scene," I say, coolly, lowering my hand.
"Zev, I'm handling it, out," Love looks ready to physically move her brother.
"Yeah, you don't look for a change of scene in a town under two hundred people with no job. You rolled in last night, Tracy at the Motel said you and another guy just got here. So why?" Zev asks, staring at me.
"Like I said. I could use a change of pace. I threw a dart at a map to be honest," I shrug.
"And what made you decide you needed a change of pace? The last thing we need is trouble," Zev says, as Love just physically tries to push him out of the room.
"If you want the truth—," I sigh a little, "Fine. I'll tell you the truth."
"You don't have—," Love begins.
"It's fine. It's good I talk about it. My father was a solider. He'd been deployed on and off for the last ten years. I stayed home with my mother and sister. Well, when my father came back last time he brought a mistress with him. You can imagine how my mother and sister took that, they still blamed him for the death of our younger sister, years ago. Anyway. When he came back this time, my mother and sister killed him, in the bathtub actually. I turned them into police and I'm just finished testifying at the trial. It's been very emotional for me," I say, nodding, as I lean against a filing cabinet and avoid the sibling spat occurring.
"You did not have to tell us all that— he is leaving," Love, embarrassed is still pushing her much taller brother.
"Your father is Agamemnon?" Zev actually laughs.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say, innocently. I genuinely did not think either of them would get that reference.
"You just described the plot of Electra," Zev sputters, like annoyed that I didn't admit it.
"I don't know what you mean," I say, shrugging.
"He just—it's a play he's lying—," Zev cries.
"Good ! Because you're not supposed to be talking to him out—," Love finally wins, cramming her much taller brother out the door. "I am so sorry about that—,"
"Really it's fine," I say, coolly. Well, guess I don't have the job now.
She apologizes a few more times and I go. Zev is sulking at the front desk. Love glares at him but he still says:
"So I take it that's Plyades waiting out at your car?"
"An ex. I'm making him help me move actually," I say, calmly. They can know I'm gay it's not like I got the job.
"So Plyades."
"Stop it—stop, I'm really sorry about him," Love apologizes two more times as she walks me out to the car.  I assure her it's fine.
"How'd it go?" Harris asks, tossing me the keys.
"Terrible let's go tell the general store how great I am at stocking things," I say, getting in the driver's seat.
Naturally I get the job.