Emails from the on-site managers were Nell’s first priority each morning, in case something urgent needed to be dealt with right away. Brian at Winter Pine Cottages was practical and reliable, if a bit abrasive, and Nell tolerated working with him because he got things done, while Stuart at Secret Creek Lodge reminded her of a male version of Lila — great voice, super friendly, not so organized and a bit short on common sense. Deep down, Nell thought both of them were lucky. They lived in jeans and plaid shirts — Wildforest’s idea of what a “camp manager” ought to look like, but it was comfortable and much better than her stupid slacks and blouses.
“Why don’t you apply to be a camp manager?” Nell’s friend Amy had asked her one night, after listening to a frustrated outburst about office life. Amy lived for her acting career and didn’t seem to mind sleeping on friends’ couches or slinging coffee during the bad times; maybe she couldn’t understand Nell’s need for security, stability. Anyway, the camp manager life sounded idyllic in some ways, but not much of a challenge, and Nell couldn’t imagine giving up her martial arts training as she’d have to if she moved out of the city.
Life is complicated. I can’t have everything. Nell sighed.
At least, on this particular Wednesday morning, there were no urgent disasters for her to handle. One leaking pipe at Winter Pine, fixed by Brian, with a net result of two wet rugs that had been removed from the cottage in question for drying. The renters had been offered a move to another cottage but were fine where they were. Spare area rugs had been provided. Nell made a note to call Perks & Promos later, once everyone was in for the day, to see what they could do for those renters to make up for the burst pipe and boost goodwill. Apparently, nothing at all had happened at Secret Creek since Sunday afternoon — Stu’s email basically said, “It’s all good.” She could picture him saying it, with a shrug and a laugh. As long as no one died, Stu would probably think things were all good.
Lila stuck her head in Nell’s office doorway, saying, “Morning, sunshine!” with offensively cheerful enthusiasm. “I’m making coffee. Want some?”
Nell hadn’t accepted a cup of coffee once in the four years she’d been with the company, but Lila still offered every morning. Sometimes Nell wished Lila would offer to make her a cup of tea, but really, she’d just decline anyway. Lila’s idea of tea was probably a generic orange pekoe teabag with coffee creamer and two packets of sugar. A few times, Nell had offered to make tea for Lila, but the receptionist wrinkled her nose at the premium rooibos and whole-leaf green teas and said she thought regular tea was okay but liked coffee better. “No, thanks, Lila. I’ll make myself a second cup of tea in a bit.”
Lila giggled. “You and your tea. Are you drinking that vanilla spice rooibos you like so much?”
“Not this morning. Green tea tastes better with my protein shake.”
“Eww,” said Lila. “I hit the drive-thru and grabbed an Egg McMuffin on my way in.” Lila had a smart little black Jetta, bought for her by her parents, and the Wildforest owners had somehow been prevailed on to grant her a parking stall in the underground lot as part of her employment contract.
“I like my protein shakes!” Nell shook her head. “And taking the bus is good for the environment. I don’t mind not having a car.” In her heart, Nell coveted a Tesla — all that sleek luxury and status in an environmentally friendly package.
Lila rolled her eyes. “I never said anything about you having a car, Nell. And I guess I’d be fit like you if I drank protein shakes and worked out all the time, but eww. I just want to enjoy my life and eat delicious things.” Somehow, Lila was oblivious to the fact that she clearly weighed less than Nell — not that Nell wasn’t all muscle, and nor did she care about dress sizes, but her solidity looked a bit chunky next to Lila’s relatively ectomorphic frame. “I’m going to go make that coffee. Later!”
The kitchenette will have to be tidied again, Nell thought. Lila would leave the coffee canister out on the counter, the used filter and grounds in the machine, and a litter of spoons and stir sticks and sugar packets in the sink.
The front of the office looked spacious and calm — a prosperous and imposing reception desk, a sitting area for guests with a comfortable couch and two armchairs clustered around a coffee table. The nearby kitchenette meant that Lila could offer visitors coffee or tea without leaving the reception desk unsupervised. Behind this gracious front area lay a warren of small offices and passageways and cubicles. The photocopier and office supply room was right behind Nell’s office, with a thin shared wall. She could hear every copy being made. She’d gotten to know the photocopier very well, in fact, and could fix most of its jams and troubles without having to call a technician. Not her job, but it made everyone’s day go faster if they weren’t held up waiting for a tech to come fix the machine, and a little mechanical aptitude came in handy.
She might as well make sure the paper drawers were full. It seemed a small thing, to fill up the various paper trays of the photocopier as needed so the next person wouldn’t have to stop, job half done, and deal with refilling the paper. And that reminded Nell that she needed to order paper for both cabin sites — toilet paper, paper napkins, paper towels, paper for the site office printer, note pads for the guest cabins. An assistant to take care of basic orders would be awesome. But there was hardly a chance of them finding her someone anytime soon, so
