Hank's Mountain

By Barbara Vaka

Hank slowly began to inch his way toward the first swinging chair. It was only fifty feet, but in the wind and snow, it took twenty minutes to reach the first chair.
The two men in their twenties were crouched forward shielding their exposed faces from the wind. It had been more than an hour since the chair came to a halt.
Hi, I'm Hank. It's a little windy, we'll get you down.
Little windy, I have only been in a blizzard once before, this one looks bad.
It's the second blizzard we've had since last Friday. Must be global warming.
Yeah, they say the weather gets colder because of the ocean currents changing with all the icebergs breaking off.
That's what they say. Put these harnesses on and fasten them securely.
Have you done this before, the younger man asked.
Yeah, once on a clear day last summer in training. Snow and wind make it a little dicey. When you are secure, I am going to tie off a heavy rope. One at a time, you will be lowered to the ground. You're lucky; its only about a twenty-five foot drop from where you are. The other two chairs are higher off the ground. Keep the tips of your skis pointed up as you descend. I need you to drop your poles first.
What's your name, Hank yelled over the sound of the wind.
I'm Frank and this is my brother Nick.
Are you good skiers?
Yeah.
Good, if you think you can ski down the mountain once you are lowered, just head to the lodge, you've been swinging up here for an hour, the cold will get to you and you'll develop hypothermia. If you're not up to skiing, the ski patrol has two sleds and will get you down.
No, I'd rather ski down. Broke my leg once and the sled ride was terrifying.
Okay, Nick, you go first. Inch toward the front of the chair and slowly slide off. The rope will hold you and the descender will gradually let you down. Jim is the big guy on the ground holding the line. He'll try to stop you from swinging as much as possible.
Nick edged forward while looking down. It looked like more than a twenty-five foot drop. He felt the line tighten under his weight as he slipped free of the chair. A gust of wind caught him and slammed him into the chair.
You alright? Hank yelled.
Yes, Im okay.
Nick was shaken. The pulley over his head whirred and once again, he was safely on the ground.
Thanks man, what a ride. I'll wait for my brother and we'll ski down together.
Frank soon joined his brother. Jim, the ground crew, and ski patrol applauded.
You are certain skiing down by yourselves won't be a problem, you look awfully cold.
We're okay. Last year we were in Vermont and were the last tram to the top of Mount Snow. We skied down in minus twenty five degree weather.
The wind stirred up clouds of snow making it difficult to see. Jim shielded his eyes and looked up at the white sky searching for Hank.
How's it going Hank? This is the tricky part, getting past that first chair with the second roll cab.
Good you're a tall man with a long reach, Jim shouted.
Yeah, want to trade places with me, it's cold as hell up here and its blowing like a bitch, I have to clear my goggles every couple of minutes just to see what I'm doing.
Chief Higgins arrived at the scene with a crew of six firefighters. Their bright yellow parkas and fire helmets stood out against the blinding white landscape.
Higgins asked for Hank and was directed to the top of the lift.
The firemen arrived and dragged their net with them. It was a large canvas with a large red dot in the center.
Hank, if we have to, we should be able to catch a person if they panic and fall. Used it once before, the person was on the third floor, he got a broken leg, but survived the jump. shouted Jake the fire chief.
Hope you don't have to play catch today. Those chairs are really swinging.
Hank almost made it past the first chair and was on his way to the second when his foot slipped on the icy bar and he was left dangling from the cable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781456830335

Barbara Vaka

Barbara Vaka has led an adventurous life traveling around the globe recording her experiences. She currently lives in Tampa, Florida with her husband of 42 years. Throughout her life, she has mingled with the rich and famous including Jerry Lewis with whom she appeared in his 1980 film HARDLY WORKING. Other celebrities include Danny Kaye, Susan Oliver, Steve Franken, and Harold J. Stone. She retired in 2008 from a position with the government as technical writer. HANK’S MOUNTAIN, her first novel, is a story set in Colorado near where she and her husband lived for twelve years, raising horses and their three children. It is a tale of a young Colorado rancher, Hank, who finds himself fighting for the one thing his father treasured most, a ski resort located on what becomes known as Hank’s Mountain following the tragic death of his parents in a car accident. In an inexplicable twist, a young woman from Philadelphia travels to Colorado to decide whether she wants the resort left to her by the young Rancher’s mother and a romance ensues. A New York billionaire wants the property, and will kill to get it. Mystery, revenge, romance, and mayhem fill the pages of this novel. Her next novel, PRETTY MAIDS is scheduled to be released in 2011 and is a story set in the Middle East based on the plight of thousands of young women who are lured into a life of slavery throughout the world. It is a tale of crime and raw passion that explores the contradictions of a modern society still living in the past professing the emancipation of women when in reality it is quite the opposite. Her insightful look at Islamic culture is worth the read alone.

Book preview

Chapter 1

John and Susan Reynolds were leaving an Avalanche hockey game against the Philadelphia Flyers and were walking to their car through a heavy snowstorm that had only been a light flurry when they arrived at the game. Susan was originally from the Philadelphia area and had been a great fan of the Flyers. Her parents had held season tickets since the mid seventies when they won the Stanley Cup. Whenever they came to Denver, she and John went to the game. Susan wore a Flyers jersey with number 33 for Brian Boucher, their goalie. John was an Avalanche fan and had been in Denver when the team first came to Colorado in the 1990s. He wore number 25 for Chris Stewart who scored 28 goals in the 2009-2010 seasons. John stood five foot ten inches and weighed 190 pounds. His face was deeply lined and tanned like leather reflecting his life as a rancher. His eyes were a deep blue and despite his sixty-seven years were still bright and clear and never worn glasses. Dressed in heavy jeans and an Avalanche team jersey over which he wore a down-filled team jacket, John looked every bit a die-hard hockey fan.

Susan was, as she often said, vertically challenged at five foot two inches, and weighed a comfortable 155 pounds. She colored her hair a deep chestnut brown, once her natural color, accented by a streak of white she left as a reminder of her sixty-six years. Despite her years, the sparkle in her gray eyes was still there. They were dressed alike with the exception of the team logo.

Wow, what a game 2-1. Sorry your boys lost. That goal by Chris with less than a minute to play gave the Avalanche a most needed win.

Yeah, yeah. Look at the team’s scores; my Flyers are first in their division and your Avalanche is second in theirs.

Susan stepped outside into the parking lot and paused to look down at her boots now ankle deep in a white powdery snow that had accumulated while they had been at the game.

Do you think we should stay over tonight? Susan asked knowing what the answer would be.

This storm certainly picked up. The wind must be over thirty miles an hour and there are at least five inches on the ground.

We have a three hour drive, almost all of it on the Interstate. We’ll be fine. I’ve driven in worse.

They got to the car, a deep blue late model Jeep Cherokee with four-wheel drive, brushed the snow off the windshield, drove out of the parking lot, and followed the signs to I 25 South.

John’s great-grandfather made it big in silver before the country changed to the gold standard. He invested some of his money in long-term bonds and used the rest to open, a ranch supply. His great grandmother had sewn woman’s dresses and men’s shirts. The store grew over the years and along with animal feed, clothing and basic flour, sugar and salt the store was now a complete grocery store with fresh meat and chicken. Ranch tools and hardware filled the back of the store. Saddles, tack, saddle blankets, halters along with various bits filled the other half. Every spring they brought in baby chicks, ducks and turkeys for the local ranchers. What they didn’t stock, they ordered such as large and small ranch equipment including mowers of every size and horse power. Their main source of income was large ranch equipment they special ordered for the multi thousand-acre ranches across the valley.

John was strong for a man of his age the result of having hauled bales of hay for a string of twenty horses that he and his son had raised for horseback rides and camping trips. Over the years, they had led hundreds of camping expeditions into the nearby mountains. His hands were gnarled and scared from the many cuts received while handling ranch equipment and mending fences. It was on one of those trips, when he was in his early twenties, he had met Susan, a young woman from Philadelphia who was experiencing the west for the first time. She was vacationing and loved horses even though she was a big city girl. She would ride in Fairmount Park near George’s Hill a gift from her ancestors, the George family to the city of Philadelphia. Meeting John led to a love affair that turned into a marriage of thirty-five years. They shared a love of ranching and the Rocky Mountains even though she had grown up in Philadelphia. After meeting John, she never went back to Philadelphia except to collect her personal things. After that, Susan never wanted to live in the east again. Her very first year on the ranch, she mastered breaking a horse and steering a tractor. Susan never looked her age and her face never tanned even though she lived outdoors. The wide brimmed hat she wore became her hallmark, as she never left the house without it along with lots and lots of sun block. Susan and John had one son, Henry, referred to by his nickname Hank almost from his time of birth. Hank stood six foot three inches, solid muscle and his green eyes had a sparkle to them. He had grown up in Colorado, never been east of the Mississippi and spent most of his time working the live stock, managing the store and helping out with all the chores that seemed endless on a 1000 acre ranch. He loved hunting, fishing, and his favorite sport skiing. Hank graduated with a degree in business from the University of Colorado in Pueblo and never planned to live anywhere else. Once he was engaged, he thought he had found the perfect woman to marry, but when he refused to move to LA so his fiancé could pursue a career in acting; she left and never e-mailed or called him again, Feeling rejected and distraught Hank decided to give up on women. Instead, he spent his time fishing, hiking, mountain climbing, skiing, and spending time in a cabin he had built at 8000 feet on one of the mountains on their property. The cabin had no electricity or running water and he only used it when the snow was no more than a foot deep. To get to the cabin by horse was two hours in the summer and three hours in the winter. It sat 100 feet from a mountain creek and to Hank; it was as close to heaven a man could get. He had never taken anyone there except his father who helped him build it. Some of his best photography was of the wild life just outside his door.

John, I’m so glad we got a weekend away in Denver. I love the museum and the hockey game was great even though my team lost 2-1.

John tried not to gloat.

Yes, it was a great game. As soon as spring arrives and business slows down at the resort we should plan to get away more often. Susan had never been in favor of resurrecting the old resort. To her it would always be a losing investment.

The resort is already making a profit, John declared. He never missed an opportunity to share good news in hopes that she would finally admit it was the right thing to do.

You have to admit that this summer and fall were good with the trail riding and weekly packhorse trips into the mountains. It has been only open for skiing since Thanksgiving and there are still two full months of the season to go. We are booking cabins every day.

I know, I know. Sorry I ever doubted you. Would you look at this storm, it is getting worse, should we pull off in the Springs and stay overnight? We’re only a few minutes from that big hotel; I can see the lights through the snow.

The snow now covered the road and showed partially filled tracks from vehicles that had gone before despite the best efforts of the State road crews. The Jeep’s wipers were having trouble keeping up.

I’ve seen worse. John’s words lacked his usual conviction. We are less than a two-hour drive from home; I would rather not stop. It might be worse by morning. I don’t want to be away from the resort any longer than I have to since it is our first ski season. Hank has his hands full with the store, ranch, and now the resort. Sometimes I think we expect too much of him. He’s almost thirty and still single. Damn that Bonnie, she has no chance whatsoever of becoming an actress. Wish he’d find a nice woman, settle down and have a lot of children.

They drove south on the Interstate and their Jeep Cherokee was holding the road despite the deepening snow. The storm had turned into a blizzard making it almost impossible to see. Unaware that behind them a fifty-three-foot long eighteen-wheeler was bearing down, John reduced his speed because of the poor visibility. Suddenly, the truck pulled around them raising a huge, opaque cloud of snow that covered their windshield.

Wow, God damn it! shouted John. Look at that crazy bastard. Now I really can’t see where I’m going. He must have rumbled past us going over seventy in this storm. I’ve dropped our speed to forty and I think that with these conditions even that is too fast.

The Cherokee rocked as the truck sped past them. About a mile south, I-25 made a wide bend to the right.

We’ve seen it before John; they speed on this highway all the time. He’s trying to reach the Raton Pass at the border before it closes. Not to change the subject, but Hank should get away and go somewhere for the summer. He needs to find a woman that likes the things he does. I don’t want him to be a bachelor all his life.

Where do you suggest he go? He hunts, fishes, skis, plays pool, and loves to ride that damn mustang of his.

John came around the bend and was met with the terrifying sight of the large rig swerving from one side of the road to the other; its wheels plowed through the snow in a vain attempt to get a grip. The big rig danced across the road almost in slow motion. John instinctively stomped on the brakes.

Oh my God! I’m losing control, hang on Susan, I’m not going to stop in time .We’re going to run right into that damn truck.

Good God John, he’s swerving all over the place; looks like he might turnover.

The truck tilted on one side as the driver fought to recover. The heavy load combined with the speed and poor road conditions made what happened next inevitable. The steel bed of the trailer struck the asphalt throwing up sparks as the truck jackknifed. It came to rest in a horizontal position across the road just 300 feet in front of them.

I love you Susan, John shouted moments before their Jeep skidded and crashed headlong into the trailer loaded with logs. The front end of the Cherokee folded like an accordion. The two front airbags exploded in a cloud of white powder pushing John and Susan back in their seats and then just as quickly collapsed. John was killed instantly. Logs rolled off the truck and smashed into the front of the jeep breaking out the windshield.

Susan was bleeding from her nose where the airbag had hit and her legs were pinned under the dash where the car had pushed back over them. A huge log was inches from her face.

John, John, she cried. Are you okay?

John was bleeding heavily and the steering column had cut into his mid section killing him instantly.

John, John, help me, I can’t feel my legs and I think my nose is broken. Her voice crackled as she strained to turn her head and see how badly John was injured.

In her last moments she thought of what she had done and now she would had no way to fix it. When John had suggested the ski resort, she was angry. She remembered yelling at him that at their age they had better things to do than try a new venture. A resort meant more time working. John was a great skier and had taught Hank to ski before he was three years old. Hank was an expert skier and spent most of his time on the slopes in the winter when business at the ranch slowed down. In pursuit of his passion he traveled the state of Colorado, went into Wyoming and Utah in search of the best skiing. One season he gave lessons at Monarch, a resort not far from Colorado Springs.

Susan remembered going to Denver to see the family lawyer Mr. Plinket revise her will. She had put the businesses in her name because John always said he would die first and he didn’t want her to have legal problems and spend all that money on estate taxes. She had told Mr. Plinket that she hated the resort and was going to leave it in her will to her best friend’s daughter who was a lawyer and department store manager in Philadelphia.

Mr. Plinket, I don’t want Hank spending all his time with that damn ski resort. He belongs with the businesses that his great grandparents began. John had no right to jeopardize his future. If I leave that resort to my friend’s daughter, Hank will have more time to ski like he always has and he might just find a wonderful woman and settle down. He won’t find a woman in this small town. I got to know Polaria a little when her mother died. She’s a sharp businesswoman and a lawyer to boot. She told me she really didn’t like managing the department store in Philadelphia. She would be perfect.

She remembered George Plinket imploring her not to write that into her will.

Let Hank decide. He’s a grown man. Besides that young woman will probably sell it immediately to that billionaire from the Hamptons who bid against John two years ago and wanted to turn it into a deluxe retreat for wealthy, overpaid executives and change this valley forever. Don’t do it. Plinket was generally a conservative man and would never think of challenging a client once he had shared his advice. Over the years, he had grown close to the family and thought of Hank as his own son.

George, my mind is made up; Hank gets everything else. It was Hank that pushed John into buying that damn resort. Not deterred, Plinket pleaded with her.

Put a contingency in the will, that she can’t sell it for three years and if she wants to quit, it goes to Hank if that makes you happy, Susan suggested in an effort to placate him.

Plinket’s response, That’s better, but I think you should give this more thought. Wait, don’t do this now.

Rewrite the damn will George, or I’ll find another attorney.

Snow drifted through the broken windshield the flakes melting on her face mixed with her tears. Susan was sobbing and the pain from her internal bleeding was causing her to pass in and out of consciousness.

Unaware of the severity of her injuries she continued to wrestle with the implications of what she had done. Why didn’t I listen to George? He told me two weeks ago to change the will. John loves that resort and I hate to admit it; I liked it too once it was up and running. Why didn’t I listen to him?

Susan’s body convulsed and she threw up blood; her head fell against the back of the seat.

The wind had whipped up to almost gale force and the snow was falling at two inches or more an hour. By now, traffic was backing up behind the accident. A man ran over to the car and pulled open the passenger door.

He gasped as his flashlight illuminated the interior of the car. The two people in the car sat lifeless their blood staining the snow. John had almost been cut in half when the steering wheel broke thrusting the column through his body all the way into the seat. Susan was so white from a lack of blood and that he could not tell if she was still alive. Gently brushing the snow from her face her eyes opened.

She had trouble focusing. The man appeared like a gray ghost. Her body shivered from the cold and she fought to keep awake. Slowly her head turned toward the man in the doorway.

I phoned 911 and help is on the way. I’ll go get a blanket from my car.

No, don’t leave me. Susan sobbed. I shouldn’t have done it, I shouldn’t have done it.

The man bundled in a heavy coat tried to see how badly she was hurt. By then another man had come over.

She’s hurt real bad.

Call Mr. Pl . . ., Call Pli . . ., Susan never finished the sentence.

Damn, I think she’s gone. I never saw anyone die before.

We should get back in our cars, help should arrive soon. Nothing we can do for them.

Fifteen minutes after the crash two patrol cars arrived on the scene. The wind and snow had driven the curious onlookers back to the warmth of their vehicles. The truck driver sat slumped in his cab, smoked a cigarette, and never checked on the passenger car that hit the trailer.

The driver was a forty-five year veteran of the highways. He was tall and wiry with a three or four day growth on his face. His salt and pepper hair was wet with snow and his eyes were tearing from the wind.

Jim Warner was the first state trooper to arrive at the scene. Aiming his flashlight first at John and then at Susan determined they were most likely dead. It was up to the coroner to make the final determination. He then trudged through the snow to the truck cab and banged on the window.

Open the window. The driver did as he was asked and sat staring into Warner’s flashlight. How fast were you going Mac?

I guess about fifty. Must have hit some ice, lost it, never had an accident in forty-five years officer. I’ve been running this route forever.

By now a third trooper had made it to the truck.

Give your license to my partner officer Higgins, along with your papers and manifest. Sergeant Bill Robinson, a ten-year veteran, approached the passenger side of the car. His was the third car to arrive. The storm had gained in strength and the snow was so heavy it was hard to see more than three feet ahead. John. he shouted to the other trooper. It’s an Albuquerque low for sure. We’ll have five feet or more before this fucking storm quits."

I just radioed and they are closing the Interstate.

They didn’t stand a chance. Those logs fell onto the jeep and crushed them both. I called for a wrecker, that truck isn’t going anywhere on its own. Send for a snowplow and a bus. We got two DOA s.

Warner continued to question the driver.

The name on your license is Fred Cousins and it is out of date. Mr. Cousins, step out of the truck. You are going back to the station with me. You stand to be charged with driving with an expired license, two counts of vehicular manslaughter, and possibly reckless driving for going too fast for the road conditions. Your company is being notified as we speak. The truck and trailer will be taken to impound. I’d recommend you call a lawyer. You’re gonna need one.

My license can’t be out of date, you can’t read, officer, Fred shouted. I ain’t ever had a problem. I was only going fifty.

Like hell. We have a witness and the driver of the car behind the wreck said you passed him going at least seventy or seventy-five. You won’t ever be driving again Mister Cousins and if it was up to me you’d never get behind the wheel again.

The truck driver struggled and John handcuffed him, shoved him into the backseat of the cruiser, and slammed the door.

They were nice folks in that car, damn shame to get wiped out by a thoughtless trucker going like a bat outta hell in weather like this. They must have been at that hockey game in Denver from the way they’re dressed.

The two patrol cars waited for the wrecker and snowplow, put out flares and told people to wait in their cars until the road was cleared and told everyone to take the first exit as the Interstate was officially closed.

Bill asked the driver of the car who had gotten to the crash site first.

How fast was that truck going?

Son of a bitch must have been going seventy, seventy-five when he passed me. What an idiot, he killed those people.

Were they alive when you went to their car?

The man was dead, but the woman was still conscious.

Did she say anything?

Something about she shouldn’t have done something and call a Mr. Pli . . . She died before she could say a name.

Thank you. Give me your name and address. You may be called as a witness along with another driver behind you, I’m sure there will be a lawsuit. Stay in your car and as soon as the road is cleared take the first exit.

Chapter 2

Polaria Baxter walked out of her shower and looked at her five foot nine inch models body in the mirror while singing one of her favorite Garth Brooks songs, Cats in the cradle. Even though she was a city girl, she loved country music, especially Garth, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, Billy Rae and others. On occasion, she would listen to jazz or oldies from the 60s and 70s, but today was Garth.

She applied lotion and walked over to her closet packed from front to back with the latest fashions.

She chose a black suit with a crisp white blouse, red stiletto heels and a matching bag. Her auburn hair was hung half way down her back; however, her best feature was her green eyes.

She drove to work in her red convertible and parked in her reserved parking spot marked Store Manager. As soon as she entered the large department store, she stopped by loss prevention, LP, to tell Jack to zoom in on the fine jewelry department. Fine jewelry had a disproportionate number of cameras given the value of the merchandise.

We had a shortage yesterday, Polaria said with a snap to her voice that demanded attention. I want you to keep a careful eye. Make sure the count is done properly and everything is in order. Check the counter several times today. If you notice anything, call me.

Yes, Miss Baxter. Jack replied.

Polaria left LP and headed to cosmetics.

Jack turned to Leslie, a thirty year old who had failed getting into the police academy, but did well in loss prevention training, before he could say a word Leslie spoke up.

She is such a bitch. I can’t stand that broad. She watches everything. I heard at least two people are being fired today. Ever notice when she fires people, she wears that same outfit and those stilettos.

I don’t know how she walks in them. Let’s zoom in and watch while she has her make-up done. We’re the only people to see her without her make-up. In my opinion, she looks better without it.

Jack finally managed to get a word in. What is that perfume she wears? It’s the only thing about her I like.

The perfume is Opium, Leslie said.

Opium, like the drug?

No, you dummy, she punched his arm. Opium like in that French perfume by Yves Saint Laurent. Leslie liked Jack but he was definitely not her type.

She looks like she’s auditioning for a part in a movie playing a wealthy woman looking for a big night on the town. Nothing natural about that woman. She must workout two or three hours a day. I bet she has rock solid abs that would make a guy jealous.

Every morning Polaria got her make-up applied by the make-up artist in the cosmetic section of the store. It was one of the few benefits that Polaria treasured.

Good morning, Marlene. Polaria flashed a big smile.

Marlene, a make-up artist, was wearing her white coat and was ready to change Polaria into a fashion model.

Marlene muttered to herself. I wish she would go more natural. She’s such a beautiful woman, all this make-up, she doesn’t need it.

Good morning Miss Baxter.

Marlene, leave off the foundation today, I am in a hurry, full schedule.

Polaria left after fifteen minutes and headed for the elevator to the second floor where her office was located.

Her office was about twelve feet square containing a modern desk in black with a computer; printer and telephone neatly arranged against the far wall. Squared off manila folders sat in a neat pile on the desk and a cup filled with pens and pencils sat just to her right. Nothing was out of place. She sat down in her black leather executive desk chair, put her expensive designer bag into her file drawer, and locked it. The walls had posters of the store she managed, and the main store in Los Angeles. A picture of her in full English riding habit with her Arab/Anglo horse, Tahmal, sat on the desk in a beautiful sterling silver frame. Every Sunday and Monday, she rode at the Equestrian club just outside the city. It was her only get away. He was a handsome horse with a wide white blaze and took best in show at many horse shows.

Tahmal, I wish it was Sunday, I need a break, this job is driving me crazy. she picked up the picture and held it in her hands while speaking, I used to have fun, but ever since mom died and I moved out and got my own apartment, life is not the same. This job is becoming stressful and they keep coming up with new procedures. Dad still wants me to come back to the law office. Thank God it’s Friday, one more day and I have two days to myself. She put the picture back on her desk, straightened it, and looked at the clock.

Time for the morning meeting, only one more this week, she said to herself as she made the announcement.

All associates please meet at the top of the escalator for the morning meeting.

By now the store had about fifty of its eighty-five employees on duty and they were all dressed the same in some combination of black and black with perhaps a gaily-colored blouse covered by a black jacket or black sweater. More and more stores were dressing employees in black these days.

Polaria scanned the assembled collection of associates as she walked to the front of the room. She knew each of them better than they knew themselves. After all, that was her job.

Good morning

As if on cue, the employees both men and women shouted back in unison, Good morning Miss Baxter.

I can’t hear you; I know you have more enthusiasm than that.

Again, they shouted, louder this time, Good morning Miss Baxter.

"That’s better. We had a problem yesterday; we missed our goal for new credit cards by twenty percent. We have to do better. Thank you to the associates that did such an outstanding job. Your names are highlighted on the paper Margaret is handing you. We did, however, make our sales goal, but only by 105 percent. Today is Friday, the beginning of the special red tag sale. We have a goal of thirty new credit card applications and a sales goal of $65,000 today. A special thanks to Miranda who had three card applications yesterday and to Lena, Jan and Ann who each had two applications.

We have ten people who each had one application. Their names are listed on the paper you are being handed. I want to see everyone trying harder. I don’t like mentioning this, but no associates are to use their own bonus coupons to give their special customers a twenty percent price break. Those bonus coupons are sent to each card holder, and it is your job to get applications from people who don’t have an account.

The lights came on full in the store and the escalators ground into motion after a loud ding ding to announce their moving.

Everyone to their departments; remember, smile, and get those credit applications.

The associates hurried to their respective departments and Polaria returned to her office.

When she got to her there, she called to Margaret, her assistant manager.

Margaret, please call Emily for me. She is on my ‘to replace list’ today and I want to get this over with before she has a chance to mess up again.

Margaret, a short Hispanic woman about fifty years old, wore a black skirt, black blouse and black suit jacket. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and swung side to one side, as she hurried to her desk and called Emily in house wares.

Emily, please report to Miss Baxter’s office.

Now? I haven’t counted my drawer yet.

Yes, Emily, now. I’ll count your drawer.

Emily was twenty-five years old, pale complexion with no make-up except eyeliner and lipstick. She had a five-year old son and was a single mother. She was wearing black leggings, a black tunic top, and black shoes that made her look even thinner than she actually was. Her shoes were not regulation because they had open backs. She took the escalator down from the third floor and walked into Miss Baxter’s office.

Good morning Miss Baxter.

Good morning Emily. Do you know why you are in my office?

No, Miss Baxter.

You are here because you have taken fewer credit card applications that any other associate in the store and I know why.

I do try. Emily stammered in a soft voice.

Oh, you try. I have on tape what you did yesterday. You went to your purse, removed your own bonus coupon and swiped it for a customer buying a coffee maker. That is not allowed. That is why you are having fewer card account applications than anyone else is in the store. I don’t know how many times you have done this, but it was obvious yesterday. I am sending you back to your department to get your belongings, then return to my office, and turn in your badge and keys. You are fired and never apply at this store again. This is going on your record.

Emily broke into tears, Please, give me another chance. I won’t do it again. I need this job. I am a single mom.

Stop, stop. I don’t want to hear about it. I see that you were given a warning about the same thing two months ago by the floor supervisor. You are finished with Lacey’s department store.

Emily stood up and glared at Polaria Miss Baxter, you are such a bitch; you don’t care about your employees. I wish I had never worked here. Your store doesn’t pay as well as the other stores in the mall.