“Nice view,” said Richard, with a slight Texas drawl.
Richard Butz was leaning on the pressure-treated railing, looking out over Village Lake at the majestic San Juan Mountains — still exhibiting traces of the winter’s snowfall, now in early June. Below the deck, closer to the lakeshore, a few Canadian geese nibbled in the mowed grass, giving out an occasional honk for no apparent reason.
Richard had apparently addressed the remark to his timeshare neighbor, Elaine Mitchell, who was sitting in a lounge chair on her own separate, pressure-treated deck a couple of yards away, reading a paperback novel.
The two Texans had never met — had not even seen each other’s face, up until the moment Richard had walked out onto his deck bearing a bottle of Lone Star beer and commented casually on the scenery.
After considering, momentarily, the possible risks involved in getting into a friendly conversation with an unfamiliar timeshare neighbor, Elaine turned her book over, still open, on her lap, and responded.
“Yes. Nice view.”
“One of my guilty pleasures,” Richard remarked, taking a swig from the bottle.
“You mean, the beer?” Elaine queried. “No need to feel guilty about that.”
“No, I mean the view,” Richard responded, still staring across the lake.
“You feel guilty about the view?” Elaine smirked. She wondering where this conversation was headed, and if it was going to become too intimate for comfort.
Richard turned to face her, still leaning against the railing, and gave her a smile. His teeth were exceedingly white and straight, in contrast to his rather large, bulbous nose which seemed set slightly askew into his face. His blue eyes were shaded by bushy white eyebrows, and he had the overall appearance of someone who’d spent his life doing hard physical labor out in the scorching West Texas sun.
“You’re new here,” Richard told her, seeming to change the subject. “Name’s Richard.”
“Yes,” Elaine agreed. “Elaine. Yes, this is my first visit to Pagosa.”
“But not your last,” he informed her, showing off his sparkling smile. “So I guess you bought your share from Charlie and Alice. They had your unit for the first week in June, back before Alice got sick.”
Elaine hesitated for a moment, and then responded. “Well, I don’t actually remember the seller’s name. I bought my share through a broker in Dallas. As a Christmas present to myself.”
“So you don’t understand the guilty part yet,” Richard smiled, and took another pull on his beer.
“I guess you’re right. What’s the guilty part?”
“You look at all these timeshares.” Richard motioned with his half-empty at the dozens of timeshare condos packed around the lake. “Just like you, all these timeshare owners bought a week in Pagosa Springs so they could escape from Dallas or Houston, and sit on their deck and read the book they got on Amazon last year but never had time to crack open.”
Elaine laughed to herself. She had indeed bought her book on Amazon a year ago.
Richard continued. “All these people, they come to Pagosa for the first time to get out of the Texas heat and relax in a beautiful setting. Get out of the rat race. Take the boat out on the lake and catch a few perch. Have a vacation to talk about, back at the office.”
“Right?” Richard asked.
“Okay, you’ve got me pegged,” Elaine admitted, giving her shoulders a little shrug.
Richard turned to look back out at the mountains. “The government bureaucrats who run this little town, they all think that’s why tourists come to Pagosa. For the scenery. The hiking. To play in the river. They think we come here to have fun. That tourist attractions keep the Pagosa economy humming.
“That it’s the great outdoors and the funky little downtown and the small-town amenities that draw us here.”
“And it’s not?” Elaine queried.
“Oh, sure it is. The first year. This is your first year. So you don’t know about the guilt.”
“Okay, so tell me about the guilt.”
Richard turned again to face her. “Next Christmas, you’re going to be thinking ahead to your Pagosa timeshare week, in June. And you’re going to realize how long it’s been since you visited your mother in Albany, and your sister in Tacoma. And how you can’t really afford to make the trip to Pagosa Springs next summer, with all the other obligations you have.
“But there’s that nagging guilt. You spent $10,000 on your timeshare. How can you justify a trip to see your mother, when you’ve got this timeshare obligation — a week of selfish pleasure waiting for you, that you already paid for?
“You don’t understand it yet, but guilt is what keeps Pagosa Springs alive. Guilty timeshare owners.”
Elaine considered these comments carefully for a moment, and then spoke in a cold, unfriendly tone.
“Well, it’s been very nice meeting you, Richard. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a book that I bought a year ago on Amazon that I need to finish reading.”