Ryan
The airport was probably the smallest one I had ever seen, with a few runways mostly taken up by small, private prop planes. The concrete runways were cracked and soiled, but they worked okay, or at least, the fact that I was still alive attested to that. I wasn’t used to rural areas, but this was all for the project, and it was important that I made the most of it. Driving away from my personal luxury jet was painful, though. I already missed the lush seats, the climate-controlled cabin, and the drinks. I really missed the drinks. The jet had been one of the most exciting purchases of my career, and I decked it out to feel like home, especially since I spent so much time in it. It almost felt strange to see it from the outside, sitting in the barely covered hangar bays.
I wasn’t born into the rich life, being the guy from the wrong side of the tracks, or so they called me, but I found that the rich life suited me. I had gotten used to having nearly unlimited money, being able to help whoever I wanted, buy whatever I wanted, and do whatever I wanted without the stress of fiscal limitations. I tried to use my money for positive things, though, things that would help communities, even the world. I felt it was my responsibility to do so, but with that came its own share of critics. Not everyone saw my money and my attempts to help others in a positive light, and that definitely took some getting used to. Until I had made my first million, I’d been pretty naïve at how the world worked.
I stared out the window watching field after field pass by outside. They all looked the same to me except for the occasional spotted cow meandering through the pasture, getting its helping of lush, green grasses. My mind turned to the past and the whirlwind the last decade had been when I literally went from rags to riches in my own life. I had grown up extremely poor, no stranger to the streets. I had hustled since I was old enough to be on my own, trying to help my mother get by. My mother worked two jobs, and though she tried her best to be a good mom, she rarely had time for anything other than work and sleep. My father, well, he was a different story, and one that I tried not to think about.
Before I had boarded my private jet to the West Coast, I had been safely ensconced in my multimillion-dollar lavish penthouse in the building I owned, surrounded by every luxury I could imagine. I had my friends, my technology, my books, and a whole lot of wine, and that was pretty much my life outside the daily grind. It was a dream compared to where I had come from. Now … well, I was in a place where the cows outnumbered the people three to one, my cell service was spotty at best, and the hope of finding a good bottle of wine had pretty much left my thoughts. It was pretty with the wide-open spaces, the hard-working farmers in the fields, and the feeling of country, but it definitely was anything but home.
We drove for quite a while after leaving the airport, but as the roads became a little less bumpy, the SUV arrived in the small town that would serve as the epicenter for my newest venture. I was excited to see where my ideas would come to fruition, where the people lived that I was trying so hard to get on board with everything, and where I would be spending quite a bit of time for the foreseeable future. My idea had come about one rainy day when I was in the penthouse just reading through the news, thinking about the future of technology, and wondering how I could help with the current environmental crisis. I was billing it as the “Double R Energy Ranch,” which was to become a solar farm and experimental compound for green energy.
Bonanza, Oregon, was one of the first places my team had presented to me. It was abundant with sunshine, had plenty of space for innovation, and boasted some of the cheapest real estate in the area. From the stats and the pictures, it was truly the best place to settle down in for the project. This was the first time I had seen it in person and thought it quaint, to say the least. I was starting to see what the team was seeing. When we contacted the city council, they were ecstatic at my interest in placing the ranch there and had sweetened the deal with some pretty lucrative tax breaks. The state itself was more than happy to oblige seeing as they were bending over backward to bring in jobs. It was a win-win for both the company and the community, so it seemed. Still, I hadn’t expected everything to be so … rustic. I was at least expecting maybe a chain fast food joint or a YMCA around the corner or something, but there was nothing. I didn’t even realize towns like this still existed, but there I was in the center of it, staring at a whole lot of cows and not many people.
The “downtown” area was not so much of a downtown, more like an area with several buildings built closely together. I counted the blocks and quickly since it was one street less than four blocks long that boasted pretty much all privately owned businesses. I had to admit it was cute, but it made me a little shell-shocked compared to my life in the city where my penthouse was larger than most of the houses dotting the scenery. There wasn’t a single traffic light in the whole town, and I was assuming the stop signs were relatively new. I didn’t think I had seen a stop sign without graffiti or stickers on it my entire life. The whole place was spotless, not a lick of trash on the ground, and there wasn’t a police officer in sight.
As I stared out the SUV window watching the town go by, the driver took a right and pulled up in front of a nondescript brick building looking as if it had been there for at least a hundred years. On the outside, a sign hung above the door, swaying in the breeze. It read, “Rooming House,” which I knew was the place I was supposed to be staying while in town. As the SUV parked, I sat there staring at the place, realizing this was the hotel I would be calling home while I was in town. It definitely wasn’t the Four Seasons by any stretch of the imagination, but I couldn’t imagine many people came to visit the little town of Bonanza very often. At least the front door said there was Wi-Fi, and I would be spending most of my time on-site.
I sighed and climbed out of the car, taking off my gloves and shoving them into my peacoat pockets. The driver grabbed my luggage from the back and headed inside to get me checked in. I smiled at a passing woman with her child and gave a nod, climbing the stairs. I reached down into my pocket and pulled out my phone, looking down at the screen. It was my PR agent, checking in on me as usual. She was more like my babysitter than my PR agent, but I supposed I probably could use her these days.
“Hello,” I said.
“Did you get there okay?”
“I did,” I said. “I’m walking into the, um, hotel as we speak.”
“Good,” she said. “Make sure you smile at everyone, hold some conversations, and make yourself look like you fit in.”
“I didn’t bring my overalls,” I whispered.
“Anyway,” she said, ignoring my snide comment. “Your new venture is playing out very well in the press. Of course, no one has forgotten about your, well, we’ll just call it ‘the incident.’”
“Do they ever forget about the bad stuff?”
“Of course not. It sells papers, and you’re a gold mine these days, apparently,” she said. “Still, I’ve been working with a few select media outlets, ones that I have good, solid, trustworthy contacts with. I’ve been arranging tours and interviews for the next couple of weeks. I really hope they’ll project a serious image that will replace your current, more negative standing in the media. Something has to give, and we need this project to be a success for you.”
“Right,” I said, climbing the stairs to the top floor where the company had rented out all the rooms. “Well, I’ll do my best to portray that image as well. How much trouble could I get into out here anyway? I’m not much into cow tipping.”
“Oh, before I forget because I know you won’t remember, the fundraiser is tonight,” she said. “I told them you would be in attendance.”
“I hate fundraisers,” I groaned, walking into my room and nodding at the driver as he set down my luggage and walked back out. “Everyone wants to talk.”
“That’s kind of the point of it all.” She chuckled. “Besides, they may be out in the middle of nowhere, but they still follow the news. Going would be a gesture of goodwill, so you need to look nice, but try not to wear any suits that cost more than most of those people’s houses. Put a big smile on your face, and pull out your checkbook. You need to make a sizeable donation.”
“I swear it costs more personal funds to start this project than it does to actually pay for the project itself.” I sighed. “But it’s for a good cause, so I can’t really complain.”
“You’re right,” she said. “You can’t complain. Call me tomorrow morning, or I’ll call you.”
“No doubt,” I replied, hanging up.
I looked around the room for the first time since I had gotten there and had to admit, I was unenthused by the place I was staying in. It was clean. That was good, but it looked like something from my great-grandmother’s house, including the giant box television set. It was about as enthralling as the idea of going to this fundraiser tonight. Thank god, it wasn’t an auction. The last thing I wanted was to leave with a piece of farm equipment I didn’t need just to get the donation up high enough. I wasn’t even sure where the fundraiser was, but I was assuming it would be somewhere like a town hall or the gymnasium of the local high school. It definitely would be different from the ballrooms of Manhattan’s finest hotels, covered in flowers, chandeliers, and with champagne flowing like rivers.
I turned and walked into the small-tiled bathroom, looking down at the one good thing I had found in the entire place, an old, antique clawfoot tub. It was oversized, which was perfect since I was pretty tall, but had all the charms of an old antique home. It would be the perfect thing to do before getting ready for the fundraiser that night. I put my bags to the side and sighed, turning on the water and undressing. As I sank into the hot, steamy water and laid my head back, I could feel the ease of tension in my shoulders. I wasn’t the guy who took baths very often, but after the shock of changing what felt like worlds coming from New York to the little town of Bonanza, I couldn’t imagine anything that would have made me more relaxed. Of course, my masseuse definitely would have helped, but that was not an option I had, nor did I think the town offered anything like that. I would make best with what I had and hope it was all worth it in the end.