Page 5 of Grumpy Bear

Following my line of sight Austin said, “We call the nice cabins up there Homo Highlands. The cheap ones are Cocksucker Alley. Tent camping’s down by the creek in The Soggy Bottom.”

I smiled at his enthusiasm for sharing the names more than at the names themselves. “What about the area with the RVs?”

“Trailer Park Avenue.” Austin raised his eyebrows and nodded gravely. “Not all trailer parks are created equal. It’s next-level. You’ll see.”

I felt like we were driving onto a movie set. It reminded me of a mash-up of Hobbiton and a tacky Thomas Kincaid painting come to life—if all the builders had grown up on farms in Georgia and vacationed in the Adirondacks.

“This looks incredible,” I said.

“Keep looking.” Austin was watching me, a shit-eating grin on his face.

I began to spot a few people here and there. Not just people… men. Off in a mown field, a nude guy was flowing through a yoga sequence. We slowed down for a tall man with a crew cut, a handlebar mustache, and nothing but a beach towel draped over his shoulder. He picked his way across the gravel on bare tiptoes, waving and calling out a thank you.

I couldn’t help but turn in my seat to watch his white buns disappear beneath the shade of a huge magnolia tree.

“My God. Are they everywhere like that?”

“Actually, there’s probably not that many here yet,” Austin said. “But there will be tomorrow.”

“How many are we talking?”

He shrugged. “A few hundred at least.”

“A few hundred?”

“I think full capacity is four hundred.”

“So, hundreds of naked porn stars walking around?”

Austin’s sigh sounded dreamy. “Pretty fucking awesome, huh?”

“Shit. If you and that daddy back there are the standard, where does that leave me?”

“Relax. Not everybody looks like that guy. You look great.”

“I look great with my shorts on.”

He shook his head at me. “Nobody’s going to force you to take your shorts off.”

Austin stayed to the left, following the road north as the terrain grew steeper. About halfway up the valley was an enormous lodge wedged between two low mountains. It was a quintessential chalet-style log structure with large windows beneath a soaring A-frame overlooking the woods.

Austin parked in a gravel lot full of muddy trucks, SUVs, and dozens of carts—everything from golf carts to ATVs to some kind of suped-up badass contraption Batman might’ve had a hand in designing. “Go ahead and grab your stuff if you want.”

The men here were clothed, almost all of them wearing what must be the staff uniform—a gray T-shirt with a logo, cargo shorts, and various types of outdoor footwear. Austin had thankfully loaned me an extra pair of well-worn trail-running sneakers. He’d been right—my Chucks weren’t going to cut it.

Leaving behind the tent for now, I grabbed my guitar and backpack out of the Jeep and followed Austin up wide wooden stairs. I was nervous as shit about showing up and asking for a job, but everyone we passed on our way inside said hello, and the open friendliness put me more at ease. We stepped into a lobby with a cathedral ceiling and massive wood beams. The room was dominated by a stacked stone fireplace with a hearth big enough for a grown man to stand inside. The furniture all looked like it was made from chunky tree branches with saddle-brown leather upholstery.

“I’m baaack!” Austin bellowed.

A dog barked from somewhere out of sight.

“Mr. Austin Fox.” An archetypal bear of a man with a dark crew cut and a thick beard met us at the counter. Maybe in his early forties, he looked like he could be Austin’s cousin or uncle. Same linebacker build only taller. He was handsome in a rugged way, like a lumberjack in a catalogue, with a few interesting accessories. He wore a strand of mala beads on his furry wrist, his thick fingers sported multiple chunky silver-and-turquoise rings, and a Celtic knot pendant swung from a leather cord around his neck. Like Austin, there was something sweet about him, something warm and almost… maternal. He probably gave killer hugs. His voice had a raspy lilt to it. “Honey, it is so good to see you. How are you?”

“I’m good.” Austin rubbed his hands together. “Excited for another season.”

“Well, we are thrilled to have you back.” Even as he spoke, his eyes were already turning toward me. “And who’ve you got with you?”

“This fine specimen”—Austin held out a hand, presenting me like merchandise on a game show—“is Luke Cody. I brought him along as an extra set of hands, for a work weekend, like I did last year. Luke, this is Jim Savage, the general manager.”