The Seminar

THE SEMINAR

I took my eyes off the road for a brief second and looked at my beagle, Rocky. His head was out the window and his long ears were flapping behind him. It was a long drive. All the way from Phoenix, AZ to Colorado City, CO. Well, Mesa AZ actually. But hey, let’s not get all that technical. And all for a petting seminar.

I’d received my invitation months ago and had been excited ever since. The long drive to a secluded resort in the mountains and countryside was part of the excitement and I loved to drive. The route was simple, I-17 N through to Flagstaff, then the 40-E, through to Albuquerque, then North on the I-25.

The route was great to drive, scenic with wide, busy roads. The instructions included a computer generated map and a list of what was needed for a week’s stay at a privately owned and exclusive mountain lodge . The instructions read: “Pack an evening gown, and comfortable clothing to wear and essentials for the drive.” The next part might sound strange to anyone who’d never participated in such a seminar: “No underwear, no perfumes, and all cosmetics have to be perfume and odor free.” It finished with the cryptic: “When you reach the place on the map marked with an X.

I was happy to let Rocky have his window open, as mine was too. We’d been on the road for over 10 hours, had come over 600 miles and had just crossed the New Mexico-Colorado border. We still had over 100 miles to go, or another 3 hours, before I’d get to the rendezvous location. From there, I assumed we’d have a short drive to the secret location, where the seminar was to be held.

The sun was casting long shadows when I finally reached the place on the map marked with a big black X. It was a huge Shell gas station just off the highway. There were a few of cars in the parking lot, A couple of cars were filling up, next to a big dusty 18-wheeler, whose denim-clad trucker gave me a wink.

There were Fast Food outlets and a few people walking around, a “Doggy-do” and a Bus terminal. I dug my phone out of the center console and tapped in the number, while clipping on Rocky’s leash and leading him to the “doggy-do”. The phone was answered after the 3rd ring. “Hi Misty, we’ve been expecting you all afternoon, is everything OK?” Rocky was happily lifting his leg against the fake hydrant and relieving himself.

I smiled as I recognized the voice of our vet. “Hi Honi. Yes, everything’s fine, the drive just took longer than I thought. After 745 miles and parts of two states, I’m finally at X marks the spot. I see few cars here, but no people I recognize,” I replied.

“Cool. Jean-Claude will be down to fetch you in the bus. He should be there in about 45 minutes. Make sure your car is locked. There’s electronic surveillance at that gas stop. Master’s made sure we’re completely safe and protected.”

I looked around, and breathed in the cool late afternoon air. Ahhhhh, the Rockies, with high snow-capped peaks, wide grassy plains, gushing geysers and sparkling mountain streams – this is the real West of America. A land where cowboys and ranchers still raise cattle and many of the old traditions live on, and of course other lesser known and naturally far more earthy and enjoyable pursuits.

Vehicle lights flickered through the trees after about 30 minutes, a minibus came into view on a road that led directly off the Gas stop’s parking lot, almost invisible to a casual observer. The handsome driver drew the minivan up alongside my car. Rocky wagged his tail recognizing the handsome driver. I gathered my small suitcase from the trunk and locked my car, clicking the lock on the remote part of the key, the lights blinked once and the horn chirped. SAFE!

I opened the sliding door for Rocky, Jean-Claude had climbed out and opened the front passenger door for me. I slid into the front passenger seat. Jean-Claude got behind the wheel and we took off up a windy road. The drive was short and the view of the mountains spectacular, Jean-Claude mostly silent except for an occasional Gallic cuss when the bus’s wheels got into a rut or a hole on the bumpy road, but I saw him giving me a few approving glances. I had driven those 745 miles in a short denim skirt, flat strappy sandals and a linen midriff blouse, my bra-less breasts straining against the material of the travel rumpled blouse when the vehicle hit a pothole on the uneven road, within 45 minutes we pulled up at a huge log cabin building.

The doors of the building opened into what appeared to be a lobby of any modern hotel. Rocky sniffed and bounced his way around my legs and my single bag that Jean-Claude was bringing in for me. Honi was standing behind the Concierge desk. “Hi Misty, you know the drill, no cameras, and your baggage searched. Master’s rules, obey and enjoy.” She smiled.

I put my phone on the wooden counter. Jean-Claude put my back-pack next to my phone, I unzipped and opened out the meager contents onto the counter. “No contraband officer. May I enter please?”

Honi took my phone and put it in a locker behind her. Locking its door, she added the locker’s little key to a room key. “You’ve given people the number of our landline, in case of emergencies, right?” she asked, She gave me both keys, attached to a ring.

“Yes, of course, but everyone knows I’m on vacation and better not phone me unless someone’s dying!” I giggled. My job was stressful enough – no one would contact me unless it was serious.

“Ok!” Honi smiled.