Adrian McKinty - Hidden River

“What part of Ireland are you from?” Charles asks.

“From Belfast,” I say.

There is a slight pause, then Robert coughs.

“You’re here studying at Red Rocks Community College?” Charles says.

“That’s right.”

“If you’re a student you won’t be able to work full-time?” Charles says.

“Well, my schedule is pretty flexible,” I reassure him.

“Is this your first time in America?” Mrs. Mulholland asks.

“I came once before, traveled around a bit.”

“Very different from Ireland, I would expect,” Mrs. Mulholland says.

“Oh, yes, very different,” I say. “It’s actually warm in summer, which we don’t get much.”

“We went to Ireland, didn’t we, Robert?” Charles says.

“Charles, we’re a little pressed for time, if I could bring it back to—” Steve tries to say but is interrupted by Robert.

“Dublin,” Robert says.

“Yes, only Dublin, but it was charming,” Charles muses.

“It’s a nice city,” I agree.

“I’d like to go,” Mrs. Mulholland says to Charles.

“Mr. Mulholland, please, we have a lot of people still to see,” Steve says.

“Mr. O’Neill,” Charles says, “look, I’ll cut right to it. We’ve had a bit of a, well, a bit of a tragedy. We lost one of our most trusted personnel just last week, and we’re actually desperately shorthanded at the moment. Not just because of the move, but because of the, er, anyway, what we’re really looking for are enthusiastic, intelligent people who understand the ways in which environmental policies have been manipulated and want to see common sense prevail. You don’t have to agree with us one hundred percent politically but you do have to understand where we’re coming from and be willing to bring our message to the public.”

He smiles at me, looks at Robert, and waits for my response. He’s smooth, smug, likable.

“Well, I’ll tell you the truth, Mr. Mulholland, I had never heard of your organization until very recently but I’ve read your brochure and your ideas seem very sensible. Although I’m not an American, I do agree that the environment shouldn’t be preserved like a museum but that land and forests should be developed in manageable ways that balance the needs of nature with the needs of people,” I say.

“We also need p-people who will get on with other people, it’s a small environment, we need to bring everyone together as a t-team,” Robert says, speaking expansively for the first time today and it’s a surprise because he has a slight stutter. A stutter, though, does not mean a thing, it is no reflection of an inner life, revealing neither guilt, nor shyness, nor anything. It reveals nothing except maybe a disinclination to become a public speaker and perhaps not even that — Demosthenes and Churchill both stuttered.

“If we took you on a trial basis, could you come tonight?” Charles asks, running his long fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, but why in the evening?” I ask.

“Because that’s when people will be home from work,” Charles tells me.

“Perhaps Abe didn’t explain, this will primarily be an evening job, will that be a problem?” Steve asks.

“Not at all,” I say.

“Do you think you would fit in here?” Mrs. Mulholland asks.

“I do, it seems like an exciting opportunity to get in at the start of an organization. I like challenges and I think I would like this one.”

The table looks at one another, sighs. I get the impression that I’m the first normal person they’ve interviewed today. Not easy finding student-age workers in July in Denver. Indeed, nothing must have been easy at the moment. They must have been swamped, really. Moving to Denver and having to deal with the deaths of two of their key employees.

“Well, maybe we’ll see you tonight,” Charles says.

“One or t-two more questions?” Robert asks Charles.

“We are very pressed, Robert,” Charles says.

Robert bites his lip.

“Ok,” he says.

“Wonderful to meet you,” Mrs. Mulholland says, and everyone thanks me for my time.

Steve sees me to the door and says in a stage whisper:

“I think I can say with all honesty, Alex, that we’d like to welcome you to the family.”

“Thanks,” I say, and walk out into the bare reception area to wait for the formal decision.

An hour later. Charles giving me the tour of the CAW offices. Showing me everything, apologizing for the mess. CAW occupies the entire tenth and eleventh floors of the building. They have twice the space they had in Boulder and it still looks very empty. There are about a dozen employees in cubicles and several others in offices. Charles introduces me and I do my best to remember names. Charles is taller than me, he smells of a light masculine musk. I’ll have to find out what it is. His accent, too, is peculiar, it’s very difficult for a non-American to separate out American accents besides the obvious ones like the Deep South, or Boston or Chicago. It’s slightly Anglicized, though, with a twang, did he go to England for a few years? Perhaps that’s the way they teach them to speak at Harvard or prep school.

“And this is a portrait of Margaret Cheverde, our honorary president, she’s the daughter of an Italian prime minister. Of course, that’s pretty meaningless, in Italy they let everyone be prime minister for a week or two,” Charles says, laughing at his own joke.

I laugh too. He has two nervous twitches: he keeps turning the white gold wedding ring on his finger and he keeps running his hands through his hair. I’m no Freudian, so I don’t figure either means anything.

When we’re done with the tour of the chaotic eleventh floor he tells me what the job will be tonight.

“Tonight, Alex, myself, Abe, and Amber will be taking a van of campaigners out to the sticks, you know, going door to door, trying to drum up members. I haven’t actually done it for a while, but it’ll all fall into place,” Charles says, grinning.

“I’m sure it will,” I agree.

“And look, I don’t want you to be disturbed or anything, there’s going to be a film crew following me around tonight. I know it’s a dreadful bore, but it’s one of those things we have to endure, you know, for publicity.”

“A film crew?” I ask, surprised.

“Yes, don’t worry, we’ll just carry on as if nothing’s happening and they’ll do their job, keep out of our way, sorry it has to be on your first night, but it’s just one of those things.”

We talk some more about tonight, but he keeps looking at his watch. Before he goes, though, I ask him about Mrs. Mulholland, whom Klimmer didn’t mention at all as a staffer. He laughs and says that Amber isn’t supposed to be here at all, she’s just helping out for the next couple of weeks because they’re incredibly short-staffed. She’s a wonder, he says, and I can’t help but agree. Does she know she’s married to a murderer? Or that her brother-in-law is a murderer, or maybe it’s both of them. Or maybe she knows and doesn’t care. Or maybe she’s Lady Macbeth behind the scenes. Charles stops talking. My eyes must have glazed over for a moment.

“Everything clear?” he asks me with a look of concern.

I nod. “Everything is great,” I say with enthusiasm.

“Good. I’ll get you your clipboard and your fact sheets and then Abe will get you to fill in your tax details and show you how to doorstop and how to do the rap. Tonight when you go out, probably Abe or myself will be looking after you, so you’ll have a good time. Is there anything else you want to ask?”

“Uh, no, just, I don’t know, about money, maybe?”

“Oh, sure, hasn’t Steve told you?”

“No.”

“Ok, you get a third of all the money you make over quota. Quota is eighty-five dollars. If you make under that, you get a flat rate of forty percent of what you raise. But don’t worry about that. Most people make about three fifty a night, which means they get, what’s a third of that?”