12 comments/  18777 views/  8 favorites

By Any Other Name

By: Adrian Leverkuhn



©2009AdrianLeverkuhn

There are some stretches of road that are nothing less than Hell. Some stretches of water, too, for that matter. And mountains. Mountains are rather like life, too, but it's better to get by the rough patches and move on than it is to dwell on the toll they take. Sometimes there's just no way to avoid the rough spots; other times find us tempted by the idea of taking a short-cut around life, maybe missing out on a little pain or finding our way to happiness just a little quicker. Some detours work out fine, others don't. Some detours take you where you want to go -- eventually; other drop you off unexpectedly in the middle of nowhere, leave you confused and not just a little shaken. Some are full of pain.

'Beyond this place there be dragons.' 

Wouldn't that be nice: little road-signs warning of imminent danger just ahead, that even the expected curves conceal dangers so unpredictable that mere words alone cannot convey all the implications of a single slip? 

And why are these short-cuts so tempting? I'd really like to know the answer to that one.

+++++

I was northbound on the Atlantic Intra-coastal Waterway somewhere just north of Ft Lauderdale and headed for Palm Beach, deep in what's called Gucci Gulch, bound eventually for Port St Lucie. The homes that line this strand between the ICW and the beach are massive, rambling estates whose annual property tax bills are rumored to be in the hundreds of thousands of dollars. Fifty acre parcels of land are not uncommon, homes with fifty thousand square feet and private heliports abound -- these types of shacks are the norm along this stretch of the waterway.

Another feature of the waterway, and an unwelcome one at that, are the countless bridges spanning this section of the ICW. Roadways cross the waterway at fairly regular intervals: a very few are so tall that even large vessels can pass underneath without issue; most of these bridges, however, are not. Most of them carry simple surface streets across the waterway and boats can pass only after the bridge has been raised over or swung away from the main channel, and because road traffic in the area is so heavy these bridges only open a few times a day. Folks can literally travel all day long and, by missing bridge openings, find that they've traversed a stunning ten miles for the day; in other words at a pace even a Green Sea Turtle could walk away from. Needless to say, tempers can flare. This is the voice of experience speaking.

And another unique feature of this stretch of the ICW concerns the folks who man these bridges. They watch million dollar yachts and duct tape-patched inflatable motorboats pass by all day long so perhaps they are consumed with the thought that life has somehow passed them by -- who knows? Whatever the reason, some of these folks have a rather highly developed sense of humor, some more than others. Some tenders will let all the boats queued-up pass before closing the bridge; others will wait until just the right moment to close their bridge -- and cause the approaching skipper to ram his engine into reverse and take all kinds of (obviously hilarious) action to avoid having their boat turned into kindling. These bridge tenders can be seen laughing their asses off and generally having a fine ole time as they watch weekend warriors and old farts scrambling around and cussing while trying to save their boats. For want of a better word I've taken to calling these bridge-tenders "Bubba" -- and I mean no slight to people so named. Rather, there seems to be a mean-spiritedness to the actions of these crimson vertebrae'd fellas that seems uniquely Southern. I feel it necessary to add that I am myself a Southerner, or was once, and that I too have been accused of red-neck tendencies -- most frequently regarding my unqualified love of Lone Star beer and Carolina-style barbeque. Be that as it may, Bubba and I have been having a running dispute over his operating procedures for years: I shout at Bubba, shoot the bird at Bubba, I slam my poor old sailboat's transmission into reverse and throw the tiller over and just miss the closing bridge by inches and look up in time to see Bubba pointing at me and laughing his ass off. It's a tiring ritual primarily because I always lose.

On the day in question -- and it was a nice clear December day, by the way -- it was nearing evening rush hour and I knew I had to clear the bridge ahead or be caught waiting at least three hours for the next opening -- and I had the howling engine red-lined as I pushed the boat to make that opening. I could see a dozen other boats queued-up perhaps three hundred yards ahead when the bridge began opening, and was perhaps twenty yards from passing through when Bubba decided to close it.

Slam it in reverse, helm hard over, engine rumbling, diesel fumes billowing, rude finger gestures all around, more than a few impolite expletives tossed overboard -- and I look up in time to see Bubba rolling in laughter, huge gales of laughter. I had been utterly defeated and he knew it. The Score: Bubba, 340; Hapless Old Fart, Zero. Humiliating, really. No other word for it. I missed the bridge by inches, continued the turn until I was southbound and straightened out and ran down the waterway while I tried to calm down. Again.

There was a restaurant a ways back and I thought I might head back and tie up, grab a bite and waste a couple of hours before I gave Bubba another shot at my mast -- when I saw her.

She was standing on a private dock along the waterway, the dock behind a house somewhat larger than an aircraft carrier and just a little smaller than the Taj Mahal; said house was all the more unusual in that it was painted what I consider a revolting shade of hot pink -- but more often than not these subtle hues tend to be the norm along Gucci Gulch. The woman standing on the dock was dressed in hot pink, too, for that matter. Maybe I should have, in retrospect, taken that as a warning. As I motored down the waterway I saw her laughing, then she waved at me. Another warning?

So of course, like the moron I have long been accused of being, I waved back.

Now, is it just me or have you noticed that this is a behavior common to most people out on the water? What is with all this nautical bonhomie, this completely nonsensical "we're-all-brothers-while-on-the-water" thing? Why do complete strangers who would under other circumstances (and perhaps quite naturally, too) hate each other -- suddenly become so wonderfully receptive to other people once they hop onboard a boat? Put these spiteful people in a boat and they start waving like crazy at strangers in each and every boat they pass. It's downright spooky. And I'm as guilty as can be: when I get onboard I start waving like a flag in a hurricane. Just silly, I guess, but I do it.

Anyway, the woman in pink was waving, I was waving -- hell, everyone was waving, even Bubba.

Then the woman was motioning me to come alongside...

Third warning? Three strikes, Dude, and you're out!

I slowed and circled to bleed off speed, then idled alongside the dock she was standing on; I recognized her instantly. She'd been a singer of some repute in the 70s and 80s, mainly Country Music, and I mention that in passing only because if there's one thing I know absolutely nothing about, its Country Music. I grew up in a house with Perry Como and Andy Williams, graduated on my own to The Beach Boys and Led Zeppelin and had had only an occasional serving of Willie Nelson. But given the nature of celebrity culture in America and mass media coverage thereto -- I knew this chick. She'd been married a half dozen times that I'd heard of and been in and out of rehab more times than that. Her last husband -- some forty years older than her at the time of their nuptials -- had popped off a few months later and left her with something like twenty billion dollars.

Thinking back on things now I realize I should have motored-on down the waterway to the burger place, but I'm here to tell you -- people do dumb stuff when they get in a boat. Like wave back at people who wave at you. Stupid, really. Just plain dumb.

+++++

Judging from the hive of activity on the lawn behind her it was apparent that final preparations for a party of historic proportions were being completed. A stage had been erected, complete with lights and a sound system that looked bigger than anything Zeppelin had ever used, and tables and chairs for hundreds of people were set up and being attended to by an army of hired help. There were cops in the bushes and private security personnel in the trees and Secret Service types walking along the edge of the waterway, and as I approached the dock one of these fellows waved me away until the woman waved him away. I dropped the boat into idle and drifted toward the dock...

"Hi there!" she said in a Tennessee accent so thick you'd need a chainsaw to cut through it.

"Howdy," I replied in my best 'congenital-idiot-from-Texas' voice.

"I just hate the man operatin' that bridge," she crooned. "He's a bona-fide mother fuckin' prick!"

"Yeah, well, he gets my vote for asshole of the year." She laughed. I laughed. Very funny stuff.

"He likes to get sailboats," she said. "I don't think he likes sailors."

"That's quite understandable. I don't like bridge-tenders." 

She laughed again, looked at me like she was measuring me for a tuxedo -- or a coffin -- then said: "We're havin' a little get-together here tonight. My birthday party! Would you like to stay?"

I didn't know what to say. "I don't know what to say, Ma'am; I didn't bring a gift."

"Say yes!" she said with a pouting lower lip hanging out like a Frisbee. "Please! I don't have a date!"

Ah. A damsel in distress!

"Well of course, I'd love to stay. Where can I tie up?"

She hopped up and down and clapped her hands, turned and called out to a stud named Skip and told him to help me tie off at the dock, then I hopped ashore and introduced myself: 

"Bond, James Bond," I said as I held out my hand; we laughed at my idiocy, then: "Just call me Hank."

"Hank? I'm Rose!" She held out her hand; it felt fine boned and her skin was cool and dry, she looked me in the eye with electric blue precision while I looked at her; we shook hands and she took my arm in hers and led me across the lawn. A smoother putting green I have never seen, except this one was about two hundred yards square. I shuddered to think what the descending legions of high heels would do to this masterpiece. It looked like a billiards table.

We made polite small talk while we walked; she asked where I was headed on my boat and I asked her about the house and the festivities about to begin: a couple of her dearest friends were going to drop by, George Strait was going to sing a couple of songs before dinner and Stevie Wonder -- her "oldest and dearest friend" was going to perform later -- right before the fireworks. 

A little party. Uh-huh.

I think it was then that I looked down at my bare legs in all their knobby-kneed glory: plaid shorts, very off-white polo shirt, old navy blue Keds and no socks -- yes, I was the very picture of urbane sophistication. But she didn't seem to mind. 

Caterers and florists scurried up to her, she made polite suggestions and they ran off; some seemed to approach in terror and left looking relieved, as though they'd escaped with their lives. All in all, I thought she was running a tight ship. Little did I know.

A portly young man in a white tux rolled across the lawn and walked up to her:

"Hi Mom; who's this?"

"Hank, this is my son Jerry; Jerry, Hank is my date for the evening."

Jerry's left eyebrow arched up: "Oh?" It felt like the guy was digging through my pockets looking for a Dunn & Bradstreet rating. Some piker out to cheat him out of his inheritance! Indeed! We'll see about that!

"Howdy," I said as I held out my hand. "Good to meetcha." He turned and walked away; I pretended not to notice.

"Prick!" Rose said to his departing back; if Jerry noticed he didn't let on. "Sorry. The Ghost of Husbands past."

"Ah. Troubled waters, then?"

"You know it, honey."

"What's he do?" I asked.

"Depends on who you ask," she chuckled -- but there was sadness in her voice.

"Well then, a man of many talents."

She turned and looked at me; it was a half mocking, half approving look: "Well my goodness, Hank. You're a gentleman, aren't you?"

"Depends on who you ask," I smiled. "Some folks I know might take exception to that."

"Fuck 'em, Hank! Fuck 'em all if they can't take a joke!" She threw her head back and laughed. She reminded me of a lioness, perhaps getting ready to pounce on a water buffalo and crush its neck.

"The very words I live by, Ma'am." She nodded and we resumed walking.

People were arriving now; hordes of people... and everyone I saw was in evening attire... everyone, that is, except yours truly. Guests began picking up champagne flutes from passing waiters, waitresses began drifting among little islands of beautiful people passing out canapés, men drifted over to one of a dozen bars and walked away with stiff drinks. Sooner or later most of them came over to Rose and said hello, took in my knobby knees while wishing her a happy birthday, and she seemed to delight in their obvious curiosity. 'Who is THAT?' I heard more than one say as they faded back into the whirling crowds.

As the sun went down the lights came up, George sang a couple of ballads, asked -- then begged Rose to join him on stage and she finally relented and they belted out a couple of numbers that seemed as familiar as the National Anthem to most of these people -- but were as completely unknown to me. She was in seventh-heaven, too; any blind fool could see that. These people had come to drink at her trough, sure, but they all obviously loved the dickens out of her too. It was quite a sight.

She came down after their last duet and walked up to me, kissed me as hard and long as I've ever been, threw her head back again and let out a long 'woo-hoo' and then laughed and slapped me on the back. She pulled me along to a table and indicated her seat; I pulled out her chair then sat beside her breathlessly and looked at her once again, but from another place now. She was a dynamo, a real firecracker.

Her eyes were alive, a bead of perspiration beaded her forehead like tiny diamonds; she was the happiest person I'd ever seen in my life and the whole place was feeding off her energy. Then two kids, teenagers as best I could tell, walked up to her:

"Happy Birthday, Mom," the boy said as leaned over and pecked her cheek. The girl was older, more reserved, even a little hostile, had a kind of arms-crossed-"yeah, whatever"-look on her face: she handed her mother a little box then looked at me.

"Who's he?" the girl asked critically.

"Hank? My son Tom, my daughter Becky..." I stood and shook Tom's hand; Becky turned and walked away...

"Don't mind her," Tom said. "She's been crabby all day."

"Right," I said. "Tom, can you join us?"

He looked quickly at his mother, took in the little shake of her head: "No sir, I have finals this week. If I don't ace my history exam in the morning I'm doomed."

"Ah. Yes, understand."

"You don't know anything about the collapse of the Weimar Republic, do you?" he asked quietly; I noticed his mother had turned and was talking to other people at the table and he clearly saw this as an opportunity.

"A little, yes."

"Why did it fail, then? France? Reparations?"

"Well, Tom, a lot of people believe it was doomed to fail from the beginning..." I launched into a brief narrative of anti-Semitism in German politics and how the global financial panics of the early and late twenties fed those anxieties, and how rightist factions exploited those fears...

"That's kind of like what's happening now, isn't it?" he interrupted.

"There are some parallels, yes," I said, "but there are strong anti-hate laws in Germany now..."

"Not Germany," he said like I was a dunce. "Here, in America!"

"Now Tom," his mother said, "why don't you go back in and..."

"But..." 

"Tom!" There was a harshness in her voice that took me back, was a little unsettling.

"Yes Ma'am." And a capitulation in his that was equally upsetting. He left and I turned to look at her.

"He seems like a good kid," I began...

"Oh, he is." She paused, seemed to consider her next words carefully: "You're good with kids, aren't you?"

I shrugged. "Been accused once or twice."

She leaned close as if to whisper in my ear but I felt her tongue instead, felt her warm breath, and things seemed to grow a little dim.

"I wanna fuck you," she whispered, "so much. Ever since I saw you out there, on the water."

I pulled back, looked at her face, leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Well, Happy Birthday Rose," I said softly while I smiled at her.

"Now!" she whispered with some urgency.

"Now?"

"Yep!"

"The boat?" This, I thought, was getting interesting.

"Perfect."

"Let's go." I stood, looked down at the gray hair on my knobby knees and wondered which worked faster, Viagra or Cialis. 

+++++

I went ahead, slipped down below and hastily cleaned up my cabin, felt her hop aboard a few minutes later; I went aft and helped her down the steps and she was on me...

Some boats are better than others, I suppose, for this kind of activity. She was probably used to yachts the size of the Q E II but if that was the case she didn't show it. We kissed, I held her close, we moved forward and I helped her up on the berth then threw her legs over my shoulders and went to town on her for what felt like quite a while...

...then there was a gentle knocking on the hull...

"Uh-Ma'am?" came an insistent voice somewhere on the dock, "Ma'am, I think you're needed -- now!"

"Shit!" she said as she sat up, then: "Hank, you sure know how to eat pussy!"

"Thanks." I think I smiled.

"Uh, Ma'am?" the disembodied voice continued. "I think Jerry's headed this way..."

"Right!" she said. "Well, a mother's job..." I stood back and helped her up.

"Go take a seat, I'll fix you a drink..."

"Balls," she said. "Don't bother!" She stomped off the boat and strode like an army general back toward the stage.

"She's a goddamn force of nature!" I said.

"You got that right, buddy," the invisible voice said.

All in all, things felt a little surreal. 

Well, really, maybe more than a little.

+++++

I slipped on some trousers and made my way back up to the party a while later, wanted to at least thank Rose for a memorable if not downright unforgettable evening. I felt a little disoriented, really, and while things were slowing down on the lawn I was feeling a little invigorated. I saw Rose standing in a group of people and stood off to the side to watch... then saw her daughter staring at me like I was the anti-Christ.

"Hank! Come meet George." I guess Rose didn't miss much.

She introduced me to her friends and admirers and pulled me in close, as if protecting me from too much too soon. I looked at Becky across the lawn from time to time, noticed her staring at her mother and myself.

"What's with Becky," I mentioned once. Rose stopped what she was doing, looked around at her daughter, then at me.

"Oh, just ignore her."

I had the impression that was just what had been going on, and probably for far too long. At one point Rose walked over to another group of friends and I walked over to her daughter. She didn't take her eyes off me as I approached.

"Is there something the matter?" I asked. She just stared at me but I could tell she was screwing up the courage to let a big one loose, then:

"Did you fuck her?"

"Beg pardon?"

"You heard me. Did you fuck my mother?"

"Well not that it's any of your business, but no, I didn't."


By Any Other Name



I reached over my head, grasping the headboard with both hands as my husband Bill worked his way down my body. His weight pinned me to the bed, deliciously helpless as his tongue flicked back and forth from one breast to the other, teasing my already stiff nipples till they were so ard they would have hurt had they not felt so good. 

Then his lips began their march down and all I could do was twist and turn under their assault. He showered kisses over my belly, the swell of my mound and then his face was between my legs and his tongue parted my labia and slipped into me. I bucked so hard I nearly threw his satisfying heavy body off me as he found my clit and brought me to my first orgasm.

And my orgasms didn't stop there. While I was still quivering from the first one Bill gave out a war whoop and sprang up, covering me completely once more. With a near feral growl he plunged his cock into my soaking wet and slippery pussy, burying himself into me with one long thrust. Then he fucked me.

You would think after twenty two years of the same man making love to me it would get pretty routine. Well, tonight it was anything but routine. He pounded me like we were newlyweds going at it for the first time after a three year no sex engagement. He was going wild and I loved it and was doing everything I could to aid and abet him. I wrapped my legs around him and punched up with my hips to meet every down stroke of his.

I felt him shake and then he was shooting his cum into me. And he didn't slow down. He stayed hard and kept on going. I didn't know when Bill had started to channel the Energizer Bunny but I was not going to complain at all as I had my second orgasm and then a third when he raised himself onto his hands and slammed so deep inside of me I thought he was going to split me in two as he screamed.

"Oh Jennifer!"

Bill barely managed to roll onto his side after he collapsed on top of me, letting me spoon with him. Well, and let me breathe too. He's put on some weight over the years but I'm not the college softball player he first met either so that's not important. What was important though was what made me slip out of the bed after his long slow breathing and occasional snores and snorts let me know he was sound asleep so I could go downstairs and do some serious thinking.

No, what was important, you see, is that my name is Alice. Not Jennifer.

So who is Jennifer? The name seems to ring a bell but I'm switched if I can place it. It's not his secretary; or rather one of the several women in the pool who handle the correspondence and reports from Bill and the group of account executives that he works with. I had to sit down and think about it but I'm pretty sure it's not any of the female account execs in his group either.

Bill doesn't travel for his job, out of town that is. All his clients are here. I suppose this Jennifer could be one of them. He does visit them occasionally although most communications after the initial sales calls are done via phone or electronic means. He could be sneaking off to see someone at their office or home I guess. But how would I find out?

I pull myself up short. Okay, before I do anything silly I need to reason this out. Bill is suddenly more passionate about making love than he has been in a long time. And he calls out another woman's name as he does. So is he cheating on me with some woman named Jennifer? And what am I going to do about it?

Well for sure I'm not going to go off half-cocked about this. I'm not going to run out and hire a Private investigator. I'm definitely not going to confide this in my friends and ask them what to do. And for absolute certainty this is NOT going to make me run out and have an affair of my own. I mean really, I'm not completely stupid.

First and foremost of course is the fact that I love Bill. Twenty two years and three now grown children and all we've made it through would bind us together as a couple even if that weren't true. Even if he is having an affair I don't want to lose him. He's my other half no matter what happens, the man I have always planned to grow old with.

Second, and this makes me wonder if there is something seriously wrong with me, if having an affair is going to make him act as he did tonight, should my biggest concern be stopping it? I mean golly, he hasn't hammered me like that in ages and ages. Maybe I should just be grateful for her starting this spark in him. 

I know that it's at least as much my fault as his that our love life has got this boring. Before tonight I mean. Like so many other couples we were so passionate when we first got married. Then the kids started coming and I got so busy with them, as did Bill I reminded myself. No one could ever say he wasn't a good Father who spent as much time as he could with his kids. And he worked so hard to provide for us, especially after we decided I would be a stay-at-home mom.

So time just for us seemed to fall to the bottom of the priority list. Oh we've tried. We made sure we had date nights and a weekend apart from the kids but those seemed to get farther and farther apart. Plus you're just not romantic when the major thought on both your minds is bed but it's because you desperately would like a nap.

Third, suppose I DID decide to have an affair. Who would I have it with? I study myself in the mirror. Often enough to know that if Bill isn't that Track Team Captain he was when we met that I've slipped too. I never could quite lose those last five, okay ten, pounds I put on during the last pregnancy. My tummy is soft, not the firm one of days gone by and don't even start me on my ass. So who would want a middle-aged woman suffering from middle-aged woman spread and especially one who can't keep her own husband happy at home? Slime balls and womanizers and why would I want such a person. I just want my Bill back.

I decided the best thing to do was nothing at all. Nothing that would make Bill think that I suspect something is going on. Maybe I WILL put more effort into him starting with breakfast in the morning.

When morning came I had coffee ready and I thrust a mug in front of Bill as he plops down in his usual chair. I had waited until I heard him moving before starting the eggs but I had got up early and had his absolute favorite home-made biscuits still warm in the oven.

"What brought this on?" he asked me with a smile. "Not that I'm complaining mind you."

I raised my eyebrow and grinned back at him. "Have you forgotten last night hon? A performance like that deserves this at the very least."

I watched Bill carefully out of the corner of my eye. He was happy. Pleased. He seemed a bit embarrassed but one thing he was not showing was guilt. And now I have to start all over. Because I know my husband. I never thought he would cheat on me but definitely if he had he would be guilty about it. He always wears his emotions on his sleeve.

Now I'm even more confused. If he's not guilty how could he be having an affair? Could he somehow think that I'm having one and that it's some kind of payback? That's nonsense. Bill knows I never have and never would cheat on him. And why oh WHY does the name Jennifer keep resounding in my head?

It takes three whole days for it to hit me. During that time there's no more mind blowing sex. We do a little fooling around but it's still during the week and we usually wait till the weekend and a chance to sleep late and all. We're sitting down to watch TV and he claims the remote.

"It's my turn tonight to pick the show," he reminds me.

We settle down to watch something on AMC. Something with lots of gunfire. But that's okay because what Bill said is nagging me. It's nagging me a lot, like an itch that if it isn't scratched will drive you completely up a wall.

And then it hits me.

Jennifer! Of course. If he called HER name it's my own fault. Not that "fault" maybe exactly the word I'm looking for. I'm the one who made that whole night happen though with my choices. Now the question is this; how do I handle the situation?

The next morning I see Bill off to work and start scrambling. I grab the phone book and start calling. The first two stores I contact can't help me. The third, and final one, is reluctant but I do enough pleading and begging to overwhelm him and he agrees. I rush down there and on my return fore up the computer and start searching music files.

There it is! I pay the fee and down load the song and then burn it onto a CD. I guess just one song is a waste but who cares? Not me if this all works out.

That night I feed Bill another special meal but in a bit smaller portions than usual. After all, I don't want him too sleepy when I spring this on him. After a spell of TV that bores us both Bill says he's going to get ready for bed and then read a while. I wait till he's showered and stretched out on the bed in just a pair of boxers. Then I start getting everything ready. Pretty soon I'm standing at the bedroom door. Oh boy, oh boy oh BOY. I'm SO nervous.

I take a deep breath. Okay Alice, this is it. I fling open the bedroom door and hit the "Play" button on the CD player I positioned on the table and a recorded voice fills the room.

"You broke my heart..."

I'm not paying attention to the song. Well the actual singing hasn't started yet. That will be my cue. And Bill is lying on the bed in his shorts wondering what in the world I'm up to tonight. Maybe the pink sweater over the white and pink dress is jogging his memory but I can tell he hasn't made the connection to HER yet.

"You didn't even want me around..."

I really was lucky. The guy at the store said I absolutely positively have to have the whole outfit back to him by noon tomorrow. He said he hasn't had such a demand for one in a long time and if it keeps up he might have to order another. Apparently Bill isn't the only one taken with HER.

"I can really shake 'em down."

Oh GOD. That's my cue. I reach the back of my neck with both hands and yank. The tear-away costume of dress and sweater drop to the floor, as does Bill's jaw. Please, please, PLEASE Bill, tell me I don't look as ridiculous as I think I do in this purple sequined bra and micro-mini-nothing-there-at-all skirt that barely touches my thighs much less covers anything. I know I'm not HER but I'm trying.

Then the full voice of Billy Gordon breaks into the song along with the rest of the Contours and I thrown caution to the winds and start shimmying and strutting in my high heels.

"Do you love me? I can really move. Do you love me? I'm in the groove."

Bill's eyes widen as he recognizes the song and the outfit. And YES! The tent his cock makes in his shorts makes it clear that his imagination is up to the task of letting me fill her part. And now he's applauding and whistling and beckoning and I'm flying towards the bed and he grabs me in his arms and if tonight he screams "Jennifer!" I won't care.

I said what happened the other night was my fault and it was. It was my turn to pick what we were going to watch on TV so I picked the show. But how was I to know the season finale of "Dancing with the Stars' was going to have a dance that hot? But heck, if Bill wants to pretend that I'm Jennifer Grey tonight that's alright. 

I can just pretend he's Derek Hough.

(The End)

(The song lyrics at the end are from "Do You Love Me (Now That I Can Dance)" first released in 1962 by The Contours on the Motown subsidiary Gordy Records. Of course the song appeared in "Dirty Dancing", although NOT with Jennifer dancing to it and then she and Derek chose it for their free-style finale on DWTS. Now pretty much any guy I talk too NEVER watches DWTS (Too gay!) but the day after the finale I kept seeing those same guys wandering around in a daze mumbling "Jennifer". So I couldn't resist having some fun with it.)



By Any Other Name



"Why not?"

"Not the time, or the place" I said, but I was looking at her body language. Tense, distrustful, full of anger -- but too smart to fall into the rebellious hellion routine.

"I saw you take her on your boat."

"You don't miss much then, I take it."

"Nope."

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Yes."

"Why are you so mad?"

She looked away. "Man, you're not a shrink, are you?"

"God no! What makes you think that?"

"I wouldn't put it past her..."

"What? Invite a shrink to her birthday party? In the off chance she might be able to trap you, maybe figure you out?"

"How old are you?" she asked -- without missing a beat.

"Sixty. You?"

"Fourteen."

"Where do you go to school?"

"Pine Crest."

"Good school. Like it?"

"No."

"So why are you so mad at her?"

"Look, I don't know you and you shouldn't be asking me this kind of stuff, alright?"

"Okay." I looked at her for a moment longer. "Anything you want to know about me?"

She looked at me with eyes full of anger and pain: "Why would I? She'll fuck you later and you'll be gone by morning..."

I nodded. "Yeah? Know me that well, huh?"

"No... I know her... that well."

"Right. Well, in case I don't get to say so later, it was nice to meet you." I held out my hand.

She looked at me, then stood and took my hand in hers and something came over her: "Just be careful, okay? She's not what you think."

"Careful?"

"She uses people... uses them up and throws them away."

"And it hurts to watch that?"

"Yes."

"Well, don't worry, that won't happen with me."

"Right! Why... what makes you -- so special?"

I looked around. "She's got nothing I want, Becky. Nothing. And I doubt there's much I can give her but a smile, and maybe a shoulder to lean on."

The girl looked at me, nodded skeptically. "Be careful, Hank. I mean it. Don't let her suck you in."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, I guess..."

"When did she use you up -- throw you away?"

She looked down at her feet, then around at the remaining people: "The day I was born." She said, then she turned and walked back up to the big pink house.

+++++

I was sitting in the cockpit a few minutes later -- had the spreader lights up the mast turned on -- looking at the last few people leave the yard when I saw a casually dressed young woman walking toward the dock; she was looking intently at me, like she was on an errand... and so she was...

"Are you Hank?" she said when she got close enough.

"Rumor has it, yes." 

She tried to wrap her mind around my lame humor and quickly gave up the effort and shook her head: "Rose would like you to come up to the house for a little while," she said as she walked alongside, her eyes taking in the boat -- not me. She was pretty cute in a formal, clipped sort of way; rather like she was ex-military and used to taking orders from higher-up.

"Up there?" I said suspiciously. "In that pink thing?"

The girl turned and looked at the house, at the monstrosity like this was the first time she'd noticed it was pink. "It is awful, isn't it?" she said.

"For a house the size of Mount Rushmore? I'd have gone with something a little less outrageous. Maybe lime green, to blend in better. Anyway, I bet the neighbors love her for it."

"I hear it's called The Pepto Palace."

"Yes! Fitting choice! I applaud them!" Security guards still roamed the woods -- they had caught a photographer lurking in the shadows not too long ago and pitched the poor fellow into the waterway -- Nikon and all -- yet this girl stood on the dock as if waiting... for me...

"Are you waiting for me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Crap. Right." I slipped my Keds back on and hopped off the boat...

She was looking at the lettering on the back of my boat: "Perseph... what does it say?"

"Persephonie," I said. "Greek goddess of fertility, heralds the coming of the seasons."

"I... uh... why?"

"Oh, something to do with the seasons of man, getting old. What's your name, by the way?"

"Jody. Jody Pettengill. I'm Miss Preston's personal assistant." She remained fixed in place, kept looking at the boat: "From Boston? You came from Boston on this thing?"

I laughed. "It's worse than that. I live onboard now. Spend winters down here, or in the Bahamas, summers up in Maine."

"You live on... all the time?"

"Sorry, yes, but I do."

"Wow!"

"Wow? Never heard it put so eloquently before! Yes indeed, wow!"

"Do you still have a house?"

"No, but I compromised. I have a storage unit. If I ever get tired of this I'll just move in there."

She looked at me and smiled. "What are you running away from?"

"Persephone," I said as I looked into her eyes. They were quite nice, actually.

+++++

"Hank! How the hell are you!"

Rose was in the kitchen, had obviously been into the Jack Daniels pretty hard; her son Jerry was sitting on a wicker bar stool behind a huge island in the middle of the kitchen. He appeared pissed off.

Oh, goody.

"Hank!"

"Rose?"

"Hank, I wanted to thank you for your gallantry this evening. Above and beyond the call of duty and all that crap!"

She was beginning to slur some words and I was getting uncomfortable: "No problem, Rose. Glad I could be of service."

"Hank? Don't be a smart-ass!"

"Your assistant said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Yeah. Feel free to stay at the dock tonight."

"Thanks."

"And don't leave until I talk to you in the morning!"

"Right."

"That's all," she said as she waved me away. "You can go." I left the house determined to cut loose from this madhouse and get as far away as possible as fast as I could...

"Hank!?" I heard some heated words between her and Jerry.

I kept walking...

"Hank!"

... without turning or even letting on I'd heard a thing.

"Goddamnit! Hank!"

I stepped on board and fired up the diesel, was getting ready to cast off the lines when Jody came running up.

"Hank, don't leave. Please."

"Is she like that all the time?"

Jody looked away.

"Why do you put up with that nonsense? Money?"

"Oldest reason in the world, isn't it?"

I bent and began un-cleating the bow-line. "Yeah? I don't buy it?"

"Don't go."

I turned and looked at the girl -- she was genuinely frightened.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"If you leave - I'm fired."

"You've got to be..." I started to say, but I could see she wasn't kidding. Not at all.

"Just stay. 'Til morning. She's better in the morning. Really."

I stood and looked at the girl: I could see the conflict in her eyes... 'Stay, help me...' and 'Run! Run while you still can!'

Another damsel in distress? 

When will I learn?

+++++

I think I was in bed with Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly when I felt the boat moving. No! Not now! DO NOT WAKE ME NOW! The best dream I'd had in decades and now this!

Footsteps... someone hopping on deck... then someone else...

How many were there? Burglars? Assassins? 

Then, most dreaded of all... knocking on the companionway hatch-boards...

"Hank?"

Oh God, no! Teenagers!

More knocking... now a little louder. Grace and Audrey began to slip away... "Hank? You up yet?"

"Hanks not home right now," I began, "at the beep leave a message and then leave me alone!"

"Up there!" I heard a girl say, then they were running up to the front of the boat. Unfortunately I'd left the hatch over my berth wide open; not the brightest thing I'd ever done, come to think of it. I rolled over and opened my eyes, looked up to find Becky's head filling the hatchway, Tom kneeling behind her. The sun was well up and bright, the air cool.

"It lives!" Tom said. "Igor, it lives!" I did my best Frankenstein imitation and we laughed.

"Morning," Becky said. She was smiling at me now, looked as lovely as any fourteen year old monster could.

But my mouth tasted like decades old dragon shit. I rubbed my eyes, willed myself to go back and find Grace and rolled over... "Go away..."

"We brought OJ," Becky said, "fresh squeezed, and Eggs Benedict. And strawberries..." 

She had me now' I was whooped. No use fighting it. I sat up, rubbed my eyes again, felt her fingers touching the bald spot on the back of my head and I swatted at her -- "Stop that, you fiend!"

"Fiend? Me?"

"Yes, you. How'd you know Eggs Benedict is my weak spot?"

"You'd better get in the cockpit, Hank. Come on. Mom's coming down in a couple of minutes so you'd better get packed."

My eyes were open now. "Packed?"

"Yeah."

+++++

And there was fresh OJ and eggs and strawberries set up in the cockpit. Someone had pulled open the cockpit table and laid a linen tablecloth over it; the plate had a metal cover over it... "Just like room service..." I mumbled. Something smelled good, too.

I uncovered the plate, looked down on the best looking Benedict I'd ever laid eyes on, along with a bowl of bright red berries swimming in cream. "Jesus H Christ," I said.

"No, her name is Magdalena," I heard Becky say. "She's our cook, from El Salvador."

"How appropriate."

"Appropriate? What do you mean?"

"The Savior. El Salvador. It translates literally as The Savior."

She hopped into the cockpit and sat beside me while I picked up a knife and fork...

"So, you didn't fuck Mom last night, huh?"

I picked up a strawberry and turned to her: "Open your mouth," I said.

She opened her mouth and I put the berry in.

"Now please, don't open your mouth until I've finished eating."

She giggled, snorted through her nose. "You're a nut!" she said between chews.

"Thank you."

"We're leaving this afternoon. Christmas break."

"You have my sympathy. Where're you off to?"

"Skiing. Aspen. Mom has a house there."

"Of course she does."

"She's gonna ask you to come." She looked at me for a moment, then out at the water. "Just thought I'd warn you."

"Warn me? Why?"

She turned, looked up at the house, then at me. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Would you come? Please?"

"Are you asking me?"

"Yes."

I put my fork down, wiped my mouth with the linen napkin.

"Why on earth would you like me to go to Aspen with you?"

"We'll have fun!"

"Fun?"

"We can teach you how to ski..."

"I know how to ski. Now, look at these knees. If I go skiing these knees will do their very best to kill me. Understand?"

She laughed. "Getting old must suck."

"You've no idea."

She hopped up, jumped from the boat: "Well, gotta beat feet!"

I turned, saw Rose and Jody walking from the house. 

"Oh, swell."

+++++

"How was your breakfast? Like Eggs Benedict, I hope."

"Wonderful," I said. "Please thank your cook. Best Hollandaise I've ever had." Rose looked pleased.

"I suppose the kids spilled the beans?"

"Beans?"

"We're going up to Aspen for Christmas. If you don't have any plans, would you join us?"

I was set to decline but saw Jody standing behind Rose: she had her hands clasped in prayer-like supplication, mouthed "please-please-please" from out of sight.

This was just too weird. I hesitated.

Bad move.

"Don't worry about clothes and stuff, and you can leave your boat tied up here. I'll have someone look after her for you." I looked from Jody back to Rose...

Rose turned to look at Jody, who was suddenly busily writing away in a little leather notebook, then back at me. I blinked a few times, quite rapidly I think, before I opened my mouth and said just one word... one fateful word:

"Alright," I said. 

On such simple words do the fates of nations hang.

+++++

A couple of SUVs the size and color of the house pulled up later that afternoon, after the kids had gotten back from school, and we all piled in and were whisked away. I sat up front with the driver -- a retired secret service type -- while Rose and Jody sat in the middle row of seats; the back was piled high with bags and I wondered how the airlines would take to this mess... until we passed-by the passenger terminal at Ft Lauderdale and continued around to the general aviation terminal on the north side of the airport.

The driver flashed some sort of ID at the man behind the security gate and we drove onto the tarmac and pulled up next to a G-Five, a Gulfstream business jet. A hot pink G-V. Swell. Bags were transferred and we crawled out of the pink SUVs and into the pink jet and as soon as the door was shut the engines spooled up and away we went.

I really don't know what I'd been expecting. Maybe coach seats on Delta, which is my usual if someone really twists my arm and makes me fly, but not this.

The jet taxied out to the runway and lined up for take-off; Rose and Tom and Jerry were talking up front, Jody was typing on a notebook computer -- yet only Becky seemed even remotely interested in her surroundings. What was probably a once in a lifetime event for me was old hat for them.

The jet accelerated smoothly, quietly down the runway and lifted gently into the air; the pilot turned the jet with silky precision, better than any commercial pilot I'd ever flown with anyway, and I looked at the cruise ships berthed below as we turned north, then west. A flight attendant appeared with drinks and snacks when the jet leveled off, then brought me a hot Rueben sandwiches and cold beer a little later. No one paid me the slightest attention -- which by this point was fine with me.

Dense trees in the Southeast gave way to rolling Midwestern plains, and as the sun began to fade the Rockies hove into view. It had been years since I'd been to Aspen, something like twenty years if memory served, and I remembered the tiny airport perched along the highway south of town as a notoriously difficult airport to land at, especially at night or in bad weather. The moon was hanging in the western sky like a huge lantern, the snow-covered Rockies below were black and pale silver -- then even moon-shadow emerged as the jet descended and turned on final. Nightlights from Aspen were visible at the far end of the valley; they looked like a crown of dazzling jewels surrounded by hulking black monsters.

The jet taxied alongside the runway after a completely uneventful landing and pulled up to an empty slot amongst an endless row of other business jets -- there were literally too many to count -- and when the door opened a blast of cold air burst in and washed over us.

No, we were most definitely not in Florida anymore.

Two more SUVs pulled up -- these, mercifully, were black, not pink -- and our bags off-loaded while we deplaned. I wanted to stop and compliment the pilots, expected to see a couple of grizzled old aviators in Ray-Bans up front but when the door opened checked myself when I saw two women in their twenties putting charts in their flight-bags.

"Smoothest damn flight I've ever had in my life!" I chimed in; the co-pilot looked up and shot me a thumbs up but the captain acted as if she'd never heard me. Oh well. I walked down the retractable stairway and looked down at the tarmac: loose snow over black ice! I stepped down gingerly and walked over to Jody.

"Am I riding with you again," I asked. 

She nodded, kept her eyes on the boys unloading bags from the rear of the jet, then turned to me, spoke softly: "Listen, she has you in a separate bedroom. I don't know what you're expecting..."

"Sounds fine by me. All I'll need is pain-killers tomorrow afternoon."

"Sorry?"

"Knees. Been a few years since I've subjected them to skis."

"I think you'll need something else before then..."

"Oh? What?"

"Long pants."

"Shit!"

+++++

"Hank? You been to Aspen before?"

"Yes, Rose; actually, my Dad had a house along Woody Creek when I was growing up; I learned to ski here."

"Oh? You lived here? So you know the mountain?"

"I took a year off between high school and college, spent a year with the ski school."

"You were a ski instructor? Here?"

"Not a very good one, I'm afraid, but yes. Once upon a time."

"She-e-e-yit! Jody! Don't that beat all!" she said. I'd never heard 'shit' turned into a four-syllable word before and frankly was a little awed by the experience.

"Yeah. I used to hang out at Pinocchio's with the best of 'em?"

"Pinocchio's?"

"Pizza place. Closed years ago. Along with Toros, the best Mexican place on earth."

"No shee-yit?"

"No shee-yit, Rose. Then the big money ran all the little fish out of town. Might as well be Beverly Hills now." I forgot I was talking to Big Money in the back seat and an awkward silence ensued.

The bridge over the Roaring Fork was icy and orange dump-trucks were spreading sand on the roads but already I could see Christmas lights all over the place. The way into town was lined with little ersatz Swiss chalets and sixties modrun architecture; they co-existed uneasily beside alpine versions of the MacMansions that lined the ICW in Florida -- and it felt like the little old places knew their days were numbered, that a wrecking ball with their number on it was already out there, swinging in for the kill.

We made the two hard turns past the river and drove down toward the Jerome, then turned right, turned toward the base of the mountain. Rose's house was perched on the north rim of Little Nell, just about even with the finish line where I'd raced giant slalom so many times. And the house was huge. So huge it felt spooky -- like it belonged somewhere else. Not here -- on my mountain!

But then again neither did I -- anymore. I all-of-a-sudden felt so uncomfortably out of place I wanted to scream and make a mad dash for Pinocchio's, for a large with sausage and onions and green peppers and a frozen mug of root beer. I could see the old courtyard all lit up with white Christmas lights and in the warm light the faces of friends I'd known once upon a time -- but I couldn't remember the names that went with them and felt even more disoriented and -- suddenly -- alone. I didn't belong here anymore, I told myself -- that world had been pushed aside and had drifted away a long time ago.

"Hank," Rose said as we climbed out of the Range Rover, "I'm going to hit the hay now, but you be prepared to get up early! We got some serious shopping to do!"

"Shopping?"

"Yessiree. Get you some clothes before those cute little knees of yours rattle right off."

"Ah."

"Ain't you cold yet?"

"Nope. Grew up in this stuff. Feels kinda like home."

"Yeah! It's a helluva town alright!" She took a deep breath and coughed on the dry air.

There was an elevator from the garage all the way up to the first floor and Rose and Jerry got in. I looked for the stairs, Tom and Becky followed and Jody brought up the rear.

The living room was huge. Windows at least twenty feet tall looked out on Little Nell above and the town below. I could just see down the Roaring Fork valley as a jet cleared Buttermilk Mountain and climbed out over the city.

I wished I was on it, headed back to the sea and my patient old lady. I hoped they were watching after her. 

Suddenly I felt like I was cheating on her, but how do you cheat on a boat?

Can't be done, right?

+++++

Tom took me up to the third floor, to one of the three loft bedrooms up there that would be mine for the duration; I threw my little duffel on the bed and walked over to the edge of the balcony and looked down into the living room.

"Very private," I said.

"Hope you don't snore," he said.

"I do."

"Fuck."

I laughed. "You don't hold much back, do you?"

"Mom said you were a ski instructor here. That true?"

"Yeah. But in those days this place was called Bedrock."

"Huh?"

"The Flintstones?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, man, this is going to be harder than I thought."

"You ever heard of Nastar?"

"Yeah, sure; why?"

"I've been wanting to try, to learn how to race. Could you help me?"

"No sweat."

"Really! That's Boss, man! Sick!"

"Sick?"

But he was gone, bounding down the stairs three at a time. The last I heard was a... "Mom? Guess what...?" then his voice was gone and I was alone. I could hear a fire popping in the stone fireplace miles below, people scurrying about, unpacking. Then steak, grilling steak. I started salivating, realized I was hungry, remembered that while some people who get altitude sickness lose their appetite, others grow ravenous... and I was one of those.




By Any Other Name



I heard someone coming up the stairs to the loft, turned to see Becky standing in the doorway.

"Howdy," I said. There was something in her eyes... something unsettling. She walked into the room, shut the door, walked over to me. My heart started pounding, just like any other small animal's when backed into a corner.

"I'm not a virgin," she said softly.

"Indeed, congratulations; neither am I."

"Would you fuck me?"

"Yes, certainly. On your twenty-first birthday. I'll be the one at the head of the line."

She giggled. "Silly! I mean right now. Tonight."

"Becky, I'm flattered you'd think of me. Truly I am. I shall remember this moment for the rest of my life, but as much as I'd treasure the memory I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

She looked at me, smiled; I could tell she was thinking of taking her clothes off...

"Could you do me a favor?" I asked.

"Sure, I guess."

"Give me a hug, then please would you go and find out where that smell is coming from!"

She stepped forward and put her arms around me and I kissed the top of her head, then spun her around: "Now, git! I'm starving and that smell is driving me wild!"

She too bounded off down the stairs; I leaned forward and put my head against the wall. "God damn!"

"Skillfully done," I heard Jody say -- and I looked up. She leaned out the adjacent bedroom door and smiled.

"I'm too old for this crap! I thought I was going to have a heart attack!"

"She's a handful."

"What have you gotten me into?"

"I wanted to thank you earlier," she said as she walked in the room, "but there's never time." She came up to me, kissed me on the lips, gently the first time, then not so gently.

"I need to sit down," I said as I broke away.

"We have oxygen if you need it..."

"No, no, it's not that. Just all the blood rushing from one head to the other."

"I can help you with that, if you'd like?"

This was getting out of hand. Fast. "Jody... this is all so... weird! Let's see how things go, okay?"

"Fine," she said. "Pierre is doing steaks and spinach salad if you want something before bed."

"Pierre?" I said. "Don't tell me. The chef, right?"

She nodded, giggled, turned and went down the stairs.

"Right. Two down. One to go." I sat down, looked up at the ceiling and started laughing.

+++++

I got up at six before I realized my watch was still on Eastern Time; the house was quiet and pitch black. I threw on a robe and made my way downstairs, saw a faint light in the kitchen and bumpled my way there. I smelled coffee. Coffee!

"Hank! That you?"

Well, Rose was up.

"I think so. It's six o'clock somewhere, I'm sure of it."

She laughed. "My God! You have the cutest legs I've ever seen!"

"Really?" I stopped and looked down at them in the greenish florescent light. "I always thought they looked somewhat like the Roadrunners'."

"Stop it!" she said as she laughed again. "You should've been a comedian!"

"I was, Rose. It's a tribute to my stunning success that you don't know that!"

"Stop it!"

"Where you keep the cups?"

"Here, let me get it." She got a mug and filled it. "Cream and stuff over there," she said as she pointed.

"Smells really good. What is it?"

"Jamaican Blue Mountain. Love the stuff."

"I think I'll do this straight up, then."

"Good boy!" She looked over her glasses while I sat down. "Did Becky give you too much trouble last night?" For some reason her manner reminded me of the CEO of a large corporation, not a country music singer... then I realized she'd probably had her fair share of hard knocks along the way and grown a thick protective hide, a fair understanding of people, too.

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Good, good. I think I might have a hard time prying you loose from Tom, however. He went on and on about racing and you helping him. Thanks, Hank."

"Well, it'll be the blind leading the blind but I'm game if he is."

"Sorry about the other night."

"Sorry?"

"I can get a little bossy when I've been drinking."

"It was your birthday, Rose. If you're not entitled then..."

"Yeah? I've been entitled most of my life, then. I run men off faster than lightning."

"Tough business you're in."

She looked at me hard for a moment: "You get it, don't you?"

"I've no experience with the things I can only guess you've had to deal with." Her eyes were locked on mine now. "You don't get where you've gotten being a push-over."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Had a detective find out about you; before we asked you along. Care to fill in the blanks?"

I took a moment to digest that bit of information, then realized she was just being prudent: "Student most of my life, then a teacher."

"Professor, wasn't it? Vermont?"

"Right."

"Married, twenty three years, then..."

"Right." I cleared my throat.

"Oh, sorry. Like I said, a gentleman. One of the last, a dying breed."

"Nonsense."

"Maybe. So, why the sailboat?"

"I like sailing, traveling. The two go hand in hand. An ideal retirement."

"You retired young. Why?"

"Because I could."

"Didn't you like teaching?"

"Things change."

"Change?"

"Attitudes. Respect. Things like that. I didn't fit in any more."

"Yeah, timing's a bitch, but it's everything, too. The worst thing is staying on past your time."

"Is that why you stopped?"

"Vocal cords. Shot."

"Really? You sounded damn fine to me." 

She liked that, her eyes brightened and she beamed: "Think so?"

"Well, it looked like you had 'em eating out of your hands up there."

"Oh, that was just George..."

"Who? That skinny dude up there?"

She laughed. "He's still in good form."

"Amazing," I said. "Y'all ought to cut an album together."

She eyed me again, maybe a little suspiciously. "Like the coffee?"

"Best I've ever had, Rose. Always wanted to try this stuff."

"Well, Merry Christmas, Hank!"

"You're a doll, Rose. I mean it."

She stood, came over to me. "We never finished, ya know, what we started."

"No, no we didn't." I stood, put my arms around her. 

"Wanna go make some whoopee?" she said.

It was my turn to laugh. "Wouldn't miss it, Rose. Not for the world."

She took me by the hand and led me away like a lamb to the slaughter.

+++++

I thought I looked rather like a peacock, or something a bull might charge.

A red and white Bogner one piece racing suit, red ski boots and red Volkls -- all I needed was a red scarf and I thought I had a reasonable chance of looking somewhat like a matador's cape. I remembered how much new ski boots hurt while Tom and I rode the Silver Bullet up Aspen Mountain; Jody and Becky were with us in the four-seater but had promised to head off away from us: Tom didn't want to be humiliated if he didn't take too well to racing. We got out of the gondola up top and collected out skis, walked out onto the broad, flat mountaintop and into a brilliant sun. A faint breeze drifted among the trees and I realized it felt more like May up here than December.

No snow on the rooftops, little patches of brown here and there.

"Not much snow," Tom said.

"December was always a squirrely month. Better here in March."

"Spring break! Could you come with us then?"

"You'll hate me by then, Tom!" I walked out to a clear spot and let the Volkls drop to the snow. The girls stood beside me, remained silent.

"Those are supposed to be really hot!" Tom said when he saw the new skis.

"Always used this brand. Never let me down."

"I like K2. Really rad graphics!" 

Becky giggled.

"Yes," I said as I looked down at the neon flames on his skis, "pretty hot stuff."

"So, you raced?" Jody asked.

"Yeah. A bit."

"What? Like high school?" Becky asked.

"Yeah, and college. Was invited to try out for the US Ski Team but didn't make the cut."

"No shit?!" Tom said.

"No shit."

"Why'd you stop?"

"Stop?"

"Skiing?"

"Never really stopped, Jody, it's just been a while. How much have you done?"

"This is my third time!" Tom said.

"Third time? You mean your third trip up here?"

"Nope. Third day."

"Ah." This would be interesting.

"But I learn fast."

"Well alright, Paco; slap them boards on your feet and let's see if they slide!"

He stepped into his skis while I put some goop on my lips and nose, then I handed him the stuff: "Better put some of this on," I said.

"Naw, don't need it..."

"Yes you do," I said. He looked at me, then at the stuff. "Jody? You have some?"

"Nope."

"Okay." I passed my goop around.

I put my gloves on while they slopped the sunscreen on, then watched them ski away while I snugged my new (red) ball-cap down, then I skated off, built up some speed and passed them, turned around and skied backwards while I watched them. Jody had apparently skied before, was not too bad, but Becky looked very good and actually Tom wasn't all that bad either. I decided to keep them up on the easier top half of the mountain that morning and hit Buttermilk Mountain the next day, then got around the business of teaching them to make smooth turns.

+++++

We all walked down together for dinner at a sushi place by Wheeler Park, all except Rose -- she rode down in the Rover and got our table. And Jerry; he'd taken off, flown to California for a few days and would be back by Christmas. We tromped in a few minutes later and found her at a table in the corner locked in animated conversation with a gaggle of autograph seeking fans.

"Oops, sorry y'all," Rose said to the groupies. "Maybe we'll see you later?" She turned to me, shrugged: "Well! That's life under the Big-Top!"

"I don't think there's a muscle in my body that's not on fire," I managed to say as I sat between Tom and Becky. Or tried to sit, anyway. Even my asshole hurt.

"Mom! You should see Hank ski!"

"I should?" She looked at her boy, then at me. "Pretty good, is he?"

Everyone started speaking at once, talking about what a fun day they'd had, but Rose and I just kept looking at one another, and the way she was looking at me made me want to blush. She was decked out in full war-paint and looked sexy as hell; every male in the place was looking at her, and half the women were too. Jealous, if I knew the look, and furious with her for stealing their thunder -- but all her thunder was aimed right at me.

Huge plates of raw fish arrived, bowls were filled with soy and wasabi and everyone grew quiet as they ate -- everyone except Rose and I. We kept up our little staring contest for a while longer, then she looked at Tom and Becky: "You two look disgustingly healthy today. If you keep this up I'll have to go out and buy some skis!"

"Mom? Really? Would you?" Tom said, and even Becky looked excited. 

Becky turned to me, her bright eyes full of happiness: "I've only been trying to get her up there for like a hundred years!"

"Was it cold up on top?" Rose asked -- and the deluge of excited talk started all over again. By the time the tempura was wheeled out she had just about convinced herself it was worth a try. Then:

"Hank, you think you can take me shopping for some stuff tonight?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Mom? Can I come. I wanna get some skis like Hank's."

"Didn't you just get new skis?"

"Not like Hank's, I didn't!"

"Alright! Jody, I guess you better come along then..."

I looked at Becky right then; she was obviously used to being the odd man out but now she looked happy, involved. Even Jody seemed excited. It was, all in all, a weird feeling... like this fractured, fractious family was coming together -- around me. 

Then I remembered what Becky had said about getting sucked in and wondered how many times it had happened before.

+++++

Rose and I walked along arm-n-arm under the Christmas lights, the kids got crepes from one of the rolling stands set up by the park and Jody dutifully brought up the rear, notebook open, pencil whirling away as she kept all the pieces of the puzzle from falling off the table.

"God, what a beautiful sight!" Rose said as she looked up at Aspen Mountain. "This whole place is..."

"I know," I said. "There's no place like it. Funny thing is - it's better in the summer."

"Really? We haven't come during the summer yet." 

I patted her hand. "Try it."

We came to a ski shop that had been around forever and went in; I knew the owner from another lifetime and he recognized me when I walked in:

"Henry? Is that you?" Jean-Pierre yelled, his French accent still thick. He was out from behind the counter and hugging me before any of us had time to react.

"Hank?" Rose smiled, "Anything we need to know about you two?"

I introduced Jean-Pierre to Rose and he recognized her instantly, fawned all over her while I explained what we wanted. Somewhere along the way Rose invited Jean-Pierre and his wife Gloria to come skiing with us the next day and to my surprise he agreed: he had more Olympic gold medals than anyone alive and never, I mean never went skiing with the locals.

But Rose wasn't a local, was she?

We agreed to pick him up on the way to Buttermilk and he rolled his eyes. Last I'd heard the locals wouldn't be caught dead on Buttermilk. 

Oh my, but how the times had changed!

+++++

We picked up Jean-Pierre and Gloria and made our way to the old Holiday Inn -- well, it had been years ago before that chain became too low-class to attract Aspen's now more well-heeled clientele -- and while drivers got the Rovers parked and the gear moved J-P and I talked about the division of labor...

"You are her friend, are you not?" he asked me right off the bat.

"You could say that," I shrugged.

"Well, you know as well as I that if you try to teach her to ski you won't be friends anymore..."

"And besides," I chimed in, "you'd love to spend the morning with her, wouldn't you?"

"You're Goddamned right I would! And if I was twenty years younger I'd..."

"Come on, J-P, since when did age mean anything to you?" He'd won his last gold medal on his thirty sixth birthday. 

He shrugged. "You have a point!"

"Well, you're right, of course. Why don't you let Gloria stay with..."

"To keep me honest? Henry? Me?"

"So she'll have a shoulder to cry on! I know what a strict teacher you are! Reemember?"

"You were a good student, Henry. One of the best."

"You sure you're thinking about me?"

J-P was wiry, a wispy five foot something and still appeared to be one solid muscle. He laughed, slapped me on the back and we went over to sort through the pile of gear. I pulled Rose aside: "I'm going to send you on with Jean-Pierre and Gloria for a couple of hours..."

Her lower lip shot out. "You wouldn't!"

I explained.

"So, let me get this straight. You're doing it because you don't want anything to happen to 'us'? Is that right?"

"You got it." She smiled.

"Okay. I can live with that." She leaned into me and kissed me, and I kissed her back.

Tom and Becky and Jody were soon lined up, chomping at their bits and ready to go...

Tom: "They got Nastar here, Hank! Can we?"

Becky: "Can we go faster today? I wanna go fast!"

Jody: "I'd just like to get down in one piece, if that's not asking too much!"

We tromped over to the high-speed quad and shot off to the top. I looked back and saw J-P down on his knees helping Rose into her skis. Well, I said to myself, there was a first time for everything.

"Gonna be an interesting night," I said to Jody.

"If she lives!"

We all laughed. Even Jody.

+++++

"More weight on the downhill ski!" I called out; "roll that knee into the hill!"

Tom was carving some turns now, at least most of the time, but Becky was on fire. She was zipping down the mountain making nice linked turns like she'd been doing it for years. Jody had apparently been skiing for a long time and motored along nicely, yet even she commented on Becky's innate ability. We congregated at the bottom of the mountain for lunch and compared notes: Rose was having a blast and Gloria was her new best friend; J-P was totally smitten; Tom and Becky wanted to try their hand at Nastar; Jody wanted to go back to the house and take some ibuprofen. So did I.

Rose was on fire to get back up the hill -- even if it was the bunny slope -- and I was grateful J-P had suddenly become such a skilled -- and patient! -- instructor. She and Gloria sat munching salads and power-bars; J-P leaned over, had something to say:

"I want to run some gates... I'm going to leave Rose with Gloria... she was always the better instructor, anyway... I need to run some gates..."

"Fine J-P, no problem!" I leaned over, broke into an exchange between Tom and Becky: "Hey, Jean-Pierre is coming with us, wants to run some gates with us..."

Tom: "Gee, I don't know... he looks kinda old..."

Me: "Just don't get in his way..."

Becky: "He any good?"

Me: "Four Olympic golds, two world championships."

Tom: "Fuck."

Me: "You got it, Ace."

It promised to be a grand afternoon.

+++++

Nastar was dreamed up to give skiers who have never raced the opportunity to experience competitive ski racing in a relatively stress-free environment. Racers are timed against a handicap, and in effect they race against themselves, their earlier efforts. If you improve a little during the course of a day you can easily win a bronze medal. Improve a lot and you can take home some silver. Smoke like a freight train and the gold is yours. It's family racing and fun, vacation level racing. Kids love it because generally speaking they can whip the parent's asses. Parent's like it because, well, because some kids never grow up.

The race courses are usually not too hard, but not easy, either, and two racers go at it head to head on parallel courses so families can have a blast cheering each other on. Most mountains have pre-race clinics where an instructor gives novices some quick pointers and more experienced racers get ideas on how to pick a better line between gates. Tension builds, butterflies invade stomachs, little kids not much taller than a beagle go barreling down the mountain with screaming parents photographing their every move. It's fun. Real fun.

"Hank! I wanna go against you!" Tom called out.

"But I want to!" Becky yelled.

"Tough!" yelled J-P. "I'm gonna smoke his butt!"

"Ooh-yeah!" Both Tom and Becky yelled.

"Great. Just great. Thanks, J-P. Appreciate that."

"Asseyez-vous sur elle et de spin!"

"Et le cheval a cheval sur vous!"

"What did they say," Tom asked; Jody leaned over and whispered in his ear, then: "No shit!"

"Come on, Dickweed," J-P said. "Your ass is grass!"

"After you, Frog!" Then I growled for good measure while I slid into the starting gate. Jody groaned at the display and went on down the hill to wait for us.

The instructor manning the starting gate recognized J-P, leaned over: "Are you who I think you are?"

"No! He's snail-bait! About to get toasted!" I growled again. J-P looked at me and smiled.

"Racer's get ready!" the instructor yelled, trying not to laugh, then a mechanical beeper counted down. "GO!" he yelled.

Not much point in beating around the bush. J-P beat me by more than a second -- a lifetime on a course like this one, then we turned and watched the kids line up in the starting gate. The gatekeeper was speaking into a microphone so everyone watching knew what was happening:

"Racer's get ready!" he yelled again, then "beep-beep-beep-beep-beeeeeeeep/GO!"

Tom choked, flew wide on the second gate and skied off the course; Becky rocketed down, her time about five seconds behind mine -- which wasn't bad at all considering. J-P looked at me when she crossed the finish line.

"Not bad," he said. Coming from him that meant something.

"You wanna work with her?"

"Yes, yes, I might do that..." He skied over and patted her on the back, talked with her a minute, his hands indicating angles and lines while he pointed back up the hill.




By Any Other Name



And Becky surprised me: she leaned over her poles and listened to J-P, really listened, looked where he pointed, nodded when he made a point. I watched Tom rumble down the hill, his head low, and skated over to J-P and Becky.

"If you want to learn to race," he was telling her, "you let me know. We can make it happen."

She was wide-eyed-proud and loving every minute of it. They skied off together while I waited for Tom, and when he got to me he was breathing hard and clearly dejected.

"Not bad, Ace. Turn around, let's look at those gates before we go back up."

We did much the same thing: I pointed out how to choose a line between gates, where to plant your pole, when to transition from one ski to the other... Jody joined us and we watched a handful of other racers come down the hill, then skied over to the lift and rode back up.

We didn't run into Becky and J-P until the end of the day. A magical transformation had occurred and Rose came over to me when she saw the two of them talking.

"What's with those two?" she whispered. 

I filled her in.

"How did Tom do?"

"Look at his face."

"Oh, dear."

"It'll be okay. He's catching on. Just not like his sister."

"We need to talk," she said, but I could already see that one coming.

+++++

"Tom's father was a total wreck," Rose began as we walked around before dinner. "Wrote music, tried to sing, and I loved him a bunch."

"What happened?"

"Started drinkin', got mean, started in on me, then Becky..."

"Wasn't he Becky's father?"

"Look, Hank," she said defensively, "I'm not proud of some of the things I've done in my life, but I love my kids. Understand?"

"I know you do, Rose."

"No, no he wasn't her father."

I didn't say anything, just held her hand as we walked, maybe because I didn't know what to say. Becky was fourteen, Tom was twelve; it was a wonder the kids could function at all. How many men had there been since? How many "Dads"?

"Is that why Becky's so reserved?"

"I don't know... Look, Hank, I know this has got to be hard for you; it's really hard for me too. I wanted to give my kids some stability, ya know?" She took a deep breath and I heard her struggling to contain her frustration: "I just don't know how anymore!" She was crying now and I stopped, turned into her and held her. She buried her face in my shoulder and let loose.

"Becky's gonna get attached to Jean-Pierre real quick," I said. "Probably been a while since a man played any role in her life."

"I know, I know."

"Do you want me to discourage it, have a talk with him?"

She was silent, didn't even move, then: "No."

"What are you getting them for Christmas?" I asked -- and she went rigid.

"I don't know... I'd have to ask Jody."

"Oh."

"Don't sound so disappointed, Hank; I've had the party to plan for, this trip on my mind, then you. It's been a lot for me to handle."

I nodded. "I understand."

And I think I did. Her kids were starved for affection and any stranger would do, she couldn't be bothered with them because her social life took priority, and she'd sub-leased her kids out to a personal assistant with a hyperactive sense of duty and questionable morals. 

Cool. So what the hell was I doing here? Playing the adventurous freeloader and getting laid mornings, content to be just a part of the passing landscape her kids had to endure; or would I hang on and become another surrogate care-giver, and in so doing only further enable Rose's irresponsibility? Bottom line: could I make a difference in these kid's lives without a real, honest-to-goodness partner -- and one willing to take-on an active role in her kid's upbringing?

We walked on in silence. Just what the hell had I gotten myself into!

+++++

The kids were exhausted and fogged off to bed, Jody too. I sat up with Rose in a little library off her bedroom. The shelves were lined with embossed, leather bound series of books -- The Harvard Classics! -- and all looked untouched. I remembered reading somewhere she'd made millions without even graduating from middle school, that she'd been molested by uncles and brothers, then she became the toy of record producers and managers. How the hell could she trust anybody? And why me? Was she such a sterling judge of character?

Was there a key to that puzzle in all these unopened books? 

She sat looking out the window -- the town seemed far below for some reason and I looked out too, saw low clouds hovering over the valley.

"It's gonna snow," I said. "I can feel it."

"Can you?"

"Yeah. I forgot how much this place is in my bones. The air feels familiar to me?"

"I think I could tell that... Your face seemed to glow when we got off the plane." She picked up her glass, ice tinkled while she sipped bourbon. "Why didn't you move back here?"

I looked away. "My wife wasn't much on mountains. Kind of a city girl."

"Incompatible?"

"No, the opposite, I think."

"You loved her, huh?"

"Big time. Yeah."

"I've always wondered what that felt like." He eyes were wide open, unfocused, dreamy, and it felt like a vast truth had just slipped out unannounced. I watched her as she drifted within the meaning of what she'd just said -- her face was a mask, the horror of her life remained hidden but I could see past the edges now and what I saw was painful to behold.

"It's never too late, Rose. It could happen."

She took another pull on her drink, shook herself back into the present: "I reckon so," she said in that CEO voice of hers. It was the voice she put on to keep her distance. Her 'safe' voice.

"Well, I'd better get some sleep," I said. "My knees are gonna be screaming in the morning."

"Yeah?"

I looked at her -- she had fallen back into the zone, was drifting again.

"You okay?"

She shook her head.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I do, you know. Love you."

"What?"

"I don't know how or why..." She was at war with herself, trying to fight contradictory impulses: Fight or flight... give in or move on -- fast.

I helped her stand, held her close, ran my fingers through her hair... "Oh Rose... Oh Rose..."

She tried to respond, tried to let go... but she couldn't. She stiffened, she stood a little straighter: "You go on, go on to bed," the CEO said. "I'll see you in the morning."

I kissed her on the forehead and let her go. I heard the fading twinkling of ice as I climbed the stairs. I showered and slipped under the sheets, looked out a skylight in the sloped ceiling overhead and saw fat white flakes drifting down and settle on the glass. Not much wind out, I saw. The flakes sat on the glass and melted into little rivers that froze on the glass...

+++++

I was dreaming, I could feel the dream and it felt so real. Someone was under the sheets, had my penis in her mouth and the warmth was unbearable, searing and flinging me to the edge of awareness -- but the dream felt so good, so real. I could feel her mouth, her tongue rolling over me... I could feel the sheets moving little waves of airy warmth up my chest, her chin against my balls as she took them in her mouth and sucked them... I could feel her as she quickened the pace, as the fire built in my lower back and spread into my thighs... I could feel my back arching, feel the coolness of sweat, feel my orgasm like rolling thunder moving up the valley... I moved my hands, could feel her hair in my hands -- urging her on, conducting the symphony her mouth had summoned... drums building... the blinding clash of cymbals... fire and rain all coming together in an instant of pure plory...

Then I opened my eyes, looked up at the ceiling. I still couldn't tell if I was dreaming or not. Nothing felt real and everything felt wonderful.

I felt her down there, felt her licking me, then I felt her slide out from under the sheets and slip out of the room with nary a word said. I reached down and felt the warm honey residue, the mixture of our juices, the hammering of my heart on my chest -- and I sat up. Wide awake.

She was gone. Whoever she was.

+++++

I didn't sleep much after that, got up around five and showered again, put on my long-johns and socks and padded downstairs to the kitchen. Rose was, of course, up -- and had the coffee going. The cook, Pierre I seemed to remember, was poaching eggs and whisking up some Hollandaise and I smiled.

"Better whip of some more, Pierre!" Rose said while he looked at her and smiled, then she turned to me: "You sleep okay?"

Dead straight eyes, no mischief in them at all: "Think so. Had a muscle spasm but it didn't last long."

She poured me a coffee, passed the cream and sugar: "French roast," she said. "Strong enough to kill."

"Just what the doctor ordered," I replied. Okay, so it wasn't Rose. That left Jody and Becky. I cringed at the mere possibility. 

Pierre laid out Canadian bacon on the muffins then poached eggs, and finally a huge dollop of creamy yellow Hollandaise. He stood over me expectantly, waiting for the verdict: "Well?"

"Heaven on Earth, Pierre!" I said as I finished the first bite. He grinned and saw to his pans.

"The boy knows how to cook!" Rose said.

"Where'd you find him?"

"Some hotel in Paris."

"Georges Cinq!" Pierre sniffed, and there was no mistaking his pedigree.

"Still can't make biscuits and gravy worth shit, though!"

"Parce que je ne sais pas cuisine pour les porcs, madame!"

"Hank? You speak French?"

"Oui, bien sur."

"Better watch your ass, Pierre," Rose chimed in. "I'm on to you!"

He smiled while he took out a bowl of fresh strawberries and cream.

"I'm gonna git out of here before you two kill me! I'll have a heart attack if I eat one more bowl of cream!"

"Fat-free, Hank. Cool your jets!" 

Pierre rankled his nose at the merest thought of what was in the pitcher.

"Oh. Right."

+++++

J-P met us at the bottom of Buttermilk later that morning: "My God but I hurt," he said. "I didn't ski at all last year! Even my toes!"

"Well, you managed to wax my ass pretty good on the course!"

"You'll beat me one day, Henry, one day..."

"Oh? When might that be?"

"Oh, I suspect a few days after my funeral!"

"Okay Toad. Your ass is mine today!"

"Dream on, Henry. Dream on. Becky? Are you ready?"

Becky was suited up and raring to go; Tom and Jody were not far behind. Rose and Gloria were sitting in the lodge, waiting for the snow to let up. 

We rode up the mountain in silence: neither Jody nor Becky gave the slightest indication they'd been in my room during the night. 

The snow got heavier the higher we went; at the top of Buttermilk the visibility was perhaps twenty feet. J-P and I led the kids in stretches, Jody gave up after a few groans, then we poled off and made lots of high speed sweeping turns all the way down the mountain. We stopped at the lodge, my thighs on fire!

"First tracks!" J-P yelled. "Woo-ee! I love it!" His enthusiasm was catching; Becky was loving every minute of this, Tom too. Even Jody was grinning.

We rode back up, skied down to the Nastar course; they were still setting out the day's course and J-P and I side-slipped down the course showing the kids how to read the hill, then Jody joined us, began looking at the hill and asking questions...

"You gonna try it today?" I asked while I looked into her eyes.

"Yeah, I just might." Was she smiling? Playing me? "It might be fun to beat your ass!"

"Well, you're welcome to try."

"Oh, I will. Don't worry, Hank. I will."

+++++

So! That question was answered!

"I wanna race against Becky!" Tom said when we got back to the top of the course.

"And I wanna race against Hank!" Jody cried.

"I'll go down and watch!" Jean-Pierre said.

We filled out our paperwork and Tom slid into the starting gate, then Becky, then the gatekeeper began his countdown...

"GO!"

It was obvious from the first gate: Becky was taking it easy, wanted her brother to win.

"I'll be damned!"

"Maybe so. She's a good kid, Hank. A real good one. But a couple of bad breaks and she could go either way."

I nodded. Wasn't that true of all of us?

Tom finished a few yards ahead of Becky and we could hear him yelling all the way down there.

"She's created a monster!" I said.

"I don't know. You were pretty good last night."

I turned, looked at her. She was sliding into the starting gate. When she was set she turned and looked at me: "Well? We gonna do this?"

"Why, Jody? Why?"

"I'm trying to save you, Hank. From yourself." She turned, looked down the mountain; I slid over into the gate and nodded at the gatekeeper -- he counted down, said "GO!" -- and I let Jody take a little head start then took off down the course behind her...

...but something was wrong...

...she was smoking down the course like a pro! I'd been suckered!

... I leaned too far into the third turn, over-corrected and caught an edge, went cart-wheeling off the course into the trees...

Figures. Some people never grow up.

+++++

The Ski Patrolman pulled me from the trees, loaded me onto the sled and off we went. 

Everyone was standing around while paramedics loaded me into their meat-wagon and off I went in a blaze of glory -- to the clinic. I emerged three hours later with a shiny white plaster cast on my right leg and hopped out to the Range Rover on my new crutches.

I was so very proud of myself! "Spectacular! Just fucking stupendous!"

Pierre the cook was driving, Rose sat in back while I rode shotgun. "So what happened?!" she asked.

"I wish I knew! Don't remember a damn thing!"

"We gets you in and I makes you a good omelet, monsieur Hank. Don't you worries none."

"And maybe he can work on your English, too!" Rose bellowed. "I do declare, Hank, that boy speaks English worse than I do!"

Pierre cringed. 

"Did the kids stay with J-P and Jody?"

"With J-P; Jody went on back to the house to get things ready."

"Ready?"

"Well Hell, Hank; you sure ain't gonna be hoppin' up and down no stairs for a while. I sent her on to move your things down to my room."

I nodded. "Rose? You sure?"

"Never been more sure of anything in my life, Hank." I turned and looked at her, she looked at me. "I told you. I think I love you. Got that? My not bein' clear, here?"

"I got it, Rose. I'm just a little foggy right now."

"Well by God! You get un-foggy, and I mean right now! We got us a Christmas comin' up and I need your Goddamn help!"

I turned back, looked over the long, black hood at the snow covered road then started to laugh. Pierre started laughing, then Rose, too...

"Merry Christmas, Rose!" I said as I wiped a tear from my eye.

"Merry fuckin' Christmas to you too, Slick!"

We laughed some more. I hoped I would wake up soon.

+++++

Jody was different when I stumped out of the elevator: she was not just quiet now, she was unsettled. I went into the living room and sat by the huge window and looked at the snow falling on Little Nell and felt sad I wouldn't be cruising her slopes again this year... 'Hell,' I told myself, 'at my age maybe not ever again. How well do old farts heal, anyway?'

It was all Bubba's fault. 

If that laughing son-of-a-bitch hadn't slammed that bridge down on me I'd have been in Georgia by now! Long gone and away from this madhouse!

But I wasn't. I was here, in Aspen, one foot in history and the other hovering over a shallow grave.

Yet Jody said she was trying to save me from myself.

From myself? Or from Rose?

She couldn't do it! That's what she was telling me! She couldn't because I had to!

What was she up to?

Whose side was she on?

+++++

The kids tumbled out of the elevator a little after five, J-P and Gloria too. He came over to the window and sat beside me, said not one word -- just sat by me and looked out at the falling snow.

He knew. Of all people, J-P knew. Then: "So? Didn't you marry that Ellen girl? What happened? Divorce?"

"Cancer."

"Oh shit, Henry, I'm sorry."

"Been a few years now."

"She was a good girl. I think your Dad loved her as much as you!"

"Knowing him? Probably more."

He lowered his voice, leaned close: "What's with this Rose woman? Something going on here?"

"I didn't think so, but apparently there is."

"Shit. You wanna come stay with Gloria and me?"

"When did you start saying 'shit' so much? What's with that?"

"Ever since I moved to your country, Hank, I've been in shit."

"Why don't you go home? You never really liked it here, did you?"

"Gloria loves it here. It's her home, and I'd never leave her."

"I know. She's one in a million."

"I know. Besides, I have too many commercial interests here now. This is my life. Not the life I wanted when I was starting out, but the life that built up around me. That's what happens, Henry; we build walls all our life, whether we want to or not..."

"Like little prisons, you mean."

He leaned back, sighed. "I guess they can be, if that's what you choose to make of them." He looked around the room for a minute, shook his head: "Is that was this is, Henry?"

"I don't know, Jean. I really don't."

"Remember what your father used to say? If you have any doubt then there is no doubt?"

"Shades of gray."

"What?"

"Dad lived in a world of absolutes, Jean. His world was all blacks and whites. Mine is just shades of gray."

"So. You're just along for the ride, Henry? Is that it?"

"Sometimes that's what it feels like."

"What have you been doing recently?"

"Live on a boat, been puttering along the east coast."

"No shit?!"

"No shit, Ace."

"Could we come down, maybe go out with you sometime?"

I laughed, I just had to. "Sure, Jean Pierre. Why not? Why the fuck not?"

"Henry, do you still play chess?"

"No."

"A shame. You used to be so good."

"I was good at all kinds of shit, Henry. The best."

"When did you get so good at feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Check and mate, old buddy."

"Sorry. Maybe I'll come by in the morning. Maybe I'll bring a chess set."

"You do that."

Jody came into the room, handed me a glass of water and a huge pink pill.

"What's that?"

"Doctor's orders. Take that and all your worries will be over."

I threw the pill into the fireplace, turned and looked out the window. J-P got up and left the room a while later, but not before squeezing my shoulder. I felt the pressure of his hand on my back for a long time, like it was a memory I didn't ever want to lose. I wanted to cry but realized I didn't even know how to do that anymore.

+++++

It was dark, very dark, and the house was silent. It felt like everyone had reacted to my mood and vanished into the woodwork before I could hurt them, too. I heard someone in the kitchen:

"Pierre! Is that you?"

"Oui!" He came into the living room.

"Where is everyone?"

"They went on to dinner. Could I fix you something?"

"How 'bout some snails?"

"Oui!" He turned to leave...

"Whoa, whoa there, pardner! I was just kidding! Relax!"

"But we have some good escargot, from Provence. Maybe some Champagne, a little roasted duck, some Lyonnais potatoes?"

"What kind of sauce?"

"Monsieur?"

"For the duck?"

"What would please you, monsieur?"

"Lingonberry!"

"No problem, sir."

"No shit? Well Hell, Pierre, knock yourself out. Make enough for two, would you? I hate to eat alone."

+++++

Rose and the kids drifted in a few hours later, just as Pierre was cleaning up the living room.

"Did you finally eat something?" Rose hollered out when she saw the mess in the kitchen.

"You could call it that!" I called back. I heard her talking to Pierre then saw her making her way into the room.

"Snails, huh?" she said as she shivered. "Better you than me, Hot Shot!"

"You were right about one thing. That boy can cook!"

"Told ya so." She sat down on the sofa, looked at my cast.

"He made a believer out of me tonight."




By Any Other Name



"You ready for some medicine yet?"

"What? Oh, that little thing?" I said as I patted my cast -- then the vibrations from my little "pat" ran up my leg... "Ooh-yowza. You know, that might not be such a bad idea."

"Jody?"

"Yes Ma'am?"

"I think he's ready for one now!"

"Do I need to bring a catcher's mitt?"

"Oh, ha-ha!" I called out.

"I dunno, Slick," Rose began, "looks like you got a helluva fastball."

Jody came in with another glass and a pill; I took them both and looked up at her but she had turned away and was gone.

I took the pill and leaned back in the chair, looked out the window again: the snow was really coming down now, the deck was piled high with the stuff and there didn't appear to be any let-up in sight. I could see Rose in the window -- her reflection was looking intently at me. Then I could see Becky and Tom below playing in the snow, making snowballs...

"How were the kids tonight?"

"Worried."

"Worried?"

"About you, dumb-ass! Yes! Worried!"

"You think maybe you could tone it down a little? With the dumb-ass stuff?"

And that was, apparently, the wrong thing to have said.

"I am who am I, Slick," she said as she stood. "You don't like it; you know where the door is."

"I see," I said to her retreating back. Her bedroom door slammed shut. "I see."

"I doubt you do, Hank. But sometime I think there might be hope."

I turned, saw Jody's reflection in the glass: "Still trying to save me from myself?"

"Nope. You're on your own now." She smiled, kept her distance.

"And what makes you immune?" I looked directly at her and she seemed to step away from the question. "Or have you sealed your bargain?"

"Oh, it happened a little at a time with me, but there isn't a day goes by when I don't feel like I haven't sold my soul to the devil."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"So? Why do you stay?"

"Probably for the same reasons you will."

"Think so, huh?"

"I hope so."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Hank. Misery loves company."

"I see."

"And she feeds on misery. You'll learn that, and soon, too."

"Uh-huh." I looked at her, at her tired face and broken spiritedness. "How old are you?"

"Twenty seven." Great! Not quite half my age!

"Will there be any problem with getting my boat?"

"When... what are..."

"Get me out of here on the first flight in the morning, would you?" I dug in my trousers and handed her a credit card. "Don't charge it to her, either."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. One other thing..." I paused, looked at her for a minute.

"And that is?" she finally said. 

"Do you like to sail?"

"Haven't done much, but it's fun. I guess."

"Well, If you want to come with me, make two reservations. If you don't... then don't."

"Okay."

"And bring me a blanket, would you?"

+++++

I heard someone in the kitchen and stood up as best I could, hopped into the bathroom and took a leak. I stepped out, stumped into the kitchen: Rose was pouring three coffees and I saw Jody standing with her back to both of us.

"You feelin' okay this morning, Slick?" Rose said.

"Aside from not going to the bathroom for fifteen hours, I'm fine."

She snorted. "I'll bet. Want some coffee?"

"Not sure yet. Give me a minute, okay?"

"Well Slick, think you can get out today, help me do some shopping?"

"I don't think so, Rose. I think I'm gonna head on back down to the boat."

She paused, her coffee cup hung in mid-air for a moment, then her hands started to shake. Jody turned around, faced me, looked me in the eye.

"Oh Slick, don't do that to us... to me! I... uh... didn't know you was so thin-skinned."

"That's okay Rose. I think it'd just be better if I move on before anyone gets hurt. I sure don't want to hurt these kids, or you, and I've had enough hurt the past few years to last me the rest of my life. I just don't want anymore, Rose, and this life would be nothin' but."

She held her hands out, indicated her house -- and by extension, all her wealth: "This would hurt? Really?"

"More than you know, Rose. More than you know."

"Well, I guess I'm sorry then, Hank. Sorry I misjudged you."

"You didn't misjudge me, Rose."

That hit her where she lived and I regretted saying it as soon as the words slipped out: "No. I guess I didn't." But she wasn't the type to go down easily: "I can change, Hank, and these kids need you!"

"You don't need to change for anyone, Rose, and your kids need you. You. Not me, not Jody or Pierre or anyone else -- just you."

She nodded, looked away. "Jody, call the girls and have 'em get the jet ready..."

I looked at Jody; she nodded and mouthed "eleven" to me: "Not necessary, Rose. I've got a flight out this morning."

"Oh."

"I think I'm going to need another painkiller, though."

Rose stood and ran over to me, grabbed onto me and held on tight. "Oh, come on Slick, don't go, don't go!"

I kissed her on the head, held her for a moment. "You listen to Jean-Pierre about Becky, okay? Maybe think about moving up here full time."

"Hank? Don't. Go. Don't do this."

I let go, pulled away from her; she turned away too and walked to her bedroom.

I walked over to the phone: "You got J-Ps number?"

Jody walked over, put her notebook down on the counter; I saw his number and dialed it, explained what had happened, that I wanted to ride to the airport with him and talk.

"Now?" he asked.

"Yeah, Jean-Pierre. Now would be great." I hung up, turned to Jody but she had gone. She came down a few minutes later and put my duffel on the floor by the elevator, turned to look at me -- then pulled back from the abyss and walked away. I heard her walking slowly up the stairs, close the door to her room.

"C'est la vie," I said, then I grabbed my crutches and called the elevator, went down and waited for J-P in the cold dawn. The snow had let up but the world felt all hard and frozen.

+++++

He parked his ancient Saab and grabbed my duffel, walked beside me into the little terminal. I could see the pink Gulfstream parked on the ramp beside the terminal and smiled. "What an experience," I said. Jean-Pierre looked at me while I pointed out her jet, her plaything, and he shrugged.

"Lot of rich people here now; you get used to them. Like we got used to the hippies. Remember?"

"Well, they weren't that bad, were they?"

"You kidding? They smelled, were stoned all the time..."

"I seem to remember you got stoned from time to time back then..."

"Sh-h-h!" he hissed. "You'll ruin my image!" We laughed.

We talked a while about Becky; he thought she might be worth taking under his wing. I mentioned Tom and his issues, that Jody would be able to help if there were any problems. We made all the right noises about time and friendship, then I sent him on his way.

"It was nice to see you again, Henry. Come back to us again, would you?"

"Yeah. You want to go sailing, email me."

"Will-do."

And then he was gone.

I went through security, stumped into the departure lounge and took a seat by the wall of windows and looked out on the ramp. A little Learjet taxied down to the end of the runway and turned around, roared past and leapt into the gray sky, then all was quiet. Two days before Christmas all the incoming jets were full, the outgoing ones empty.

I felt a little empty, too.

They called my flight at half past ten and they let me stump outside early and walk over to the jet, and I hoisted and pulled myself up the rear stairs and flopped down in my assigned seat and wiped sweat from me forehead.

"You need anything to drink, sir?" the flight attendant asked. "Some water?"

"Be fine, Ma'am. Appreciate it." 

A couple more people boarded, then the engines on the right side began to spool up. The flight attendant walked up front and closed the forward door, then walked back to close the aft door. I heard it clunk shut a second later and my ears popped as the pilots started the engines on the left wing.

"Excuse me. Is that seat taken?"

I looked up. It was Jody.

"Nope."

"Thought you might have trouble with the front gate," she said as she stuffed something in the overhead compartment.

"Very thoughtful of you."

"Think nothing of it."

"I won't." 

She laughed. "I get seasick." She plopped down in the aisle seat, moved to make room for my cast.

"Me too. You hit that cast and they'll carry me off this crate in a body bag."

She leaned over and kissed me. I kissed her back. The jet started rolling.

"Do you mind? Me coming, I mean?"

"Kinda hoping you would, as a matter of fact." The engines roared -- we began hurtling down the runway and I looked out the window.

"So, where're we off to?" she yelled over the noise.

"Doesn't matter. Anywhere you want."

"Tahiti?"

"Six weeks."

"How about Capri?"

"Next summer."

"The North Pole?"

"You're on your own, Kid. I ain't going anywhere I have to wear long pants."

"Hm-m. Now I know where I stand."

"Guess what?" I said as the landing gears whirred and kathunked closed.

"What?"

"Rose was getting in the Gulfstream when we went by."

The color drained from her face. "You're kidding!"

"Yes I am, as a matter of fact."

She looked at me, her lower lip trembled.

"Jody, it's over. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

She bit her lower lip, nodded her head. "You think so?"

The jet turned toward the southeast, toward Florida. Towards home.

My home; now her home too.

She threw a blanket over our lap and a few minutes later I felt her hand on my thigh, then it ooched up closer to home and she leaned over, whispered in my ear.

"Here!" I said. 

I looked at her grin, saw the mischief in her eyes. 

She nodded while her fingers worked my zipper down, as they worked their way through the folds of my briefs.

"I didn't have any breakfast this morning. You mind?"

Turns out I didn't mind. Not one little bit.

15.5.09©Leverkuhn