By Any Other Name

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"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.