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.