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."