White Elephant

by Trish Harnetiaux

  “Is it a contender?” asked Claudine.

  “He’s one of those guys that would never sell.”

  “Never say never.”

  “Literally the best view I’ve ever seen.”

  “Why am I just hearing about it now?”

  “Claudine, it’s not for sale.”

  “Everything’s for sale.”

  While Claudine was on the land hunt, he’d never been happier designing a dream home. He knew it made more sense to wait until they found the right property. The location would have an extremely important impact on the final design. But he couldn’t help it. Feeding on the energy of a new company, so happy how it had reinvigorated their marriage. He’d never been so in tune with his work. Taking meetings with craftsmen, day trips to check out materials firsthand. A perfect day was spending the better part of an afternoon comparing different rough stones. Every part of his design was considered, from the open floor plan he was constantly adjusting based on flow to the zigzag driveway that would eventually deliver you to the front door. In his gut he knew he was creating something special. They were on the brink of great achievement. He was so close to having the house done on paper; they just needed the land.

  Find the land, build the house, sell the house.

  As pieces were falling into place, he watched with awe as Claudine fed off the momentum. Tackling each problem with precision and patience. She was someone with a vision, yes, but what made her stand out was that she saw the path to completion. Could grasp the big picture from an early stage and figure out in real time how to get there.

  She jumped up. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “To your secret plot of land.”

  “It’s a bit of journey. We’d need to drive ten minutes out of town, then turn off the highway and head up about a mile. And that’s just where we park so we’re out of sight. The rest is on foot, straight through the forest.”

  “I’m down for an adventure.”

  “I’m serious when I say we’d need to be careful. Silent. Around these parts, people are shot for trespassing.”

  It only made her want to go more. He couldn’t think of a real reason not to. He’d only had two drinks, which these days, with the tolerance he had, barely made a difference. There were already flashlights in the car. Why not have some fun?

  “Let’s go now.” She was already twisting her hair up into a ponytail, like that would somehow show him she was serious. He laughed. She won. He glanced down at her strappy high-heeled Steve Madden sandals.

  “You’ll need to change your shoes.”

  It was dark as they drove. Quiet in the car the way astronauts are quiet driving to a launch. Electric. A nervousness. The anticipation of discovery, the threat of failure. He pulled into the lookout area and turned off the car, leaving on the headlights so they could see the dense forest in front of them.

  After a moment, Henry turned on the flashlight, shut off the car lights, and opened the car door.

  “How do we get there?”

  “We take that.” He pointed to a narrow opening in the trees. “An old game trail. We hike up until we hit the dirt road. Then follow the road to the next bend. There, we’ll leave the road and carefully walk to a small patch of trees. We’ll hide in the trees and spy on the house.”

  “I love this.”

  He shone the flashlight and gestured for her to go first. The light bounced on the dirt ahead as she made her way into the trees. She had refused to change her shoes but was moving fast in heels. He was impressed with her balance and agility. They made it to the aspen grove without incident. She wanted to look everywhere at once: the barn, the view, the house. The lights were on in the cabin and they could see Mr. Miller sitting at the kitchen table. It had been almost twenty years since Henry had seen him, but he looked exactly the way he remembered. Baggy overalls, bald except for one thin silver string swept across his forehead and pasted behind an ear. The old barn was still standing, full of shadows, about twenty yards from the house, an outline in the dark.

  The old man stood up from the table and walked to the window. It seemed like he was looking straight at them. There was no way he could possibly see or hear them. They were hidden by the trees, the moon was covered by clouds, and they were half the length of a football field away. Still, they froze and held their breath. Dead October leaves swirled, making a creepy crunchy sound. Like footsteps. Mr. Miller pressed his nose against the glass. Maybe he could see them?

  Claudine stepped out from behind the trees.

  “What are you doing?” Henry hissed.

  “I want to get a better look,” she said, taking a few steps toward the cabin.

  “Claudine!” Henry said, as loud as he thought he could without attracting Mr. Miller’s attention. “This isn’t funny.”

  She continued to walk across the meadow, neither fast nor slow, her movements methodical, determined. Even in the overcast darkness, the beauty of the land was on full display. She marched on, taking it all in.

  Henry didn’t dare call her again but inched out from the grove.

  It looked like the old man might have seen her through the window, because then he was on the porch. He stared out into the meadow, scanning in all directions. Claudine just stood there staring back at him, now maybe thirty yards away. Was his eyesight bad? Could he not see her? Mr. Miller did not call out to her, and Claudine said nothing. After a few more moments the old man went back inside. Claudine turned and walked calmly back to Henry.

  He stood paralyzed, waiting for her to reach him. When she did, her eyes were big, her cheeks flushed.

  “What the hell was that?” he whispered, his breath uneven. Everyone responds differently to danger, and Henry froze up. But Claudine looked radiant. Exhilarated. Turned on.

  “This is it,” she said. “This is the place. Our land. We’ll build the house here.”

  Henry started to protest but she put a finger to his lips, unzipped his jeans, and pulled them down to his knees.

  PART THREE The Game

  Tommy loved working for Mr. Miller. He loved that land. There really was nothing like it in all of Aspen. It had been in the Miller family for three generations. Big skies, a brutal beauty, a sense of solitude. It was Miller’s legacy. A generation ago they had even more land, ran a cattle ranch, but for the last few decades it’s been Mr. Miller growing old up there by himself. Hired help coming and going. It was just far enough from town not to feel the impact of the crowds during the first boom. The town was built on silver in the late 1800s, and when it lost its value in 1893, Aspen, well, stopped. For a long time it was over. Can you imagine that now? Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if Hollywood hadn’t found us. If we hadn’t reinvented ourselves.

  I remember my mother talking about being excited when people started coming to town again. When the Aspen Skiing Company expanded. It was a second boom. This time, instead of silver, it was celebrities. Fashion came to Aspen. In came the stores. We all learned words like Prada, Gucci, Dior. Nicholson, Douglas, Costner. Friends I’d known since grade school, if they weren’t determined to hate the renaissance they were in the middle of, were now putting on lipstick and sunglasses with their cowboy boots just to walk up Mill Street to Wagner Park.

  To anyone who only wanted to live in peace, all that pressure came hard and fast. Tommy would tell me how, literally as a survival tactic, Mr. Miller had firmly established himself as antiestablishment to scare everyone away until they’d all but forgotten him. He liked the fact that he had a reputation as a recluse. His five acres were big enough that he could forget about the mansions being built far out near the property line in all directions. So he didn’t have to bother with too many people.

  Mr. Miller never had any children but took time with his hired hands, got to know them. Fed them. Talked to them. He expected them to be strong and work hard, he was strict, but kind. That’s what Tommy said. You had to get to know him. He didn’t show it to just everyone. Mr. Miller kn
ew how to instill loyalty and always made sure anyone working for him had what they needed. He was a careful, measured man with large hands. Huge. Covered with calluses. Tommy admired his work ethic and his stubbornness. Admired how he wasn’t persuaded by money. How he was the furthest thing from a sellout. He’d tell me all about the people who would sometimes stop in to see if Mr. Miller’s land was for sale. Vultures. If you don’t care about the money, Mr. Miller told him, you take away their power. Everyone’s equal. Of course, he had money—his cabin was sitting on it—so it was easy for him to say.

  I’m telling you all this because I want you to be able to hold a picture of them in your mind. Of two hardworking, salt-of-the-earth men. I’d even say they were a couple of the last cowboys.

  Zara

  Initially I thought it was sweet that Henry and Claudine answered the door together. I could tell it was her, the way she called me “darling,” just like on the phone. But there was something strange about Henry’s smile, like someone drew it on his face. Now I can see how she was almost overenthusiastic that first moment we met. Compensating for him.

  She wasn’t what I expected. I don’t know what I was thinking, but in my head when the door opened I was expecting Claudine Longet to be standing there. The young, fashionable version of herself, the one who shot Spider. So it took a second for me to see her. The Claudines shared a few traits: thin, dark hair, big doe eyes. But this Claudine was taller, less fragile beauty queen, more domineering sharpshooter.

  Oh boy, was she in charge from the start. As we were all saying hellos and I was explaining who Dave was, that he wasn’t like a guest but my bodyguard, Pip leapt into action. Now Pip loves nothing more than licking shoes, and she went straight for Claudine’s. I swear, I saw literal horror on her face, but not for long because Henry jumped in. He bent right down and lifted her up. Pip went crazy licking his face and I think that’s the only time I ever heard Henry laugh. They loved each other at first sight. I’ve never even had that. It was adorable. Thank god I brought her with me, she’s always an excellent judge of character and liked Henry right away, which made me like Henry right away. They were instant besties.

  I think we were in the parlor when Claudine introduced me to everyone. Long ago I learned to be good with names. A little tip Madonna shared backstage at the VMAs. She was right. It’s so helpful when you’re asking people to get you stuff. Rashida brought me some champagne; Dave gave my gift to Jules. Then there was Alice and Louisa and Natalie. I thought it was cool it was mostly women that worked at the office. Then John and Kevin and Jerry. Some silent nods from the Alpine brothers, Jack and Bobby, like the Kennedys. I could tell they didn’t know what to do with someone like me. They thought they had to be overly polite and use phrases like “Good evening” and “Wonderful to meet you,” which didn’t exactly roll off their tongues. I appreciated how respectful they were and loved the whole look: big and rugged. Then the Tigglemans. Or—excuse me—Captain and Mrs. Tiggleman. They looked exactly how you’d want them to look—like they just walked off a yacht. I asked him what he was a captain of and he said, “Nothing anymore. Spent forty years on the high seas. Stationed in Norfolk. I’ve seen it all: breaching blue whales, men going mad, and more than a few pirates.”

  “When he retired, it was my turn to choose,” said Mrs. Tiggleman. “He wanted to stay on the coast, but I’ve always loved the mountains. In many ways Aspen’s like an island. So it was a compromise.”

  At this point I’d met everyone except the man with the orange face who was inching closer to me by the second.

  “This our dear old friend Steve,” Claudine finally said.

  “I prefer ‘old colleague,’ ” he said. “Zara, I like your spirit. Not scared of house shopping in the middle of the gray wolf reintroduction happening in these parts. Just make sure you keep that little pooch indoors. Those wolves are fierce hunters.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was joking and didn’t have time to find out, because Claudine and Henry whisked me away to see the house.

  Claudine

  The arrival of Steve threatened to throw everything off. Claudine knew sabotage when she saw it. She was determined that his showing up unannounced wasn’t going to change a thing and didn’t waste any time. Right now, he wasn’t the priority.

  “Like much of the land around here, this used to be a cattle ranch,” she began, leading Zara out of the parlor. “Until they carved the surrounding land into tiny pieces and started building homes. One of the reasons Montague House is so exceptional is the lot size. It just doesn’t exist anymore. This much privacy and these sweeping views are unrivaled.”

  “It’s magical,” said Zara.

  “That’s exactly what we liked about the property,” added Henry. Well done, Henry.

  “This was Henry’s first house. Our very first project as a company.”

  “Just like your debut album, Melancholy Apostle,” he said. “I read an interview you gave to Rolling Stone where you said that will always be your favorite record because it was so innocent and messy. You said it isn’t as polished and complex as your other albums but that’s what you love about it. It’s the same thing with this house for me. So many things I would do differently now—better, in a technical sense. But I was doing the best I could at the time, and there is beauty and integrity in that which I could never replicate now.”

  Claudine was impressed. She hadn’t thought Henry was taking this night seriously. She never imagined he would have studied up on Zara.

  “I forgot I said that,” Zara said. “There’s a lot of beauty in first ambition.”

  “Every beam that holds the house up,” Claudine said, gesturing as they walked through the rooms, “every window you look out, Henry made it happen. We’re not a real estate agency. We’re a full-service residential design firm. We’re not like Steve whom you just met. He just sells houses. We build homes. It’s rare, actually, to be able to meet the architect. And Henry grew up in Aspen, so he brings an invaluable local perspective.”

  “That’s so cool!”

  “It is cool. Henry, isn’t it cool?”

  The annoying little dog was at it again, running in circles, trying to get to Claudine’s shoes. Her instinct was to kick it. Pip yapped. Why did she bring that fluff ball?

  “Should I get John to take your dog? John!” He was by her side in seconds. “Why don’t you take it for a treat. There must be something in the kitchen. We’re going to show Zara around. Please, take it.”

  “Pip,” said Zara. “Not it.”

  “Of course,” said Claudine. “Take Pip.”

  “Not a problem.” John picked the dog up and disappeared.

  “Let’s start with a quick peek from the deck.”

  Zara pulled her faux fur coat a little tighter. She looked stunning, perfect for a party around a pool off Mulholland Drive. Not like someone who has any concern for the elements. The black and white vintage Mod go-go dress fit her like skin, complemented by knee-high baby blue leather boots.

  They kept underneath the overhang, careful to stay out of the snow and close to the built-in heat lamps. Claudine pointed out the heated outdoor saltwater lap pool, the firepits, the three hot tubs. Explained how each was slightly warmer than the next. She described where the sun rose in the morning and where it set at night. Full southern exposure. Henry was also getting into it, pointing out details of interest. The outdoor kitchen, the outdoor shower lined with roses that bloom late each spring. The built-in freshwater tubs on the lower deck where you could bathe overlooking everything.

  “There’s nothing like this view,” he said. “You can see all four mountains: Aspen Mountain, Aspen Highlands, Buttermilk, and Snowmass.”

  “For now,” Claudine chimed in, “you’ll have to imagine. The snow’s out in full force to greet you.”

  “I remember from the pictures. Insane.”

  Zara watched, mesmerized as the snowflakes dissolved the moment they smashed against the surface of the heated pool. Snow
fell on her face as she craned her neck to see how high the massive windows rose. All the way to the top where they peaked.

  “Up here a house needs a steep pitched roof,” said Henry, “because of all the snow.”

  “I’ve never been anywhere like this,” she said, brushing off the flakes that were sticking to her coat.

  “Let’s go back inside,” said Claudine. “We want to show you the observatory, the library, study, the three master bedrooms. There’s so much more.”

  “Is there a recording studio?”

  “There can be,” Henry said. “I think I know the perfect place. Careful of the ice. The deck’s heated, but you never know.”

  Henry offered Zara his arm. She took it. Henry was good with her, Claudine noted. They clicked. Zara responded to his natural warmth and openness, to the sadness just under the surface. Maybe she sensed the new vulnerability, now that he was also riddled with the fresh anxiety of Steve.

  Before they went back inside, Henry brushed the snow off Zara’s back. Once safe and warm, he helped her out of her coat and handed it to Louisa. They’d been talking about the volcanic rock he’d used to build the steps below the deck that led to the raised garden bed. Claudine was glad he was loosening up. When he talked about the house, he couldn’t think about Steve. Couldn’t think about what he’d done. Yes, they could manage this.

  “Henry, why don’t you keep going. I’ll make sure we’re ready to start the game.”

  Henry

  “Zara,” he said. “Would you like to see my favorite room in the entire house?”

  “I’d love that.”

  Reaching over to the stone wall beside her, he casually pushed one of the dark rocks and a door popped open. A secret passage. He was hit with the memory of Claudine calling it juvenile. How he had fought her on it and eventually won, but only when the Lions said their children loved the idea.