Christmas at the Chalet

by Anita Hughes

  Todd swirled his glass the way he did when he told a story. Nell enjoyed hearing his memories: How his first job was washing his father’s car, and he saved every dollar to buy flowers for the girl who lived across the street. How he could never afford to see movies as a teenager, and snuck into the cinema to watch the final scene and the credits. How having Nell and her brother, Pete, was better than all the gold watches and ties money could buy.

  St. Moritz

  Twenty-Eight Years Ago

  Todd

  Todd wiped down the glass and sighed with pleasure. Yesterday had been his twenty-second birthday, and he had accomplished three things he had always dreamed of: he’d traveled outside of America for the first time, he was wearing a tuxedo, and he was mixing his first proper cocktail other than a rum and Coke hastily stirred at a party.

  The other bartender signaled for him to collect his tray, and Todd thought he would have to thank him. Christopher was his best friend; it was because of him that Todd was a waiter at the Carlton Hotel in St. Moritz, instead of working part-time at a record store in Cleveland.

  After high school, Todd had attended Ohio State, and Christopher had received a scholarship to Yale. Along with learning political science, Christopher had acquired a new group of wealthy friends. He’d arrive home at the holidays and tell Todd about cruising on a yacht in the Mediterranean, or staying at someone’s villa in the Bahamas. This winter he had been invited to spend a month at a chalet in St. Moritz, and had invited Todd to join him.

  The airfare used up most of Todd’s savings, but when would he get the chance to ski at places he’d only read about? Zuoz and Diavolezza, with its stunning backdrops and runs so wide they were as big as a whole country. The nightclubs had exotic names like Romanoff and Hemingway’s Club, and there was a casino. Passing up the trip would be like turning down a lifetime supply of cheeseburgers.

  He and Christopher worked at the Carlton to pay for their lift tickets, but there was plenty of time to experience everything St. Moritz had to offer: taking the Glacier Express to Zermatt, and riding the gondola to the summit of Muottas Muragl. When he stood at the top and adjusted his goggles, he wasn’t a kid who had worked every day after school since he was fourteen. He was a young American who could navigate around the steep moguls and ski downhill straight to the bottom of the slopes.

  “Stop staring at the girls and serve these whiskeys, or those guys are going to plant their fists in our faces,” Christopher said to Todd, waving at three men with thick necks and bulging shoulders.

  Todd tried to pull his eyes away from the girls sitting by the fireplace. They looked different than the other women, who were all wearing fur jackets and diamond earrings. These girls wore jeans with patches and hand-knitted ski caps, and their faces were free of makeup.

  “See the girl with the blond hair and blue eyes? I swear she winked at me,” Todd hissed.

  “They’re chalet girls,” Christopher said dismissively. “They’re hired by the chalets to cook breakfast for the guests. They are in St. Moritz for one reason, and it’s not to ski the piste. It’s to make some Italian race-car driver or Russian businessman fall in love with them over eggs benedict. We have as much chance with them as we do with the Swedes we met at the Altitude Bar.”

  Todd recalled the two girls they’d had drinks with last night. They’d all had a great time dancing, until the girls suggested going on to the casino. It was out of the question. One bad hand in blackjack, one cruel spin of the roulette wheel, and they’d lose all the money they’d earned.

  The girl with blond hair caught his eye, and there was an odd feeling in his stomach. He straightened his bow tie and walked to the table.

  “Can I join you?” Todd asked. “All the other tables are full.”

  “That one is empty.” She pointed to a table by the window. She had an American accent, and even without lipstick, her mouth was the color of cherries.

  “I got a little chilly this afternoon, and the fireplace looks so inviting.” Todd pointed to the flames flickering in the wood-burning fireplace.

  “Don’t tell me you went on the mountain in this blizzard!” another girl exclaimed. She had a British accent and wore a pink sweater. “The snow is so thick, it’s like a bowl of oatmeal out there. All the chalet guests gave up after the morning run.” She groaned. “We had to make breakfast twice, and spend the afternoon drying ski socks.”

  Todd had never told a lie in his life. He had been a Boy Scout until the sixth grade, and in high school he’d been a member of the National Honor Society. But he couldn’t impress these girls by pulling out a credit card from Bank Suisse. If he didn’t say something, he wouldn’t get another chance.

  “That’s the best time to ski. You have the whole mountain to yourself, and it’s just you against the elements,” Todd said knowingly. “I started above the tree line and skied the Fuorcla Grischa-Celerina. It’s the longest run in St. Moritz. The black ice was a little sketchy, but I was rewarded by miles of fresh powder.”

  Todd would never have attempted the Fuorcla Grischa-Celerina in this weather, and he avoided black ice like the plague. But the girl with blond hair stopped sipping her cocktail and looked at him.

  “That’s a fun run, but it’s nothing like the Selin.” She flicked her hair behind her ears. “It has a 477-meter vertical drop, and when you attempt the last jump you feel like you’re going to come.”

  Todd gulped and wished he had a drink. Had she really just compared skiing to sex, or was it too noisy to hear her correctly? At least she was talking to him. He sat down and picked up a menu.

  “You should try the White Russian.” The British girl held up her drink. “It’s the best thing on the menu.”

  The other girls nodded in agreement, and Todd fiddled with his bow tie. If he ordered a drink, he could get fired. But the girl with blue eyes looked at him expectantly, and he felt like he was being sucked into a whirlpool.

  “Why not?” He closed the menu. “Anything you girls recommend sounds delicious.”

  The girl’s name was Patty, and she was a theater major at UCLA. She talked about places she had skied that he had never heard of: Courchevel and Val d’Isère and Saint-Martin-de-Belleville, which used to be a cheese-making village. Todd mentioned skiing at Alpine Valley in Ohio, but didn’t admit he had only been there three times.

  Patty signaled for the check and Todd reached into his pocket.

  “Where are your friends?” he asked, noticing that the other girls hadn’t returned from the powder room.

  “They went on to some party,” she said, waving her hand. “I hate parties, because they are always the same. Just because we served omelets to the men in the morning, they think they can grope us at night. I’d rather sit in bed with a good book than make conversation with guys who are only interested in whether I wear stockings under my chalet uniform.”

  Todd wondered what she looked like in her chalet uniform. Now was not the time to think about that. He had to pay his portion of the bill before the manager returned from his dinner break and found him chatting with a guest.

  “They didn’t leave any money.” He picked up the check. He hadn’t quite figured out the exchange rate, but four White Russians cost more than he had in his wallet.

  “They never leave money.” She suppressed a smile. “They expect the handsome man in a tuxedo who wanted to join us to pay for them.”

  “I seem to have forgotten my credit card,” he gulped, momentarily pleased that she thought he was handsome. “I’ll run over to my room. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

  Patty opened her purse and took out a gold card. She placed it on the table and looked at Todd. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll come with you and you can pay me back.”

  They walked outside and wandered through the village. The snow had stopped and a thick white carpet covered the cobblestones. A couple drove by in a horse and buggy, and there was the sound of horse hooves clip-clopping on the pavement.

  “Chris
topher said chalet girls are in St. Moritz to pick up wealthy men,” Todd began. “Why do you put up with guys asking you to add sliced bananas to their porridge if you have a gold card?”

  “It’s my parents’ gold card, and I don’t feel comfortable using it. My father doesn’t approve of girls going on vacation alone. My mother is the chairwoman of four charities; she doesn’t believe in having fun.”

  “They both sound frightening.” Todd shuddered.

  “Tomorrow is my twenty-first birthday.” She turned to Todd, and her eyes were luminous. “I deserve to have a good time.”

  She reached up and kissed him. He kissed her back, and tasted cream and chocolate.

  “I have to tell you something,” Todd said when they pulled away. He couldn’t start a relationship by lying to her.

  “The tuxedo doesn’t belong to you, and the credit card in your room has a two-hundred Swiss franc limit and is already at its maximum,” she interrupted.

  “How did you know?” he asked. She looked even more beautiful away from the bar. Her hair was dusted with snow and her cheeks glowed in the lamplight.

  “The jacket is too big around the shoulders. Anyone who buys an Italian tuxedo would make sure it fit correctly,” she mused. “And you looked at the bill as if your pet just died.” She stopped and laughed. “Plus, I saw you mixing drinks at the bar.”

  The tuxedo belonged to the guy he and Christopher were staying with; his credit card was in a drawer where he’d tossed it, along with the letter from the bank explaining why they couldn’t raise his limit.

  “You knew I was a waiter?” Todd raised one eyebrow.

  “I thought if you were willing to risk getting fired, maybe you were worth talking to,” Patty said.

  “And what do you think now?”

  Patty stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Her eyes danced and a smile played across her face.

  “I think I was right.”

  * * *

  “I can’t believe that was almost thirty years ago. Holiday romances should be outlawed,” Todd said to Nell, scooping up fusilli pasta with tomato sauce. “It all seems perfect with the snow falling softly on the rooftops and shop windows filled with ornaments. Then you strip away the glitter and you’re left with two people who are wholly unsuited for each other.”

  “You and Mom must have loved each other.” Nell sipped her cocktail. “You were married for twenty-eight years.”

  “I thought we loved each other, but too many things got in the way. Your mother never liked that I worked at the movie studio with her father,” he ruminated. “In the beginning it made sense; he gave me a job before I even finished college. But it caused a lot of resentment. Apparently she wanted to run the studio herself one day. How was I to know that? I thought she wanted to be an actress!

  “Besides, he would never have turned the studio over to Patty. He believed women should either be waiting at the front door with a martini, or up on the big screen where one could admire them.” He sighed. “I tried to involve her, but whenever I mentioned what happened during the day, she closed up like an oyster protecting a pearl. I finally gave up. She had every reason to be happy.” He sat up straight as if defending himself. “A house on the flats in Beverly Hills, two children, enough money for karate classes and piano lessons.” He looked at Nell and suddenly seemed older. “It always seemed that she wanted something I couldn’t give her. She wouldn’t consider therapy, and refused to attend couples’ retreats.” He managed a smile. “I couldn’t blame her. The idea of being stuck in a log cabin with someone you’re not talking to could drive anyone to divorce court.”

  “What about the family holidays in Portugal and Spain?” Nell insisted. “You swam in the ocean and Mom played tennis, and in the evenings you danced in the moonlight.”

  Todd’s eyes clouded over and he waved at the bartender.

  “Some places are magical, but no matter how you try, you can’t take that feeling with you.” He reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. “That reminds me. This is for you and Eliot.”

  “You can’t give us more presents. You already sent an electric coffee maker and a cashmere blanket,” Nell reminded him.

  “There’s no quicker route to divorce than starting your day without a decent cup of coffee, and there’s nothing better than snuggling under a blanket and watching a movie.” Todd grinned. “This is special; I promise you’ll like it.”

  Nell opened the envelope and looked at Todd.

  “A four-night stay at the St. Helena Inn in Napa Valley?”

  “Napa Valley is the perfect location for a destination wedding,” he said eagerly. “We’ll have a ceremony at the inn followed by a small reception. The weather is perfect in June, and the chef can use vegetables from his garden.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nell shifted on her stool.

  “Since I won’t be at the wedding, I thought you could have a second ceremony in California,” he offered. “The vineyards are gorgeous in the summer, and I’ve been saving a bottle of Cabernet.”

  “I don’t want two weddings.” Nell frowned. “I want both my parents there when I walk down the aisle.”

  “That’s impossible. Just breathing the same air as your mother raises my heart rate.” He looked at his glass. “By the time the minister pronounces you man and wife, I’ll have to be hooked up to an IV and transported to the hospital.”

  Nell put down her fork and glanced around the bar. A pianist was playing in the corner, and the other diners were talking excitedly about tomorrow’s weather conditions. The snow flurries were going to clear, and the Piz Nair was going to be perfectly groomed. This wasn’t the time to press her father; she needed to talk to him alone.

  “I should go.” She stood up. “All the other models are at Hemingway’s Club; I told Raj I had an important errand. But I can’t be late to get back. At night he stands in the hallway with a watch. If we’re not in bed by eleven p.m., he threatens to withhold our paychecks.”

  “The nightlife is the best part of St. Moritz. I want to take you for a whiskey at Devil’s Place, and to play the slot machines at the casino.” He stopped and smiled. “Or are you embarrassed to be seen with your old father?”

  “Nonsense. You’re the most handsome father I know, and you keep getting younger.” She kissed him on the cheek.

  “I feel younger. It’s because I’m away from your mother. I’m like Dorian Gray in reverse.” He chuckled. “I’ll stay here and have another cognac. It’s not every day a movie comes in under budget, and I get to spend time with my daughter.”

  * * *

  Nell walked through the village toward Badrutt’s Palace. The streets were strung with Christmas lights, and shop windows glittered with fake snow. A stuffed dog wore a plaid sweater in the window at Burberry’s, and two male mannequins were outfitted in black tuxedos at Roberto Cavalli.

  Christmas was all about family and togetherness; why couldn’t her parents put away their differences and agree to attend Nell’s wedding? Her mother could be as immovable as the statue in the village square. And her father meant well, but he was being just as stubborn.

  She climbed the steps of the hotel and entered the lobby. The lobby was incredibly busy, and she had to maneuver between women in tight pants and fur boots and men juggling shot glasses and cigarettes.

  An older woman stepped out of the elevator. She had blond hair and red lipstick. Her slacks were suede and she wore a brown sweater.

  “Mom?” Nell approached her. “What are you doing in the lobby? I thought you’d gone up to bed.”

  “I did everything I usually do to get to sleep: I took a hot bath and drank a cup of warm milk with honey. I even started the book I gave myself for Christmas.” Her mother stopped and smiled. “One of the best things about the divorce is I pick out my own presents. Your father never understood that I didn’t want expensive jewelry. I’d much rather have a book or a set of serving bowls. I’m just not tired.” She pulled on her gloves
. “I thought I’d go for a walk. It’s so pretty outside; I want to see the village lit up at night time.”

  Her mother couldn’t go out now! What if she ran into her father when he was walking back from the Carlton? They would both be furious with her, and the whole plan would be over before it began.

  “You can’t go for a walk,” she said hurriedly. “It’s almost ten o’clock at night.”

  “That’s one of the wonderful things about St. Moritz, you can walk any time you like,” her mother scoffed. “There’s no crime, and everyone is strolling around the village, peering into shop windows and admiring the Christmas ornaments.”

  Nell’s mother didn’t go to bars by herself. She wasn’t interested in meeting men. She’d said one marriage was enough; she wasn’t going to subject herself to that again.

  “The valet said there was a bear sighting in the village,” Nell said quickly. “Everyone is encouraged to stay indoors.”

  “A bear!” Her mother’s eyes were wide. “I spent a month in St. Moritz, and the only bear I saw was above the fireplace mantel of the chalet.”

  “They are quite rare, but there’s one particular bear that makes an appearance every Christmas. Why don’t we go up to my suite?” Nell took her mother’s arm and led her to the elevator. “You can help me choose the fabric for my wedding dress. Felicity brought tons of samples; she’s going to design something unique.”

  “I’m so happy you and Eliot are having a proper wedding. There’s nothing more beautiful than a bride in a white wedding dress,” her mother said, nodding. “Your father and I were married by a justice of the peace. I should have known then that it would never work.”

  “I can’t wait to show you the yacht club in Nantucket where we’re having the reception,” Nell gushed. “Eliot’s family has been members for years. One of his uncles knows Dad. They met at the America’s Cup race in New Zealand.”