Once More with Feeling

by Cynthia Baxter

  Laura was impressed. “How do you know so much about this?”

  “I read Cosmo.”

  In the lobby, an enormous fireplace in one corner had drawn a crowd, mostly men. At least Laura thought it was the fireplace, until she looked more closely and saw that the television next to it, tuned to a football game, was the real crowd pleaser.

  “I can’t believe people come all the way up here and then spend the evening watching TV!”

  “It’s a good way of separating the sports addicts from the guys sincerely interested in meeting women,” Claire said matter-of-factly. “You might even say it’s a service provided by the hotel.”

  “I hope you didn’t bring me here with the idea I might be interested in mingling with any of these people.” Laura studied the TV crowd. “My God! Most of them still have acne!”

  Claire ran her fingers through the champagne-colored stubble that constituted her hair. “What’s wrong with a little meeting and greeting?”

  “I think Julie had the right idea. A nice, hot bath and a good night’s sleep are beginning to seem better every minute.”

  “You sound like my grandmother. No, even my grandmother’s more fun than that. Come on, Laura. This is your chance to party! What good is sitting alone in your room—”

  “Surely you’re not about to suggest I come to the cabaret?”

  “I think Maid Marian’s Bar and Grill is a much better choice.” Claire had already lured her as far as the doorway of the hotel bar. Peeking inside, Laura saw that beyond lay a cavern of darkness, reeking of beer and cigarette smoke. The music was turned way up, the bass throbbing so hard the glassware vibrated. “You’ve got to get your feet wet sometime, as they say.”

  Laura surveyed the scene before her. “Obviously the people who say that have never been confronted with a roomful of drunk college students rubbing up against each other and trying not to vomit in each other’s presence.”

  “There are some grownups here,” Claire insisted. “Look at that man over there. He must be pushing fifty.”

  “He’s the bartender.” Suddenly Laura froze. “Uh-oh. Check out that man over there. Discreetly.”

  “Which man? Where?”

  ‘The handsome one, by the mock Tiffany lamp. Tall, blond ... looks like he just stepped out of a men’s underwear ad?”

  Claire directed her gaze in the direction Laura indicated. When she gasped, Laura knew she’d spotted the right guy.

  “Laura, he’s gorgeous! God, everything about him is perfect. The way he’s holding his brandy snifter, that Rhett Butler smile, those broad shoulders underneath that Icelandic sweater—”

  “How do you know it’s Icelandic?”

  “Hell, Laura. It could be from Sears for all I care. My main interest is how he’d look with it off.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested in having a relationship with a man.”

  “Who said anything about a relationship? You’re right; that’s the last thing I need. You let a man into your life, and the next thing you know, your toilet-paper roll’s installed backward.” Claire’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t mean I’m above treating one as a sex object every now and then.”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, but it looks like I’m the apple of his eye, not you.”

  “You’re right. And he’s coming this way.”

  “Tell me you’re joking!”

  “If I’m joking, a lot of very attractive women on this side of the room are drooling for no good reason.”

  “Oh, no! What should I do?”

  Claire cast her a look of incredulity. “Bat your eyelashes, laugh a high, tinkling laugh, and tell him you’re a millionairess.”

  “Get serious, Claire.”

  “I am serious.”

  The tall, blond man stopped mere inches away, and smiled down at Laura. His blue eyes sparkled. “Hello.”

  Laura was unable to come up with anything equally clever. She was relieved when Claire filled in for her.

  “You know,” she said, batting her eyelashes and laughing a high, tinkling laugh, “my friend and I were just wondering about something. Maybe you could help us out.”

  “Perhaps I could.” His words were meant for Claire, but his eyes remained fixed on Laura. She was beginning to wonder if she had food on her face.

  “Who do you think make better skiers? Men, who have most of their strength in their shoulders ... ?” Pointedly Claire stared at his. “Or women, who have their strength in their hips?” She thrust hers out for show-and-tell.

  “Actually, I haven’t the faintest idea,” he replied. “I work for the tour company that brought up the group from New Jersey.” With a shrug he added, “I just drive the bus.”

  Claire only looked crestfallen for a fraction of a second. Laura guessed that was how long she’d taken to remind herself she wasn’t looking to have this man’s children ... only to work on some of the preparatory steps.

  But it was too late. The man’s attention was by now concentrated completely on Laura. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  Claire rolled her eyes.

  “Well,” said Laura, “I’ve been to New Jersey.”

  “No, no. Let me see. I used to work for UPS, so I got around quite a bit....” He peered at her for an embarrassingly long time, then snapped his fingers. “I know! The Cachet Modeling Agency!”

  Laura could feel herself blushing. “Heavens, no. I—”

  “Yes, that’s it. I know I’ve seen you there.”

  “Really, I never—”

  “Weren’t you the receptionist?”

  Laura grabbed Claire’s arm. “Will you excuse us? It was nice talking to you, but, uh, our boyfriends are waiting for us back at the room.”

  “They’re millionaires,” Claire added, allowing herself to be dragged away.

  Once they were out of earshot, Claire groaned. “Laura Briggs, what is wrong with you?”

  “What did I do?”

  “That ... that Nordic god was trying to pick you up!”

  “I know what he was doing.”

  “So?”

  “Claire, I still feel married!”

  Claire sighed impatiently. “It’s been over a month since you told Roger to kiss off.”

  “I think it’s like having a foot amputated. You can still feel it, even after it’s long gone.”

  Claire shook her head. “The problem with you is that you’re not angry enough.”

  “I’m angry!” Laura insisted feebly. “I’m very angry. I never told you how I lie awake nights, trying to think up ways of killing him without getting caught. Ways of getting back at him for all the time he stole from me.”

  “And you don’t think a long night of sweating up the sheets with Loki the God of Fire is a good way of getting back?”

  Laura held out her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I’m just not ready.”

  Claire slung a sisterly arm around her. “Okay. I’ve been there. I guess you’re entitled to a little time. A little space. A king-size bed, all to yourself.

  “But once you’ve passed through this phase ... watch out, single men! None of you will be safe! Not the short, fat, bald ones, not the skinny, nerdy ones with pens in their shirt pockets ... I predict that one of these days you’re going to wake up and be like the proverbial kid in a candy store.”

  Laura wasn’t convinced. “Believe me, Claire,” she said, grimacing, “it’s going to be some time before I manage to forget what a bad effect candy can have on your teeth.”

  * * * *

  “Look at us.” Claire marveled, staring into the mirror. “We look like bionic Barbie dolls.”

  Studying their reflection, Laura had to agree with her. What set skiing apart from all other sports, she’d learned, was not the need for skill, balance, coordination, or even nerves of steel. It was owning a complete wardrobe specially designed to keep people warm and dry as they foolishly ventured outdoors where it was cold and wet.

  To outfit themselves for trying
on the persona of Frosty the Snowman, Laura and Claire had begged, borrowed, and shopped the sales at Ski Bum Warehouse. Julie, the experienced one, already owned two or three of each required garment. Now, inspecting the threesome one last time before heading out to the Bellinski Ski Tours bus, revving its motor in the parking lot right outside their window as it prepared to head for the slopes, Laura had to agree with Claire.

  “It’s quite dramatic,” she said. “Me all in purple and green, Julie in navy blue—”

  “And me in hot pink.” Claire groaned. “I look like the first forty-year-old snow bunny in history. Honestly, I don’t know how I ever let you talk me into buying this.”

  “It was on sale, remember?” said Laura. “Seventy percent off is a very compelling argument.”

  The one saving grace was that everyone else on the tour bus looked more or less the same. But Laura forgot all about how absurd she felt once they headed up the mountain, past some of the most dramatic scenery she’d ever seen. Everywhere she looked, the theme was ice. The mountain streams they passed were frozen over. Huge icicles, six, eight, ten feet long, hung down from cliffs menacingly. Of course, she couldn’t help wondering if the narrow road that meandered along a very steep drop was also covered with ice. Rather than contemplate that possibility, she concentrated on Kurt, moving about the bus distributing ski boots with the good cheer of a flight attendant.

  “Okay,” he announced, once the bus had crept off the horrifying mountain road and into a parking lot that looked considerably more safe. “It’s now eight-forty. We’ll be leaving here promptly at four-thirty.”

  “That’s eight hours away!” whimpered Claire, sitting beside Laura.

  “It’ll speed right by,” Julie assured her. There was a glaze in her green eyes and a flush to her cheeks that scared Laura. She reminded Laura of the mad scientists in science-fiction films. “Once you get up to the top of the mountain—”

  “Uh, you’re not going to rush right off, are you?” Laura asked nervously. “You did promise to give us a few pointers.”

  Claire was nodding. ‘That’s right. Don’t forget that this was your idea. Yours ... and that patient of yours with the midlife crisis.”

  “Just one more thing,” Kurt was saying. “The temperature outside is seven—”

  “Seven?” Claire croaked. “Did he say seven?”

  “With the wind chill, it’s way down below zero. You’ll notice frostbite warnings have been posted—”

  “I told you we should have gone to one of those islands where they hate Americans!” hissed Claire.

  “Just remain alert, folks. If you notice any numbness, any tingling sensation in your extremities, go inside and get warmed up.”

  “No,” Claire shot back, “we’ll just stay outside until we turn into snow angels.”

  “Oh, Claire,” chirped Julie, shooing Claire and Laura off the bus, “once you get moving, you won’t even notice the cold.”

  “Right,” Laura muttered. “We’ll all be too busy trying not to slide down a five-hundred-foot mountain slope covered in six feet of ice.”

  While Laura would never have admitted it to the cynical Claire, she was actually overcome with Christmas-morning excitement as she shuffled off the tour bus with the others. She was about to test herself in a way she’d never been tested before, to go one-on-one with Mother Nature, the most formidable opponent of all. The icy air blasting through the open door of the bus was her call to battle. The mountain beckoned, tall and proud and ready to be conquered.

  It wasn’t until she tried climbing off the bus that she realized just how difficult it was going to be.

  “How are you supposed to walk in these things?” she demanded. Not only did the ski boots weigh as much as the concrete shoes gangsters use for drowning their adversaries, but with her feet encased entirely in the hard, shiny synthetic material, they had no choice but to remain at ninety-degree angles to her shins.

  “You’re not supposed to walk in them,” Julie replied calmly. “You’re supposed to attach your skis to their bottoms and ski in them.”

  “I’ll never again complain about new shoes,” Laura muttered. Steeling herself against possible disaster, she clomped around the parking lot. Keeping her balance was no easy task. Yet, moving with all the grace of a rhino in roller skates, she made her way to the side of the bus, where Kurt was patiently distributing skis to the members of the group.

  * * * *

  After an hour on the bunny slope, the nickname for the gentle incline where small children were taught the ups and downs of skiing, Julie pronounced Laura and Claire ready to try the real thing.

  “But I haven’t even mastered the rope tow!” Claire protested. “If the attendant with the potbelly and the cigar comes over to help me up out of the snow one more time—”

  “The rope tow is the hardest part of skiing,” Julie insisted. “No one should be subjected to it. You’ll find the T-bar much simpler.”

  “Oo-o-o-o-oh ...”

  Riding up the T-bar alone, Laura could hear Claire behind her. She tried to rise above her friend’s fear, preferring to side with Julie on this one. If Julie could do it, Laura reasoned, so could she. Of course, Julie’s job demanded a working knowledge of how every single part of the body functioned, something that was bound to be helpful while plunging down a mountain with nothing for protection except two skinny little ski poles and more waterproof layers than a fish.

  Hopping off the T-bar, sliding down a little slope designed to put the fear of God into people about to descend the mountain, literally took Laura’s breath away. Still, she had to admit it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience. By giving in, letting it simply happen, she sensed, from somewhere deep inside, she would pull it off. As she waited for Julie and Claire to catch up, she was exhilarated over the prospect of her first ski run.

  Claire apparently did not share her enthusiasm.

  “You can’t be serious,” she said tartly. “This is all a cruel joke, right?”

  “You’re going to love it,” Julie insisted. “The crisp white snow, stretching on as far as the eye can see, the sensation of icy air on your face—”

  “Don’t forget all those cute, single guys out here on the ski slopes,” Laura reminded her.

  ‘True,” Claire admitted. “After all, I did notice that the parking lot back at the ski lodge looks like a Mercedes dealership.”

  “There’s more to a man than his checkbook,” Julie retorted.

  “Reading Iron John again?” Claire shot back.

  “She doesn’t mean any of it,” Laura insisted to Julie, wanting to keep the peace. “Look, I think we need to stick together. Right now we’ve got a lot more to worry about than who’s taking us to the prom. We have to get from here ... to there.”

  Swallowing hard, Laura took her first real look at the ski trail ahead of her. Never before had she seen anything quite so long—or quite so steep.

  “You’ve got a point.” Claire followed her gaze. “On second thought, I think I’ll take the lift back down. I don’t think I’ll look particularly attractive showing up at tonight’s happy hour in a body cast.”

  “You can’t take the lift back down,” said Julie. “It only goes one way.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Claire’s face was the same shade of hot pink as her bunny suit.

  “No, Claire. Nobody rides down. The whole point is to ski down.”

  Laura, who had been entertaining her own thoughts about following Claire to the down escalator, quickly realized that panicking wasn’t going to solve anything.

  “Come on, Claire. We can do it. Kurt thought so.”

  “Kurt’s probably so stoned he thinks we’re all capable of flying.” Cautiously Claire peered over at Laura. “Are you really going to do this?”

  “We’ve come this far.” Laura was trying so hard to sound jovial that she reminded herself of a scout leader. “Come on, Claire. Race you to the bottom.”

  “I’ll catch up with you two l
ater.” Julie, finally losing patience, suddenly took off. She slid away with such ease that Laura and Claire simply stared, dumbfounded.

  “We’re not going to let her show us up, are we?” Laura said. “One, two, three—”

  Suddenly she felt herself moving. Through no conscious decision of her own, she had pushed off. She was sliding down the mountain, picking up speed.

  She was skiing.

  I’m doing it, she thought, both alarmed and astounded. I might end up with my face in the snow. Or my arm in a cast. But I’m really doing it!

  Her adrenaline pumping as she recited the rules Julie had drummed into her, Laura moved smoothly down the side of the mountain. Surprisingly, she managed to remain upright. She even had some control over where she went—and how quickly she got there. Most remarkably, not once did she tumble into the snow, despite a few close calls when she felt herself losing her balance or picking up speed too quickly. Every time she managed to ward off disaster, instinctively knowing what to do.

  Finally she reached the bottom. She was slowing down; gravity no longer grabbed at her quite so greedily now that the slope had leveled off.

  I did it! she thought, wrapped in a glorious euphoria, feeling more alive than she had in months. I came down the mountain!

  Blinking in the bright sunlight reflecting off the white fields of snow, Laura looked around for her friends. Julie was way ahead of her, already in line for her next ski-lift ride. But Claire was still halfway up the mountain, trying without much success to pull herself out of a snowbank. She looked like a giant pink turtle that had landed on its back.

  Laura was thrilled she’d done so well. Not as well as Julie, but certainly better than Claire. She’d survived. She’d had her doubts, experienced fear ... but gone ahead and, in the end, triumphed.

  Pausing only a moment to catch her breath, she headed toward the ski lift, ready for more, awed by the discovery that she was capable of things that she’d never dreamed of.

  Chapter Eight

  Laura pushed the back door open slowly, afraid of what she might find—or what she wouldn’t find. Her worst fantasy was that she’d come home from her weekend of picking icicles out of her collar and cuffs to find that her house had been stripped bare, her microwave, the doors of the kitchen cabinets, and even the switch plates carted off like booty from the Crusades.