by KT Morrison
“Well, this’ll be the home stretch now, I’ll see you back at the house.” He swished off looking lively. He had a strong build. She could see the muscles in his legs working under his tight black leggings. Not bad for a guy his age at all.
She shook her head as another one passed her. Another wide waisted nerd with grey in his beard. She was getting smoked by guys twenty, thirty years older than her.
But she was going to finish. She was determined. Her new boots were doing her in, her ankles felt swollen and wrenched. Her back hadn't got any worse in the last hour but it hadn't gotten any better. She had just come to accept it. She didn't even know any more why she was struggling to finish. Jay wouldn't care. Or maybe she thought he would care? It's not like he would jump to some generic drug if she'd had a hot chocolate back there and got in the white-beard’s pickup and gone back to the house.
He'd respect her tenacity. Might not even be something he'd acknowledge right away, not something he would be conscious of. He'd just have a better consideration of her. She was the type to gut it out, push through, do what she had to. She didn't win but she didn't quit and that would mean something, right? That had to count for something.
She was all alone on the trail now but she knew there were people somewhere behind her. She wasn’t going to be last. The sun was low now, below the tree-line. It turned the pines into black shapes with soft, blue pastel snow cradled in their boughs. She had to be close. This must be just over six hours out here. The last two hills she’d crested crushed her when there was no house in sight. But it would be soon. Soon she’d come around a corner, maybe over a hill and it would be finally over. And when it was she’d be happy and gracious and not let anyone know how much pain she was in.
Instead of seeing the end she heard it. Faint at first. She stopped skiing for a moment and listened. Loud music. Not far. She started up again elated that it was the end. She couldn't believe it. Why would he ask her to come here and do this? Why would he think that someone who doesn't ski would be able to do this? The tendons in her hips were what hurt the most. Each step forward now was excruciating, and it was about half of what her normal stride was just, oh six hours ago. It was like an electric cord up the centre of her thigh shooting bolts of lightning into her hips.
She was done and as she turned the last corner, hearing the music clearly, the lyrics, she wondered if she could have gone any further. Someone spotted her and people got themselves to what looked like a little makeshift finish line just as the trail opened up into Jay's yard. She was so happy to see that beautiful house. As she got to them they spun noisemakers and clasped her on the back. She smiled for them all and stood tall on her skis not letting them know she thought she might not not make it. Someone handed her a beer and she skied off to the side and leaned on a retaining wall and stabbed the bindings with a pole, sure that this would absolutely be the last time she would take a ski off because she was never going to put one on again.
She put the beer on the wall under a shrub and left it there. She wanted food. She wanted wine. She wanted to sit down and she wanted to be dry, and she wanted to be warm.
Jay found her and put an arm around her. “So proud of you,” he said.
“I’m just glad there’s so many doctors here,” she said clutching her chest.
He laughed and put his hand on her back, said “Why don't you go in and get changed, have a shower if you want, there's food, there's people in the hot tub, there's music. Promise me you won't go yet.”
A shower was a fantastic idea. Hot shower, hot as Kate would make it. Steam-fogging-up-a-mirror-hot. Then she was going to eat, and she was going to sleep. She couldn’t stay here, though.
She picked her skis up and brought them to her Subaru. She had nowhere near enough energy to get them onto the roof rack. The car was unlocked and she just threw them into the hatch and closed it up. She made her way into the house, making little pleasant exchanges with people in the living area, hanging out in the kitchen, wine glasses in hand. She felt an occasional pat on the back.
She made it to the bedroom and closed the door behind her. She pulled her jacket off and the fleece and threw them on the bed. Her back and shoulders ached so bad the pain shot up into her neck and she winced taking the clothes off. She peeled the pants off and then looked at her feet. She was shocked—sure she’d find enormous welts, blisters on her feet or heel, but there was nothing. She felt the pain, but they just looked a little red. She sat on a chair next to the bed and rubbed her feet for a minute. She really had to get out of here. She was ready to pass out. She just wanted to close her eyes. She fell asleep in the chair until her head fell back and she woke herself with a start, actually said something out loud answering a question no one asked her. She stood up and felt dizzy and she made her way to the bed and lay face down on it only wearing her panties and a watch. Just closed her eyes a minute.
When she woke up and looked at her watch it had been an hour and a half that she was out. “Ah, shit,” she said. She got to her feet in agony and went to the ensuite bathroom and ran a hot shower. She took the panties off and it occurred to her she probably wasn’t supposed to wear those under the lycra. She looked at her ass in the mirror and saw painful looking grooves dug into her flesh from the elastic.
She stood in the hot shower for as long as she could, but she kept thinking she needed to get back up to the party. She wanted to stand there for an hour. She dried herself off and put on a warm sweater and a pair of black yoga pants, then slowly, painfully made her way back up the circular staircase and to the party.
There were noticeably less people now, but everyone seemed real loose after they’d had a few drinks in them. The music was loud and people shouted to be heard over it. Public Image Limited. Her father’s music. A wave of sentimentality came over her, made her feel good. These people could be alright.
“Hey,” she heard, turned and saw him. Pointing a middle finger at her while he gripped an imported bottle of beer. The guy from the Porsche. His cat’s eye sunglasses were off now and he didn’t have a little expensive fleece beanie on and it made him seem a lot more pleasant.
“So glad you could make it today,” he shouted at her, close. “Jay was hoping you’d show up.”
“He was?”
“Yeah, I had lunch with him last week, he was pretty stoked that you might come.”
He was glossy and happy, beer soaked. She realized he was saying things she probably wasn’t meant to hear. She realized too, that his Pharm Rep label that morning wasn’t an indictment, he was just putting a face to a name.
“Where can I get a glass of wine?”
“Oh shit, let me get you one,” chivalrous when he hadn’t seemed the type. Maybe he just needed a few drinks in him, turn him into a normal person.
She made her way to the buffet table just under the stone half wall that divided the vaulted living area from the kitchen. She’d missed the most of it, everything picked through. There was enough for her to eat, but she somehow found it suddenly unappetizing, scraps of food on bare plates. She buttered a roll and ate that, felt a warm blood sugar surge and closed her eyes to it. Felt it raise the hair on the back of her neck. She was brought her glass of wine but Porsche was escorted away by his friend, a helpful arm around his neck, before he could say anything more. She figured maybe someone was on to his loose lips, wanted him quiet. She hoped Jay didn’t have feelings for her. That would be very awkward. She’d be flattered, but the last thing she wanted to do was negotiate some puppy love minefield with one of her best customers.
The first glass of wine went right back, and she poured herself another. She worked her way through the people still left, joining in their small groups, being gracious and friendly, putting on a show for them, for Jay. People dropped out, saying their goodbyes, heading home, waving from the door. Soon she found herself sitting by the fire in an armchair next to Jay talking over the coffee table to two close friends.
She sat with them a while, enjoyed li
stening to them talk, earnest things about surgeries, new techniques, old times, biking, skiing. She felt very sleepy, and she realized the wine had hit her hard. She felt a little legless, but she chose to enjoy it, feel it. It had numbed her, she could feel the tension in her muscles, the ache in her knees and her hips, but it felt cottony, far away. She thought about another glass. Would love one. But could she stay here? Would that be alright? Not with Jay, but with her. The thought of being behind the wheel for an hour and change was daunting. She should probably stay. It was the smart thing to do. She forced herself up and poured another glass.
Half way through that one she realized she couldn’t stay here. She had to go. It was just Jay and two friends left, an oncologist and her husband. It was time to leave. She definitely didn’t want to be the last to leave. That could be as unseemly as staying and keeping it professional, just sleeping and leaving first thing in the morning. No one would believe that. She had to be witnessed leaving. Everybody loved their dirty fantasies, projected them onto others whenever they could. Of course, they would say, she was there when we left, he says she went back to her hotel but, wink-wink, blowjob face, tongue stabbing in cheek.
“I should really get myself together. Get going.” Kiley stood up.
“Gosh, you have to drive? How far are you going?” The oncologist was concerned.
“She’s staying in Grand Junction,” Jay said.
“Couldn’t she just stay here, Jay? It’s late, she looks exhausted—”
Kiley said, “It’s not too far, I’ll be all right.”
“I offered, she’s more than welcome to use a guest room,” Jay said.
Kiley waffled. The thought of walking downstairs, packing her things up, getting in the car, did she put her skis in there, driving all the way back, checking in to the hotel, bringing her bags to the room. Fuck. “I have a lot to get ready for the week, conference in Denver,” she said. If someone forced her right now, she would stay.
She excused herself from them, was gracious and friendly, and went down to the room. She grabbed all the fleecy things and the spandex, soaked with her sweat still. She tucked them into her bag, cleaned up the torn tags, tidied the bed where she’d laid on it, closed the light, the door. Stage one complete. She stopped in the TV room there, looked out at the water tower hot tub, lit up from below with halogen floods. She’d missed that, and she really could have done with some hot water therapy.
When she got to the main floor Jay was in the kitchen by himself, tidying up. He said, “I’m making some coffee for you, come and sit before you go.”
“Did they leave?”
“Yeah, they just left a minute ago.”
She sat on a stool at the enormous emerald tiled island in the centre of the kitchen. She leaned heavily on her elbows, said “I really could do with a cup of coffee. Thank you.”
He poured her a cup when it was ready, sat with her and had one as well. He talked with her about the day, about the house, how long he’d been there, what his kids did when they were here. It was nice. This was what she wanted. Aimed for. Making that relationship, a real connection with her customers. When she admitted she hadn’t really eaten, he jumped up, appalled. He opened the fridge, said he would make her something. She told him, Please don’t go to the trouble. But he was firm, she wasn’t leaving til he’d made her dinner. She was fucking starving. Had dreamed of the drive-thru on the way home, a Big Mac devoured on her hotel bed, a hot bath.
“I have steaks...I’m cooking you a steak,” he said, holding a slab covered in wax butcher’s paper.
She gave in easily told him how she liked them when he asked. He looked very happy to do this for her. She watched him sear two steaks in butter in an iron pan, then put them in the oven to finish them. He made them a salad while they baked, she watched his elegant hands, literally surgeon’s hands, gracefully slice up vegetables. His hands looked strong, long fingered and manicured.
She smiled at him while he talked and put on a show for her. Look at this guy, she thought. She’d never really seen him like this before, it was very different. It was nice in a way, but he was hitting on a girl who was twenty years younger than him. Isn’t that one of his daughters’ age? How typically mid-life crisis. He was better than this. He was a catch times ten for the right girl. Some little fitness hottie in her late thirties; she tried to think of anyone she knew but couldn’t come up with one.
How great would it have been to catch a young Jay. A young and handsome Jay in Med School. She wasn’t interested in having a man take care of her though, she did well on her own. But why couldn’t she land a Jay or a Mitch. They were always too old or too taken. Where was she when she was twenty that she didn’t find her soul mate. Jay was married when he was twenty. Guess he and Tess weren’t really soul mates if they weren’t still together though. That could have been her. Forty, divorced, probably no career, her youth gone. Kiley had no regrets, she loved her independence. She loved who she was.
The steak was perfect. Medium-rare and buttery, a New York strip. She instantly felt better with it in her. She ate the salad and when he poured her a glass of red wine she didn’t stop him.
He dressed well, looked good sitting and talking to her, swirling wine around his goblet. He was fit and handsome, black T-shirt, black cashmere cardigan and a steel Rolex. His tortoiseshell glasses were off, laying on the counter, and he looked better without them.
When he asked her about the hot tub she told him she’d fallen asleep in her room and really missed most of the festivities. He laughed at her.
“It’s still hot, you know,” he said.
She turned and looked out the window at it, fire still roaring in the stone column. She couldn’t. “I’d really love to, but I feel like I should get on the road.”
“It’s up to you,” he said.
She stood up and walked to the window with her wine, looked out at that inviting oddity spewing steam into the night.
“At least come out and take a look at it,” he said sliding the glass door from the kitchen and stepping out onto the deck.
She put her glass down, went out with him and he walked her over to the base of the water tower.
“You have to climb the ladder?”
“Yeah, it’s a real water tower,” he said.
“You love physical challenges don’t you?”
She let him climb up first, felt it would be weird to have him looking up her butt crack climbing up the ladder underneath her. They got to the deck and looked into the tub. Steam was practically bellowing from the surface. It was lit up by little white lanterns strung across the deck above their heads. It had started to snow and the moon was out, it was just a strange, magical little space he’d created here.
She said Wow for him, let him know she really was impressed. She said again she wished she could get in. She really would love to, everything ached under her clothes and this was just so inviting.
“I can’t,” she said, “I haven’t any swimwear.” Then prepared herself for something pervy, like We don’t wear suits around here.
But he didn’t, just said, “I might find you one inside, maybe Tess’ room or—”
She stopped him, said That was alright. She couldn’t wear another woman’s suit no matter how much she’d like to get in there. She stood and looked into the tub. You must be able to fit twenty people in it. It’s not like they were going to have their bare knees pressed up against each other.
“Just go in with your underwear, I don’t care...”
She scrunched her nose up at him, made a face. She didn’t know why that was weird, but she didn’t want to sit in there in her cotton underwear even if they were pretty clean.
“I’ll tell you what, he smiled at her putting his palms up in surrender, You may stay, I’d like you to—you’ve been drinking and you’re exhausted, and these mountain roads—or you can go, you can get in the tub, I think you’d really like to. Or not get in the tub. I know you feel like it’s maybe unprofessional. I�
��m getting in the tub before I go to bed, whatever you may decide, so I’m going inside to put on some trunks, and I’m going to come out and relax here with some wine before I hit the hay. I can see you off, or you can already be in the tub and I’ll have no way to know what you’re wearing in there, and I don’t care.” He turned, stepped towards the ladder.
He stopped, said, “I hope you’ll be in the tub—because you shouldn’t be driving and you know it. And you know I’m not a creep, right?”
“I know,” she said to him, watching him climb back down the ladder.
He was desperate to get her in there and she was desperate to find a reason that it would be okay to get in there. It was just going to happen.
She walked to the railing, saw him crossing the stone patio to the deck.
“Hey,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Can you bring my wine up?”
She walked back to the tub and put her hands over the warm steam. She was being silly—nothing was going to happen and they were the only ones there. She kicked her flats off and threw her socks next to them. She put a foot in the water. She was going to go in.
She took the sweater off and her shirt, lay them on a bench. She rolled the tights down and stood there in the cold in her panties and little bra. She didn’t want to go in with them. She wanted them to be dry when she got out. She looked around even though they were in the middle of nowhere. She unhooked the bra and got her panties off and hid them inside her wool sweater. She quick-stepped to the edge of the tub, found the little metal steps welded into it, and lowered herself into the scalding water. It was the best decision in her life. She didn’t want to get her hair wet, but there was no way around it, so she just let it happen, lowering herself into the heat right up to her chin. Goddamnit, why had she ever fought this?
She felt all that tension being soothed away. She lay back in the water and floated. She looked up at the stars, the moon lighting up the night above the mountain view. Big fat snowflakes wandered across the deck and she put her tongue out to catch one.