by Leslie Pike
At the counter, I notice some sunglasses I like. But spending two hundred dollars on sunglasses just isn’t going to happen. It’s a good thing I put them back, because Finn snatched them up for himself. Before we leave, the salesgirl gives me a compliment. She says, “Those jeans look hot on you,” but when she says it, it’s kind of under her breath, as if she’s talking to herself. That was it. Just a little comment. But she doesn’t know I’ve never heard that, or anything like that before.
As we enter Park City city limits, it’s hard to know which direction to look. It’s the beginning of July, and the trees and mountains are really beautiful. I think God used a little more paint on this town’s canvas. The air is crisp and crystal clear. A seven thousand-foot altitude will allow for that. I can feel the beginnings of a headache. I’m not accustomed to this elevation. Finn passes me the, “Tips For Travelers” list, production provided to cast and crew. Lots of water is the big fix. I’ll be sure to have a glass or two between the whiskeys I plan on having tonight. Maybe I can talk Finn into finding a bar. I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem. He always liked to party. It looks like there’s one saloon after another, as we ride down Main Street.
“So where are we staying?” I ask.
Finn’s in a phone coma, reading a text he just got. But he’s smiling. He pauses a few beats before he realizes I’m talking to him.
“Sorry. My neighbor’s texting me.” He puts the phone in his pants pocket.
“Did she want to sit on your face again?” I say.
“Sadly, no. What were you asking me?”
“Where are we staying?”
The driver slows the car, then turns off Main Street, toward a gated road.
“Here we are,” Finn says.
We pull up to the gates that lead to a picture-postcard grouping of homes. An understated sign announces we have arrived at the Estates at Park City. But there’s nothing understated about the place. We’re only a few blocks from the heart of the city. These houses and condos must cost millions. They not only occupy pole position to the town’s action, but they also sit directly on one of America’s best ski runs. Homes here are actually on the mountain. Ski in, ski out. Right from their back doors. I can see the ski-chairs running up the mountain from here.
The driver brings his window down and punches in the code for entry. The substantial gates slowly swing open and we continue on. I half way expect St. Peter to be on a balcony greeting us. That’s how heavenly the scene is. About two blocks in, the limo turns on a street which winds up the hill. Ahead I see our condos. Massive wooden beams give it a western look. A very expensive western look. The building stands alone and looks like a luxurious ski lodge, divided into six units. It’s just two stories high, with each unit privy to an expansive view. There’s a wide balcony in front of every condo. I think I see a large hot tub in each corner. As we get closer, something catches my eye.
On the balcony of the condo directly over the entry to the underground parking garage, a woman has just risen from the hot tub. Her back is to us, and she wears only a tiny red bikini bottom. It rides up tightly between two fully packed cheeks. I get a fleeting image in my mind. But I’m used to dismissing these thoughts, so it happens automatically. But she’s a sight. Long legs, high and beautifully shaped ass, and alabaster skin. I can see a hint of her breasts when she moves. Her hair is long and blonde. It’s wet and dripping down her back.
“Slow down, driver. Let’s see who our neighbor is,” Finn says.
He’s seen her too. How could he not. The driver brings the car to a stop directly in front of her balcony. All three of us are craning our necks to get a look at what we haven’t seen fully yet. I’m aware I’m getting an erection. Balls. I grab the magazine Finn was reading and cover my lap. I could look away, but why? Finn opens the moon roof and stands up and out. He calls to the woman.
“Afternoon, neighbor. Lovely day,” says the spider to the fly.
I’m watching the whole thing unfold. Just a student in this weird classroom, sitting here with my hard-on, while teacher shows me how it’s done. I see her look over her shoulder. She doesn’t turn around, but she doesn’t scramble to cover herself either. She calmly reaches out for the towel hanging beside the spa and wraps herself. Then she turns. She sees Finn and smiles.
“I’ve been waiting for you! Welcome to the sandbox,” she says. Her voice is sexy, throaty and honeyed. Then she throws open her towel and flashes Finn. It’s just a quick movement, open and close, but I get the picture. Even from my compromised angle. That little floor show did nothing to alleviate my hard-on. I hear the driver’s unconscious grunt of approval as he takes in the show.
“The angels have kissed you with beauty, darlin’. I’ll have to get a closer look at that tattoo next time.” Finn is really pouring it on. It’s the first time I’ve heard his brogue since I got here. I don’t know if he’s trying to impress her, or it just came out when he got excited.
I didn’t see the tattoo. I was too busy looking at her breasts. Small, high and beautifully shaped. She kind of looks like Kate Hudson. She looks over the balcony, trying to see inside the limo, to where I’m sitting.
“Who’s in there with you?”
Finn motions for me to stand up.
“Get up here. Meet Barrie Blue.”
I stand up and surreptitiously adjust the problem in my pants. As I lift myself through the opening, I hear her call to me.
“What’s your name, sugar?”
I’m so used to saying Father Cruz, I hesitate for a moment. Finn jumps in and saves me.
“This is my friend, Paul. He’s going to be staying with me for the shoot.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say like a dork. Little Eddie Haskell. I can feel their eyes on me. Finn’s kind of laughing at my discomfort, and Barrie Blue is just staring and smiling.
“I didn’t know I was going to have two sexy men for neighbors. This is an embarrassment of riches. You know what, men? We’d make a good sandwich, the three of us. I’m going to call it a PBF. And I’m not talking about peanut butter.” She gives a little sexy giggle.
I don’t know how to respond to that one. I’m used to inmates making unwanted sexual innuendos. Ignoring them was the best response. I have no frame of reference when a woman does it. Other than the times I had to ignore aggressive female parishioners. But this is a completely different situation, and she doesn’t expect a response, I can tell.
“Finn, did you know our condos are right next to one another?” she says.
“No I didn’t, but let’s reward whoever made that decision.”
She turns back to me. “Hey, Paul, wanna cut a door between our places? We could visit each other whenever we want,” she says.
I can see she’s enjoying my poorly hidden discomfort. But I forgive her, because her smile is stunning. There’s every chance it’s melting my brain freeze. So I try to respond to her teasing appropriately.
“We could do that, Barrie. I’ll bring the sledge hammer.” I smile right back at her.
Hey, not bad, Paul. At least you didn’t bite your tongue and throw up because a sexy woman spoke to you.
Chapter Six
Esme
The last few days have been by far the most enjoyable I’ve spent in five years. All the way from Los Angeles, Kizzy and I never stopped talking and laughing. And by the time we crossed Utah’s border, it felt like we were friends. It doesn’t matter that there’s twelve years between us, or that she’s black and I’m white. It doesn’t matter that she’s confident, and I’m filled with doubts. She’s been the gifted shaper of her own life, and I’m nothing resembling that. All that information pales beside the fact that we like each other. At least I like her, and she acts like she likes me.
She’s an attractive woman with a style all her own. Her hair is on the short side and untamed. But it works to accent her striking features. She’s got beautiful lips and eyes, which need little makeup to stand out. And her chocolate-colored ski
n is to be envied. But I’m not envying her, I’m trying to study what makes a woman beautiful. She can be my teacher.
She wears everything well. The way she ties a scarf, or stacks bracelets, looks elegant and unique. She’s changed outfits three times in two days, while I just changed my underwear. Her mixing of colors in her wardrobe makes me think, “Why haven’t I done that before?” who am I kidding; I’d never have that bravery. What Kizzy has is an artistic soul. There’s no mistaking it. I’m trying to soak it all in, so I can learn from it. If anyone needs a fashion and beauty guru, it’s me.
Just listening to her talk lifts my spirits, and I’m pretty sure my IQ points too. She’s smart and well read. It’s obvious in her conversation. But not in a showy way. We were talking about our favorite childhood books. Hers were Charlotte’s Web, and The Secret Garden. I had read those too. Grandma always gave me a book on Valentine’s Day, because she said reading was one of her loves, and she wanted me to fall in love with it too.
Kizzy asked me what I was reading now. I was embarrassed to give my answer. I loved reading when I was in school, but once I was with Kevin, things changed. He was insecure and self-conscious about his own intellect. He used to say he was street smart, but not book smart. He consistently tried to make me feel stupid, but that was the one thing he couldn’t do. I’ve always known I was smarter than he was. Or at least I valued learning more than he did. For me, that’s the definition of smart.
Once, after we were married, I brought a book home from the library. The title was “The Prefect”. He saw it and said “The Perfect, what a stupid title.” I started to laugh and corrected him. That was a mistake. He got furious and grabbed the book from my hands. He threw it in the fireplace and told me to quit trying to be something I wasn’t. I never brought a book home again. It wasn’t worth it.
When I finished the story, Kizzy looked mad. She hates him already. I can’t blame her. There’s no way to make him sound good. I guess it would be possible if I lied about every single thing he did. And she doesn’t know the half of it. If she knew the extent of his viciousness, her head would explode. I’ve got to be careful not to talk too much about my horror stories. It might scare her off. Although I doubt she’s afraid of anybody.
There’s a delicateness about her, but not a weakness. It’s as if her softness is made of steel. I’d love to know how to become whatever it is that makes her that way. I need some steel in my backbone. I’d settle for tin foil. It would be an improvement over my wet noodle of a spine. Fear eats away at your self-confidence, until you feel breakable. That’s how I’ve come to feel over the past five years.
But listening to Kizzy makes me think there’s another way to live. And more importantly, another way to think. Everything she says, she says with authority. Like she knows exactly what she thinks about every subject. Not in a know-it-all way, just an assured way. I don’t think any man could tell her what to do. Or tell her who she is. She said if they tried, she’d no longer be interested in their company. She said that was an important lesson she learned early on. If she knew the things Kevin did to me, she’d know just how stupid I’ve been to stay this long. The further I get from him, the worse they sound.
I’ve called Grandma twice since we left. Kevin came over to her house once in the last few days. He walked in without an invitation. He went through every room, looking for me, and barely spoke to her. His parting words were, “I know you know where she is. When I find her, she won’t be seeing you again. I’m not fucking kidding, bitch.” That’s the last she heard from him. I’m praying she never sees him again. He thinks she’s old and useless, so his ignorance is our gain.
We can’t ask the police for help, because Kevin’s uncle is on the force. Even if he does his job right, Kevin will retaliate the only way he can. He’ll punish my grandmother. Even if it means his own downfall. No, we’ve thought it out, and the best way to handle this is the way we’re doing it.
Kizzy takes a sip of her Pepsi.
“Let me ask you this, Esme. What attracted you to that man?”
I know this is the question on everybody’s mind when they meet Kevin. Unless he’s putting on his fake personality for the benefit of someone he’s trying to get to like him. I can’t count the number of times someone who doesn’t really know him well has said, “He’s such a nice guy.”
I sigh at her question.
“He wasn’t always so bad. In fact at first I thought he was the best man I’d ever met. But I was fishing from a small pond. I really hadn’t met many men. And I was young. I know that’s no excuse,” I say.
Her smile is kind. I know she’s not judging me.
“Yes it is. I’ve forgiven myself for every stupid decision I made when I was young. There were lots of them. Just as long as we don’t keep making the same mistakes, that’s the way we learn.”
“I guess. Now all those red flags that were there before we married seem so visible.”
“Like what?” she says.
“His jealousy. I mistook that for love. And his anger I took for passion.”
“How old were you?” she says.
“We met in high school. I was seventeen and he was eighteen. Our hormones were raging. I wanted to stay a virgin till I married, and he respected that. We married the next year.”
“Too young. Much too young. What you need is to be with a man who knows how to treat a woman. One who doesn’t get his jolly’s from controlling you. You deserve that.”
I shake my head at the thought of being with another man.
“I’m not interested in any man, no matter how he treats me. I’m going to keep my head down, do a good job for you, and figure out how to get a divorce. That’s it.”
“Honey, that’s what you say now. And that’s ok, if that’s what you want. But have a little fun while you’re here. Be young. It’ll heal a multitude of sins.”
I don’t respond. Her words need to sit in my mind for a while.
We turn the corner and pass the sign that announces, “Welcome to Park City.” I release all thoughts and images of Kevin. He doesn’t belong here in this paradise. This is just for me.
“Oh Kizzy, look at this place,” I say.
“Let the fun begin. Look out for City Suites. They should be pretty close.”
I crane my neck, on the lookout for our temporary home for the next few months. My stomach twists with excitement. Ahead, about a half a block, I see the sign.
“There! On the left,” I say.
As we approach the driveway, I can see the lot’s full of cars and vans and a few food trucks.
“Looks like they’re full up,” I say.
Kizzy pulls into the one space available. She can maneuver her car like a NASCAR driver. Zip. She’s in.
“It’s the crew. Everyone will arrive by tonight. They want to be here for the Fourth of July celebrations tomorrow. Then we start filming on Monday. Gives us the whole weekend to get settled. Let’s get in there and check in. I’ve got to look over Wardrobe, make sure everything got here.”
I’m so excited I can hardly contain my joy. This is it. I made it. Thank you, God. Thank you, St. Jude. I’m out of the car the second she turns off the engine.
We walk into the lobby, and it’s buzzing with people. There’s a line at check-in, and there’s a crowd waiting to be seated at the Suites Café adjacent to the front desk. I hear happiness in the voices. There’s laughter and greetings and something I’m not used to. The ease that comes from familiarity. I can sense their histories have crossed. Maybe they’ve worked together before. Or maybe I’m just reading too much into the relaxing way they are together. Whatever it is, I’m drawn to it.
“Kizzy!” a stocky, red haired man calls from across the room.
Kizzy turns toward the voice, and a smile lights her face. “Roger, hi!”
She turns back to me. “Save our place in line. I’ll be right back.”
She hands me her purse and makes a beeline for her friend. I’m surprised when
I see her jump into his arms. He twirls her around, as if she was light as a feather. I wonder what he does on the film. She says something to him, then the two of them come my way.
“Esme, I’d like you to meet Roger Kane. He’s Craft Service.”
Roger takes my hand, and shakes it. “Hi, honey. Aren’t you a pretty one? I’m glad to meet you.”
“Happy to meet you too.”
I don’t know what craft service is, but I’m not about to ask. I suppose it’s something to do with servicing their craft in some way. Maybe an assistant to an actor. I’ll ask Kizzy later.
“Yeah, she ate all my Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups,” he says.
“Roger and I worked together on Liam Neeson’s last picture,” Kizzy says.
I have no idea who that is, or why this man had lots of Reece’s. But I nod and smile as if I do.
“Looks like we’re all getting here at the same time,” Roger says.
Kizzy looks a little disgusted. “Yeah, and we still have to check-in and get down to production before it gets too crowded.”
“You’re too late for that. I just came from there. It looks like an evacuation center.”
“Crap. What floor are they on?”
“Second floor. 210.”
* * *
We checked-in, got our room keys and went back to the car for our things. We grabbed a luggage dolly, knowing it would be quicker to get our suitcases to the rooms ourselves. Every hotel employee is busy. The Suites are in a box-like configuration, with a courtyard in the middle. Our rooms are on the far side. We make it up to the fourth floor and part at the elevator. She takes the dolly, because she has three times the luggage I do.
“I’m 412,” I say.
“I’m 405. Come to my room in a half hour. We’ll go down to the production offices and get our papers signed. You need to see how things work right from the beginning. Someday you may be doing this without me.”