Crushing Crystal (24 page)

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Authors: Evan Marshall

BOOK: Crushing Crystal
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Chapter 26
I
paced around the pool wringing my hands, and tapping my teeth with my index finger. From outside, I watched Matt and Rick intently discussing their film project as they huddled over the kitchen counter together. As I came down from the high, all I could think about was how to get more coke. I actually dipped my fingers into the swimming pool and sniffed a few drops of water to help transport any residual cocaine that may have gotten stuck in my nostrils. As embarrassed as I am to admit it, I sneaked back upstairs to Kyara's room and scraped dust off her mirror as she slept just a few yards away. I then licked her mirror, and when I was done with that I did the same to the paper wrapper that Penny brought the coke in. I wondered how far she lived from Rick's house, and if she'd mind my calling her at five in the morning to buy a gram from her.
Later, I went back outside to watch the sunrise, which I thought would help me calm down. It was not a beautiful experience that made me feel one with the cycle of the planet. Instead, I grew annoyed at how long it took.
Hurry the fuck up! Rise already and let's get a move on with the day.
I remembered why I don't do cocaine anymore.
At seven, the guys were ready to hit the road and set a goal of being on the lift line by ten. We had time to swing by Matt's house and toss my packed suitcase into Rick's Land Cruiser (license plate: OffUAss).
Matt and I snuggled in the backseat and I decided to sleep on the drive up to the mountains. Thankfully, Rick believed in seats for his car. I detached my seat belt as I kicked my legs onto Matt's lap, and sunk into the seat for a nap.
“I'm glad you're here,” Matt told me as he wove his fingers between mine.
I knew this was my last chance to get some rest. “Me too, but I have got to get some sleep. I'm starting to get a headache and I feel like I'm going to start crying.”
He patted my head. “Relax,” he said. “We've got a good couple hours till we're there.”
Unfortunately, we were on the freeway before I closed my eyes, so I got the chance to sample Rick's driving. We were so close to the car ahead of us, someone in the next lane might think we were being towed.
“Um, never heard the rule about a six-car distance between you and the guy in front of you, eh Rick?” I said.
“As long as he doesn't stop suddenly we'll be fine,” Rick explained.
Of course, if he does stop suddenly, we'll be dead!
“You know, it's making me really tense, Rick. Would you mind putting a little space between us so I can relax and take a nap? I haven't slept since Wednesday night and it's beginning to take a toll,” I said.
Rick was silent for a moment. Then he looked at me through the rearview mirror. “This is a good opportunity to work on some of your control issues, Prudence,” he said.
“I was kind of hoping it would be a good time to work on my fatigue issues,” I said.
“Let it go. I'm driving now.” I had the feeling Rick was always driving.
“I understand that Rick, but as your passenger, my life is in your hands so I think I have some say in the matter,” I said, gritting my teeth.
Any time you want to step in Matt!
“I have never been in an accident that's been my fault, and I've been driving since I was—”
“Seriously, Rick. Get off his ass!” I shouted without thinking. “I can't relax knowing we're practically in somebody's trunk. Slow the fuck down right now, you lunatic!”
“Whoa! Someone's got a case of PMS,” Rick sang.
“Back off man,” Matt finally said. “Give her a break and slow down.”
“Oh what a fun ski trip this is going to be with shit like this going down fifteen minutes on the road,” Kyara said. She was already wearing her fur-trimmed pink hood and had painted her nails to match the exact color. “I think he drives like a dumb fuck too, Prudence.”
All I wanted to do was curl up in Matt's arms and spend the next few days sleeping and hanging out with my future husband. Who were these other people? Why was I going to strap sticks on my feet and slide down a snowy mountain anyway?
“Prudence, I want us to all get along so I'm going to slow it down a bit for you, okay?” Rick said. “But I want to share an insight I'm having about you. You are a real backseat driver. It's a very telling character trait. Look into it and I mean fast.”
I have an insight too, Rick. You're a World Class Prick. It's an even more telling character trait! Look into that fast.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but couldn't help peeking to check if Rick was keeping his promise to drive like he valued our lives. Matt began to stroke my lower legs and I fell asleep for about ten minutes before Rick popped in a motivational self-help tape.
I bolted awake. “Are we there yet?” I asked Matt.
“No, you've only been out for ten, fifteen minutes. Turn that down Rick! Malone is trying to sleep back here.”
“What if I told you there was a way for you to live the life you really want right now? What if I told you that all your dreams would absolutely, positively, without a doubt come true for you? What if I told you that complete happiness was all within your reach right now? What if I told you that everything you ever wanted can and will be yours—guaranteed? You'd probably want to know just one thing, and that's how. I'm here to tell you it all comes down to four words of advice I give to each and every one of my clients. I tell this to Tom Cruise. And I tell it to camera crews. You know what I'm going to say.”
An audience of hundreds chimed in for the chorus.
“Get. Off. Your. Ass!”
“Is this you, Rick?” I asked.
“Sure's shit is.”
“Tom Cruise is one of your clients?” I asked.
“No, Tom and I don't work together right now,” Rick said.
What's with this first-name business?
“Did you coach him before he got famous?” I asked.
“No, no Tom and I don't work together,” Rick said. “It's not a good fit for either of us right now.”
“But you said on your tape that you tell Tom Cruise to get off his ass,” I reminded him.
“No I didn't. I said I
would
tell him to get off his ass.”
“No you didn't. You said you
do
tell him this. You make it sound like Tom Cruise actually pays you money to have you tell him to get off his ass. Have you ever met Tom Cruise?”
“As a matter of fact, Tom and I have several mutual friends.”
Knowing his hair stylist doesn't make you Tom Cruise's personal coach.
“Tell me Rick,” I said in a slow cutting tone. “When exactly would you tell Tom Cruise to get off his ass anyway? Isn't he in like ten films a year? And doesn't he make like twenty-five billion dollars for every one of them? I just want to know exactly what he should be getting off his ass to do?”
Kyara turned to me and winked. “She's got a point, Ricky. The man's got a great ass. Let him sit on it a while. If he never makes another movie, he's still set for life.”
When I looked over to see if Matt was going to add anything to the conversation, I noticed that he'd fallen asleep.
“Shit,” Rick shouted, screeching on his brakes. “What's this bastard stopping for?!”
Perhaps it's because all of the cars ahead of him have also stopped, you half-wit!
“Prudence, no offense, but all of your bickering is distracting me from driving. Can you please just shut up and let me concentrate?”
“My pleasure. But if I can't talk, neither can you and that includes your prerecorded yammering,” I said.
It was official. Rick and I were no longer trying to hide the fact that we hated each other. It was war and the territory was Matt. Poor beautiful Matt, caught in the middle of our feud and didn't even know it. He softly whistled as he slept, and smiled gently. He looked so sweet. I wondered if he'd forgive me for killing his best friend.
As planned, we were standing on the lift line a little after nine-thirty that morning. I should say they were standing. I tipped over no fewer than a dozen times before we made it onto the chairlift. Thankfully, Matt and I rode together without Kyara and Rick. If he told me to get off my ass one more time as I struggled to get off the ground, I was going to stab him with my ski pole. As if falling was a conscious choice. As if being on my ass was a decision I made for the sheer thrill of being bruised.
“I know Rick takes a little getting used to,” Matt whispered. “But you and Kyara seemed to hit it off pretty well.”
“Matt, to be perfectly honest with you, I'm here to spend time with you. Rick and Kyara are fine, but you're the one I'm here to see. When do we get some time to ourselves?”
“Tonight,” he said mischievously. He wrapped both arms around me and began kissing my scarf.
I laughed, more tickled than amused. “Don't make me slip off this thing,” I said, looking down at the snowcapped pine trees. “God, this is beautiful,” I realized. I turned back and saw the lake and snow-covered mountains behind it.
“You're right. I've just been overwhelmed lately and am a bit worried about work. We just got back from Sundance and seeing what other people are doing made me really anxious about finishing up
Sour Milk
already. I promise, though, as soon as we get back, I'll focus completely on you.”
“Matt, I just want to spend time with you. You don't have to blow off your work. Maybe you could show me your film when we get back. Whatever you've got. Maybe I could be helpful. I don't need you to only focus on me. I just don't want to share you with all of these other people, that's all.”
We kissed and the world was right again.
Until it was time to get off the chairlift and I immediately lost my balance.
“I know, I know,” I said, holding my mitten out as Rick approached me. “I have every intention of getting off my ass.”
“Am I that predictable?” Rick laughed.
“More,” I smiled. With that exchange, we called a truce which lasted less than one minute. “You know, it's actually quarter of ten. What do you say we grab a hot chocolate before heading down the mountain?” I suggested.
“Are you afraid to get going, Prudence?” Rick asked.
“Rick, it's cold. I haven't eaten since I got off the plane last night and I could really use the caffeine,” I said. “Can we not get overly analytical about hot chocolate?”
Matt agreed. “Yeah, lighten up, bro. Let's get a drink.”
“I could use a cup of tea and shit,” said Kyara.
Sounds delicious.
The ski lodge was surprisingly crowded for that time of morning, but I spotted a family that was starting to clear away its breakfast plates. I walked over to the table and asked the mother if they were leaving.
“Help yourself,” she said. “We're just about to take off. Are you ready to hit the slopes, Molly?” she asked her little girl. Her daughter was a four-year-old version of her husband. Both had an intelligent look with curious blue eyes and straight brown hair. The mother looked back at us and asked where we were from.
Matt told her we just drove in from L.A.
“How 'bout you?”
“San Diego,” she told us. “It's my daughter's first time skiing today. Actually, Paul and I have never been either, so we're all learning together,” she winked at him.
“Lucy and Molly are faring a bit better than I am out there today,” the father said to us. “The things we do for love, right?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the table,” I waved at them.
Matt told me that he also wanted to start “our kids” skiing young.
Our kids?! One more thing we needed to discuss.
Chapter 27
T
he combination of cold air and fear was energizing. Matt showed me how to snowplow as we began toward the slopes. I got my balance and began in a skating motion for a few yards before falling. Matt helped me up and I was able to go another few yards. “Hey, I'm getting the hang of this!” I shouted.
“Wait till you get to the slopes, lady,” a young snowboarder yelled at me as he whizzed by.
“What did he mean by that?” I asked Matt.
“Well, we're not really at the slopes yet,” he told me.
“We're not? What is this then?”
“Well, it doesn't really have a name. It's the place before we get to the slopes. The flat area,” he explained.
“This isn't flat,” I said, pointing to the downward angle of the path.
Rick shouted “yeee haw!” before taking off with Kyara. “We'll meet up with you at Miracle Mile.”
“See you there!” Matt shouted to them.
“Miracle Mile is miraculously easy, right?” I asked.
“You'll be able to ski it no problem. Summit Run is too slow.”
“Too slow?” I asked. “How do we know what is too slow for me? I think I should start off on the slowest one.”
“I promise Miracle Mile is no harder than Summit, it's just faster.”
I figured I'd give it a try. When we met up with Kyara and Rick, the first word out of Matt's mouth was “shit.”
“What's wrong?” I asked.
“This run is closed,” he said.
Thank God!
“Oh well, let's just go down the slow run,” I suggested.
“No Prudence, you don't understand,” Kyara said. “We can't get to Summit Run from here. There's only one other way to get down from here.”
I did not like the sound of where this was going.
“And that's the black diamond run,” she finished.
“That's a hard one, I assume?” I asked.
“The hardest,” she confirmed.
“Except for double black diamonds,” Rick added. “Now Prudence, think of this as a gift. In life, there are no signs that tell you you're about to take a difficult run. At least you've got warning that there's a challenge ahead. There is power in knowing that the road ahead is a tough one.”
Any time you want to shut the fuck up, Rick!
“I'm sorry, Malone,” said Matt. “Just take it slowly and keep going from one side to the other. Don't let yourself get out of control.” Who lets themselves ski out of control? It just happens. That's why they call it out of control.
I did pretty well for about ten yards, but then toppled over a big lump of snow. My body hitting the ground made me feel like a wife being beaten by her drunken husband. Every time I hit the snow, I felt as though I should be hovering in the kitchen corner begging some dope in an undershirt to stop hitting me.
“Okay, hang tough, Prudence,” Rick said. “Get off your ass and keep skiing.”
Alas, my batterer.
I got off my ass and was determined to show Matt and his friends how I could focus on a task and master it. I bent my knees the way a ski instructor did as he whooshed by me, placed my skis close together and pointed my tips straight down the mountain.
“You go girl!” Kyara shouted.
I felt so completely exhilarated that I had no other choice but to say “swoosh, swoosh.” I flew past another skier and felt a rush of relief that I didn't crash into her. This was an amazing high for about fourteen full seconds—just long enough to pick up the speed to really damage my ankle when I fell and twisted it.
“Shit, are you okay,” Kyara said, the first to arrive on the accident scene.
“Is she hurt?” Matt followed quickly behind.
I looked at Rick as he arrived and said, “I can't get off my ass so save it, buddy.”
“I didn't say anything,” he defended.
“You were gonna,” Kyara said. “Can you get up?”
I tried to lift myself, but the pain in my ankle was so sharp I could not stand on it.
“Okay, baby, we're going to get ski patrol to take you down,” Matt said as he unstrapped my boot. “I'm sorry. We should have gone down Summit Run like you wanted.”
We should've gone to the Getty Museum like I wanted
.
As it turned out, I sprained my right ankle, which was a perfect excuse not to ski for the rest of the weekend. After the nurse at the local emergency room wrapped my ankle in an Ace bandage and gave me a set of crutches, she handed me instructions on caring for my injury. I knew one remedy I was more than willing to try—sleep!
Matt tucked me into bed at the cabin and lit a fire in the wood-burning stove. “Alone at last,” I said.
“The things you do to get me alone, Malone,” Matt said as he lay beside me, stroking my hair. “You get some rest now. You must be exhausted.”
“There's so much we need to talk about, Matt,” I said with my last bit of energy. Fading off with each word, I asked where we were going to live together. “Do you really want kids?” And with almost a whisper, “Why did you leave me?”
 
 
When I fell asleep that afternoon, I dreamt I was a princess trapped in a tower by a green-faced witch who was cackling about my “mangy little dog.” The tower was surrounded by a moat with pigs swimming in it. I hung my long brown Rupunzel-like braid out the window and watched the horizon for my prince to rescue me. Finally, Father rode up to the tower on a donkey. Though he was dressed in a long wool poncho and army cap, I knew he was on a secret rescue mission for the CIA.
“Father, you're here!” I shouted without any worry of the witch downstairs hearing my cries.
“Have you been waiting long?” he shouted up to my penthouse.
“Look at my hair, Father. Of course I've been waiting long,” I shot back. Even in my dreams I could be a bitch.
“I have to get to Cuba, Prudence. Hurry up and come down.”
“Do you want me to let down my hair so you can climb up the tower?” I asked.
“Why would I do that?” he asked. “Then the two of us will be stuck up there. Just walk down the stairs and let's go.”
I thought Father was a pretty lame CIA agent if he thought my escape from the witch would be that easy. “Just come down?” I shouted. “What about the witch?”
“Just tell her you're leaving,” he offered.
“But I'm a prisoner! They don't just let prisoners walk away, Father.”
“I think she's ready to let you go.”
“But what about the pigs?” I asked.
“Walk on them like stepping stones,” he suggested.
Oh how desperate the CIA must be these days, I thought. But he was the only one coming around with an escape plan for me, so I figured I'd give it a try. I scurried down the stone staircase in my bare feet and made it to the mile-high door before the witch stopped me and asked where I was going.
“I'm leaving now,” I half asked and half stated.
“Oh,” she smiled, revealing blinding white fangs. “Do you want a sandwich for the road? I've got an extra Pat and Dick's Honeymooner in the fridge. Extra honey mustard, right?”
Although I had been looking out the tower window for my entire period of captivity, when I stepped outside the door, my eyes were unaccustomed to the brightness of the sun.
“I brought your shades,” Father said, handing me Vilma's cat glasses. “Now let's get going before they close the doors.”
I had no idea where I was going with Father, or who was going to close the doors on us if we were late. Still, I climbed on the back of his mule and rode off into the afternoon sun.
Vilma's glasses must have triggered my next dream, in which she was the star. She showed up at the foot of my bed dressed in chains. “Wake up, bitch,” she snapped.
“Vilma? What are you doing in California?” I asked.
“Look I've got three minutes before I have to haunt a bitch in Sri Lanka so let's get a move on this,” she said. Vilma pulled a sheet of paper out of her leopard-print Kate Spade purse and began to read. “I am the bitch of men of the past, present and future,” she said as if she was way too cool to be cast in my Christmas Carol rip-off fantasy. “You know, Prudence if you can't figure this shit out on your own you're a dumb bitch and I don't have time to haunt dumb bitches.”
Dumb bitch? What happened to the admiration for my beautiful and lean tummy? I thought we were buddies, Vilma.
“I don't have time for this,” Vilma snapped. “Suffice it to say that your relationships with men in the future look pretty much the same as your past and present if you don't shape up.”
“Matt is the man of my future, though,” I called out to her as she disappeared. She was the only ghost I'd ever seen whose sign-off was giving the finger. “What's wrong with my relationship with him? I adore him.”
The next dream was equally bizarre. I was running a cross-country race where I was not allowed to stop for any breaks. I had my Deloitte tank top on and a pair of shorts. I started to feel drained and desperately in need of water when I saw my mother in the distance. “Thank God,” I muttered. “She'll have some water for me.” As I approached her, she was wearing the pilgrim dress she had on at Thanksgiving, doing needlepoint.
“Needlepoint?” she offered, holding out her supplies.
“Water,” I begged.
There she was again in the next state. She was standing at the side of the road, this time holding a pumpkin pie out to me.
“Pie?” she offered.
“Water!” I shouted.
Up the road a bit further, she was there again. I began to think she ought to be the one running this race.
“Hot cross buns?” she suggested, holding out a steaming plate of them.
“I need water!” I shouted. I was furious that she could not see that a woman who was overheated and dehydrating needed water, not dry bread.
“Hot cross buns?” she said again at the next roadside encounter. “One a penny, two a penny. Hot cross buns.”
 
 
When I opened my eyes, the cabin was empty. There was a note by the bedside table reading, “Back by five. Love you.”
I have never had to pee so badly in my life. When I hopped out of bed, I forgot about my ankle and fell to the floor where there was a piece of pizza crust. I picked it up and devoured it, then surveyed the rest of the floor for more. I hobbled to the bathroom and sat on the toilet for what was without question the longest stream of urine ever made. During this endless pee, I noticed a pack of breath mints on the sink and was able to reach them by using Matt's toothbrush as a hockey stick. Never has a breath mint tasted so delicious in my entire life.

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