Sleeping Beauty (54 page)

He walked around to Anne's side of the car and opened the door for her. When she stood before him, he took her hand before she could stop him and kissed her cheek. “You're a remarkable woman, Anne. I wish we could have had much more time together. I wish you well.”

She stood on the walk as he drove off, watching his car until it turned the corner. She felt empty inside. The air around her seemed to darken. The evening had been clear and calm, but now it looked cloudy, and the wind had come up. It's going to rain, she thought. She went into her building, absently greeting the doorman, and took the elevator to her floor. I'm sorry, she said silently as she unlocked her door. I'm so sorry. She walked into her living room and curled up in the window seat without turning on the light. She was in her own home, she was alone, she was safe.

Safe, she thought. Safe. And then she realized she was weeping.

*   *   *

Keith stood in the crowd gathered around the towering spruce tree, snow sifting lightly under his collar, his hand
firmly gripping the back of Eve's lovely neck. “When is this damn thing going to take off?” he asked.

“They said five o'clock,” Eve replied. “Are you cold?”

“I'm bored. Out of my mind.”

“Oh, I'm not, it's too exciting. I guess it's because I'm new here. It's so nice, all these people, thousands of them—”

“Two, three hundred,” Keith said.

“And the snow, and the wreaths on the lampposts, and all the lights on in the Forstmann House, with those darling lace curtains at the windows . . . it's like a Christmas card. I guess it's too romantic for you. You're not a very romantic person, Keith.”

“I feel romantic about you,” he said automatically. “I'll prove it to you later.”

“I didn't mean romantic that way.” Eve's mouth tightened. She had definite ideas about the world. She worked two jobs, as a waitress at breakfast and lunch time, and a bartender at night, and she dreamed of big cities, limousines, silks, furs, and penthouses. And love. “Romantic is sitting and talking about things and making plans, and kissing and cuddling. All you want to do is go to bed.”

“Merry Christmas, everybody,” the mayor said, “and a very Happy New Year to one and all!” He pushed a button and the spruce tree burst into light. The crowd applauded; a group of schoolchildren began singing, “Hark, the herald angels sing”; and Keith turned to go.

“Isn't it perfect?” Eve asked wistfully. “So beautiful . . . like a painting. Keith,
look
at it!”

Keith turned back and contemplated the tree. He drove past it every day; it was part of the town. But he had to admit it was a terrific tree, sixty feet tall, perfectly shaped, shading Gideon Forstmann's front yard since he had planted it in 1889 at the corner of his handsome brick house. Keith gazed at the hundreds of colored lights and ornaments hung by schoolchildren, and thought of all the years he and his sister, Rose, and their parents had decorated Christmas trees. They'd had a good time. Everything was more fun in those days, he thought. But that was a long time ago.

“Don't you love it?” asked Eve. “This is such a nice town, everybody doing things together, sort of like a song, you know, with Christmas spirit and things . . .”

“It's the most fucking boring place in the world,” Keith said. “Tourists come here and have a good time, but if you live here, what the hell is there to do? I mean, there's nothing going on. No deals, no nothing. I'm getting out of here as soon as I can and get to a decent city.”

“Oh!” Eve cried. “I didn't know! Take me with you! Would you, Keith? Please?”

“I thought you loved it here. A great town, like a song, Christmas spirit, all that crap.”

“Well, but I thought . . . I mean, I didn't know you didn't like it.”

Keith grinned. “I do. I love it here. I'll never leave.”

“You're just saying that to confuse me. You'll take me, won't you, Keith? I'd love to live in New York; I've dreamed about it forever.”

“Not New York. Washington, D.C., capital of our country. That's where I'm going.”

“Oh. I don't know anything about Washington. But I'm sure it's wonderful; it's a very important city. When are you . . . I mean, were you thinking of any special time to go?”

“As soon as I can.” That was the trouble; setting a date. He always got to this point and then got stuck. It wasn't that he was scared of leaving the valley; he wasn't scared of anything. It was more that he wasn't going to dangle out there alone anymore. He was going to latch onto somebody; that's the way people got what they wanted. Being part of deals, and people doing what you told them to, and everybody envying you. The point was, there was no way you could stay a kid forever, but you could make sure there was always somebody out there who'd take care of you. That was the thing; it was really shitty to have to grow up, but there were ways to make it more fun. That's what he was working on.

And maybe he'd take Eve with him. She was really pretty in a sort of china doll way, and she'd be good to him; he
could bend her around his little finger. He caressed the back of her neck. “I'll let you know when I'm ready to take off. And I'll think about taking you with me. I promise. Isn't that a pretty tree? And isn't the town pretty?”

Eve nodded, trying to keep up with the shifts in his mood. “I like it, the way everybody keeps the lights on all the way to June.”

Asinine, Keith thought, but it made people like Eve happy, and the tourists, too, and everybody else who thought it was romantic.

“Very pretty,” he said again. “Like you. Are you ready to go?”

“Where?” she asked.

Not bed, he thought, though that was where he had planned to spend the evening. Bed was out of the question until later, her tight mouth had told him that. “Drinks at Timothy's,” he said, “and dinner at Larch's.”

“Oh, Keith.” Her eyes were shining. “Sometimes you say exactly the right thing. But . . . Larch's! It's awfully expensive, you know.”

“We're celebrating. Twenty days to Christmas, the Forstmann House tree is lit, and we're having a good time. Why shouldn't we celebrate?”

Eve put her hand through his arm and squeezed it. “And we have all night to do it.”

Keith glanced at her as they walked on the snow-packed sidewalk with the crowds of people bundled up in sheepskin and furs and colorful down ski jackets. She wore a red and black puffy jacket and her mouth was full and glossy, not tight at all. Keith grinned. You don't get anywhere by being romantic, he thought, but you can get a long way by using romance. He decided that was a hell of a profound thought, and he was exceedingly pleased with himself.

Everything pleased him that night, and he awoke the next morning feeling invincible, with his future stretching brilliantly before him. He eased Eve out of his apartment as soon as he could, and called Vince. “Listen, I've been thinking; there are things— Oh, are you busy?”

“I'm about to go into a meeting. What things?”

“I can call back if you don't have time.”

Vince was silent. There was an odd jubilance in Keith's voice; what the hell was he up to? He sat back, his voice casual. “I have a few minutes. What's up?”

“Well, I'm like wondering how much longer you're going to need me here. I mean, there's rumors all over town that The Tamarack Company's about to be sold, so if everything changes, you know, I'd be like out of a job. Two jobs. You know, assistant mountain manager and also with you.”

“I haven't heard that rumor.”

“Well, it's around. I mean, there's this guy, Ray Beloit, from Denver; he's been up here telling everybody how he's gonna fix up the place when he buys the company. Like the stores need neon signs because that's what tourists are used to, and we need a real hotel, you know, a Ritz or a Sheraton to get lots of conventions, and we oughta have high-rise apartments like in Vail 'cause that's where the real money is, and four-lane the highway and then like put a parking lot where Grover Park is . . . he runs off at the mouth like a goddam faucet. People're going nuts; there was even an editorial in the paper. He's a total ass; if he's for real, he'll never make it around here even if he does end up buying the company.”

Vince drummed his fingers on the desk. Beloit had never mentioned a visit to Tamarack. “He said
when
he buys the company?”

“Right. That's what got the rumors going. So what I thought—”

“What does William say? And Marian and Fred? You could have called them, and asked; you're part of the family and you live there, and it would have made sense for you to call.”

“They'll be here for Christmas. I can ask them then.”

“Christmas? All of them? They never come for Christmas. Most of them never come at all.”

“Well, they've all been here; I told you that. To see Anne. And they're coming for Christmas.”

“What about her?”

“Anne? She's sort of in and out. I see her every day when she's here; she always goes up the gondola with Leo when he does his morning inspection. It's like a ritual; nine o'clock sharp, up they go. And I saw her last night at the, you know, tree lighting, with Gail and Leo and the kids. She looked sort of out of it, she didn't look, you know, happy.” He waited, but Vince said nothing. “Anyway, I thought you could talk to Uncle Charles and find out if he's sold the company or what. It'd be kinda weird if he had; I mean, I don't see why the rest of them would want to, with things going better now. I mean, there's lots of skiers in town for this early and we've got tons of snow, and people who like canceled when the water was bad are coming back, or maybe there's other people coming, whatever, business is pretty good and the locals are all of a sudden happy as clams. So why would they sell now, when they wouldn't last September, when the water was zapped? I mean, they don't talk to me so I don't know, but I thought maybe they're in lots of trouble and nobody knows it but them. Like, they spent a pile on cleaning up the reservoir, and they're still running jillions of ads to convince everybody Tamarack's safe, and it must be working 'cause there's all these people here already, and we've still got February and March when it's always busy, so unless they're really out of money and like desperate, I don't get it. Anyway, what I was thinking was, with all this going on, I've got to figure what I do next—”

“I think I'll come up for a couple of days,” Vince said. “I haven't been there for a long time; I'll wish everyone a happy New Year in person.”

There was a dismayed silence. “I thought I'd come to Washington,” Keith said. “I mean, I thought you trusted me to like keep you up to date. I mean, that's what you told me you wanted, and I thought I'd, you know, go to Washington so we could talk about you and me, 'cause when this guy, or anybody, buys the company, I'm out of here. I've got a couple ideas but I definitely think we shouldn't, you know, talk about them on the phone. . . .”

“I'll be there”—Vince flipped through his calendar—
“December eighteenth, Wednesday, with my wife. Get us a room at The Tamarack for that night. We'll be in town as much of Thursday as I need; then we'll fly to Denver. Make sure there's a car waiting for me at the airport. I'll take the family, whoever's in town, to dinner in the hotel dining room. It's still good?”

“Great. It and Larch's are the best—”

“Find out who'll be in town and make a reservation for Wednesday night. Thursday morning you'll have breakfast with me there, at seven. If I want to talk privately to anybody in the family, I'll do it on Thursday and fly to Denver on Friday. If there's anything urgent for me to know before the eighteenth, call me; otherwise let it wait until I get there. Anything else?”

“No.” The jubilance was gone from Keith's voice. “It's okay, I can do all that. It . . . it'll be good to see you.”

When Vince hung up, he immediately called Beloit. “When were you in Tamarack?”

“Last? Thanksgiving. I've been there half a dozen times in the past year, Vince; you know I wouldn't buy a place without checking it out. Your brother turned me down again, you know. You think the third time'll be a charm? I'm getting kinda antsy about this, Vince. If it took me this long to get your campaign together, you'd be in real trouble.”

Vince took a sharp breath. “I'm going up there in a couple of weeks; I should be able to wrap it up then. In the meantime, stay out of there; you've got people crazy with all your talk about neon and conventions and whatever the fuck else you've been babbling about.”

“I thought they'd be grateful. They oughta be grateful; that place needs waking up.
Shaking up
is what it needs. I'm all for charm and small-town atmosphere, but what good is it if it cuts into profits? You gotta be practical, and believe me, those people are light-years away from practical.”

“Don't go up there again until you hear from me, around Christmas.” Vince hung up and stood beside the desk, drumming his fingers on its polished surface.
I'm getting kinda antsy about this, Vince. If it took me this long to get
your campaign together, you'd be in real trouble.
The son of a bitch, threatening him with a slowdown on his campaign. He wouldn't threaten him much longer, though. The day after the primary, Beloit was out. He'd lasted too long already, hanging on, throwing his weight around, because he was too strong in the party to ignore. But after the primary, when Vince was on his way to reelection with no serious opposition, and on his way to the White House, it would be easy to find other powerful figures in the party who knew where the money was, and how to get attention at the right time, in the right place. And Beloit, who'd been clinging to him for twenty-five years, would finally be gone.