Slippery Slopes (7 page)

We can do this,
Dove thinks.
We can be friends and chat about things like accommodations and holiday plans.
“I hear the hotel’s really nice. That’s what the ski team says, anyway.” She laughs, determined to be breezy and friendly.

“It’s fine. Five stars and all that.” His face doesn’t look like he’s singing the praises of anything special, though. “But I miss it here.” Max’s eyes penetrate Dove’s to the point where she has to look away.

Dove wipes her hands on a towel. “Suffice to say in terms of my cooking you aren’t missing anything. And it’s not as though Charlie’s on anyone’s Top Maids list.”

“She doesn’t seem like the dusting sort.”

“Far from it. And Melissa—well, she’s been rising to the title of host, but now who knows …” Dove thinks about Melissa, wondering if she should find her and bring her soup or something, but then she figures Melissa would want her to stay, to keep the party going as though she’s here to host it. “So don’t worry about what you’re missing here. I’m sure the hotel has everything you need.” Dove swallows as she looks at Max.
Why is life so complicated? Why does everything have to overlap
—
William and Max, jobs, holidays? If Max and I had stayed
t
ogether I never would have met William. But if William hadn’t taken the sailing job on Nevis I never would have had feelings for Max all over again. The two relationships are just inextricably linked.

A whiff of Chanel perfume announces Claire’s arrival before her words. Her bright red mouth forms a model-perfect smile. “The hotel really does have everything.” She looks at Max and Dove as if it’s all very normal, the three of them standing there. “They have fantastic room service. Don’t they, Max?”

Dove feels a frown forming. “What do you want, Claire?”

Claire puts a hand on her hip, leaning toward Max. “The same thing as you, I suspect.”

Dove shakes her off. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m here working. A job? I know it’s a foreign concept for you, but some of us need the money.”

Claire raises an eyebrow and clears her throat. “We all need things, Lily.” She shoots Max a meaningful look that raises a red flag inside Dove.
What exactly is going on with them? Are they together?
Dove wrinkles her forehead.
Why would Max tolerate Claire’s rude behavior?
“Some of us need money or a job. And some of us just need to—”

Max claps his hands, startling Claire into silence. Then he speaks quickly. “We should go. Now. Dove, sorry to bolt but I think Claire here needs to get some rest.

Without putting up too much of a fight, Claire reluctantly nods. Then she squints at Dove. “Yes, I suppose I could use a good night.
In bed.”
She highlights the last two words and immediately grips Max’s hand.

Dove stares at the two hands—Max’s and Claire’s—and thinks about finding them together at Max’s birthday, and how shattered she’d been.
How could I have called Claire my best friend? She’s so different now. Hard to believe she was the first person I used to discuss any prob
lem with, my confidante in every way. Max’s fingers curl lightly around Claire’s. Dove has instant recall for the way his fingers felt in her hair, the way his hand gripped her shoulder.
If I’m over him, really over him, why do I still feel some of that sting?
Putting on a brave face, Dove nods to them and goes off to manage the rest of the party.
For tonight, I’ll be host for Melissa. Tomorrow, I’m heading back to the travel office.
The longer she stays, the more she’ll have to confront those pent-up feelings for Max—and for Claire.

Chalet Girls—

Check out the front of this postcard! Is it the most fantastic view or what?! Lucky me, I’m experiencing it for real from my own new bedroom. Can’t tell you exact details in a postcard (you never know who reads the mail these days), but let’s just say the social life here is everything I dreamed of—and more.

Ran into (or, rather, surfed into) an old friend of yours, Dove, who was quite eager to talk. And Melissa, if you ever get tired of chasing ski bums around, head for the sand. It’s warmer, cooler, and
much, much more fun.

Yours with a tropical drink,

Harley

W
ITH THE VAN PARKED
in front of the supply store, Melissa slips the key out of her pocket and enters the large room. During the day, the place had seemed magical, filled with possibilities for the Winter Wonderland Ball, every inch devoted to amazing images. Now, though, with the night casting darkness through the windows, and shadows hulking in the corners, the place gives Melissa the creeps.

Two minutes,
she thinks, making sure to leave the door cracked open.
No way am I going to get locked in here.
She lets out a small scream when she bumps into something solid, then laughs when she realizes it’s a life-sized unicorn. The laugh makes her side hurt, which then makes her laugh more.
Okay, now I feel lame.
Still moving tenderly due to the overwhelming ache in her rib cage, Melissa slides her hand along the wall, hoping for a light switch, since the only other source of light comes from the main room, which only makes things more eerie.

Ah, success,
Melissa thinks as her hand meets with a panel of switches. She flicks a couple of them only to find they do nothing.
Great
—
how am I supposed to find idea inspiration when I can’t see anything?
Then she flicks the last switch. Strung overhead are what seem like millions of the tiniest blue lights; illuminated, the ceiling looks like a mountain sky at night. Seeing this gives Melissa a little shiver, and just enough light to make her way around the enormous room as she looks for the perfect theme for the party.

Icicles, fairies, Shakespearean dances—all too clichéd. Melissa rests her hand on one of the carousel’s brass poles and looks at the odd collection of items around her: Greek columns, giant tribal masks painted green, yellows, and red, feathered birds, a shrunken castle, a mermaid with purple hair, and leaning everywhere, mirrors. Melissa thinks for a second and then moves so she can begin to sort through some of the stuff. She slides aside an oval mirror and then hefts a large rectangular one and puts them both near the merry-go-round. Reflected in them both, Melissa sees her own image. Her curly dark hair is slightly matted from lying down at the Infirmary, and she notices that she’s leaning, cramped over just slightly to the left, no doubt from her injuries. In her pocket she feels the invitation to the secret party, and then she pulls out a pen and piece of paper, jotting down ideas, hoping that something will gel if she writes.

This is no good
. Melissa shakes her head, annoyed.
I came all this way, with broken ribs, just to wander amidst the weird sculptures and mirrors. The last thing I need is to be confronted by a thousand images of myself.
She turns to avoid looking in the mirrors she’s set up but finds even more mirrors to her left. She lifts the flap of a cardboard box and unearths even more mirrors, this time in the form of strands. Like Christmas lights, the mirrors are roped together, each one dangling a mini reflection, each one sending shimmers of blue light from the ceiling bulbs.

“That’s it!”
Melissa says into the empty air.
New Year, New You. Isn’t that what we all want? To somehow wake up on the first of January with a new, better version of ourselves all ready to go?

Working as fast as she can while trying not to bump anything into her side, she begins to amass all of the mirrors. There are wall-sized ones she can’t move; smaller ones she can—each one unique. She can see it now—a hall of mirrors, elegant and magical, with candles and white lights, all done outside in the garden, sweeping down the path and culminating on the large frozen pond. Outside at night, Melissa knows the strings holding the mirrors won’t be visible, and that the mirrors will look as though they are descending from the sky. Pleased with herself, she pauses for a moment by the carousel. In front of her is a rectangular mirror with etched sides. Angled upward, the looking glass shows her shoulders, but not her face, and also reflects the darkness behind her on the other side of the room. Melissa looks at the shadows via the mirror, wondering why the room seemed so scary at first. Then she sees something move. She peers closer into the mirror and sees it again—a shape on the other side of the room over by a ten-foot-tall fanged wolf.

With her heart thumping and her knees shaking, Melissa freezes.
Should I run? Scream?
Then she shakes her head.
No
—
it’s probably a mouse. And while that’s not the best thing, it isn’t the worst.
She looks in the mirror but doesn’t see anything else, and wonders if maybe her imagination is overactive. She checks her pocket to make sure the van key is there, and feels comfort at its hard edges.
Back to planning. By tomorrow, I’ll not only
b
e able to give an order for all of the stuff I need, but also for the food
—
kir royale, perfectly hued champagne drinks in tall flutes, whisked sugar sculptures that will look like crystallized breath. It’ll be amazing. It’ll be worth all the hassle of coming here, of
—

Melissa hears a noise and feels panic rising in her.
That couldn’t be a mouse.
She turns around and squints into the darkness.
Yes, there’s something there. Something? Or someone?

Defying her fearfulness, Melissa tries to remember her old karate kicks as she propels herself into the darkness. She stomps her feet and then shouts. “I know there’s something here. Just … show yourself.” She bites her lip, her pulse blaring. “Don’t hide.”
Maybe this is foolish and I should be the one hiding.
Suddenly, this sounds like a great idea, and Melissa bolts over to the bear cave replica and ducks into its faux-fur inside. Crouching with her knees pressed to her aching ribs, Melissa is scared.
No one knows where I am
—
not Dove, not even Gabe, because I told him only that I was going into town.
Melissa tries meditation, breathing, and common sense to quell her fears, but nothing works, especially when she hears something. Not just a random something, but footsteps. Heavy ones.

Please don’t find me. Please let me be invisible,
she thinks as her entire body clenches with fear. Realizing the footsteps have stopped, she opens her eyes and nearly faints when she sees a pair of large black boots right near the entrance to the bear cave.
Please leave. Don’t look over here. Leave.

But it’s no use. The boots walk toward her, causing alarms to ring in Melissa’s head. “Stop right there. I know karate!” Melissa jumps out from the cave, figuring the best defense is battling the force of evil head-on.

“Well, then, call me surrendered.” With his hands held up like he’s about to be arrested, James looks baffled and amused.

Melissa’s breath comes out in shaky gasps. She steadies herself on the rocky edge of the cave so she doesn’t faint with relief, surprise, and left-over fear. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Good to see you, too. I love greetings as warm as ‘what the hell.’ …”

A long silence grows between them. Melissa stares at the black boots, then her gaze travels up the length of James’s body until she meets his eyes. The last time she saw him he was getting groped by Charlie.
Where is Charlie now? No doubt wondering where James is. Not that he meant to be with me or anything, but still.
“How’d you find me?”

“After I left The Tops, I fell asleep in the back of the van. So when I woke up, freezing, I might add, I stumbled around outside until I saw a light go on in here.”

Melissa holds her hands in front of her now, the fingers entwined as though she and James are holding hands. She remembers flicking the lights and points to the ceiling. “Blue. Kind of cool, huh?”

James steps toward her. “Very.” He wanders around a little, with Melissa watching him as he eyes the merry-go-round, the battleships, the knights in armor, the papier-mâche hearts and snakes. “This place is incredible.”

“I know. It’s so great. All the potential …” She bites her lip, wishing hard that she didn’t still feel the exact same way about James as she had the first day she met him. “Look at this.” She shows James a snow globe that stands taller than both of them. The outside is clear; inside a plastic couple ice skates, their legs grounded to a plastic pond. “Anyway, there’s just tons of stuff here.” She doesn’t want him to think she pointed out the snow-globe couple to highlight what they could have been, or that she’s suggesting she still has feelings for him. To cover this, she motions to the giant wolf. “Now, that is worth getting creeped out about.”

“Did I really freak you out?” James laughs and pats the giant wolf, calling to it as though it’s a sweet, floppy puppy. “I’m sorry—I figured you knew I was in the van.

“Believe me, I didn’t.” Melissa thinks about the lump in the back of the van, how if she’d put two and two together she’d have realized the orange of James’s jacket was the orange fabric she saw. “I thought you were someone’s laundry.”