“It is impressive,” Jake agreed. “Especially from the top of the run.”
Though they had been here for four days now, this was the first day the sky had not been overcast and spitting snow flurries at them. It was now a brilliant blue, the sun shining brightly (though not making it very warm up here at 4700 feet of elevation, and certainly not up at the top of the lifts, which was 6400 feet) and letting them see the entire landscape below. The town of Sandpoint was spread out from the base of the mountain to the shore of the lake. The lake itself was a cobalt blue, darker and richer in hue than the sky, except along the edges, where ice had formed and would not melt until spring. A long roadway bridge paralleled by a railway bridge could be seen crossing one of the arms of the lake and Jake could even see the airport where he had landed after the ninety-minute flight from Cypress airport, where the couple had stayed with Jake’s parents for a few days prior to embarking on the ski trip. The Avanti was now parked in a rented hangar at that airport.
They admired the view until the waitress brought their drinks over. They then turned to face each other over the table, using the beverages to warm their cold hands.
“It’s been fun spending all this time with you,” Laura told him.
He smiled. “Yes, it has been,” he agreed. Since Laura had flown back from Poland for the TSF back in late September, they had been together at some point every day and had slept in the same bed every single night. Some of those nights had been spent in Las Vegas, some in Los Angeles, a few in their home in Oceano, a few in Cypress, most in the house KVA owned in Coos Bay, and now, here halfway up Schweitzer Mountain in northern Idaho just 45 miles south of the Canadian border. The constant togetherness had allowed them to reconnect with each other and realize how much they actually liked being together.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Z’s offer,” she said.
“Yeah?” he asked. Bobby Z and Dexter Price, his primary saxophonist, had just completed a new release that was due to hit the shelves in late January. And, of course, a nationwide tour, starting in Florida and working its way through the south for the first leg, would follow right behind the release. Dexter and Z enjoyed a rich and productive professional relationship but a volatile and occasionally toxic personal relationship. In keeping with their usual pattern, the two of them had broken up shortly after the new CD had been mastered and had mutually agreed that touring together was not an option—again. And, as had been the case with the last CD, Laura had been invited to take up touring duties as the sax player. If she accepted the offer—she still had not made up her mind about it—she would need to report to the rehearsal warehouse on December 10.
“I don’t want to do it,” she said now.
“No?” Jake asked. “How come?”
“Several reasons,” she said. “A big one is that Squiggle will be the trumpet player again and I think it would be ... you know ... awkward, not to mention that I don’t want you worrying constantly about my being out there with him.”
“I’m not worried about that at all,” Jake said casually, though this was a bit of a white lie. Though he trusted his wife, she had admitted to having feelings for Squiggle in the past and to the two of them sharing a certain ‘chemistry’ between them. He did not believe that she would actually act upon that chemistry—especially now that she had found a viable relief valve for her sexual frustration—but the thought of them touring together for months was still more than a little disconcerting; especially in light of Laura’s revelation that she knew Squiggle would act upon his feelings for her without compunction if given the chance.
“That’s just one reason,” Laura said. “The biggest one is that I just don’t want to go back out on tour. I don’t want to have to report to rehearsal every day, I don’t want to have to learn new material right now, and, mostly, I do not want to go back out on the road anytime soon. I loved having the experience of being a traveling musician. I love stepping up on stage and playing for people and having them cheer me. But I’m not ready to go back to staying in hotel rooms night after night, to waking up in a different city every morning, and to being away from you. I just got back a few months ago. I’m not ready to go back out. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready to go back out.”
Jake actually felt a strong measure of relief at her decision. In truth, he did not want to go for months without seeing her, touching her, enjoying her company, and regularly fucking her. They had proven to themselves and each other that their marriage was strong and could accommodate such absences, but that did not mean they enjoyed it.
“I understand,” he told her. “And I support you completely.”
“Are you sure?” she asked timidly. “I mean, if you think I should go out again, I will, but...”
He was shaking his head. “I do not think you should go out again,” he assured her. “Especially not with Z and his low-budget tour funding. You’ve been traveling with an A-lister. You don’t really want to go back to traveling in a bus from venue to venue and sleeping in cheap motels after flying private air and staying in luxury suites, right?”
“No,” she said immediately. “I’ve definitely been spoiled by touring with C.”
“Then it sounds like the decision is made,” he said. “The only question is whether or not it is a permanent decision.”
“A permanent decision?”
He nodded. “Are you ever going to want to tour again?” he asked. “Maybe for Celia’s next CD?”
“I don’t know,” she said after a moment’s thought. “It’s kind of a moot point right now, isn’t it? Neither you nor Celia is working on anything new right now.”
“That is true,” he agreed. “I’ll be far too busy getting Phil and the boys recorded and promoted to work up any new material of my own. And Celia seems like she just wants to take a little break and live a little before she starts a new project.”
“So, there is nothing really for me to decide on right now except the Bobby Z offer, right?”
“That’s right,” Jake said. “And it seems like you’ve already made you decision on Z.”
“I have,” she said. “I want to be with my husband now. I’ll help you and Celia out when you decide to start your next CDs, but I’ll hold off an any commitment beyond that.”
“Fair enough,” Jake said happily.
They drank two hot buttered rums apiece and then decided to go up to their third-floor suite, fuck, and then take a little nap before dinner. But when they got up to the room the message light blinking on the phone derailed their plans.
“I gotta pee first,” Laura told him.
“By all means,” Jake said, kicking off his ski boots. “I’ll just see what this message is about and meet you in bed.”
“Don’t make me wait too long,” she said with a smile. She stepped into the suite’s bedroom and began to undress.
Jake watched her until her shirt and bra came off and then reluctantly turned his back to her and sat down at the writing desk. He picked up the phone and pushed the message button, which automatically connected him to the hotel phone operator.
“How can I help you?” the nasally female voice enquired politely.
“This is Glenn Sutter,” Jake told her, giving his hotel name. “I understand you have messages for me.”
“Yes, we do, Mr. Sutter,” she said. Of course, she knew that Glenn Sutter was really Jake Kingsley—especially since Steve the real estate developer had made it well-known in media and publicity circles that Jake and Laura were current guests at the resort—but this was how the game was played. “I have a request from Pauline Kingsley in Los Angeles for you to call her as soon as possible on her private, home number.”