minute Guy even seemed to let him off the hook. “Always,” he said. “So that’s, like, a well-known thing, huh? Stone being a pain in the neck?”
“It sure is.”
“I’ll be. The stuff you people in the business know.”
“Right.”
“A guy like myself, I’d never get wind of that. It’s like how they said Rock Hudson was gay. I’d never have known that unless I read about it in the papers. And if a guy is just a pain in the neck or something—I mean just a regular pain in the neck, not a child abuser or a drunk driver or a dope fiend or something on that order—if a guy is just kind of irritating, I guess that wouldn’t make the newspapers.”
“ ‘Kind of irritating.’ That’s putting it mildly.”
“You said a ‘schmuck.’ That was the word you used.”
“From the word ‘go,’ Sheriff. A Grade-A schmuck.” He drank a little bit more and twisted his mouth as if the taste of it actually hurt. “How about I go out and have a cigarette while you finish up your coffee?”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You smoke?”
“No,” said Guy. “I used to, but I gave it up a long time ago. I just like the fresh air.”
SIXTEEN
“You’re off tonight, right?”
Chip and Stacey were riding the lift alone. It was lunchtime on the slopes—lunchtime lasted from eleven thirty until maybe quarter to two—and the crowds had all gone indoors to fill up on lousy clam chowder and cold chili dogs and rubbery hamburgers, all of it overpriced by a factor of three or four. If there was one thing any serious skier knew, it was that on a busy day you had your lunch either before everybody else or after. If you had lunch at all. The best skiing was first thing in the morning, before the flatlanders showed up. The second-best was over lunch, when they stormed the cafeterias and got out of your way.
“Yeah,” Stacey said. “Tonight’s my night off.”
“Got anything in mind?”
“A proper dinner,” she said. “A girl can’t live on free hot wings alone. Not for long, anyhow.”
“There’s always Chex Mix.”
“Right. Chex Mix.”
They rode in silence for a little while. Stacey thought he might be fixing to invite her to go out and get something for dinner, but then she changed her mind and decided he was waiting for her to invite him. Either way, neither of them spoke up. They rode on side by side, looking down at a few kids who were trying to kill themselves on the terrain park underneath the lift. Chip kept a professional eye on them, but Stacey just shook her head.
Chip began. “How about later on we—”
At last, Stacey thought, here it comes.
But he cut himself off in mid-sentence, wincing at the sight of a kid dropping off the edge of a rail and cracking the back of his head on the hard edge of it. Thank God for helmets. Still, Chip kept watching—turning around almost 180 degrees in the chair—and he didn’t resume what he’d been saying until the kid had stood up and shaken himself off. And even then Stacey had to jog his memory.
“You were saying? About later on?”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” He straightened himself in the chair. “How about we get together after supper and do some real off-piste skiing?”
Hmm. So there was no dinner invitation after all. But that was fine, because the off-piste skiing invitation was plenty more interesting than mere food. She gave him a quizzical look. “Everything’s closed after supper, though. Everything closes at quarter of four.”
“Not everything. There’s a whole world out there, Stace.”
“Stacey.” Brian was the only one she’d ever let call her Stace, and she wished she hadn’t.
“There’s a whole world out there, Stacey. And there’s going to be a full moon to light it all up.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Not a cloud in the sky, either. Look at that. Not right now.”
“Enough with the meteorology. What are you talking about doing?”
The lift station was getting closer. They lifted the bar,
“It sure is.”
“I’ll be. The stuff you people in the business know.”
“Right.”
“A guy like myself, I’d never get wind of that. It’s like how they said Rock Hudson was gay. I’d never have known that unless I read about it in the papers. And if a guy is just a pain in the neck or something—I mean just a regular pain in the neck, not a child abuser or a drunk driver or a dope fiend or something on that order—if a guy is just kind of irritating, I guess that wouldn’t make the newspapers.”
“ ‘Kind of irritating.’ That’s putting it mildly.”
“You said a ‘schmuck.’ That was the word you used.”
“From the word ‘go,’ Sheriff. A Grade-A schmuck.” He drank a little bit more and twisted his mouth as if the taste of it actually hurt. “How about I go out and have a cigarette while you finish up your coffee?”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You smoke?”
“No,” said Guy. “I used to, but I gave it up a long time ago. I just like the fresh air.”
SIXTEEN
“You’re off tonight, right?”
Chip and Stacey were riding the lift alone. It was lunchtime on the slopes—lunchtime lasted from eleven thirty until maybe quarter to two—and the crowds had all gone indoors to fill up on lousy clam chowder and cold chili dogs and rubbery hamburgers, all of it overpriced by a factor of three or four. If there was one thing any serious skier knew, it was that on a busy day you had your lunch either before everybody else or after. If you had lunch at all. The best skiing was first thing in the morning, before the flatlanders showed up. The second-best was over lunch, when they stormed the cafeterias and got out of your way.
“Yeah,” Stacey said. “Tonight’s my night off.”
“Got anything in mind?”
“A proper dinner,” she said. “A girl can’t live on free hot wings alone. Not for long, anyhow.”
“There’s always Chex Mix.”
“Right. Chex Mix.”
They rode in silence for a little while. Stacey thought he might be fixing to invite her to go out and get something for dinner, but then she changed her mind and decided he was waiting for her to invite him. Either way, neither of them spoke up. They rode on side by side, looking down at a few kids who were trying to kill themselves on the terrain park underneath the lift. Chip kept a professional eye on them, but Stacey just shook her head.
Chip began. “How about later on we—”
At last, Stacey thought, here it comes.
But he cut himself off in mid-sentence, wincing at the sight of a kid dropping off the edge of a rail and cracking the back of his head on the hard edge of it. Thank God for helmets. Still, Chip kept watching—turning around almost 180 degrees in the chair—and he didn’t resume what he’d been saying until the kid had stood up and shaken himself off. And even then Stacey had to jog his memory.
“You were saying? About later on?”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” He straightened himself in the chair. “How about we get together after supper and do some real off-piste skiing?”
Hmm. So there was no dinner invitation after all. But that was fine, because the off-piste skiing invitation was plenty more interesting than mere food. She gave him a quizzical look. “Everything’s closed after supper, though. Everything closes at quarter of four.”
“Not everything. There’s a whole world out there, Stace.”
“Stacey.” Brian was the only one she’d ever let call her Stace, and she wished she hadn’t.
“There’s a whole world out there, Stacey. And there’s going to be a full moon to light it all up.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Not a cloud in the sky, either. Look at that. Not right now.”
“Enough with the meteorology. What are you talking about doing?”
The lift station was getting closer. They lifted the bar,
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