Chapter 3
Diana slept soundly, dreamlessly, and awakened to brilliant light. She sat up and stared, astounded. Unsuspected last night, the startling cobalt blue of Lake Tahoe glinted in the sun, surrounded by white mountains studded with dark feathery shapes of pine trees. Excitedly, she reached for Lane, and stopped, hand arrested.
Jack had looked helpless and endearing asleep, and she knew vulnerability was a quality often evident during sleep, but she was unprepared for the transformation of Lane Christiansen. Rapt and fascinated, she stared at her, at the innocence of her face in repose, all of its alertness and intelligence shuttered away behind eyelids thickly fringed with gold eyelashes that lay softly on her cheeks. The tautness of her mouth was gone; her lips were tenderly shaped, sensual. She looked very young, and wistful, like a golden-haired child who had fallen asleep filled with hurt after a scolding.
“Lane,” Diana said gently, not touching her.
Lane muttered in protest and rolled over, hiding her face with her hair and the folds of her pillow. Diana smiled and said again, “Lane.” Lane stirred and Diana said softly,
“Hey, wake up and look at the day.”
Lane only reluctantly awakened, and sat up, looking at Diana sleepily. At Diana’s gesture she glanced out the window, then stared. “Where on earth did that come from?”
“Somebody moved it in for us overnight.” Diana quoted,
“ ‘Beauty crowds me till I die.’”
“Wordsworth?”
“Our favorite poet.”
“Our Emily said that?” Lane smiled, her sleepy eyes very blue against the backdrop of the sky, and ran her hands through her hair, brushing it back from her face.
“Yes. Our Emily.”
Lane stretched lazily. “I think I can smell bacon through the floorboards. I hope.”
“People who work long hours usually have terrible eating habits,” Diana observed. “Is that how you stay so slender?”
“I eat enough for three people. I must be part hummingbird.” She looked down at her body, frowning. “I’m all angles.
You look like one of those soft pretty women they grow by the bushel down in Texas.”
Pleased, Diana said, “I’ve heard that compliments from other women mean more because they’re sincere.”
“I think that’s very true.”
Diana’s smile deepened. “As long as we’re being sincere, I thought they only produced oil wells in Oklahoma, not such beautiful women.”
Lane lowered her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Astonished by her reaction, Diana said, “You’ve been told that a thousand times.”
Lane continued to look away from her. “I wonder if Field Marshal Liz has us in alphabetical order again this morning. ‘That means you, Christiansen,’ ” she mimicked.
Diana chuckled, wondering at Lane’s self-consciousness. Perhaps personal comments simply embarrassed her. But she seemed too poised, too self-possessed for that. She asked, “Are you going skiing?”
“Of course. Aren’t you?” Lane was looking at her again, her arms crossed.
“No. I don’t ski. I was thinking maybe you’d like to come into Tahoe with me, spend the day gambling.”
“You don’t ski? Not at all?”
“I tried it. Jack—a friend of mine took me up to Big Bear. All I did was fall down. And I knocked down a perfectly nice man who got up and brushed himself off and told me it was the first time he’d been on his feet for more than thirty seconds at a time and God must be sending him a message to quit. Well, that was it. I schussed and fell my way down the hill and hung up my poles forever.”
Through her laughter Lane asked, “So you’re a confirmed non-athlete?”
“I can get a tennis ball over the net. I like to walk. I used to break a hundred at golf.”
“Used to? Did you hit someone on the golf course?”
Diana laughed; then she said thoughtfully, “Actually, it was a pleasant walk in nice surroundings, and other than that I don’t think I ever did like it. What about gambling with me? Want to win some money?”
Lane hesitated. “I’d like to,” she said finally. “But I’d better ski, I think.”
“I guess that’s healthier,” Diana said, disappointed. She had felt certain that Lane would choose to go with her.
“I’m here as Madge’s guest.”
“Yes,” Diana said, thinking it was a feeble reason.
“Maybe some strenuous exercise will help me relax. I need to.”
“Yes. You do.”
“So do you.”
“You think so?” Diana asked, surprised.
“I could be wrong,” Lane said. “I certainly don’t know you very well, but you seem tense to me.”
Diana smiled, and got out of bed. They donned robes and climbed down the ladder.
The women were drinking coffee around the fire. Liz said, “Sleep well, you two?”
“Yes,” Diana said, breathing in the intoxicating aromas of coffee and bacon. “After we finally tore ourselves away from the window.”
“Seen one star you’ve seen ’em all,” Liz said with a shrug. “At least it’s quiet up there. One weekend we had to pound on the ceiling with a broom handle to get some friends of Jerry’s up.”
“I’m a light sleeper,” Diana said. “I could hear your voices this morning just faintly.”
Lane said, “I sleep like a brick. Where’s Chris?”
“In the bathroom, of course. It’s alphabetical in reverse in the morning. To be fair. Holland, get in there,” Liz said as Chris emerged. “That means you’re last, Christiansen. What’s so damn funny?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” Diana said, heading for the bathroom.
She dressed in a wine-colored wool sweater and pale gray pants.
Lane climbed down the ladder dressed in ski clothes, royal blue pants and sweater. The two women exchanged glances; Diana realized that they had quickly developed an awareness of each other, an affinity.
“Breakfast’s ready,” Liz called.
“Where do you want us to sit?” Lane asked with an impish grin at Diana as they went into the dining area.
“Roommates together, saves all that milling around. I must say you two are in a good mood this morning,” Liz added as Diana and Lane laughed.
Diana took a second helping of scrambled eggs. “This mountain air really takes effect fast,” she said.
“I hate people who can eat anything,” Liz said. “You remind me of my oldest boy Jerry. Here, Lane, finish up this bacon.”
After breakfast Liz announced, “Dishes are done in alphabetical order. Cook is exempt. Christianson and Dodd, go to it.”
Diana sat on the hearth drinking coffee, interjecting an occasional comment into the conversation between Madge and Chris, as Liz marched about the cabin tidying and dusting. She watched Lane in the kitchen.
The white stripes across Lane’s shoulders and down the arms of her sweater emphasized the slenderness and straightness of her body. Ski pants, stretched tautly over her ~ 44 ~
legs, outlined the slim curve of hip, the long lines of her thighs and legs. She dried and put dishes away, stretching and reaching to the shelves, blonde hair changing patterns as she moved, her body supple and graceful, and Diana watched her with pleasure, enjoying her beauty.
The women left in a flurry of activity and an accumulation of ski equipment. As she locked the cabin door, Liz said to Diana, “Dinner at seven. That any problem?”
“Not at all. I’ll look forward to it.”
“Madge says she has something a little different planned for tonight. Says we’ll find it very interesting.”
Diana drove slowly down Highway 50 toward Stateline and the casinos, remembering when she had discovered this place—the three brilliant exhilarating summer days here with Barbara, when they had shared the grandeur of the Sierras and the shimmering beauty of Lake Tahoe along with the excitement of gambling.
She looked around her with keen interest; it had been four years since her last visit. She had stayed in a lakefront condominium with Jack in the late spring, reveling in the crisp freshness of the air, the traces of snow on the rugged tree-laden mountains surrounding the Lake, the deep cold harmonies of blue in the water just outside their window. She had not realized that Jack had been bored until he demurred when she wanted to return.
“Vegas is closer,” he had said, “and more fun.”
She came to the brief stretch along Highway 50 that skirted the shoreline; and she looked through the trees, braking the car slightly to savor the view across the vivid patterns of blue to the mountains. She sped up with an apologetic wave as the car behind her honked its irritation.
She walked into Harrah’s smiling at the familiar rush of casino noise that engulfed her, the whir and ring of slot machines, the unremitting buzz of gambling activity. She searched for Vivian.
This early, Harrah’s was not crowded; sections of the club were deserted, leather covers on the blackjack tables. Three sections were open, only a few of the tables crowded with gamblers. Diana strolled through a cluster of blackjack tables, scanning the black-and-white clad dealers—the men neat in their white shirts and black ties, the women wearing white blouses, all the dealers wearing nametags and black aprons with
Harrah’s
stenciled in gold. They stood in various attitudes of disinterest, some dealing the cards with cool dispassion, some talking to their tables of patrons, others standing with arms crossed—no one at their tables —looking vaguely out over the crowd circulating unceasingly through the casino. By contrast, the dealers at the craps tables were in continual motion, leaning to collect and pay off bets, swiftly stacking chips between rolls of the dice. Two dealers at an empty craps table talked to each other, one of them desultorily stacking, destroying, restacking a column of black hundred-dollar chips.
Diana paused at a roulette table. Six players were covering the layout liberally with bright chips of varying colors. The dealer pulled in mounds of chips with each settling of the ball, piling them into stacks of equal height and color with incredible rapidity. Diana enjoyed the spectacle of the game with no wish to play; she had no feel for numbers and only a basic understanding of the game. One man at the table was winning steadily, accumulating large stacks of purple chips with each settling of the roulette ball. He was tall, sandy-haired, good-looking. He reminded her of Jack. Pain began, and she closed her eyes against it in weary resentment. She spotted Vivian.
Vivian hugged her, and Diana said affectionately, “I bet you’ve been gambling to beat hell already.”
“Late night,” murmured Vivian. Her eyes were puffy, her face pale.
“Did you have breakfast?”
Vivian nodded. “We had room service before John left for his sales seminar. It’s good to have you here, Diana dear. How are things at the cabin? If it’s a real bore Vivian will get you out of there. Liz and I have a very honest relationship.”
“I’ll only see them in the evening. And no hotel could possibly be as beautiful. The setting—”
“I thought you’d like it. I spent two weeks with George and Liz and their two boys years ago. I lost a hundred dollars I couldn’t afford, but it was the most beautiful time I ever spent anywhere.” Vivian added simply, “I thought it would be good for you.”“It’s great. Let’s play blackjack, tiger.”
“Just for a little while, to keep you company. Vivian isn’t as good at that game as you are, honey.”
“Only because Vivian bets hunches. That’s not the way to give yourself a chance to win.”
“Vivian is unlucky, that’s all.”
They sat at a blackjack table, and Diana changed a twenty- dollar bill. She brushed the green felt of the table with her fingertips and hefted a stack of chips enjoyably, with a sense of well-being and excitement. For the first time in years, she was on a gambling trip that had nothing to do with Jack. She was here on her own, because she wanted to be here.
“I’m playing a hunch,” she told Vivian, and made a ten dollar bet. Her two cards were the ace and jack of spades.
“I don’t believe it,” she said.
“Let’s hear it for hunches.” Vivian grinned triumphantly. “You should’ve bet everything you have.”
Chapter 4
She returned to the cabin just before seven. The women had changed from their snow gear into what seemed to be standard cabin attire: Madge and Millie in blue and grey sweatsuits, Chris and Liz wearing heavy knit sweaters and jeans that bagged out over their ample hips.
“Where’s Lane?” she asked Madge.
Madge shrugged. “In the shower. All that snow made her dirty.”
“I see you haven’t pawned your car yet,” Liz called. She stabbed at steaks on a portable grill.
Diana strolled into the kitchen. “As a matter of fact, I’m about fifty dollars ahead.”
“What do you play?” asked Chris. She was preparing a salad.
“Don’t encourage Chris, she’s already lost her shirt,” Liz growled.
“Blackjack,” Diana answered Chris. “But I must confess I won most of it dropping a quarter in a slot machine. I was waiting for Viv to give up so we could get some lunch.”
“I work for hours and you drop a quarter in,” Chris said.
“Exactly what Viv yelled.”
“How’s Viv doing?” Liz inquired, her dark eyes amused. “Losing, I’m afraid.”
“She’ll leave here screwed every which way.”
“Liz,” Chris said disapprovingly.
“Hi.” Lane came into the kitchen buttoning the sleeves of a pale yellow corduroy shirt tucked into dark brown jean- style pants. Her skin glowed with heightened color; the ends of her hair were a slightly darker blonde with dampness from the shower. “So how was your day?”
“Good,” Diana said, looking at her with pleasure. “How about you?”
Chatting, they took glasses of wine over to the fire. “I did pretty well skiing,” Lane said. “I was pleased.”
Millie said, “She did fantastic.”
“Meaning I managed to stay upright some of the time,” Lane said with a grin. “It’s been a long time. I was going on instinct. Tomorrow I’ll think about what I’m doing and spend the day falling on my head.”
Diana enjoyed her dinner, listening peacefully to talk of ski slopes and conditions, ski resorts, ski clothes, ski equipment. After dinner she and Chris did the dishes. Liz and Madge sat around, the fire drinking coffee and playing Yahtzee; Lane, curled up in an armchair, read a paperback.