Someone Else's Fairytale (11 page)

“Wow. That's awful.”

“It's
Albuquerque
. You know.” Well, he probably didn't. That kind of thing was less common in the
Northeast
Heights
.

But much to my surprise he said, “Yeah, unfortunately. Someone tagged Steve's house a couple of weeks ago. That was fun, wondering if there was a gang moving their boundaries into his neighborhood. He says nothing else has happened.”

“Where's he live?”

“West side. Over by
Montano
Bridge
.”

“That's not too dangerous, is it?”

“Like you said, it's
Albuquerque
. There's a reason they filmed so many episodes of
Cops
there. Anyway, I was just calling to say that I'd be in town next week. You want to meet up?”

“Um, sure.”

“Turns out I know the guy who runs the Sandia Tram these days. He says I could get a ride up the first ride – when they take the restaurant staff and visitors center staff and everyone up, before they let on passengers. It'd be really early, but, you want to do that?”

“What time?”

“
Six a.m.
Really early, but I dunno when sunrise is? The views should be amazing.”

It did sound nice. I hadn't been on the tram in years, not since a class trip in middle school.

“If that doesn't appeal,” he went on. “My sister's taking over as chef at a restaurant and the family's all going there to celebrate the night before. You're welcome to-”

“Tram sounds nice.” Way nicer than meeting all the Vanderholts at a family event.

“All right, cool. I'll call you later this week, then.”

“Sure.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

I put my phone down on my nightstand and rubbed my temples to clear my head. The air in my room was thick with moisture, I was sure, but I couldn't really smell it because I'd woken up in it. If I left and came back, I'd probably want to crack open the window.

Going up on
Sandia Peak
at the crack of dawn with a guy sounded romantic. It sounded like a date. Had I just agreed to a date?

On Thursday, I missed Jason's call because I was in class. “Hey,” went his voicemail message. “Okay, so... I know this is seriously early, but we should be at the tram at a
quarter to six
. I can come pick you up if you give me your address. Call me?”

I dialed as I walked across campus towards home. It was a gloriously sunny day with the deep blue sky above and the warm brown, adobe style buildings of campus all around. There was the faint scent of roasting chile in the air, probably from one of the little groceries across Central. They'd have their big wire mesh roasters out, full of chiles, which they'd spin over an open flame. “This is Jason,” said a recording. “Sorry I missed you. Leave a message after the beep.”

“Hi,” I said. “It's Chloe.” I tried to think of what to say next. Should I cancel? Say that something had come up? As tempting as that was, it wasn't very nice. Not if he'd already talked to the guy who ran the tram. I'd have been annoyed if someone had done that to me. I couldn't help but wonder, though, had I missed the opportunity to hint that I was not interested in him? Did he mean to tell me, by asking me on this tram ride, that he was single? Or a player? “Why don't I just meet you at the tram?” I said. “I'll see you there at
5:45
.” And maybe I'd figure out an intelligent way to parse the subtext of this situation before then.

I called Matthew.

“Howdy?” he answered.

“Hey.”

“What's wrong?”

“I did something stupid.”

“What?”

“I kind of agreed to go on Sandia Tram at the crack of dawn with Jason Vanderholt.”

“What?”

“There might be other people there. Or... not.”

“Chloe!”

“He called right when I woke up. I'm an idiot.”

“What did he say exactly?”
     

“Just asked if I wanted to hang out. I think he said hang out. I don't remember. It was the tram or dinner with a group at a restaurant-”

“Oh, naw, you're good. He said 'hang out'.”

“I am?”

“I think so. But no blaming me if I'm wrong.”

“Would I do that?”

“How does this happen to you? Of all the-”

“I know, I know.”

“You want to go to the movies sometime?”

“Yeah. Sure. There something you want to see?”

“Victorian period drama?”

“Okay, I'm game.”

“This weekend I've got a ton of homework, but if we go Sunday evening, that'll be my incentive to get it done.”

“Works for me.”

“Cool. I gotta run to class. I'll see you.”

“See you.”

Saturday morning, I woke up bright and early and jumped in the shower before my brain could snap into gear. I figured the best way to handle this morning was to just go with it. Odds were, Jason would bring some other people, and I'd be laughing at myself for ever having worried about this being anything but a friendly outing.

The Sandia Tram parking lot had a few cars in it when I pulled up. I got out of my car, wearing a long sleeved shirt, jeans, and sneakers, my warm jacket draped over my arm. It was chilly at the base of the mountain and sure to be frigid at the top. The sky was overcast and shone a light peach, but the sun wasn't quite up yet. The air was so still, that it was almost like being indoors, except for the scent of sage and pine.

A blue Prius pulled up beside my car and Jason hopped out, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a sweatshirt tied around his neck. “Hey!” he said.

“Hey,” I replied.

“Yes! No fans. No photographers. I feel almost normal.” He started in the direction of the tram terminal.

I jogged to keep up.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know this is stupid. I just feel really exposed out in the open.”

“No, it's fine.” The terminal was dark and I wondered if the doors would be locked, but no, the first one opened when Jason grabbed the handle. We ducked inside, past the gift shop and up the steps to where the trams left. It was odd to be traipsing through while the lights were off.

At the tram dock, there was a small crowd of people, most of whom were in some kind of work uniform, either for the tram company or the restaurant or the Park Service. Jason waved at one guy who waved back and just called out, “We'll take off in about ten minutes.” The tram car was in the dock; it looked like an enclosed ski lift, and some people used it as such, to reach Sandia Ski Area on the other side of the mountain.

“Cool!” said Jason. I noticed he kept his distance. In the dim light, no one seemed to notice who he was.

He turned to me. “So how've you been? How's school?”

“School's good. You?”

“Been doing more press stuff for
Danger Fields
. I was on
Letterman
the other night.”

“Oh, I don't watch him.”

“You didn't miss much. I made up a story about how hard it was to learn to fire a gun without flinching. You ever seen how some actors do that? They're in a big action movie or something and they fire a gun and flinch?”

I shook my head. “Not into action movies.”

“Looks pretty stupid, and I figure if I'm running around shirtless and pretending like I know something about war strategy and how to live in military barracks, I should at least look like I can shoot my fake gun with blanks and totally fake sound effects they put in later, you know? I can only ask so much of the audience.”

The tram door opened with a clunk and he fell silent. I watched as he put on some shades and a baseball cap. His whole demeanor shifted from confident and outgoing to quiet. He shuffled his feet and glanced around like he was shy as we made our way to join the others.

We got on with everyone else and he turned to look out the window. The tram had panes of glass that went all the way around, so we had three hundred and sixty degree views.

Everyone craned their necks to get a good look at him. I could tell they knew he'd be there, and they were trying to be polite and leave him alone, but they each had to get an eyeful. It was like they were observing an exotic animal that would take off into the underbrush at any moment. The tram was big enough to hold the twenty, or so, people who were on it, with room to spare. I positioned myself between Jason and the rest and joined him to look out the window, while they shut the door.

The motors buzzed to life and the tram lurched, swayed a moment, then pulled away from its dock. The view, once we were clear, was spectacular. We were hoisted up towards the first tower and got to see the entire city of
Albuquerque
laid out on the desert plain. The streetlights were still on, and car headlights cruised up and down the tiny streets. A tiny cluster of highrises marked downtown, off in the distance, by the snaking strip of moisture that was the
Rio Grande
. Not much standing water in it this time of year, and definitely not enough for it to flow.

We went up and up and then the entire car shook as we went over the rollers of the first tower, then we sailed across a shallow mountain valley. A footpath zig-zagged beneath us and something, a coyote or a deer – I couldn't see from this distance – bounded away behind a rock. The twisted wreckage of an airplane lay strewn out across the boulders.

At the second tower, everyone turned to look out the front, and suddenly, we were gazing out across a deep valley. The tram seemed smaller and more fragile as the ground dropped sharply away. The path below shrank to the width of a thread, and another plane wreck lay half hidden in the jagged rock.