Anise the Snowboarder Page 2

  Miss Baxter touched her finger to my cheek. “I’m proud of you, Anise,” she said. Just five little words. I paused and turned those words around in my mind, relishing them. My landlady’s proud of me. No, I thought. Miss Baxter sounds so much better than landlady. Miss Baxter is proud of me.

  “Thank you, Miss Baxter.” I said, and then leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

  She smiled and rested her hand on my arm for a moment. Then she reached into the fridge and handed me a protein shake. “Please don’t start your morning on an empty stomach, my dear,” she said.

  So that’s how my days started shaping up. Miss Baxter urging me to eat something before I flew out the door to my various therapy and rehabilitation appointments. And after a while, when I was ready, catching the shuttle bus to Sunrise Mountain and waving hello to Dave the snowboard hippy on my way to taking advantage of my new Burton and my new prosthetic.

  I decided they worked pretty well together—the board and my high-tech lower leg. I was still conquering the bunny hill, no more than thirty minutes at a stretch, but I felt pretty good. Miss Baxter, in her ever-optimistic way, acted like I had just qualified for the Olympic team.

  She would come to the lodge sometimes to have lunch with me, which made me think her main mission in life was still to see that I got enough calories for the day. But then she would stay and watch me until it was time to go, and afterwards, drive me home.

  It was while we were in the car that she finally broached the subject of rent payments, but not in a way that I ever would have expected. Miss Baxter asked me if I would consider taking on the role of caretaker of the house—working around my training schedule, of course.

  I smiled.

  “So, what exactly would I be doing?” I said. “As caretaker, that is?”

  “I need to leave the country occasionally on personal business. I need someone I can trust, someone who can watch the house and make sure the utility bills get paid on time.”

  “You know they have automatic payment…” But I shut up as soon as I realized I was about to talk myself out of a job.

  “Um, I can do that. You can count on me, Miss Baxter. Anything else?” Listen to me, talking like I’m some kind of motivated and responsible adult.

  “Consider this a trial run while I’m away. It should give you some time to decide if it’s worth it in exchange for free room and board.”

  Sweet! I thought, but didn’t say it.

  Miss Baxter must have sensed my mood. She reached over and placed her hand on my thigh. “And just think,” she said, “you don’t even have to sleep with me.”

  I felt my face flushing at her comment. I can’t believe she brought that up. But seeing her smile as she said it, I knew it was just a lighthearted jab. So what did I do? I gave her some right back.

  “You know, any time you get chilly, I also hire out as a bed warmer.”

  She laughed. Miss Hilary Baxter actually laughed.

  I settled back into my seat and smiled as I watched the scenery rolling by. Life was good.

  I should have known it was too good to last.

  * * * *

  It’s always when you least expect it, that life has a way of kicking you in the head. For me, it probably had a lot to do with my own overconfidence. I decided that I had had enough of the bunny hill, that I was ready to move up to something serious. It didn’t go quite as well as I planned, and ended abruptly with the ski patrol bringing me up the hill on a back board.

  Fortunately, I hadn’t broken anything, but with all the bruises and tweaked muscles it still hurt like a sonofabitch. I managed the pain with ice packs, ibuprofen, and Tylenol for a while, but the pull of the magic bottle was just too strong.

  I was supposed to have turned it over when I started rehab, and I did, with one of the bottles. But I had a backup plan—I always had a backup plan for the important stuff—another doctor, who knew nothing about the first. So, while one magic bottle was gone, there was another one, just in case I really needed it.

  I needed it, I told myself. I had a legitimate injury this time, and I was in actual pain. I popped the cap, shook loose two pills, and checked out. As I drifted off, I tried hard to convince myself that this was just a one-time thing, that it was because of the injury, and not because I had fallen back onto old habits.

  I woke sometime later to the blaring of the smoke alarm and Miss Baxter standing over me. She did not look pleased. When I caught a whiff of the acrid smoke hanging in the air I understood why. I had forgotten that my lunch was on the stove when I checked out.

  Miss Baxter said nothing, not that I would have heard her anyway, with the alarm still wailing. She marched over to the window and threw up the sash. The cold air pouring in had me instantly awake. On her way back, she picked up the bottle from the top of my dresser and stared at it with a frown.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. The incessant beeping had finally stopped, though my ears still tingled.

  Miss Baxter said nothing for a minute. She kept moving her gaze from the bottle in her hand, to me sitting on the edge of the bed, shivering, and back. I didn’t have the details of what was going through her mind, but I didn’t need to—I knew it wasn’t good.

  “Out,” she said.

  “Miss Baxter, please.”

  “Out.” This time she pointed to the door to illustrate.

  I didn’t get up. Realistically, I didn’t know where I would go. I sat there on the edge of my bed, staring at my feet, and trying to think of something appropriate to say. I hadn’t come up with anything yet.

  “You could have burned the house down.” Miss Baxter had stopped pointing to the door and turned to face me. I only knew this, because I was looking at the toes of her shoes now instead of the heels.

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  “Do not speak, young lady.” Her clipped words stung my ears. “You left the stove on while you were popping pills. You slept through the smoke alarm.”

  She was pacing now. I watched her feet cutting a path on the floor and imagined her scowling, with her hands on her hips, but I wasn’t about to look up to see if I was right. She stopped moving.

  “You’re supposed to be in treatment for this,” she said. “If I hadn’t been here, you could have died.”

  Is that what this was about? I thought. I figured she’d be pissed about me almost setting fire to the house. I really didn’t expect that my well-being would factor into the conversation at all—one-sided as though this conversation might be.

  “Stupid girl,” she said. “I should put you over my knee.”

  Okay, maybe my well-being wasn’t so high on the list.

  “I am far too upset to deal with you humanely right now.” She was pacing again, making a path to the window and back. When she came back to the side of the bed, I had a view of my crutches in addition to the points of her shoes.

  “Get up,” she said. “You’re going to get up and stand in the corner to think about what you’ve done while I decide what to do with you.”

  Putting me in the corner? Threatening to put me over her knee? Am I a child? This was a side of Miss Baxter I had not seen before—a scary side. I wasn’t sure I liked it. But realistically, I had nowhere else to go. And maybe I had been acting like a child lately, but jeez.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Baxter.” I stood up, and without raising my eyes to her, took my crutches under my arms, and made my way to face the corner of the room.

  She said nothing in response, but when I heard the door click shut, I knew she had left me alone in the room.

  * * * *

  At first, I was angry. Who did she think she was? My fucking landlady stands me in a corner? That takes a lot of damn nerve. And threatening to put me over her knee like that? As if!

  Then I was distraught. What was I going to do if she tossed me out? Where would I stay? I’d already burned all my bridges with family and friends. That’s what led me here to her boarding house. This was the last stop.

  Finally, I
was sorry. My addiction had caused me to be a failure in the eyes of everyone I had known, and now I was securing that title with the one person in my life who was making any effort to be nice to me—Miss Baxter.

  In the end I was less upset by Miss Baxter standing me in a corner than I was with myself for letting her down. But then I supposed that was probably her plan all along.

  I sniffled a little, and thought about what I should say to her. The door opened.

  “You’re still here.” She sighed. “It’s been an hour. I honestly thought you would have packed up and slinked your way out the side entrance by now.”

  “I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  “Anise.” She laid a hand on my shoulder and gently urged me to turn and face her. “I don’t want to be cross with you. I really don’t.”

  “It’s not like I didn’t give you a reason.”

  “Anise. Let me finish.” Miss Baxter took my hand and pulled me over to sit on the edge of the bed.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect, but at least the kindly old landlady seemed to be back—Miss Baxter, the one who had bought me a vibrator and a snowboard, and gotten me enrolled in a treatment program.

  “The Aphrodite is now off-limits to you. I wanted to try this relationship with the carrot approach instead of the stick, but as we both know, that didn’t work out.”

  Carrot? Stick? Relationship?

  “Anise,” she said. “I want you in a full-time, inpatient rehabilitation program. Once you’re sober, if you’re still willing to sign on as caretaker of the house, I will cover the expense. Otherwise, consider it a loan until you’re back on your feet financially.”

  Her hand was on my shoulder again, gently rubbing. I couldn’t even look her in the eye.

  “Miss Baxter, I appreciate your offer. I really do. But I’ll probably lose my endorsement from the prosthetics company if they find out I’m in rehab.”

  “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you almost burned the house down.”

  She didn’t sound angry. In fact, she was so calm about it that I felt even more like an idiot. And what did I do? I decided to dig myself in deeper.

  “Miss Baxter?” I said. “I really do think they’ll drop my sponsorship. Would you—would you be willing to let me do outpatient? Please? If putting me over you knee would make you—”

  “Young lady, do not suppose that you can tell me what I should or should not do.” She had stopped rubbing my shoulder and moved her hand to rest on the mattress, and it sounded like the kindly Miss Baxter had departed again.

  “If you even knew what it meant to be across my knee,” she said, “I assure you, you would not be so eager. I have not always been a nice person.”

  I felt my stomach knot just a little at her words, but I pressed forward. It was either that or have no place to live. I touched my fingers to her hand, timidly, but she did not pull away. I figured that was a good sign.

  “Miss Baxter,” I said. “I don’t believe that. You’ve been nothing but kind to me—generous and fair. Even when you put me in the corner, I—”

  “I shouldn’t have done that. Not with your injury.”

  “Miss Baxter, you’ve never treated me any differently because of my leg. You wouldn’t let me off easy when it came to motivating me to get back on the slopes. And I wouldn’t expect you to lay off now—especially after what I did today.”

  I stared at the back of her hand as I got a little bolder and pressed my fingers deeper between the mattress and where her palm was resting. I let out the breath I was holding when Miss Baxter responded with a little squeeze. I still couldn’t look her in the eye.

  “I appreciate your firmness,” I said. “I think it might be exactly what I need in my life right now.”

  Miss Baxter said nothing for a moment, but at least she didn’t let go of my hand. Then she stood up and kissed the top of my head. “You have a very burnt pot to scrub, young lady. And I expect the Aphrodite to be placed outside my bedroom door before you start.”

  “Yes, Miss Baxter.”

  * * * *

  It took me a little while to pick myself up off the bed and make my way to the dresser where I kept my intimate friend, the dual-motor Aphrodite. God, that thing was wonderful, and I was seriously going to miss it. But I set it on the floor outside of Miss Baxter’s bedroom door just as she had instructed.

  I was a little sad at our parting, but it was over quickly enough. I spent a lot more time in the kitchen trying to get rid of all the burnt crud from the pot that was supposed to be my lunch. Miss Baxter came in once during that time, not to check on my progress, I don’t think, but just to get a drink from the refrigerator.

  “I’ll be out the rest of the afternoon,” she said, her only form of acknowledgment. “I run a tab at Capone’s Deli if you’d like to order out. Please don’t use the stove.”

  I almost chuckled at her crack about using the stove, but I noticed that she was not smiling. “Yes, Miss Baxter.”

  And then she left. I didn’t have any idea what time she’d be back, but I assumed it would be later in the evening. That gave me plenty of time to think, order dinner, and think some more.

  I thought about what Miss Baxter had said about not always being a nice person. I thought about her desire to put me over her knee, and the fact that she actually did stand me in a corner—for an hour. I mean, honestly, who does that?

  And more than that, I thought about the fact that I had let her stand me in that corner, and might have even let her put me over her knee if that’s what it took to stay in her good graces.

  These were the thoughts that nagged at me, but deep thoughts proved too much with a belly full of good Italian food, and eventually sleep overtook me. I probably could have slept until morning too, if I had the good sense to drain my bladder before closing my eyes.

  As I made my midnight trek to the bathroom, I noticed the light spilling from the crack of Miss Baxter’s partially open door. She was home. But is it the kind Miss Baxter or the I-haven’t-always-been-a-nice-person-Miss Baxter?

  When I finished up, I stood outside her bedroom door with my hand poised to knock. I was just thinking about what a dumb idea it was, and how I should just go back to my own room and try to sleep, when I heard her voice.

  “Come in,” she said.

  That spooked me a little. How did she know I was standing there?

  “Or don’t,” she continued. “But please make up your mind soon.”

  As I slowly opened the door in front of me, I had a flashback to the night that I tried and failed at my hastily concocted sex-for-rent scheme. Miss Baxter was lying in bed, tablet in hand, and pulling back the covers on the unoccupied side.

  “Do you want me to—?” I started.

  “Do you want to?”

  “Um.” Want to what, exactly? I hadn’t thought that through. Surely not sex. She had already turned that down once before.

  “Please make up your mind, my dear.”

  “Yes, Miss Baxter.” I crawled in bed with her. And after a while I worked up the nerve to rest my head on her shoulder. Just like before she let me snuggle in while she continued reading, almost like I wasn’t there.

  She smelled nice though. As I lay there wide awake—my early afternoon snooze had seriously messed up my sleep schedule—I got to appreciate how nice Miss Baxter smelled.

  “You smell good.” I said, and then regretted it.

  “Thank you, my dear.” She never looked up from her reading.

  I let my gaze wander over Miss Baxter’s partially-covered form as she appeared to concentrate on tuning me out. Her remark about being old enough to be my mother may or may not have been true, but if it was, she had certainly aged well. She looked damn good in those trouser suits she was always wearing, and not too shabby at all in her silk nightie.

  “Do I pass?” she said.

  I flinched. “Um, what?”

  “Do you like what you see? Or are you not done looking yet?”

  �
��Miss Baxter, I’m—”

  “Oh, good heavens girl, get over it. I know you’re attracted to me. And you should know that I find you to be a rather exquisite example of a female specimen. But we are not going to become sexually intimate.”

  “I…What?”

  “I’ve decided that you may earn your rent according to our original agreement, that you will serve as caretaker of my boarding house. This is, of course, provided that you return to your outpatient rehabilitation program and clear any future absences with me.” She set her tablet down on the night stand and stared down her nose at me. “Well in advance.”

  I raised my head to sneak a look at something besides her chin for a split second, but dropped my gaze back to the bed linens as soon as she met my eyes. “Thank you, Miss Baxter.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to be sexually intimate?” I don’t know why I felt the need to be such a smart ass, particularly after just getting back into her good graces, but I said it, and my stomach clenched immediately afterward.

  “If you have needs, I will give you permission to use the Aphrodite,” she said. “But only in my presence.”

  “Um.” What?

  “Either in my presence or not at all. Those are the new rules surrounding your enjoyment of the Aphrodite. I believe it’s quite generous.” The corners of Miss Baxter’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. She seemed to be somewhat amused by this arrangement.

  “You want me to—”

  “Of course, it’s your choice, my dear.” She let out a sigh. “I did warn you that I’m not always a nice person.”

  I thought about that for a while. I suppose I only have myself to blame—I had crawled in here with her after all. But wow, did she take it to the next level, and fast.

  It didn’t take me long to come to my decision. “Should I undress first?”

  “Completely up to you, my dear. I’m not planning to help you get yourself off, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She passed me the vibrator. “It’s fully charged, take as long as you need.”