Tom Rosen’s Christmas Vacation
December 31, 2010, 7:00pm, MT
Location: The Oak Bar in the Hotel Jerome, Aspen, Colorado. Tom Rosen, His father, Samuel, and his mother, Annabelle, are having drinks.
Mrs. Rosen: [To Tom] So, what will you be doing tonight?
Tom: I’ve made plans.
Mrs. Rosen: What plans?
Tom: People to see, conversations to have…you know.
Mrs. Rosen: Sam, he’s being abstract again.
Mr. Rosen: Let him go, Annie. He doesn’t want to hang around with a bunch of old people.
Mrs. Rosen: Are you upset that Chloe and her family didn’t come this year, Tom?
Tom: [Sipping from a tumbler of Scotch] I see Chloe all the time at school. It’s not so bad to take a break from each other.
Mrs. Rosen: You used to be inseparable.
Tom: I don’t know about inseparable. We used to hang out a lot.
Mrs. Rosen: I’d always hoped that the two of you…
Tom: I’m seeing Jaime, Mom.
Mrs. Rosen: [Sighs] I know, and she’s perfectly lovely, though a little fresh at times. I just…
Mr. Rosen: You’re nagging.
Mrs. Rosen: [Sighs again] Alright, I’ll let it go.
Mr. Rosen: Do you have the key to the suite, Tom? You’ll get in much later than us.
Tom: Yeah, I’ve got it.
Mrs. Rosen: Do you have any idea when you’ll be in?
Tom: Not really, Mom. No.
Mr. Rosen: He’ll be fine, Annie.
Mrs. Rosen: Well, make sure you have your cell phone with you, just in case.
Tom: [Removes a mobile phone from his inside jacket pocket and checks the charge on the battery] Got it, Mom. It’s weird carrying this around. [Looks at it thoughtfully]
Mr. Rosen: That’s one thing Friedman has demonstrated, hasn’t he? How unnecessary these goddamned devices are.
Mrs. Rosen: Sam!
Mr. Rosen: Well, they are, aren’t they? As far as I’m concerned, unless you’re an emergency room surgeon, there’s no reason to be “always available.” Not to mention the rudeness. People are always fiddling with the things while you talk to them.
Mrs. Rosen: I don’t like it when people check their phones while they’re talking to me either, but you have to admit they’re convenient. Remember that time my car broke down on the highway a few months ago?
Mr. Rosen: Pay phones and emergency call boxes were just fine. The handful of times I had to use them in my life was barely an inconvenience compared to the constant interruptions and distractions caused by these things.
Tom: Dr. Friedman certainly was right about their effect on students. I’d forgotten what it was like to talk to people and actually have them look you in the face.
Mr. Rosen: It was a good decision you made to change schools, Tom. I’m glad you convinced us.
Mrs. Rosen: Don’t you miss Beverly Hills High?
Tom: No.
Mrs. Rosen: Not even a little bit?
Tom: No.
Mr. Rosen: Why should he miss it? Nothing but a bunch of snobs, as far as I could tell.
Mrs. Rosen: [Weakly] We’re…friends…with some of the parents from Beverly Hills High.
Mr. Rosen: I always hated the place; people included.
Tom: [Finishes his drink and rises from his chair] I’m gonna’ take off.
Mrs. Rosen: [Reaching up to give him a hug] Have a good time. And be careful.
Tom: I will, Mom.
Mr. Rosen: [Stands up and grasps his son’s hand] Have fun, Tom. We’ll see you tomorrow.
Tom: You guys have fun too.
Mr. Rosen: I suspect you’ll have a better time than us. Our plans consist of “dinner and dancing” with the boring Robinsons.
Mrs. Rosen: I thought you liked the Robinsons.
Mr. Rosen: How did you ever get that idea?
Tom: [Waves] Well, Happy New Year!
Mr. Rosen: Happy New Year!
Mrs. Rosen: Yes, Happy New Year, dear!
Tom pushes through the heavy doors out onto the street. It is cold, and his breath comes out in wispy, vaporous threads. A light snow falls. The sidewalk is filled with people on their way to the restaurants, bars, and nightclubs that line the Main Street. After a moment’s pause, Tom turns right and then makes another right down a small, dark alley, at the end of which is a bar, the only indication of which is a red door, above which is a blue neon sign that says “Lounge.” Tom puts his hand on the door and hesitates for a moment. Then, he goes inside.
He makes his way down a long, dark corridor, sliding his hands along the walls as he goes. The Stooges’ “Search and Destroy” emanates from another red door at the far end of the hallway, and there is the murmur of voices and the sound of clinking glasses. On entering the bar, Tom is greeted by a cloud of smoke that smells like a mixture of marijuana and cigarettes.
A man, who looks to be in his sixties comes from around the bar, his arms stretched out in welcome. He is wearing a black t-shirt, jeans and white snakeskin cowboy boots.
Tom: [Accepts the man’s embrace] Cross, it’s good to see you.
Cross: How’s my boy?
Tom: I can’t complain. [Looks around] Still defying that smoking ban, I see.
Cross: Why shouldn’t I? It’s not as if anyone in this town has the balls to come here and enforce it.
Tom: The sheriff doesn’t want to tangle with the Beatnik Mafia, eh?
Cross: This is Aspen, Tom. Hunter was almost elected sheriff here.
Tom: In 1969.
Cross: It could’ve been 1869. The townie population hasn’t changed that much.
Tom: Colorado wasn’t a state in 1869.
Cross: [Lifts up his head and his eyes narrow] Now you’re just being a smartass.
Tom: I try to be accurate.
Cross: [Laughs gustily and claps Tom on the shoulder] Still the master of misdirection.
Tom: [Bows slightly] I learned from the best.
Cross: [Goes back behind the bar] You’re better at it than I am at this point. I don’t have the patience anymore. Drink?
Tom: Scotch.
Cross: [Takes a bottle of 15 year old Laphroaig from the top shelf and pours two fingers into a glass. Slides it across the bar to Tom and pours one for himself. Holds it aloft] To the cause.
Tom: [Raises his glass] Eternal vigilance.
Cross: [Removes a cigarette from a crumpled pack of Camels and lights it] Mafia analogies aside, you don’t have to check in anymore, you know. I’ve released you from service.
Tom: I’ll drop in once in a while, if you don’t mind.
Cross: Is that sentimentality? [Searches Tom’s face] Or are you trying to replenish yourself at the well?
Tom: Can’t it be both?
Cross: [Stares at Tom for a moment and then lets out another noisy laugh] Why not? It’s good to see you. [Takes a long draught of Scotch. Gestures towards a booth, with shiny, black patent leather seats] Let’s sit down.
The two take their drinks over to the booth. A girl emerges from the back room, and Cross calls her over. She is young, with a thin, wiry body and is wearing black leather pants and a matching corset. Under the bar lights, her long, dark hair shines with a blue sheen, framing her small, angular face, which is both pretty and tough.
Kat: [Tilts her head at Tom] Who’s this?
Cross: Kat, meet Tommy Rosen. Tommy…Kat.
Kat: So, that’s him. I thought he’d be taller. [Looks Tom over]
Tom: Sorry to disappoint you.
Cross: Kat helps out with things.
Tom: That’s nice.
Cross: She’s very efficient. The best assistant I’ve had, since…well, since you. [His face breaks open into a craggy, toothy smile.]
Tom: I’m happy you’ve been able to keep quality staff.
Kat: Was there something you wanted, Dad? ‘Cause if this is just a social call, I have a lot of inventory to check in the storeroom.
Cross: I want to chat a little bit with Tommy here, baby. Keep an eye on the bar and the door.
Kat: Right on. [Nods at Tom and crosses the room to the bar, where she plants herself, arms crossed in front of her chest, and stares stonily at the entrance].
Tom: “Dad”?
Cross: They all call me that. It’s a term of endearment.
Tom: Like you’re a cuddly Abbie Hoffman or something?
Cross: Do I look like some hippie joker to you?
Tom: Definitely not. [Raises an eyebrow] “Baby”?
Cross: [Cracks another toothy smile] I won’t deny that there’s a little romance there.
Tom: Is that girl even old enough to be in a bar, let alone in a romance with you?
Cross: [Looks up at the ceiling] If I recall correctly, you started with me at the ripe old age of thirteen.
Tom: As a courier, yes. As a “baby,” no.
Cross: She’s a former street kid, who wants to serve the cause. I’m not married, she’s not thirteen, and she digs me. Why should I object?
Tom: No reason at all. Plus, she’s efficient.
Cross: I’ll tell her you were concerned about her well-being. She’ll either be grateful or knife you in the alley, depending on her mood.
Tom: Sorry. I’m just not in this head space anymore. I’m not questioning you. Really.
Cross: [Puts a heavy, lined hand on Tom’s] You were never gonna’ do this for long. You just needed a little technique and a little toughening up. I provided those things. We did good work together. But I knew that the small-time operations of an ex-Weatherman who liked drugs, booze, women, and good conversation more than revolution wouldn’t be enough for a boy with your talents. And I was right. The shit you guys are doing at New Ridgemont High is incredible.
Tom: You know about New Ridgemont High?
Cross: Do you think there’s anything you do that I don’t know about?
Tom: I appreciate you keeping an eye on me.
Cross: Don’t flatter yourself. I keep tabs on all my ex-associates.
Tom: I appreciate that you consider me an associate.
Cross: You’re becoming irritating now. [Slides a long, slim joint from the cigarette pack. Lights it and takes a long drag, then hands it to Tom, who takes it between his thumb and forefinger and sucks gently]
Tom: Fantastic.
Cross: That’s from Hunter’s personal stash. He grows it at Woody Creek.
Tom: How is he?
Cross: Depressed as hell. The last time he was here, he got blind drunk and begged me to shoot him.
Tom: Jesus.
Cross: This isn’t his country any more, Tom. I’m surprised he hasn’t already offed himself.
Tom: Well, let’s hope he doesn’t. There’s still important work for him to do. [Raises his glass] To Hunter…
Cross: [Clinks Tom’s glass] To Hunter.
The two down their drinks and Cross pours two more. They pass the joint between them several times, in comfortable silence.
Cross: So, this thing you’re doing.
Tom: [Rubs his face and smoothes back his hair] Yeah.
Cross: It’s big time.
Tom: [Wearily] Yeah.
Cross: You’re worried.
Tom: Yeah.
Cross: The place is a success.
Tom: A wild success.
Cross: I can see why you’re worried.
Tom: Things are happening too fast. It’s not the school itself I’m worried about. New Ridgemont High is like the best kind of dream. But the way things are ramping up politically; the whole state is counting on Friedman to save their kids.
Cross: You’re afraid it won’t work, and they’ll blame him for it.
Tom: Him and the school.
Cross: That’s not all, though.
Tom: No.
Cross: You’re thinking about the attention this is gonna’ bring. All eyes on New Ridgemont High, all the time.
Tom: Something like that. I don’t need to tell you how nasty the opposition is. Lee Atwater level stuff.
Cross: [Leans in] Are there things going on there?
Tom: [Gives a short laugh] It’s an 80s school, complete with kids smoking joints behind the building and spiking the punch at school dances. Friedman lets it all happen. And everyone’s cool with it.
Cross: Everyone inside that is.
Tom: Yes.
Cross: Any other things going on?
Tom: [His eyes narrowing] Maybe…I’m not sure.
Cross: [Pats Tom’s hand again] Just remember, if it all goes south, we’re ready.
Tom: I know.
The two settle back into their seats, smoking in silence.
December 31, 2010 10:30pm, MT.
Tom is back on the Aspen streets. The snow has stopped, and the air is much colder. He checks his watch and then heads back up the alley, making a right at the Main Street, which he follows for several blocks. He weaves through the throngs of people clustered around the entrances to several popular night-spots, and then makes a left onto a narrow road that eventually leads to a dead-end and a large, bustling bar with “Triumph!” emblazoned in chrome over the front doors. Loverboy’s “Working for the Weekend” is playing loudly inside.
Two bouncers are trying to maintain control over the scores of people, waiting to get into the bar. The crowd consists almost entirely of townies, and the bouncers sport mullets, muscle shirts, leather jackets and jeans. One of them spots Tom.
Nick: Tommy! [Pushes a kid in a Def Leppard t-shirt out of his way and holds out his arms, a wide grin on his face.] Tommmmyyy!
Tom: [Embraces him warmly] Nick, it’s good to see you, man.
Nick: [Yelling over to his partner, who is in the process of breaking up a minor scuffle] Paul, it’s Tommy!
Paul: Hold on a minute. [Grabs one of the combatants, a scrawny kid in a jean-jacket, and throws him off the front porch, into a snowbank, then puts his boot on the rear end of the other and shoves him down the stairs.] This way, Tommy. Just climb over that guy. [Grabs Tom in a bear hug] Yo, yo, yo!
Tom: It’s the New Year!
Nick: [Puts his arm around Tom’s shoulder] And that means it’s time…
Paul: [Comes around Tom’s other side and adds his arm to the clinch] For the boys to come out!
Tom, Nick and Paul: Hoo! Hoo!
Kid: Can we go in now?
Nick and Paul: No!
The Kid mumbles something inaudible and returns to the crowd.
Nick: Go inside, Tommy. We’ll follow you once we’ve taken care of these people.
Paul: Everyone’s here, man. You’re gonna’ flip.
Nick: [Leaning over and counting on his fingers] Joey is here. Marlene is here. Helene is here. [Pumps his fist] And Dougie is fucking here!
Tom: No way.
Nick: Way.
Tom: Okay, I’ve gotta’ get in there. See you in a little bit!
Nick and Paul: [Point at him] You know it!
Tom pushes through the front doors and into the bar, which is packed with locals: teenagers and twenty-somethings, mostly, with a sprinkling of weathered old-timers. Makes his way over to the bar, which bristles with beer taps and the back of which is lined with gleaming bottles and glasses. Standing behind it is Triumph’s owner and head bartender, Robert Black, who is engaged in a vigorous conversation with one of the old timers, over a bottle of bourbon. Just as the guy launches into an impassioned tirade, Black sees Tom and holds out his arms, a broad smile on his face.
Black: Tommy! Tommy Rosen!
Tom: [Leans across the bar and hugs the heavy set, grizzled man] It’s awesome to see you, Mr. Black!
Black: Where ya’ been, Tommy? It’s gotta’ be at least three years.
Tom: We’ve been coming with another family — the Gold’s — lately. Haven’t had a chance to get back to the old haunts, you know?
Black: Not their scene, eh?
Tom: Something like that.
Black: [Taps the side of his nose] Need to know.
Tom: Exactly.
Black: [Brings a bottle of Macallan from behind the bar and dusts it off. Holds it up for Tom to inspect]
Tom: You remembered!
Black: [Pours Tom a triple and slides it across the bar] It’s been back here since the last time you came. No one else drinks the stuff. Beer and bourbon and some foo-foo drinks for the girls. That’s about the whole of it.
Tom: [Sips at the Scotch] How’s Marlene?
Black: You can ask her yourself. She’s in the back room, with the rest of the crew.
Tom: [Looks down at his drink] I’m a little nervous.
Black: [Laughs] Nervous? She’s gonna’ go ape-shit when she sees you.
Tom: I haven’t been the best about keeping in touch.
Black: None of that matters, Tommy.
Tom: Yeah, I know, it’s just…we were tight, you know?
Black: You were her first real boyfriend.
Tom: I feel like I ditched her.
Black: Bullshit. I’d have kicked your ass if you did.
Tom looks at Black guiltily.
Black: We’re used to it, us year-rounders. We do seasonal trade here. We know you’ve got another life back in LA.
Tom: [Wistfully] Another life…yeah.
Black: But you always come back to the family.
Tom: [Murmurs] To my real life.
Black: Damn straight. [Pours himself a Scotch and holds it up] To real life!
Smiling, Tom holds up his glass and clinks it against Black’s.
Black: Marlene’s fine, Tommy. She’s moved on. I even hear that Nick’s got a thing for her…through the grapevine, of course.
Tom: [Laughing] Why would you have to hear things through the “grapevine”?
Black: You don’t think she actually tells me anything, do you? The girl’s seventeen years old. She doesn’t tell me shit.
Tom: Nick’s a righteous guy.
Black: You think I’d allow him near her, if he wasn’t?
Tom: [Grasps his drink firmly and drains it. Straightens himself up] I’ll go see her now.
Black: [Pours Tom another drink. Lifts his up and nods approvingly] Good boy.
Tom puts his hand on Black’s arm and squeezes it gently. Takes his drink and heads towards the bar’s back room. Marlene Black and Helene Roberts are reclining in a booth, talking, laughing and sharing a cigarette. They wear matching black long-coats, under which sparkle silver cocktail dresses, and are barefoot, their boots kicked out across the floor. At the Jukebox, Joey Russo and Doug Whittaker are arguing over what song to play next. They make an odd twosome: Joey, with his slicked back hair, a skintight white t-shirt, cigarette pack rolled up in the sleeve, and worn Levi’s and boots, and Doug, who sports an Argyle sweater, pegged corduroy pants and suede shoes.
Joey: [Waving a cigarette expressively] It’s not just about what we want, man. The shit we pick plays throughout the entire bar.
Doug: Since when are you so multicultural? I mean, Loverboy? Really?
Joey: [Puts out his arms] I’m just sayin’…we gotta’ think about the working man, y’know?
Doug: And the “working man” wants Loverboy?
Joey: Well…
Doug: What we need is some Metal.
Joey: [Nodding vigorously] Metal is good.
Tom enters the room.
Tom: Autograph. “Turn up the Radio.”
Doug smiles. Jams his elbow back against the Jukebox. A second later, the opening riff of the 1984 anthem echoes across the PA.
There is a long pause. Marlene and Helene jump up and embrace Tom, covering him with hugs and kisses. Then, he’s nearly knocked over by an enormous slap on the back from a very enthusiastic Joey.
Joey: TOMMMYYYY!
Tom grabs Joey up in a bear hug. Squeezes him tight.
Tom: Joey, my God is it good to see you….all of you. Dougie, Helene…
Marlene: We’ve missed you, Tommy.
Tom: Marlene…
A long moment passes, as Tom and Marlene stare into each others’ eyes, their friends maintaining a respectful silence. Joey turns momentarily from the group to light a cigarette.
Marlene: Why didn’t you call? Write?
Tom: [Looks down] Marlene…
Marlene: All these years, you’ve been coming to Aspen. And you never stopped by; never came to see me. Why?
Tom: We’ve…been coming with the Golds the last few years.
Marlene: [Cocks her head] So, now that you’re making it with Beverly Hills chicks, the townie girlfriend in Colorado isn’t so appealing anymore?
Helene: [Stroking Marlene’s arm] It’s Tommy. You know that isn’t true.
Tom: No, it isn’t.
Marlene: [Looks at him, her eyes moist] Then explain it to me.
Tom: I was miserable at Beverly Hills High.
Doug: Who wouldn’t be? [Hugs Marlene] Why do you think I hang out here, with you guys?
Helene: You’re not from Beverly Hills.
Doug: No, I’m from Forest Hills Gardens. Same shitheads, different coasts.
Tom: [Takes up Marlene’s hands] When you and I got together that Christmas, we were thirteen years old. I was in the middle of my last year of Junior High.
Joey beckons to Doug and they confer for a moment, then leave for the bar.
Tom: I had no idea what was in store for me that coming year. How fucking awful Beverly Hills High was. [Clenches his teeth] The gross displays of wealth. The cliques. The shaming and abuse. It was terrible.
Helene: I don’t mean this the way it’s gonna’ sound [takes a long sip from her drink], but isn’t your family, like, way rich? Even for Beverly Hills?
Tom: That made it worse. There were all these sick expectations: that I should be the King of the Dicks, because I was the richest; that I should be the one shoving the nerds into lockers and humiliating fat kids in the lunchroom. And when I refused to go along with it, everyone thought it meant that I was a druggie, a weirdo or both. Overnight outcast.
Marlene: Jesus.
Tom: I was lucky, though. Chloe was there. I’ve known her as long as I’ve known you guys; well, except for Joey, maybe.
Joey and Doug return with a tray filled with drinks. They pass them out.
Joey: Except for Joey, maybe, what?
Tom: How old were we when we first met?
Joey: Five years old. We used to have robot wars with my father’s industrial vacuum cleaners out on the rug in the Jerome’s Great Hall.
Tom: My god, I’d forgotten that.
Helene: That is so cute.
Tom: [Takes a long draught from a fresh Scotch] Anyway, I was lucky to have Chloe. She hated Beverly Hills as much as I did, so we got together, gathered up a bunch of other misfits and started our own thing.
Marlene: Got together?
Tom: [Shakes his head] Not like that. We were best friends, and it stayed that way.
Marlene: Okay, so you didn’t ditch me to chase other girls. I still don’t understand why you never came to see me. Never called. Never wrote.
Tom: I don’t know if I can explain it.
Marlene: [Her lips tight] We said we loved each other.
Tom: [Eyes closed. Exhales] And I meant it.
Helene takes Joey and Doug by the arms.
Helene: Buy me shots, boys. I want shots. [The three head out to the bar.]
Marlene: Why didn’t you come back?
Tom: I couldn’t.
Marlene: Why?
Tom: I can’t give you a rational explanation. I can only tell you how I felt.
Marlene: I’m listening.
Tom: When all the shit started going down at Bev Hills, things were really dark.
Marlene lights a cigarette and takes a drag off of it. Hands it to Tom, who puffs slowly.
Tom: But this…you…it was good.
Marlene: [Takes the cigarette backs from him] Go on.
Tom: And then when all the anti-youth stuff really started to ramp up. When campuses started closing. When every high school was overrun with cops. When kids started getting arrested or “detained” left and right…
Marlene: I know. It’s everywhere.
Tom: That same year, we started coming here with the Golds. I felt like I was in a weird secret war, and I brought that whole thing with me to Colorado. I just couldn’t see you. Not like that.
Marlene: Oh, Tommy…
Tom: There’s more. I started going out on my own; hanging out on the other side of town. You know, the southwest alley; The Lounge?
Marlene: Tommy, that place is dangerous.
Tom: Of course it is. That’s what attracted me to it. But that’s not the point. I felt like I had to do something.
Marlene: What?
Tom: Even now, I can’t say for sure. But with what’s happened this year…
Marlene: You’re talking about your new school.
Tom: New Ridgemont High.
Marlene: Right.
Tom: It could change everything.
Marlene lights the cigarette, which has gone out. Hands it to Tom, who drags on it and hands it back.
Tom: I knew that things were only going to get worse. I felt like I had to do something.
Marlene: [Brushes Tom’s hair away from his face] That’s pretty vague.
Tom: I’m being vague, because it’s vague to me. But the feeling was strong. Strong enough to have made me think that I needed training from Cross.
Marlene: Cross?
Tom: The head honcho at The Lounge. Former SDS and Weather Underground.
Marlene: Training in what?
Tom: Subversion. Propaganda. Spying. Bomb-making. You name it.
Marlene: Jesus, Tommy.
Tom: And it turns out that I was right. I’m sitting in the middle of the biggest revolution the country’s seen since the 1960s, and I’m gonna’ need everything Cross has taught me — and more — to make it succeed.
Marlene: Look, I’ve heard about New Ridgemont High. Who hasn’t? But aren’t you taking a little bit too much responsibility for it? I mean, you’re just a student.
Tom: [Laughs] Just a student? I’m Student Body Vice-President to Chloe Gold’s Student Body President, working shoulder to shoulder with Principal William Friedman, Ph.D. It’s no joke. He’s doing this in full collaboration with the Student Government.
Marlene: Holy crap.
Tom: And both of them are relying on me.
Marlene: How so?
Tom: They’re true-believers. They love everyone, and they really mean it. No bullshit. It’s amazing how they run the place together. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Marlene: Sounds like they’re in love with each other.
Tom: Now, that is a very interesting thought.
Marlene: I don’t see where you come in, though.
Tom: I’m there to protect them. Those two love everyone so much that they don’t realize how many bad people there are out there or what they’ll do to them, if they’re not careful. This means everything to Chloe, Mar…everything. If this goes badly, it’ll destroy her. [Grips Marlene’s hand, his eyes glassy with tears]
Marlene: [Touches his cheek] I get it, Tom. I understand.
Tom: [Grasps her and hugs her tightly to him] Thank you.
Marlene: And what about us? What now?
Tom: Now, you go out with Nick. And I go back to New Ridgemont High and make sure the happy hippies don’t traipse into a nest of snakes.
Marlene: How do you know about Nick?
Tom: I hear things.
Marlene: [Laughing] You are just the most…
The door swings open and Nick and Paul are there, brandishing two bottles of Champagne, each. They stride into the room, followed by Joey, Helene, and Doug, who are also holding Champagne bottles.
Paul: Five minutes to 2021!
Tom: I don’t think you guys brought enough champagne.
Doug: What? A bottle for each of us. Half of it is gonna’ wind up on the floor anyway.
Nick: [Goes over to Marlene, who is drying her eyes. Puts his arm around her shoulder.] Everything OK,?
Marlene: [Smiles, her eyes shining] Just catching up with Tommy. We’re good.
Joey: Let’s head back out to the bar. The whole family should be together for this.
The group leave the back room, arms linked, their animated conversation and laughter adding an additional level of energy to the already crackling bar atmosphere. They gather around Marlene’s father, who is smiling so broadly it looks as if his face might split.
Robert Black: [To everyone] Listen up! This is a special New Year’s eve celebration. The first time in three years that all the Triumph kids have been back together, under my roof.
A wild cheer goes up from the crowd.
Black: And a special welcome back to Tommy Rosen. May we never go another year without him.
Marlene: [Whispers to Tom] You hear that? You’d better not disappear again.
Tom: [Kisses her cheek] Never. I’m back home for good.
Paul: [Shouts, pointing at the clock] Time for the countdown!
All: Ten! Nine! Eight…!
Doug: [To Tom] Twenty fucking eleven.
Tom: I know, it’s hard to believe.
Doug: Where have the years gone, man? Weren’t we just nine years old, doing our first double black?
All: Seven! Six! Five…!
Tom: [To Doug] We should hit the slopes tomorrow. See if those two boys are still there, you know?
Doug hugs Tom to him.
All: Four! Three! Two…!
Nick takes up Marlene’s face in his hands and kisses her. They embrace.
All: One!
Tom, watching the two lovers, smiles.
All: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!
There is a tremendous roar and the simultaneous popping of dozens of champagne corks. Kiss’s God Gave Rock ‘N Roll To You echoes from the PA, and the night’s revelry kicks up to a transcendent pitch, resonant with love, friendship, and unadulterated joy.
January 1, 2011. Time Unknown.
It is very late, when Tom returns to the Aspen streets, which are now completely empty and silent, except for the crunching of his booted feet in the snow and a whistling, bitterly cold wind that cuts through his coat and chills him to the bone. He puts up his collar and tucks his chin down, in order to keep as much of his face from the icy air as possible.
He makes his way up the road, on which are located the Jerome and several other hotels, but when he reaches the corner, rather than turn right, onto the Jerome’s long, curving drive, he turns left, walking several hundred yards further, before going up the drive of a lone hotel separate from the others. It is significantly older and built in the style of a great hunting lodge. There is no sign or anything else indicating the hotel’s name.
Once inside, he goes to the elevators at the back of the deserted entry hall, which is lined with stuffed bears, elk, and other assorted taxidermy. After waiting several moments, the elevator arrives and he takes it up to the second floor. He walks slowly down the main corridor, moving silently across the thick carpeting, his eyes scanning the room numbers on the doors, until he stops at one: Room 237. He reaches out to open it, but before his hand can touch the doorknob, the door clicks open on its own. He enters a dark, narrow vestibule, which is dimly lit, from an unknown source. It is lined with red wallpaper, and on either side stands a full-sized replica of the Venus de Milo. The most noticeable thing is the carpeting, which is also red, and across which runs a bizarre, zigzag pattern that continues into the living room of a large suite.
The suite’s furniture has been moved in order to make room for several long tables, arranged in a semi-circle, at which sit eight teenagers; a mixture of boys and girls. In front of each of them is a small card, denoting a region: Northeast, Southeast, Upper Midwest, Lower-Midwest, Mountain States, Southwest, Pacific Northwest, and lastly, California, the chair for which is unoccupied.
Tom: [Gives a short laugh, gesturing around the room] A bit dramatic, no?
The boy who sits in the Northeast chair stands up.
Mr. Northeast: I don’t follow you.
Tom: The oldest hotel in Aspen. Rumored to be haunted. Room 237. Crazy carpet…
Mr. Northeast: [Smiles faintly] It serves.
Tom: I suppose you’re waiting to hear my report.
Mr. Northeast: Yes.
Tom crosses the room and seats himself in the California chair.
Tom: I hope you’re all caught up on your sleep. This may take a while.
