---

 

---

Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Edwardian Script ITC font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word installs this font automatically.

Editor's Note: Jenny Walker has graciously allowed me to represent her original story No Half Measures on BigCloset. Originally published on BigCloset Classic, this story segment was not migrated over to BigCloset TopShelf. This story segment first appeared on BigCloset Classic on Sunday, January 04, 2004 - 03:26 AM. Due to the original story presentation format being unsuitable and unwieldy for most portable devices (each part being over 1 meg in length), the story is now being broken up into single chapters for easier reading. The original Movements will be indicated on their respective chapters. The first chapter of each Movement will retain the original comments and read hits so as to preserve them for the author.

Sephrena Lynn Miller

---

 
 
Chapter 46
 
 
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Denver International Airport. We hope you've enjoyed this British Airways flight. We'd like to wish you a safe onward journey and look forward to having you aboard British Airways again in future."

I disembarked the plane and after the usual wait picked up my luggage. I made my way to a car rental counter and arranged to hire a four-by-four. After being shuttled to the car lot, I picked up my assigned vehicle and with a quick check of the map that I had bought in the airport, I set out on my journey.

Driving took all of my concentration initially. "Think right, think right," I kept murmuring to myself. Although I had been panicking about driving on the American roads, I found them to be fairly easy to navigate. I made my way to Interstate 25 and then relaxed more as I knew this would take me most of the way to my destination. I was able to think about other things than just keeping my car on the correct side of the road.

I hadn't slept much the previous night after coming back from Jon's place. I had felt gutted and embarrassed. There I was, baring my soul to him, only to find that not only did he not share my feelings, but also he was sharing his bed with another woman at that exact moment. I realised that I had been a fool. As I thought through it, I began to rationalise it: I had had to tell him and I'd had to find out the unpleasant truth so that I could move on for real. Looking at it positively, it was another loose end tied up. Yeah, right, if only my heart could manage to feel positive about it. I had shed tears on several occasions over the past twenty-four hours. At one point, one of the stewardesses in first class had stopped by my side and asked if I was OK.

It was a clear sunny March day and as I drove along the straight road with the Rocky Mountains just visible to my right, it felt like I was driving ahead to a new future. In a way, given the reason for my being there, I was.

I exited I-25 and made my way into Colorado Springs. I thought that was a lovely name for a town. Although it conjured up images in my mind of a small homely village, in reality it was actually a fairly large city. My heart was in my mouth as I drove through the city. A few drivers honked with irritation at the cautious way I was driving. I ignored them and focussed on not killing myself or anyone else for that matter.

At one point when I was stopped at a red light, the queue of traffic behind me began honking furiously. I had no idea what they were complaining about, but later learned that apparently you can turn right on a red light. Hard to believe isn't it? I always thought that red meant stop, but who was I to argue. I made my way to the hotel at which I had made reservations. Arriving there with no fatalities, I gratefully parked in the underground garage. I was shaking a little when I got out of the car, but I quickly regained my composure and checked in.

With the travelling and the time difference, I was exhausted. I heard Jools' voice in my mind and forced myself to stay up for as long as possible. Speaking of Jools, I had phoned her the previous night from my house. I had told her I was heading out of the country for a few weeks. Of course she wanted to know where I was going and why. I told her that I wasn't going to tell her, but that she had to trust that I knew what I was doing. She had pressed me to tell her, but she eventually realised that I had meant what I said. She had made me promise to call her.

I had a quiet dinner in the hotel restaurant. Although my kidnapping had increased my profile in America, I had been grateful that since landing on U.S. soil, I had not been aware of anyone recognising me. None of the hotel staff showed any signs of recognition either. This anonymity was just what I wanted, especially considering what lay ahead of me. I eventually dropped into bed around nine thirty local time.
 

*          *          *
 
The next morning, I felt quite refreshed and after breakfast I mentally prepared myself to take to the roads again. I felt a little more confident with my driving, but it still required an exhausting amount of concentration. I followed the directions that I had been given and soon found myself in what was obviously an exclusive and no doubt horrifically expensive suburb. The houses were so far back from the road that they could hardly be seen. Several had large walls, fences and gates preventing unwanted guests from entering.

I pulled up before such a set of gates, opened my window and pressed the buzzer.

"Yes?" a metallic voice asked.

"My name is Nicola Evans. I think I'm expected?"

There was no response, but I heard a click and the gates began to slowly open. I drove up the winding drive that must have been about half a mile long. Eventually I pulled up before a large ranch-style house. It was magnificent. I got out of the car and smoothed down my white linen dress. I retrieved my black jacket from the passenger seat and slipped it on. Vanity demanded that I lean back in to check my hair and make-up in the driver's mirror before I headed to the front door.

I heard a musical chime from deep inside the mansion when I pressed the doorbell. The door was promptly opened by what looked like a maid.

"Miss Evans?" she asked in a soft American accent.

I nodded. "Yes."

"Come this way, please."

I followed her down a long hallway. She knocked on a door and then opened it.

"Dr. Barker, I have Miss Evans for you."

"Show her in, please," a voice said.

She opened the door wide and stepped aside so that I could enter. I stepped into a large study. A ruddy-complexioned, balding man stood up from behind his desk. After the maid had closed the door and left us alone, he walked around and shook my hand in a vice-like grip.

"Miss Evans, it's a pleasure," he said politely.

"Dr. Barker, thank you so much for seeing me like this."

He indicated that I should sit and he sat down again. He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, well, you were very persistent. I don't normally see people at such short notice and hardly ever in my own home. However, you were adamant about privacy, so I couldn't imagine anywhere more private."

"Neither could I," I said with a smile, "you have a lovely home."

"Thank you," he said. He leant back in his chair. "Now what can I do for you, Miss Evans."

I took a deep breath and said, "I'd like to undergo sex reassignment surgery."

He raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything for a moment. I saw a frown briefly cloud his expression and he stared at me intently. Eventually he spoke, "Miss Evans, I'm not sure that's going to be possible." He noticed the concern on my face. "Let me explain. First, I am a professional who practices at the highest level. I am not someone who simply takes the money and does whatever is asked of me. I have to act in the best interests of my patients. What I mean by this is that I only perform such surgeries in situations where I can see that the patient is not only prepared, but also suited to undergoing such a procedure. Also the patient has to live in their new gender for at least a year before I could even consider such an option."

I was confused and felt my heart sinking within me. "I… I don't understand," I stammered.

He smiled gently. "I'm sorry, Miss Evans, but I find it hard to imagine that even with extensive hormone treatment that I'd be able to recommend surgery to reassign your sex. Plus the surgery to transform a woman into a man is very difficult and often the results are not satisfactory."

My eyes widened and I couldn't stop myself from giving a soft laugh.

His eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, did I say something funny?"

"Dr. Barker, I don't want to be transformed into a man. I want to undergo surgery to complete my transition into a woman."

His eyebrows shot upwards and then he grinned and slowly shook his head. "Damn!" he said with some embarrassment. "When you've been in the business as long as I have, you like to think that you are good at spotting what's what. I usually have little difficulty in reading people, but I have to admit that I had you pegged all wrong."

"Thank you… I think," I said.

He nodded. "Yes, it is a compliment. To tell you the truth, I just couldn't imagine trying to turn this beautiful woman in front of me into a man."

I flushed and smiled. "So… does this change things?"

He laughed. "Yes, let's start again. I can see that you have obviously been living as a woman for some time. How long?"

"Nearly eighteen months," I replied.

He nodded. "Good, and certainly I can see that you have adjusted to your role. However, there are other things that need to be considered: formal psychiatric and psychological reports are required along with some basic and… specialised blood tests."

I pulled a folder out of my bag and passed it over to him. On arriving back in London from Cardiff, I had called by Dr. Carson's rooms and obtained copies of everything I would need. She also gave me her blessing for what I was planning. He spent several minutes reading through everything and then looked up and smiled.

"Everything seems to be in order here." He paused. "I will need to perform a physical examination. I'll bring my wife in as a chaperone while I examine you."

I shrugged. "That's not really necessary."

He chuckled. "I'm afraid it is. More to protect me though. The legal climate of this country means that I have to ensure that I'm not leaving myself open to any dubious allegations."

His wife was a pretty blonde woman in her early fifties. She had aged well and I idly wondered if the aging process was easier when your husband was a renowned plastic surgeon. Dr. Barker examined me from top to toe and was thoroughly professional. I was not wearing my protection belt as I hoped to soon have no further need of it. When he was finished, I dressed again and his wife left the room. I took a seat before his desk once more.

"Miss Evans, I would certainly be happy to schedule you for sex reassignment surgery. However, I do have a significant waiting list…"

"Dr. Barker," I interrupted. "There is another complicating factor. I will require absolute anonymity and complete secrecy."

He looked at me strangely. "I'm assuming that I should probably know who you are. You look familiar, but I can't place you."

"I work under the name Cara Malone."

He stared at me blankly for a moment and then something like a spark of recognition showed in his eyes. "Cara Malone? As in the British singer who was recently kidnapped?"

I nodded and smiled. "Yes, that's me."

He raised an eyebrow. "My youngest daughter bought your CD recently. Wow, and you're…" He grinned and shook his head. "Sorry; I keep thinking that I've been in this business too long to be shocked, but there you have it." He paused. "Did your kidnapping have something to do with you being…" He stopped. "I shouldn't pry, sorry."

I nodded. "No, it's OK. You're right, it was related, but I'm sure you'll understand if I don't want to talk about it any further."

"Of course, and I can also understand your requirement for privacy." He thought for a moment and then continued, "I have done a number of 'special' cases over the years. You'd be surprised if you heard their names, but of course I can't tell you that. It is possible to make arrangements to ensure absolute secrecy. These arrangements will result in increased cost to you. My fee doesn’t change as I would do nothing other than protect your privacy, but the ancillary costs will be greater."

I nodded. "I expected as much and I'm prepared to accept that."

"Alright, back to scheduling then. When were you thinking of for your surgery?"

I looked at him frankly. "As soon as possible. If you said it could be done tomorrow, I'd jump at it."

He laughed. "I see." He scratched his head and pulled out a diary. "As this is going to be an extremely private procedure, I could schedule it for a weekend. This weekend is free, assuming I can persuade my anaesthesiologist to work."

"Dr. Barker, I don't mean to sound like I don't trust your arrangements, but how will my identity be protected through the surgery and the aftercare?"

"The anaesthesiologist is a close friend of mine who will not be told your name. He won't question this or ask to know more. There will be a junior assisting surgeon who will similarly not know any specific details. There will be three surgical nurses who will also be looking after you postoperatively. They will take turns at eight-hour shifts and will be the only nurses that will have any contact with you. They will know who you are."

"Can they be trusted?"

He chuckled. "One is my wife, the second is my sister and the third is my oldest daughter."

I grinned. "A family business."

He shrugged. "This is the way I've done it before for… 'special' patients. It has worked well."

I nodded. "I'm sorry for doubting, but I just wanted to be sure."

He went on to tell me the specific details of the surgery. I wasn't that keen to hear them, but he insisted that all his patients only underwent procedures if they were fully informed as to what was entailed.

He then talked about the aftercare. Apparently, I would be kept in the clinic for about a week. He wanted me to remain in the local area for another week, as he would want to perform another check-up at the end of that period of time. I asked the question that was particularly relevant to me and he told me that he would recommend that I didn't fly for at least two weeks following surgery. I had been expecting something like that.

"One thing that interests me, Miss Evans, is why you chose to come to me?" he asked as he showed me to the front door.

I shrugged. "I did a lot of research on the Internet and most reports say that you are the best. That's what I wanted."

He smiled. "I'm flattered." I could see him swell with pride at my words.

As I left, he shook my hand and said that he would contact me at my hotel later that day to confirm if that weekend was going to be suitable. I drove off and felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension within me. In just two day's time, I could be bringing a long road of change to completion.
 

*          *          *
 
The surgery did indeed go ahead that Saturday as planned. I had been a bundle of nerves beforehand and it was almost a relief when I was put to sleep with the anaesthetic. The few days following the surgery had been a blur of drowsiness, pain and half-recalled memories that almost seemed like dreams. The drowsiness receded, but the pain had persisted.

My team of three nurses were wonderful. They not only cared for my physical needs, but they spent time with me, talking and encouraging me. Towards the end of the week, I was becoming more mobile. I was being introduced to a new and, let me say, very unpleasant concept: dilation. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then be assured that ignorance is bliss. I'm not going to say much more about it save that I was told that it was to be an absolutely necessary part of my life for the following several months.

At the end of the week, I was discharged from the clinic and I returned to my hotel room. For several days, I only left my room to go to the restaurant to eat. I could have ordered room service, but I knew that I had to force myself to get out and do a little walking. I don't want there to be any romantic notion that I felt wonderfully complete and suddenly whole. It was a painful and lonely time, however I had no regrets.

This one event had not been the central episode in defining my identity; it was rather the necessary culmination of what I had known for a long time: I was a woman.

It felt strange not to have the usual 'baggage' between my legs. There was a certain feeling of loss, but I assumed that was to be expected given that I had been used to having said 'baggage' there for as long as I could remember. As the week wore on, I began to go out for longer walks. The discharge from down below decreased and by the end of the week, I barely needed the sanitary pads that I had been wearing.

I was due to see Dr. Barker on the Friday afternoon for my check-up. That morning, I made more of an effort with myself, so I dressed in a white blouse, denim miniskirt and tan stockings. I did my hair and make-up and set out in my hire car.

There was a local sight that I had been reading about and wanted to see. I made the short drive out to what was called the 'Garden of the Gods'. It was a spectacular formation of large red rocks that towered above the surrounding garden-like area. Through these mini-mountains, you could see the rising peaks of the Rockies. It was a clear sunny day and I was almost able to forget about my discomfort as I enjoyed a short walk. Two handsome young men were hiking through the area and I noticed the appreciative looks and smiles that they gave me. It made me feel good. I relished the feeling, as I had been quite down earlier in the week.

I drove over to Dr. Barker's house in the afternoon. He welcomed me into his office with a friendly handshake and asked about how I was feeling. It was somewhat comforting to hear that everything I was experiencing was to be expected. His wife again joined us and he inspected his handiwork. He seemed pleased and assured me that everything was healing up very well. He told me to give him a call at anytime if I had any particular problems. He of course also reminded me not to forget the one thing that I longed to forget: dilation. Both he and his wife hugged me as I left.
 

*          *          *
 
The next morning, I checked out of my hotel and took to the road again. I had wanted to get away from that hotel room, as it was not a place that carried particularly happy memories for me. I was tired of staring at its four walls. I hadn't been sure where I was going to go, but I had remembered a conversation in the clinic that I'd had with Dr. Barker's daughter. She had been talking about her recent skiing holiday. She had told me all about the place she had stayed at: the lovely village, the beautiful mountains and the crisp clear pure air. I decided that it sounded like as good a place as any for me to continue my recuperation. I had phoned ahead and booked a condominium before setting out.

I headed back up I-25 and, after skirting around Denver; I changed onto the I-70 and headed west. It was a liberating feeling to drive up into the majestic mountains that I had been admiring from afar over the previous few weeks. I took my turn off the interstate and travelled the dozen or so miles to my destination.

Breckenridge was an old Victorian mining town in the midst of the Rockies. While its prosperity from mining had eventually waned, more recently it had found a resource more profitable than gold: tourism. I drove down into the little valley in which it was situated, and I could certainly appreciate the beauty of its location, as the mountains towered over it in every direction. I took a drive down the main street to get a feel of the place. Yes, it was geared for tourists, but it had been tastefully done, as most of the buildings were in keeping with the Victorian style of the place.

I found my way to the condominium village that I had booked into. I checked in and was given the key and directions to my two-bedroom condo. It was an alpine-style chalet building and my condo was on the first floor. The Americans insisted on calling it the second floor. 'Where was the ground floor then?' I wondered.

I carried my luggage up the flight of stairs and found that I was gasping at the top. Was I so unfit following my surgery? My lungs were clamouring for oxygen and I realised that it must be the altitude. The village was situated at the impressive altitude of over nine and a half thousand feet. My condo was comfortably furnished and had plush carpet underfoot. I lit the gas fire and began to unpack. It was so different from the anonymously furnished hotel room and I settled myself in.

I phoned my Dad and Claire to let them know of my new location. I had of course been keeping in touch with them after my surgery. They were always concerned to hear how I was doing and I had to persuade both of them on several occasions not to fly out to join me.

It was not that I wouldn't have wanted company, but with the intimate nature of the surgery that I had gone through, I didn't think that I could face anyone else witnessing the discomfort that I had been going through. This discomfort had settled to more of a dull ache and I was occasionally able to forget about it, except when I had to dilate.

More important though, was the fact that I had not been alone for any significant period of time since my life had been turned upside down eighteen months previously. Between the time spent in Devon at the very beginning of my transition, my rise to fame in the music world and culminating in my nightmarish kidnapping, I had barely spent any time alone. More than ever, at this turning point in my life, I had to live these intimate moments by myself in order to fully come to terms with all that had led to this point in my life.

The journey had tired me and I snuggled into my cosy double bed and looked forward to exploring the village the next day.
 

*          *          *
 
The next morning was clear with a brilliant blue sky. I think the sky looked even bluer than normal as it was contrasted against the white peaks that towered up against it. Although the condo had its own kitchen, I had no provisions so I headed into the village. I found a friendly diner and enjoyed a nice unhealthy breakfast.

I wandered around the centre of the village and it didn't take long to cover the main commercial area. Basically, it consisted of one long Main Street that contained most of the shops and restaurants. Some of the side streets had little shops and businesses too, but if one ventured any further out, one found oneself in residential areas and amidst the multitude of hotels, guesthouses and condominiums that were arrayed around the village. I went back to collect my car and made a trip to the one supermarket in town. I stocked up with all the necessities and headed back to the condo.

I had a lovely view out of one of the windows. I could see one of the slopes that stretched all the way from the ski area right down into the village. Every so often, skiers would come flying past dressed in their colourful gear. It looked so healthy and invigorating that I was almost tempted to join them, but I didn't feel that my insides would be up to such strenuous exercise at that time. Instead, I set my laptop down on a desk in front of the window and began to work on the problem that still hung over me.

That afternoon, still feeling cooped up, I decided to stretch my legs again. I strolled down into the village and decided to explore the street behind Main Street. I spotted a little coffee shop called 'Mountain Java' and, on impulse, I went in. It wasn't too busy as there was only one couple sitting at a table at the back. I supposed that most of the potential customers were still out on the slopes. I went up to the counter and asked for an espresso.

"You're not from round here, are you?" asked the young woman cheerfully.

I doubted that too many of the inhabitants of the village were locals given the large numbers of tourists, but I knew what she meant. "No, I'm not," I replied.

"British? English?" she inquired.

"Yes and no," I said with a smile. "British yes, but I'm actually Welsh."

"Ah," she said but looked as if she didn't fully appreciate the difference.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in Breckenridge," she said as she handed me my espresso.

"I think I will," I said and thanked her.

I sat down at a table and realised that there were bookcases lining the walls of the café. I walked over to one and looked a bit closer. There were all sorts of books on every subject, factual and fiction. I pulled a book about the history of Breckenridge from the shelf and sat down to read as I enjoyed my coffee. I got more engrossed in the book than I had intended as, when I next looked at my watch, I noticed that it was late afternoon. The establishment had been filling up and was actually quite busy by that time. I replaced the book on the shelf and waved at the girl behind the counter as I left.

That evening I tried to cook myself up something to eat. I was moderately successful. I had become tired of always eating in restaurants and the rich food was not good for me. I had fancied something simple and with me cooking that was what I was guaranteed. I watched some mindless television and was surprised at how tired I felt given that I hadn't done anything too much in the way of exertion. I turned in fairly early.
 

*          *          *
 
My days took on a similar routine over the next couple of weeks. I would work on my computer in the mornings and then in the afternoons I would make my daily trip to 'Mountain Java'. I would enjoy a coffee or two, chat a bit with Marisa, the owner, and browse through some of the books for an hour or two. Since I had become the closest thing to a regular that Marisa had, she had said that I could borrow the books in the evening if I wished. I took her up on her offer and had done a phenomenal amount of reading during my time there. It was almost easy to believe that the outside world didn't really exist.

One day, about three weeks after I had arrived in Breckenridge, I made my usual trip to 'Mountain Java'. I got my coffee, exchanged pleasantries with Marisa and sat down with a new book. After a while, I became aware of some people glancing over in my direction. I looked out of the corner of my eye and spotted a table of three guys and two girls. Probably around my age, I estimated. They were huddled together and I noticed that each of them would cast supposedly surreptitious glances towards me. I pretended not to notice and tried to listen to what they were saying. Whilst I couldn't make out the words, I recognised the accent: they were Scottish. This made sense, as I was more likely to be recognised by Brits than Americans. I took my cup back to Marisa and walked past their table with my book under my arm.

As I opened the door I overheard one hiss to the others, "See, it is her. I told you so."

I smiled to myself and continued on my way.
 

*          *          *
 
The next day, when I arrived at the café, the Scots were already there, sitting at the same table. I thought this was slightly unusual as most young people were out on the slopes at that time. The looks that I got when I arrived made me a little suspicious. My suspicions were confirmed as I picked up my espresso from Marisa. One of the girls got up from their table and walked over to me.

"Hi," she said shyly.

"Hello," I said with a smile.

"I was… just wondering… you look awfully like Cara Malone…" she said hesitantly in a soft Scottish brogue.

I grinned. "What can I say, you've found me out."

Her eyebrows rose. "Seriously, it is you? Wow, we thought it was you yesterday, but we couldn't be sure."

I laughed gently. "You can tell them all that you were correct." I was about to head for my usual table when she spoke again.

"Err… do you want to join us?"

I was about to refuse and she continued, "It's just that… we thought you looked a bit lonely yesterday."

I paused and thought. She was right. I was lonely. I had just gotten used to it over the previous weeks. It hadn't really bothered me until then when she had mentioned it. I had relished the time to be alone, to do what I wanted, to become familiar with the new body that I had. Or rather, the completion of the new body.

I shrugged and smiled shyly. "That would be nice, but I wouldn't want to intrude."

She beamed and shook her head. "Oh no, you wouldn't be intruding."

I walked over with her to their table and one of the guys pulled up another chair for me.

The girl who had been talking to me said, "Folks, this is Cara Malone."

I sat down and felt myself blush. "Err… hi everyone. Please, call me Nicola though."

"Nicola?" the other girl said with a puzzled expression.

"Yes, her real name is Nicola Evans, isn't it?" said one of the guys.

I nodded and one of the other guys poked the one who had spoken. "You would know, Craig, wouldn't you? I mean you must be one of her biggest fans."

"Howd yer whisht," he said good-humouredly, but his face reddened nonetheless. For those not familiar with Scottish slang, his words could be better translated as, "Would you please desist from talking so."

"I'm Craig," he said as he extended his hand.

I shook it. "Pleased to meet you, Craig."

I got the rest of the introductions. The girl who had come up to me first was Kirsty and the other girl was Barbara. The other two guys were Keith and Robert. Robert and Kirsty were an item, I gathered. They were a group of friends from their University days and now that they were working had decided to treat themselves to a skiing holiday in Colorado.

"The snow's just a wee bit drier here than in the Cairngorms," Keith explained.

Although I had initially been reluctant to join them, I found myself enjoying their free and light-hearted conversation. I felt welcomed and was able to just sit there and appreciate their company. Of course they did ask me questions about myself. When they asked why I was there all alone, I tried to pass it off that after my kidnapping, which they were well aware of, I had wanted some time alone in a secluded spot. They seemed to accept that.

"So, Nicola," Barbara began with a twinkle in her eye, "d'ye mind if I ask about that guitarist of yours?"

I shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

She grinned. "Is he really as gorgeous in real life as he appears?"

I laughed and then nodded. "Yes, I guess he is."

Kirsty raised an eyebrow. "You can tell me to get lost, but I'm dying to know if there's anything between you and him."

I chuckled and shook my head. However, within me, I felt something akin to pain at her words. "No, we're very good friends, that's all." I saw the sceptical looks that they gave me. "I'm telling you the truth," I insisted.

Robert nudged Craig. "There's hope for you yet, mate."

Craig blushed again and put a hand over his face. He looked up and grinned. "Alright, I can see I'm going to have to get this all out in the open." He looked at me and smiled with embarrassment. "Nicola, I've learnt never to tell my friends anything in future… because I did happen to mention to them that I was fairly taken with this new singer, Cara Malone. I mean, it's not as if ever thought I'd be sitting here with you, but there you have it." He turned to his friends, "No more teasing now?"

Keith chuckled. "We're only getting warmed up. What was it you said? She's the most gorgeous woman you'd ever seen and was definitely your ideal woman?"

Keith groaned as Craig's elbow connected with some part of his anatomy. "Sorry, Nicola," Craig apologised. "They shouldn't embarrass you like that."

I smiled back at him. "Oh, I'm not embarrassed, Craig, I'm flattered."

We chatted on and I was getting up to leave when Kirsty grabbed my arm. "What are you doing for dinner tonight?"

I shrugged. She had caught me off guard. "I hadn't anything planned."

"You should come with us," she said.

"I don't know. I don't want to impose myself on your time together…"

Barbara stood up. "Nicola, you wouldn't be imposing yourself at all. We don't want to force you to do something you don't want to. What we're saying is that if you wanted to join us, you'd be more than welcome. It's up to you."

I thought about it. Did I want to? Inside I realised that yes, I did. I had enjoyed the company and had probably had more of a conversation in the previous few hours than I'd had all week.

I grinned. "OK, I'd love to come."

The boys whooped and Robert and Keith high-fived Craig, who looked embarrassed, but also quite pleased. I laughed and made arrangements with the girls as to where and when to meet.
 

*          *          *
 
Late that afternoon, I phoned Jools.

"Hi Jools. This isn't too late to phone you, is it?"

"Cara, hi, how are you? Too late? No, not at all. Where are you? Why haven't you called before now?"

I chuckled. "Where do I start?

She laughed. "How are you then?"

"I'm fine, I really am."

"Where on earth are you?"

"Jools, I'm somewhere relaxing. I'm just taking time out to get my head around things. I'll explain everything when I come home."

She seemed a little aggrieved. "Why won't you tell me where you are? It's not like I'll release it to the press. I'm just worried that no one knows where you are."

"Dad and Claire know, so don't worry about me."

That piece of news seemed to satisfy her. I didn't think that it would have, but she didn't press me further. She filled me in on the latest news from her end. Ongoing sales, any newspaper stories about me and the like. Before ending the call, I promised her that I would keep in touch.

I got ready for dinner and decided to make more effort than I had been accustomed to doing. Since I had basically existed without much human contact, I had been happy to lounge around in simple baggy tops and jeans. Recently I hadn't even been bothered to put on any make-up each day. I pulled on a warm black jersey dress, thick black tights and my knee-length boots. I spent a fair amount of time on my hair and make-up and then, happy with my appearance, set out to meet the others.

We were eating at a Mexican restaurant in the centre of the village. The others were already there when I arrived and they waved me over. I sat down at the table in the only empty seat which I am sure was deliberately beside Craig.

"You look amazing," Kirsty gushed.

I shrugged. "I just thought I should make up for the grotty way I looked earlier."

"You didn't look grotty," Craig protested. He grinned. "But you do look fantastic tonight."

"Why thank you, Craig," I said with a coy smile. "You're looking quite smart yourself."

He blushed and laughed. He was spared more embarrassment by the arrival of the waiter to take our order. The meal wasn't bad and the conversation was good. They regaled me with the stories of their adventures on the slopes. Robert, Keith and Kirsty had skied before, but Barbara and Craig hadn't. There had been a number of spectacular falls it seemed. Barbara had managed to take out six other people in one go as she careered from one side of a slope to another.

"Have you done any skiing?" Barbara asked.

I shook my head. "Never."

"You can't come to the Rockies and not ski," said Robert.

I shrugged. "I don't know if I could manage it."

"Never know 'til you try," insisted Keith.

I laughed. "I'll think about it, OK?"
 

*          *          *
 
Knowing that they would no doubt again ask me to join them for skiing, I phoned Dr. Barker the next day. I asked him if it would be too soon to do something energetic like skiing. It had been over four weeks since my surgery and he assured me that if I had no discharge and if everything had healed up, there would be no problem. I hadn't had any discharge for a few weeks and, as far as I could see, I was healing well.

So it was that I found myself shopping with Kirsty and Barbara to get me the gear that I needed. I ended up with white ski pants with pink trim, a matching padded jacket and all the accessories: gloves, hat and sunglasses. The girls had their momentum going and guided me to a ski-hire shop where I was fitted for skis and boots. Add a lift pass and I was ready for the slopes. Except that I didn't feel ready.

The next morning, I met them at the base of Peak Nine. I was wearing my gear and would have felt self-conscious had not the rest of the world around me been wearing similar attire.

Keith wolf-whistled when he saw me. "Looking good, girl," he said appreciatively.

Kirsty nudged him. "Hey, stop looking at her. Unfair competition."

He grabbed her and hugged her tight. "You know you're the only woman for me. Looking doesn't hurt, though."

She giggled. "If you look much more, you might find that it does hurt." She tickled him under his chin.

They showed me how to get my skis strapped on and I awkwardly made my way to the ski lift with them. I felt as if I were going to fall at any minute.

"Lean forward into your boots," Robert suggested.

It was hard to do, but once I tried it, I realised that I was better balanced. Kirsty came alongside me and talked me through getting onto the ski lift. When it was our turn, we got into position and I found myself bumped onto the lift and then lifted high into the air. I realised that I was holding my breath and remembered to breathe again. The lift whisked us high above the slope below as we began to ascend.

"Wow," I murmured as I looked down at the village far below us. "What a view."

"Isn't it awesome," Kirsty agreed. "There's nothing like being out on the mountain, in the fresh air, the sun on your head, and feeling the wind whistle past you as you zoom down the slopes."

I grinned. "If you can stay on your feet long enough to appreciate it."

Kirsty warned me about getting off the lift as the end approached.

"Don't worry," she said. "Most people fall the first time they try to get off."

Who was I to do anything other than what most people would do? I fell. I picked myself up with embarrassment and noticed the others grinning at me.

"Not fair," I said as I dusted myself down. "I'm the total novice here."

"I'm just glad I'm not the worst anymore," Craig said.

Barbara laughed. "You might not be saying that at the end of the day, Craig. I reckon she'll be a quick learner."

I wasn't that quick at learning, but with the patient instruction of the three more experienced skiers, I learnt a few important things: the first of these being how to stop myself. That is, aside from falling in a heap — which I did do on several occasions. I was taught how to snowplough and then how to do basic turns. I ploughed my way down the easy slopes. I felt my knees starting to complain as the day wore on.

After lunch, when I put my boots on again, my wearied legs complained and I just wanted to take the boots off immediately. However, I persisted and by the end of the day, I was beginning to see what was so appealing about the whole experience. I hadn't cracked it by a long shot, but I had managed to snowplough my way down one of the nursery slopes a few times without falling.

That evening, to thank them for their patience and kindness to me, I invited them round to my condo and I made dinner. It wasn't anything spectacular, just a simple lasagne, but they seemed to appreciate it nonetheless. What I enjoyed about being with them was that they treated me, for the most part, as a normal person.

At one point Robert had said, "I can't believe you're so normal, Nicola."

I laughed. "What did you expect?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. A stuck-up, aloof bimbo who was full of herself."

"Robert!" the other two girls gasped.

He held up his hands. "I didn't say that's what she was like. She's the complete opposite. I mean you're so down to earth, you're funny, intelligent…" He turned to Craig and winked. "I can see why you'd want to marry her."

A mini-wrestling match ensued and we cheered them on until it became obvious that it was going to be a stalemate. At the end of the evening, they thanked me as they left and we arranged to meet on the slopes the next morning.
 

*          *          *
 
Over the next few days, I spent more and more time on the slopes. To Craig's chagrin, I did learn fast and was soon on an equal footing with him and Barbara. I had learnt how to manage parallel turns and how to do a hockey stop. I had graduated onto the intermediate slopes and, although I still fell on occasions, I was able to cope fairly well. It was exhilarating to look down over the slope stretching out in front of you and to feel as if you were jumping off the side of the world as you begin your run. Swishing from side to side as you traverse the slope and wind your way down to the base over what could be a distance of a few miles — I was hooked.

I spent most evenings with my new friends and soon felt just like one of them. We took turns to either eat out or cook in one of our condos. One night, after eating at their place, I made my way back to my condo. It was late and I was tired after an exhausting day on the slopes. I began to climb the flight of stairs to my condo and then froze on the spot.

I spotted a shadowy figure sitting outside my door. I hadn't been noticed and, with my heart in my mouth, I crept up the stairs. One of the stairs creaked and the figure looked up at me. He slowly got up from where he had been sitting — on a suitcase it seemed. I recognised him and felt my heart pound.

"What on earth are you doing here, Jon?" I asked.

---