Chapter 41

Stillwater received its first public screening at the Sundance Film Festival during the second week of January, selected to be among a chosen few American independent films to be in competition. Several aspects recommended it for selection, including its quality, but also Pat directing it, her track record, three earlier independent films, the first successful enough to create her production company, the other two more critically than financially successful, which had its own sort of recommending. Having Tom’s name attached to it helped too. Even the curiosity of Harry being Frances’s brother, an ex-con himself and starring in it had its interest. And a great cinematographer filming it.

What it didn’t have, perhaps to its detriment, was a driving plot. No question whether Rancid survived the ordeal because he narrates after his release. Of course heroes tend to survive, and if they’re narrating, except for Sunset Boulevard which is narrated by a dead man floating in a pool, that seems fairly obvious despite the obstacles supposedly preventing it, the tensions of whether he or she survives pretty absurd no matter how effective they might be. However, presenting a character study, however well made, however gritty, can’t help making a less compelling ride than a plot driven piece. Further, the character has to be one the audience cares about, and a convict may not be someone one wishes to follow.

That said, it received mostly positive reviews, but neither the judges nor the public found it to be the best. But, as a character study, and the actors that portrayed that character, the awards it did receive, both by judges and popular vote, Harry as best actor and Pete as best supporting actor, even if he too was a featured actor and not supporting, made the most sense.

One performance though could not be recommended to one’s worst enemy, and might have even been detrimental to the screening getting full appreciation: that of Tom’s late, drunken, coked out raving arrival.

“You believe this shit!” he raved stumbling down the aisle. “You think I wrote this shit!” “You can’t blame me for this shit!”

And since no one did anything, sort of a passive place this ski resort in Utah, Harry decided to deal with it himself. Sitting front and center on the aisle made it easier, and of course when he approached Tom and Tom recognized him, Tom raved, “Harry! You fucker! You did this!”

“Asshole,” Harry muttered and lifted him up by his crotch from the backside and carried him out. Luckily someone figured the shit out and opened doors for him, out of the auditorium and outside where Harry dropped him and Tom crumpled to the ground, mumbling curse words.

Natalie, Tom’s girlfriend, staggered over. “Don’t hurt him!” she muttered.

Peg came out bringing Harry’s coat. “What do you want to do?” she asked.

“Get us a ride to the hotel,” Harry replied, kneeling down and checking Tom’s coat pockets and finding the key card, luckily within a slip that revealed the room number.

No bribe enticed a chauffeur to drive them, mostly worried about vomiting, so Harry decided to walk the two inebriants the mile or so to the hotel. “You should go back in,” Harry suggested.

“Nope,” Peg replied.

More muttering came out of Tom’s mouth, and no vomit. Every bar they passed Peg had to pull Natalie away from detouring. When they finally arrived at the hotel room, Harry asked, “Where’s the coke?”

“Fuck you,” both Tom and Natalie muttered.

Peg and Harry searched and found the stash. “Don’t steal it like you stole my movie,” Tom muttered.

“Whatever,” Harry sighed. “I’ll get it back to you before I leave and don’t have to be around your bullshit.”

“Fuck you,” the fucked up couple repeated while Peg and Harry left.

They arrived at the theater near the end of the movie and watched just inside the door. The applause when it ended grew to a standing ovation. Harry waved to the audience while heading to the front. It finally abated and Harry received smiles and congratulations when the crowd left, as did Pat.

“That was fucked up,” Pat finally said. “Thanks for the cowboy move.”

Harry chuckled. “No one else seemed to want to do anything.”

“But you missed the screening.”

“I’ll live,” Harry shrugged.

“Weird isn’t it, seeing yourself?” Pat smirked.

Harry understood. “A bit. You ever get used to it?”

“Not really. Ready for the party?”

“Not really. Just seems a waste of great ski slopes.”

“You’re not having fun?”

“A necessary evil I guess like working in LA. To be honest, I’m missing out on my friend’s gallery opening for this.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy Berlin.”

“I imagine it’s more of the same,” Harry shrugged. “But I’ll gird my loins. So let’s party!” he grinned.

“That’s the spirit,” Pat laughed.

Harry gladhanded and conversed for as long as he felt appropriate before making a quiet exit with Peg.

His messaging to Connie had her calling him. “How did it go?” she asked.

“You first.”

“It went well.”

“Sell everything?”

“Some,” she chuckled.

“I wish I could have been there.”

“It was your big moment too.”

“I suppose.”

“So how did it go?”

“A standing ovation?”

“Cool.”

“I actually missed most of the screening.” He told her about Tom.

“That’s fucked up.”

“It was mostly sad,” Harry sighed. “I imagine you’re tired.”

“It’s been a long and pretty intense day,” Connie agreed.

“Post opening party?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too. Me and Peg just escaped.”

“I’m ready to,” Connie admitted.

“Then you should.”

“I think I made a mistake.”

“How so.”

“This artist I met likes to party more than I thought he would.”

“You’re dating, or...?”

“A couple of nights, but this...”

“Fuck him.”

“That’s kind of the problem,” Connie laughed. “I wish you were here to rescue me.”

“Leonora said she’d come.”

“She’s still here.”

“She’ll be my surrogate rescuer.”

“Thanks.”

“Tell her hi.”

“I will.”

Harry put away his phone. “How’s Connie?” Peg asked.

“Her show went well it sounds like,” Harry reported. “A similar problem as Tom though, but Leonora’s helping her out.”

“You sure you don’t want to invite one of your groupies?” Peg asked.

“Were there? Isn’t that for rockers? Starfuckers maybe?”

“Maybe a higher class or older class of groupies or starfuckers, but yeah, by all the glares I got. You didn’t notice?”

“I was mostly working on not looking as annoyed as I was.”

“What about that blonde you were talking to for a while?”

“The soap heiress? Sondra? That was actually business.”

“You sure? From my view, she performed all the mating dance, all the seductive moves in the book.”

“Really?”

Peg laughed. “Stay here.” She went back into the party, emerging minutes later with Sondra, a solidly built woman in her mid-twenties, wearing the casual chic that many chose to wear unless it was just casual, but the wool dress she wore clearly had been tailored to her, or probably more designed specifically for her the way it conformed to her body, which, though a model’s height of nearly six feet, otherwise couldn’t have been more different. Too thick in the middle, and everywhere else really, with full breasts and an even fuller ass; shoulders, arms, thighs and calves all muscular without being muscle bound. This woman exuded strength and power, athleticism, suggesting she might be a formidable wrestler, but actually preferred skiing. And unlike a model, she had a plain face.

“Sondra has a home here,” Peg told Harry.

“You can stay with me if you want,” Sondra asked. “If you ski...”

“I haven’t in years,” Harry told her.

“You might even be my brother’s size. If not I’m sure we can take care of you. Utah really does have the best snow in the world.”

“Let’s grab our stuff, Harry,” Peg said. “Wait here?”

“I’ll get my car,” Sondra replied.

Both Harry and Peg had smaller bags in the hotel room, much of their stuff still in Harry’s Isuzu which they drove down. They hadn’t decided when or even if Peg would bring her Charger west, possibly keeping it in Minnesota for hopefully frequent visits.

Neither were surprised that Sondra drove a Range Rover, except maybe that she drove at all. Her A framed home was at the edge of town and as high on the mountain as possible, the lights of the resort seen below from the glassed in front.

Beyond the heavy glass double doors, an open space reached to the roof where a large ceiling fan hung for warmer days. On the left side was a huge stone hearth and on the right a kitchen. Sondra had them shed their boots to enter the area. “Could you put a couple logs on, Harry?” Sondra asked, heading to the kitchen. “Chamomile tea okay?”

Peg and Harry agreed.

“Just push the large button on the right and the fire lights automatically,” Sondra explained. He did, and it did, even seeming to prepare the flue.

“Interesting home,” Harry commented. And it was, with floors on both sides built out from the lower one like stacks, two floors, and a sort of inner balcony at the top. At the back was an enclosed area.

“Our family’s chalet,” Sondra explained, “finished about the time I was born, which seems fitting since it’s become my home. Park City has slowly built up to it but not yet quite past it.

“You live here year round?” Peg asked.

“When I can, when I’m not needed to be in actual rather than just virtual meetings.”

“What do you do?”

“You know the source of the term soap opera?”

“Soap companies sponsoring daytime television,” Peg answered.

“All the way back to radio actually, but lately it’s become more problematic with the atomizing of television. Advertising has become more and more a dinosaur with everyone buying services instead of getting television free and hopefully buying the sponsors’ products. So, it’s become all about product placement.”

“Really?” Peg asked.

“Unfortunately. I negotiate placement for my family’s products for support of a show.”

“Just television?” Peg asked.

“Yep, which is why I’m interested in Harry’s idea.”

“Uhm, Harry and product placement?”

Harry laughed.

“No. Sorry,” Sondra apologized. “It would be personal funds so not for the family business. I came into my inheritance a couple years ago and have been looking for a project and Harry’s sounds interesting, especially since he’s going to be in it,” Sondra chuckled.

“Want me to show you the clips?” Harry asked.

“Sure.”

The two sat close, sipping tea and gazing at the laptop. Peg, sitting across from them, murmured, “I think I’ll head to bed.”

“Any room you want,” Sondra pointed distractedly to stairs across the way.

After going through his second episode and discussing other possible episodes, he finally set things aside and kissed her.

“Peg told me it would be okay,” Sondra reported.

“And when she asked if you’re into women?”

“Sometimes.”

Harry nodded and returned to kissing her.

It became a bearskin in front of the fire moment, except instead of a bearskin, the futon they were on shifted to a bed, and it was much longer than a moment.

Before the change of the futon, he lay atop her, the kissing continuing for a long time, and he pressed his proof of excitement against her panties, the skirt pushed up. As they grinded together, he undid her dress and pulled it below her full breasts, and then reached around to undo the bra and removed it. “Beautiful,” he murmured, and brought his mouth to them. At least D cups, they were resilient and perfectly formed. In fact he found that true of all of her body. However thick her abdomen, none of it was fat. Pure power.

Finally moved to her pussy, he’d stripped her naked by then and worked his magic to create an intense orgasm. She stopped him going further as he was wont to do.

“Just a second,” she had to repeat twice, and even giggled. “Get up.” When he did, followed by her, she pulled levers and shifted the futon to a bed, opening a closet and grabbing sheets, blankets and pillows, she told him. “Maybe get naked?”

She watched when he did, excited by the sight. “Let’s get this made,” she insisted.

Once done, she asked, “Lie on your back.” Then proceeded, like him, to kiss her way to the main destination, but a lot quicker than he did.

“Straddle my face?” he offered.

“Let me make you cum first,” she insisted.

Unfortunately she proved not all that capable of it.