Chapter 24: Colorado

The peak of fall foliage time had passed, but some Aspen trees still carried their leaves and late color. One or two of the taller peaks showed evidence of high altitude snowfall. I felt awe struck by the scenery. Gunnison, Colorado, sits on a wide plain at the base of Tenderfoot Mountain where students from Western State College placed a huge 'W' on the façade of the mountain. In another direction, Blue Mesa graced the skyline. Taller mountains fill the horizon in all directions.

During a fuel stop, I made a reservation at the Gunnison Alpine Inn. Over the phone, I befriended Mal Hendricks, the man who owned and ran the Inn. I explained whom I was, and that I was being stalked. I asked for a hiding place for my motorcycle as I arrived in town, and help avoiding the press. He volunteered to be accommodating and immediately gave me directions to follow as I arrived in town.

Thus, a few hours later, as I came into Gunnison from the east on U.S. 50, I maneuvered in traffic so I had several cars and a pickup truck between me and Kenesis' rental car. As I neared the town, there was a lot of oncoming traffic on the two-lane road but not enough to prevent me from accelerating to over ninety when I had a chance to put a large distance between his car and me. I held my speed past the cemetery, as I'd been told to do, and a mile further just out of sight from Kenesis, I took a left turn onto a road that wrapped around the town's airport runway. The few trees and buildings in the vicinity hid my departure from the main route through town. Using the GPS on my iPhone, I pulled into the general aviation area at the airport without anyone following me. I wove through the open airport security gate and found the third hanger on my right as Mal had instructed; the tall door had been cracked just wide enough for me to roll through on the motorcycle. I stopped and pulled the door shut behind me. I waited for ten minutes, but no one came to investigate my secretive arrival.

Mal Hendricks, the owner of Alpine Inn, had good taste in airplanes. He owned a twenty-year old Mooney that looked showroom new. A peak inside revealed cockpit avionics that a large Boeing would equally employ. After taking stock of his plane, I called the Inn to arrange for a pickup. Fifteen minutes later, I sat in the living room of the small suite that Mal and Ann, his wife, had set aside for me. They welcomed me, and I was profuse with my thanks for assisting in my covert arrival to Gunnison. I accepted their invitation to a private dinner with them, where the general public wouldn't see me.

I took some pleasure guessing what Bart Kenesis would be doing since I'd disappeared from his prying eyes. First, he'd be cursing that he'd let me sucker him into being behind a truck and a string of cars on a narrow road where he couldn't keep me in sight. Second, he'd be checking every motel, inn, and gas station he could find. I imagined him driving around from place to place, circling and looking for my motorcycle. Given the time of day, he could probably guess that I'd stopped to stay overnight in Gunnison.

Once in the motel room, I called Mils Cartwright, the private detective I'd rescued in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I could hear the ringing of the phone, and then Mils picked up, "Cartwright Agency, may I help you?"

"Mils, this is Jim – from South Dakota."

I heard a little squeal of joy from her. "Oh, you just made my day. Where are you? Near St. Louis, I hope."

"Sorry, I'm in Gunnison, Colorado. Before I go on, how's your leg?"

"I'm still in the hard cast, but I'm healing ahead of schedule according to my bone doctor. I get rid of it next week and then have to wear one of those Velcro strap-on casts instead. The new cast will make taking a bath or shower much easier. My doctor thinks I'll need another two months or more on crutches. Hey, if you're in Colorado, why'd you call?"

I said, "I need your help - professionally."

"I'll help, but only under the condition that you come and see me sometime. I haven't had such good loving since you left. Actually, except for Connie, I haven't had any loving since you left. We both miss you." She snickered in a way that could only imply sexual mischief.

I ignored the sexual reference, and stated my purpose: "Mils, I'm being followed and stalked – so's Crystal." I went on and explained about our various run-ins with Bart Kenesis, and my worry about him being a bodily threat. "I want all the information you can get on him, particularly what I could do to get into his head – spook him so badly that he'd never come near me or Crystal again." Mils knew about the Branson photos from our time together in South Dakota. She told me she wished she'd been part of the foursome. I promised her I'd see what I could arrange another time.

Mils eagerly took on the assignment, explaining that what I wanted might be a tall order. We talked more, and I told her what I knew about Kenesis, including what I could recall from the night we tracked him down in Branson from a different rental car than the one he had now.

Next, I called Crystal and told her about being followed by Kenesis, the knife in my tire, and about engaging Mils. She also thought the situation had escalated a couple of notches because of the extensive time and distance that Kenesis had dedicated to tailing me. Unsolicited, she speculated that he might be more dangerous than we'd initially thought.

I joined my hosts for dinner. Officially, the Inn's dining room was shut on Monday nights so as the only diners we commandeered a large table near the kitchen doorway, and Ann prepared a Beef Wellington that melted in my mouth the meat was so tender. They allowed me to create a strawberry pie for dessert, a dish I'd learned to make from my mother.

We had a great conversation. They delighted in befriending a celebrity, and I found two new like-minded souls that were relaxed and easy to be with. I joined in the cleanup effort, sharing with them that I'd worked in a diner only a couple of months earlier in Arkansas. Over dinner, the roots of my road trip came up – the loss of my wife, the rebuild of the motorcycle, and the launch of my journey – in some ways the start of a spiritual journey across the country to find myself. I explained how I'd met Crystal Lee and suddenly got into the country music business.

From the Hendricks, I learned how they met, how they acquired the inn, and what their hobbies and passions were. Mal, at seventy-four, looked energetic, spry, and vital. Ann had those same traits, but turned out to be thirty-two years younger. She too had gotten her pilot's license with Mal's encouragement. The two of them ran the Inn assisted by several employees who came in routinely, several of them students at the local college.

Ann had a peaceful demeanor about her; you automatically felt serene being in her presence. She flirted openly with me, often touching my arm or hand as part of our conversation. I didn't mind in the least, and apparently neither did Mal, when I checked on how he reacted to her physical touch. Ann looked tan and healthy, thin, and athletic; her beauty included her long blonde hair, high cheekbones, and an outstanding and shapely pair of legs that rose to a well-shaped ass. I had to consciously not stare at any part of her except her face. She informed me she worked out in the hotel's exercise facility for an hour every day, and liked to run every day and do one marathon a year. She felt that she had a 'runner's' edge when she left the seven thousand foot elevation and went to run in 'fat' air down near sea level.

Mal suggested I stay at least another day, as a weather trough with heavy rain and possibly sleet had started to cross the mountains. Two wheels do not do well on icy roads. I accepted his invitation and extended my stay at the Inn. Ann looked pleased that we'd get to spend more time together. The three of us headed off to our beds as the hour got late.

Back in my room, I turned on the television for the late news: politics, the Middle East, the approaching Halloween festivities were at the top of the news. When the 'Hollywood Gossip' segment came on, the announcer rambled on a moment about Lindsay Tillot's latest rehab adventure for a minute, and then, I saw Crystal's face appear on the screen along with her male escort – the popular country singer Kenny Wilson! The two were headed into a Nashville nightclub holding hands and waving to the press corps. At first I was so surprised to see the segment I barely heard the words going with the sixty-second clip.

'Country music stars Crystal Lee and Kenny Wilson spent an evening dining at Nashville's upscale Watermark Restaurant and dancing really close at the Lipstick Lounge. She ignored our questions about the pair or her erstwhile boyfriend singer Jim Mellon who is somewhere in the middle of the country on his motorcycle road trip. Crystal and Kenny slipped away around midnight, but not before being caught kissing passionately in the back of their limo.'

A brief video clip of the back of a limousine showed the rough outline of two heads obviously kissing. The TV broadcast went on to some other gossip.

I laughed aloud at how the Crystal had manipulated the media with such an obvious and blatant date. Crystal had leveled the playing field and deflated any further speculation about me being seen with Tama, my beautiful Native American friend. The tit for tat news coverage, and no doubt a remark later about not being exclusive would sink any further interest in either event.

I picked up my cell phone and texted Crystal: 'Just saw you & Kenny on Hollywood news. You get laid? Love. Me.'

About half an hour later, just as I was slipping into bed, I heard my phone vibrate. Crystal's text said, "Of course. I'm probably the last woman in Nashville he hadn't fucked. We had fun. He gets around and was a sure thing. Hope you're happy too. Keep safe. I love you. C.

A gentle knock on my door about six-thirty in the morning got me out of a warm and snuggly bed. I wrapped a towel around my naked hips, and opened and peeked around the door. Ann stood there in running shorts and a singlet. She carried a thin rain slicker. She wore a baseball cap that said 'Broncos' on it, with her long hair pulled through the back of the cap. She looked beautiful.

"Got time to run with me?" she asked eagerly.

I mumbled, "Great, yes. Give me a couple of minutes to suit up." I started to close the door, but Ann shouldered her way past me into the room. She plopped down in the desk chair, and talked about how we might have a narrow window for an hour or so before the heavy rain started. She also started to re-tie her running shoes, explaining that we'd run for about an hour, 'If I were up to it.'

I could have made a production about collecting my running clothes from my luggage and going into the bathroom to change, however, I thought I'd tease her a little, so after getting things out of one saddlebag I just dropped the towel, and dressed for the run. I suggested she might want to close her eyes; she didn't. She also didn't react, at least just then.

We ran out of the town towards Tenderfoot Mountain, circumnavigating the nearby airport and then cutting across classic flat western terrain. Ann teased me about the possibility of stepping on a rattlesnake. Arriving at the base of the blunt peak that rose out of the level plain, Ann started to lead me up some rough and open trails along side the large 'W' to the top of the small peak a thousand feet above the plain we'd been on. She was relentless, and never slowed or stopped. Moreover, I had the feeling she had held back a little so I could keep up. I resolved to get in better shape.

A few hundred feet from the top of the large hill, the rain started. Ann just said, "Oops. Let's keep going." We topped out, paused to look back at the town, and then started down. Running down hill is harder than running up hill. Plunging down the slope, I struggled to keep upright and had many slides in which I just managed to prevent a fall.

Ann took the first tumble. I could tell she'd fallen before, because one shoulder dropped and she rolled out of it after a couple of rotations. She had a scraped knee. I knelt beside her, "Are you all right? That was a creative way to go downhill."

"Yea, yea. I'm OK – just a scrape. I've fallen on this hill before." She got up and made sure all her parts were in working order. "Let's go. Maybe we should go a little slower until we get back to level surfaces." She took off running downhill again before I could take a breath.

As we retraced our steps down the trail and across the plain going towards town, the two of us were out in the open for long distances and could be seen from many of the buildings in town. Once we got into the town, we ran along a few of the streets to get back to the hotel. I wondered if Bart Kenesis was around watching? Had I been seen while out running? I rationalized: we went out early; it was raining and without the motorcycle, I was just another runner – with a companion when none would be expected. I had noticed several other runners out in the town as well; Ann told me most were from the college nearby.

Back at the Inn, Ann led me to the exercise room for the establishment. The place was well equipped, and we started on various Nautilus machines and a new TRX that she demonstrated for me. The more she did, the more I realized the fantastic shape she was in. I commented on that fact, and Ann glowed with pride. Of course, her fantastic shape encouraged me to ogle her body, and the more we talked the more I realized how smart and creative she was.

After a shower, I met Ann and Mal for breakfast. Mal worked on a never-ending to do' list over breakfast, mostly things that needed to be done around the Inn, as well as some of the administrative work to keep the place operating smoothly. A young college-age girl served us. The Hendricks had an easy rapport with her, and I could tell they'd be fun to work for.

When I got back to the room, I opened my travel guitar, and practiced for two hours. My fingering skills were getting better, but were far from the level I desired. One of the band members told me that if I hadn't started when I was ten, I'd probably never be able to master all the chords and picks. At that point, I settled for a credible strum of a few basic chords.

Ann stopped by my room about one o'clock. I'd left the door open for the chambermaids, so she just came into the room and sat down. I'd been playing the guitar and stopped however; she gestured that I should continue. I sang my solo version of 'Texas Dawn' for her, and then 'The Wolf on Lone Wolf Mountain.' She applauded at appropriate times.

After my performance, I set the guitar aside. "What's up?"

"Two things," she said. "First, I came to see whether you wanted to join me downstairs for lunch; and second, the guy you're trying to avoid came in about an hour ago asking whether you were staying here. I gave him your room number."

"YOU WHAT?" I blurted out in complete surprise.

Ann laughed at my reaction, and clearly at my expense. "I'm kidding. I'm kidding. Mal and I each gave him a blank look and told him we only had some family members staying with us. The answer seemed to satisfy him, and so he left. He did drive all the way around the Inn in a black Toyota sedan, probably looking for your motorcycle. I even wrote down his license plate number. Things are open all around, so he could quickly tell your motorcycle wasn't here." She passed me a piece of paper with a New Mexico tag number on it.

I relaxed from the surge of adrenalin she'd given me, and thanked her for diverting the man – probably Kenesis.

Mal had just finished lunch when we came into the restaurant. He waved, and we sat down just as he got up to go attend to a delivery of some beer and wine. We exchanged pleasantries for one minute.

After we'd given a waitress our order, Ann asked in low tones, "Last night, I saw Crystal on television with Kenny Wilson, the country singer. They looked like an event, but you said you two were a couple. What's all that about ... and I promise I won't tell the gossip papers. I'm just trying to understand how real celebrities live."

I had to think a minute about how to answer her. "I actually precipitated her date with Wilson, because two days earlier I got photographed with another woman in Taos. Rather than give the tabloids something to chew on, we gave them two things – situations that sort of cancelled each other out. So far, it appears to have worked. All the news about us seems to have disappeared except for the mention of the two 'dates' we went on."

"But aren't you and Crystal a couple?"

"Yes, but we're telling the press that we're not exclusive."

Ann asked, "And are you?"

I balked in my answer, "Well, I've been seeing people on my trip across the country – before and after I met Crystal, like the woman I met in Santa Fe."

"You mean you've dated other women?"

"Yes, and I keep Crystal informed about what I'm up to."

Ann looked surprised. "You mean you tell her about your dates?"

"Well, yes. I'll hear all about her date with Wilson too."

"ALL about them?"

"Yes, she asked me to, and I don't mind. I call her and send long emails." I skipped telling Ann about the others on my expanding email distribution list.

Ann asked haltingly, "But ... I don't know how to ask this ... aren't you ... sexually engaged on some of your dates? I mean you're a hunky and vital man ... and ... well, you know." While she'd hesitated a bit, she didn't seem at all embarrassed in asking the question.

"Yes, it seems on this road trip I've ... made friends at almost every stop, and ... you're correct, many of my dates become intimate." I tried not to sound like I was boasting.

Ann followed up right away: "So you tell Crystal about having sex with someone else? Doesn't she get jealous?" Ann had a touch of disbelief and awe in her question.

"No. Like me, she's one of those people who haven't allowed ourselves to get caught up in all the drama society teaches us. Why react with jealousy and venom, when your friend and partner just had a happy intimate experience? The word that's been coined is 'compersion;' it means you're glad they had that experience and you wish them many more. We are taught how to react by the continuation of old behavioral memes, but there are many other, much nicer, more fun and happier emotions to feel and exhibit when your friend or lover enjoys someone else. Part of this is not to get in a game where you try to control the other person or seek revenge of some kind. Overall, I think society has made the wrong rules."

Ann had started to nod in agreement, but wanted further information. "So, if you and I had sex, you'd tell Crystal, and she wouldn't get upset."

I knew Crystal well enough that I could laugh at the prospect. "No, she'd want to join in ... maybe tell me I had to bring you with me back to Nashville where she lives, so we could play together. I know she'd ask for a picture." I gave a short laugh.

Ann asked, "Have you 'played together' with other people, as you imply?" She leaned forward and licked her lips, a sign she was getting turned on.

"A few." I hesitated, wondering how much actual detail to add to our discussion.

"Come on, spill the beans. I want to hear about some experience. I promise – cross my heart – I won't tell anyone – well, except Mal, and he won't talk." She no sooner finished her promise than her mind jumped. "WAIT, does this thinking – this life style – have something to do with the man that's following you?" She looked at me awaiting response.

"Well, about your last question, yes. I'll tell you the reason, and you'll get a feel of how Crystal and I think and play. We were in Branson, Missouri about two months ago. Crystal's sister Ellen was with us, and her boyfriend and our agent, a nice guy named Terry. The four of us went night swimming nude, and then took turns 'making out' with both women. We swapped partners as we had sex on a boat tied at a dock, and that would have been it, except we were outside and being stalked by this freelance photographer who trespassed on private property. There was enough light by the boat that he got some pictures of us 'in flagrante delicto.'"

Ann saw where I was headed, "And the photographer is the man who came to the Inn earlier?" She shifted forward so she was sitting on the edge of her chair, leaning towards me in rapt attention.

"Yes. His name's Bart Kenesis."

"Well, why's he still following you?"

I tiptoed around this question a little. "Well, apparently, he 'lost' the memory card from his camera that the photos he took of us were on. Thus, he had nothing to sell. If the pictures had become public the four of us would have been badly hurt by the resulting scandal."

Ann guessed that I was the culprit, but didn't pursue that line of questioning further. "So, he's still following you? Isn't the situation all done?"

I thought again before answering. "He's mad ... at me particularly. He wants revenge or restitution or something else I'm not sure of. I was in Army Special Ops, and he believes that I used my experience to take the camera's card, and thus cut off his ability to make some money by selling the pictures. He stalked Crystal in her Nashville home, even being a Peeping Tom. Now he's tailing me. The woman I met in New Mexico is a psychic; she thinks he's dangerous."

Ann nodded. She had the complete picture about my surreptitious arrival in town the day before. After a silence while she digested what I'd told her, she said, "A couple of things come to mind: first, I can read between the lines, and I think you did the right thing. He was wrong by stalking you. I think people, even stars, are entitled to their privacy. I think paparazzi are pretty low down the food chain. Second, you can stay here as long as you like. The weather is probably going to ground you for another day or two, unless you like riding your motorcycle in the mountains in a cold rain and sleet."

Ann then got up and came around the table to me and delivered a firm hug; she kissed both of my cheeks, and then, almost as an afterthought, planted a warm kiss on my lips. The last kiss lingered a few seconds longer than just a supportive buss. She pulled away and checked in with me to see how I'd taken her kiss. I smiled warmly at her; I'd rather liked the experience.

Ann gave me another peck on the lips and said, "More later ... maybe a lot more."

Ann knocked on my door late in the afternoon. I opened it and let her into the room. She said, "I've got some news for you. Hopefully, you'll know what to do with it."