The Adventures Of Bette Porter And Sissee Gardner After Yale (Part 2, Chapter 3)

PART 2: MAMMOTH LAKES, CALIFORNIA

Chapter 3

Just as Bette was about to tell me why she moved to the West Coast, the guys came back with our drinks and the conversation turned to skiing.

Terry and Bette had driven up very early that morning and hit the slopes as soon as they could, getting in some great runs before the snow flurries hit.

Terry’s recap of their day was particularly fascinating. In fact his personality was both mesmerizing and captivating. I took mental notes as he spoke and several times asked him if I could quote him in my story. He said he would be delighted to see his name in the L.A. Post, since his business thrived on publicity. That prompted Skip to go get his camera and for the rest of the weekend he was snapping candid shots of the highly photogenic couple. If we had paid professional models for the layout, they could not have been more glamorous. This was simply one of those times when one could mix business with pleasure.

Later that evening we shared dinner at the inn’s posh restaurant where Terry insisted on ordering the wine. He selected a fine French Cabernet Sauvignon and by the brand mentioned, it had to be over a hundred dollars a bottle.

As the festive night went on, it became a four-bottle dinner as we compatibly lingered over appetizers, the entrée and dessert.

The conversation was incredibly fluid, kind of like all four of us playing ping pong, back and forth with no one missing the ball. Terry said they were going snowmobiling in the morning and asked us if we wanted to go with them. It was obvious, this was not his first trip up there and that he knew his way around. He told us there were 80 miles of groomed snowmobile trails right through the heart of the Injo National Forest. Of course Skip and I jumped at the chance. It was not part of my assignment but I would surely weave it into the article.

Then the striking man asked us if we wanted to go swimming. Skip and I looked at each other and both asked, “Where?”

“In the hot springs,” he answered. “Not too far from here.”

“But I don’t have a suit,” I said, perhaps naively.

“We don’t need suits,” said Bette, with a wink and a smile.

After bundling up with down jackets, stocking caps and gloves we all met back at the lobby where Terry led us to his car, which of course was a Mercedes, complete with snow tires.

It had stopped snowing and it was very cold. We could see our breath as we piled into the car. It was a crazy idea. It was a fantastic idea. We had all had too much to drink. The roads were slippery. The curves were dangerous but everyone of us was up for it. We were off to swim bare ass in the hot springs at midnight and in more ways than one, there was no turning back.