This Is How It Really Sounds Read Online Free

was all of about five feet tall, and she didn’t look happy.
    â€œPete!”
    â€œHey, Beth. How was the, uh, event ?”
    The woman glared down at the two girls beside him in the tub as she answered. “The event went well.” She looked directly at Holly. “And you are…?”
    â€œI’m Holly!” she said cheerfully.
    â€œAnd you’re CeeCee,” she said to the other in a menacing voice. “I already know you.”
    Harry felt uncomfortable, but Mitch waded straight in.
    â€œBeth!” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “I want you to meet a friend of mine. He’s the top extreme skier in the world. His name’s Harry.”
    With great effort she pulled a glittering smile to the surface and said, with an East Coast accent, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I’m Beth Blackman, Pete’s wife.”
    Before, it had been stardom that had taken Harry’s voice away. Now it was embarrassment. “Nice to meet you.”
    She turned back to her husband. “Could we talk for a minute? Privately?”
    Harry looked away as Pete got out of the tub and grabbed a towel. As he disappeared into the other room, the singer looked back at Harry and said, “You and me, Squaw, Wednesday: it’s on! Mitch’ll give you the details.”
    â€œI’ll be there,” Harry said.
    â€œI’ll be there, too,” Holly said from down below them.
    After that the shouting started, and he and Mitch eased out the front door.
    *   *   *
    Back at Squaw Valley, he was quietly elated, but he didn’t mention it to anyone except Guy. The plan was to finish the movie shoot early Wednesday morning, then rendezvous with Pete Harrington and the girls at noon at the lodge. He’d tentatively arranged for a helicopter on the following day, Thursday. Harry rounded up an extra avalanche beacon and arranged for Guy to join them, because, let’s face it, if he got buried, he didn’t want to be under there waiting for Pete Harrington to dig him out. Guy, on the other hand—he’d been trusting his life to Guy since they were ten years old. It was an insanely good prospect: ski with a rock star, party with him at night. Mitch said it was a good thing for his career, too: word would get around that Pete Harrington skied with him, and that would give him some extra buzz. He’d call some paparazzi to try to get some shots of them for the tabloids.
    He was busy Monday and Tuesday with the movie: shots of him on things that were steep and dangerous, or throwing front flips off cliffs, upside down in the deep-blue Tahoe sky. They got another six inches Tuesday night, and Wednesday morning came up bluebird. They got out early to take advantage of the light. The movie people had dug out their credit cards and hired a chopper to get him over to another peak, and they had a one-hour window to get the sun exactly where the photographer wanted it. An hour for the setup, one run, and then he’d head back to the lodge to find Pete and the girls. It went faster than they thought, but they’d already booked the helicopter time and the photographer had one more idea, so Harry said he’d do one more line if they hurried. The cameraman pointed out the run and then took his post. It was only eleven: they could shoot it in ten minutes and be back to the lodge, no sweat. To his surprise, it didn’t play out that way. By noon Guy was dead beneath a hundred tons of snow and he was lying in the hospital under heavy sedation. A week later Ski magazine came out with a cover photo of him soaring endlessly through the sky and the caption: “The Greatest Extreme Skier on the Planet.”
    He never saw Pete Harrington again. Mitch advised him to lay low until his leg healed; clumping around Los Angeles in a cast didn’t project the kind of image they were trying to promote. But the heat went away. Mitch tore his ACL