No one warned me that the Aspen/Pitkin County Airport was a teeny-tiny shit landing strip wedged between the Rocky Mountains. It dared planes to land, like preteens dared each other to make out in a closet, all angst ridden and secretly hoping it will all be over fast. When we finally landed, everyone clapped louder than opening night at Hamilton. (Which reminded me, I owed Lin a text. He’d been so sweet to reach out after the breakup, but I hadn’t wanted to talk to anybody.) Later at the party, the Tigglemans told me the airport cancels a third of all flights because of safety and that they were surprised I got in given the conditions. WTF.

My schedule keeps me chasing the sun. Usually I’m just popping from summer festival to summer festival around the globe, so snow and I don’t have a ton of history. That’s why I wasn’t sure if it was normal that these Aspen flakes were the size of my hand. By the look of everyone rushing around so much, I was guessing not. I was guessing this snow was pretty intense. Pip was loving it. She thought the flakes were chew toys. She kept trying to bite them as they were falling.

I was totally underdressed. Even in the airport, the Aspen women were really bringing it. In the short walk through the terminal I counted three pairs of Jimmy Choo shearling boots, two Pucci down coats, and a dozen skintight bodysuits. I had showered for a change and was actually wearing jeans rather than the post-breakup sweats, but my Air Force 1s were the closest thing I had to boots, and as soon as I stepped outside, my feet got soaked. Luckily, Dave and I didn’t have to walk too far. The Escalade he hired was waiting out front.

I texted Claudine.

Wheels down! Pip and I heading straight to the Hotel Jerome. Desperate for a gimlet. See you at six. oxxo

Claudine

Claudine swirled in her chair as her phone buzzed. Good, Zara had landed.

On Claudine’s strict order, the offices of Calhoun + Calhoun were stark white: the exposed-brick walls painted white, white bistro lights, long white tables with white bowls of white chocolate individually wrapped in white. After a bit of negotiating with the building’s owner—although it was hardly ever a negotiation with her; more like a swindling, because few stood a chance—Claudine even had the gorgeous wide-paneled oak floors also painted white. Employees were told to keep their desks sparse and hang their coats in the closets, and if they had to eat at all, do so only in the kitchen. Keep it clean.