Barely glancing at the road, Fran gazed obliquely at Judy with new interest. “If you like mountain climbing, you’ll be crazy about Aspen.”
“Really? I thought everyone came here to study music, or play in the orchestra, or sing!”
“We get lots of that kind all summer. And besides them there are the thousands who come to listen and go to lectures every night!”
He maneuvered another hairpin curve, taking no notice of a shuddering “Oh!” this time from Mrs. Lurie. “But the real excitement,” he went on, “the real money spent around here is for skiing. From fall right up to spring! That’s a sport. Skiing!” His face glowed.
“How do you find time to ski?” Judy asked.
“What do you mean? You might as well ask how one finds time to eat!”
Mrs. Lurie leaned forward and tapped her daughter on the shoulder. “Don’t you think you should let Fran concentrate on his driving instead of annoying him with your chatter?”
“I barely opened my mouth!” Judy said indignantly, as she turned around. “Blaming me!—” When she saw the strained look on her mother’s face, she nudged Fran and told him to take it easy. He was making her mother nervous.
The clouds of dust were finally left behind and they approached Aspen over a bumpy, paved road.
“See that enormous white tent?” Fran said, unconsciously assuming the role of a driver of a guided tour. “That’s where all the big concerts are given. The supports inside the tent are a bright orange and the cushions of the seats are blue. Very pretty!”