EPISODE 1, SCENE 3 Kelly Foster sat sipping a latte in the new apres ski bar, Locals. Behind the bar, her husband Mason was applying finishing touches to an intricately carved cabinet. "I've got a private at noon today and another tomorrow morning", Kelly said. Newly arrived in Telluride a month ago, Kelly had used her previous experience teaching at the Stowe to get a gig giving privates at the ski school here. "I think I'll be able to do this and sell Jordan Thorne's timeshares." "That's great, Kel." Mason straightened and caught an extra breath. He was still having problems adjusting to the altitude at nine thousand feet. "My varnishes dry way too fast up here", he grumbled. While his wife was quickly picking up the Telluride rhythms, Mason Foster was finding it tougher to catch on. Sure, his work was being noticed. He'd even scored some celebrity clients like Oprah and Oliver Stone. But there was a comfort level missing. Maybe it was that his reserved no-nonsense New England demeanor didn't fit with the town's laid back lifestyle. Or he just preferred spending time alone in his woodworking shop to schmoozing at the Steaming Bean. Mason had been just as fried by the urban career grind as Kelly, but he'd have chosen the Berkshires, where people didn't know each others' business and didn't ask. It was Kelly who pushed for Telluride, and Mason had gone along. "You think you'll get some time off to ski with me this afternoon?" she asked hopefully. Mason shook his head. "I got a call from Oliver. He needs a repair on the video cabinet I built for him. I've gotta go up to his place on Wilson Mesa at two." Kelly nodded, disappointed. She finished the latte and leaned down to buckle her boots. "Maybe tomorrow?" she offered. Mason looked up. "Sure, Kel, maybe tomorrow."