Airport
Part One
They walked together down the concourse to the central parking garage.
“She walks as fast as I do,” he thought.
“Thanks for carrying my bags,” she said.
“You’d be surprised how long my Mother’s arms are!”
“What?”
“It wouldn’t be right, me just walking along and you lugging this satchel. What would people say?”
“You don’t think I could carry that?” she asked him.
“I know you can. You brought it on the plane, didn’t you? Or did your husband carry it on when he dropped you off?”
“I drove myself to the airport. Besides, he needs his hand free to talk on the phone,” she put an edge on that.
He glanced at her. “I would have carried you and that damn bag all the way down the jetway,” he said to himself. “What kind of man isn’t completely absorbed by a woman like this? What an asshole! That’s probably why I don’t have a woman like this, I’m not a big enough asshole.”
“You OK?” she asked; a big smile.
“Just ruminating. How do you like your eggs?” he asked, returning her smile.
“Shirred, poached, scrambled, omelet, quiche or however you’d like to serve them to me,” she replied. Right back at you!
“Naked, in bed,” he said to himself. “This is going to be fun. Painful, but fun.”
“So how far is it to George and Patty’s house?” she asked.
“At this time, on a Friday, with the Cubs playing the Red Sox, a little over an hour,” he replied.
“They have a beautiful condo in the new Millennium Park, just off Michigan. It’s up on the 33rd floor, facing the lake. The view is outstanding!”
“How do you know Chicago so well?” she asked.
“Most of my clients are here in Illinois. I have some in California, some in Ohio, and a few back home in Massachusetts, but those are mostly referrals.
“I do all my prospecting in Illinois, and I have a membership in the University Club which serves as a home base; it’s about three blocks from George’s house.”
“That sounds very glamorous and sophisticated!” She’s teasing him now.
“Speaking of the U Club, I’ve booked us a court for tomorrow afternoon. We’ll play a few games, then meet George and Patty in the President’s Bar for a drink.”
“Are you going to let me win at least one?” She pillowed up her lower lip in a pout; he’s having trouble concentrating.
“No.”
Both lips are trying their best to pout, her eyes are big and staring right at him, but there’s a smile behind them, trying for a little rise.
“Nobody gets a break on the court; not even pretty girls with pouty lips and big eyes.”
“How about pretty boys with big shoulders and fancy club memberships?”
Am I being set up? he wonders.
He walks closer to her, using his body and the weight of her bag to force her to turn right down the hallway to the parking garage. They stop just over the threshold, their faces maybe two inches apart, eyes looking right into eyes, smiles on their lips, and hold: tic toc, tic toc, tic toc…
They break apart, laughing.
“Just wait ‘til you get to know me!”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
He opened the car door for her; the Ford Crown Victoria comes standard with bench seating, and she slid right over.
“So where is your husband?” He asked. He’s not going to balance this event on some fantasy bubble where the real world doesn’t exist.
“He’s away,” she replied.
“New York, Atlanta, Seattle, Los Angeles. He’s on the road most of the time.”
“And what does he do that requires that much travel?” he asked. He didn’t really care. He did, however, wonder how a man could marry a beautiful, engaging woman and then spent most of his time away from her.
“You don’t really care what he does, do you?” she asked.
“I’ll bet you do wonder what could be so interesting to keep him away from home.” she thinks to herself. “It’s not like there are colicky babies, or a wife that didn’t care to lose the baby weight.”
“I’ve still got my figure after two kids, don’t I?” Is this a test?
The eyes get big and the lips start to pillow up; an open invitation to stare. Her legs are covered by pants, but the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts are nicely flattered by the fabric and cut of her suit.
“Yes, you certainly do. We’ll see if there’s any power in those hips on the court tomorrow.”
“This guy is serious about beating me on the squash court…” she thinks. I like that.
She slides over to him on the big bench seat. He can smell her Coco and feel her breath on his ear. He can see her smile out of the corner of his eye. He’s blushing; he feels an attraction, naturally, but he doesn’t care if he shows it. Again, this isn’t a fantasy, it’s real life and he’s determined to play it that way.
He’s feeling pretty good. It’s a warm, sunny Friday afternoon, there are no crises, real or imagined, to spike his anxiety, ‘China Cat Sunflower’ is on the cusp of ‘I Know You Rider’, and a beautiful woman is sitting right next to him. He turns his head towards her, she turns her head towards him, their lips brush without touching, only the heat of their skin makes any contact. She rests her hand on his thigh; not going anywhere, just warm and present.
“This is nice,” she says.
“Yes it is,” he replies.
“Why can’t it be this way with my own wife?” he thinks to himself.
“Why is it always that awful, fuzzy dark gray not trusting lonely feeling? Was it ever as nice as this moment is? We didn’t even kiss and it’s better than anywhere I’ve ever been…”
She nips his earlobe.
“It’s a long way into the city, isn’t it?” she asks.
“Not long enough.”
They both smile and the traffic moves on.
“I wish I was a headlight, on a Northbound train. I’d shine my light o’er Colorado’s range…”
Sing it Gerry.
She thought about leaving for this trip:
“The kids’ll be with Mom and Dad. You can swing by on your way home from the airport.” He was busy packing his own bag. Golf shirts?
“I didn’t know that you were playing golf on this trip?” she asked.
“You know how it is honey. The top guys from Webster Wagnalls will be there and you can be sure that they’ll want to mix it up after they sign this contract.”
He was distracted, like he always was before a trip. Which was always.
She looked out the window and her Fate stepped out from behind the curtains: raise the kids and get dumped for a trophy wife when he made C-level.
Fuck that.
She has quite a substantial portfolio. About $12 million in cash and liquid assets, and she had become quite the stock picker and market timer. By September of ‘07 she was all cash and skated past the Great Recession. That had gone back into some very nice real estate, purchased at a sweet discount from some less prescient investors, as well as blocks of seriously undervalued equities.
She hadn’t majored in Accounting and Finance at a D1 university to end up some Valium-addled, gin-soaked, leather-faced, chain-smoking country club slut, banging delivery boys and badgering her divorce lawyer for pennies at $200 an hour.
He didn’t have the slightest idea.
He could come to her, all weepy and remorseful, like a puppy that just shit on the heirloom oriental. And she would carve a hole in his bank account that you could drive an armored car through.
She had gone to all the cities where he travelled for business. She had been to the hotels and restaurants and golf courses and even the strip clubs. She had build an information highway on the back of her best friend, Benjamin Franklin.
She was warm and loving and generous and kind. She wanted a life partner, arm in arm, common goals, sharing the ups, supporting each other through the inevitable downs.
There was none of that. They were living his life. He needed a cook, a nanny, and free sex. All expendable when he ate every meal out, the kids were off to college, and her body no longer excited him. She was just another box on his list, checked off.
She was angry.
And now she’s sitting next to this handsome man, who’s treating her like a valued equal, with respect, and who’s giving her goosebumps all over, just by brushing her lips with his.
“You bet I want my damn eggs in bed buddy! I just hope you have the energy to make them!”
She smiled at that thought.