4
“N
UTS?”
Nuts to you,
Temple thought when a middle-aged executive tried a tired line on her.
Working her way down the narrow aisle, Temple served peanuts, coffee, juice and complimentary papers to twenty-two passengers, then started the round again.
When she'd first applied for flight school, she had thought being a flight attendant was a glamorous profession. Boy, was that ever a misconception. Most of her eighty hours a month in the air were spent on foot working at top speed. Glamorous lasted only during the walk across the terminalâeverything before and after was plain hard work.
Factor in reams of reports to completeâon minor medications given to passengers, lost-and-found articles, equipment that needed attention and numerous other matters, and glamour became exhaustion.
Certainly no one had ever told her that a 6:00 a.m. flight meant she had to report for preflight at five, which meant getting up at 3:45 a.m., at the latest.
She had been lucky, though, in having the early-morning flight as an almost permanent assignment, with only an occasional schedule change for weekends and holidays. The hard work and lack of glamour notwithstanding, she loved the job.
This morning, however, might be an exception. Craig and Scotty had the plane tilted at an angle that, though imperceptible to the passengers, made it tough, if not impossible, to bulldoze the refreshment cart up the aisle. They were probably thoroughly enjoying their little joke at her expense. Just wait till they got their coffee.
There was only a little under an hour between flights, making the day seem unusually long and tedious. A long soak in a Jacuzzi and a quiet night was sounding more and more tempting.
Preparing to depart Memphis at 3:10 on the return flight, Temple slid the flight-attendant seat sideways then pulled the passenger door closed and locked it.
Taking her seat, she fastened her seat belt, smiling at the passengers in the front row. As the plane taxied to the runway for departure, the flight-attendant call light started flashing repeatedly. After four false calls, Temple switched on the intercom.
“Will the child in 12-C please stop playing with the flight-attendant call button? Thank you.”
During takeoff, the child vented his rage by screaming at the top of his lungs.
I love my job. I love my job. I love my job,
she repeated silently.
The final flight of the day was wonderfully quiet. The passengers either slept or read. Still, by the time the plane touched down in Dallas, Temple was glad to sign out.
She was leaving the terminal, looking forward to that long soak in the Jacuzzi when Scotty caught up with her.
“Hey, Temple, girl.” He fell into step beside her. “Small hitch in the dinner plans tonight.”
Darn! She'd forgotten the “dinner plans.” “Oh, brother.” She hated to think what the small hitch was.
“I invited Jon Bennett to join usâ”
“Scottyâ”
“Come on, Temple. I told Stephanie you didn't want to be set up again, but she thinks you and Jon just might hit it off,” he said. “I know. Blind dates are the pits. But how else are you going to rotate stock?”
She stopped short. “Rotate stock?”
“Aw, you know what I mean. How are you going to find âthe one' if you don't look? Come on, be a sport.”
Sighing, Temple accepted the inevitable. “Okay, who's this Jon Bennett? Separated, divorced, desperate? What?”
“We haven't known him long. Met him a couple of weeks ago at a friend's house. Seems to be interesting enough. Works for the telephone company. A little shy around women, but you'll have no trouble talking to him.”
So far so good.
“What's the hitch?”
“Jon called Steph and wondered if you could pick him up. His car's in the garage.”
“In the garage?”
“That's what he said.”
“Couldn't he take a cab?”
“I guess, but what's it going to hurt if you pick him up? It's right on the way.”
“I don't know, Scotty...”
“Seven? And be prompt. Steph gets bent out of shape when the roast is dry.”
“How do I get into these things?” she said, exasperated.
“Just pick him up... you really don't mind, do you?”
“I guess not. If you think he's trustworthy. He is, isn't he?”
“Seemed so”
“Okay, I'll pick him up.”
Why did they sound like words of doom?
“Great. Look, he's funny, interesting. Definitely not boring, just a little shy.”
“So you said,” she murmured warily.
When they stopped beside her truck, she noticed that Craig's parking spot was empty. She felt a little disappointed that he hadn't wasted any time leaving the terminal.
“You don't have to sell me on him,” she said. “It's only dinner, not a lifetime commitment.”
Scotty looked relieved. “Thanks, you're a sport.”
“Just keep in mind that if this guy's a flake, your insurance better be paid.”
“Would I steer you wrong?”
“Don't pull your act with me, Scotty, me boy. You're one terrific pilot, but your record as a matchmaker stinks. I still haven't forgotten Luc Carter.”
His hands flipped palms up in mock surrender. “Hey, I had no idea that was prison pallor!”
“Does the phrase, âCheck it out' mean anything to you? Jon had better be a little higher caliber.”
“I resent that remark.”
“I mean that remark.”
“Like I saidâSave the cynicism until you've spent a little time with him,” Scotty advised. “After all, this could be Mr. Remarkable.”
Temple sighed again. Remarkable.
Ha! It'll be remarkable if it's a normal date
. Using the back of a brochure, she wrote down the address Scotty gave her.
“Tell him I'll pick him up around six, okay?”
“Six is fine.”
Â
HOLDING THE PHONE between her ear and shoulder, Temple propped her feet up on the coffee table and studied the polish on her toenails.
“No, honest, Grams. I have a date.
“His name is Jon Bennett.
“No, Darrell didn't work out.
“We just didn't click.
“I have no idea what Jon's financial situation is. I haven't met him yet.
“No, he's not a perfect stranger.” She could nearly promise he wasn't a perfect anything. “He's an acquaintance of Jim and Stephanie Scott.
“Jim Scott, Grams. Scotty, the first officer I fly withâ
“No, Jim wouldn't set me up with a pervertâ
“No, I'm sure he's harmless.
“I don't know why he isn't married. Maybe he has beenâ
“I'll ask to see the divorce papers before he gets into the truck.”
Temple had to grin at Grams's nonstop questions.
“Scotty's already married, Grams. To Stephanie.
“He was married to Stephanie before I met him, Grams.
“No, that's Craig Stevens.
“Yes, Helen and Frank's boy.” Temple twirled the telephone cord around her finger, anticipating the next question.
“No, Grams, he isn't married.
“Of course not! Just because a guy isn't married doesn't mean that he'sâ”
She anticipated the next question.
“We're just friends.
“Because that's the way we both want it.
“Well, I'm sure he wants to... some day. But not to me.
“He's a pilot, Grams. You know I don't date pilots.
“Dad has nothing to do with that decision. I like to keep work and play separate.”
Grams had questioned her about her aversion to pilots before, but she was sure there was no subconscious correlation between that and her choice of profession.
“Yes, I will.
“Yes. I promise.
“Grams, please stop worrying.
“Yes, I will. I promise. Geez, look at the time. Don't you have choir rehearsal tonight?
“Yes, I'll call you Sunday.”
Hanging up, Temple pressed a sofa pillow to her face.
“Aaaggghhh!”
Â
AWARE THAT Scotty and Stephanie liked informal dinners, Temple wore a pair of white silk pants and a pale green silk shirt. Blow-drying her hair, she decided she liked the new cut. It was bouncy and casual, easy to take care of. A nice change.
Making a moue in the mirror, she mouthed the words
hot, hot, hot.
With a touch of mascara to lashes that defined sherry-brown eyes, she gave her appearance a last once-over, blew herself a kiss and switched off the light.
The address Scotty had given her wasn't familiar, but she found it easily. Though well past its prime, it was a nice enough area.
The building was an elegant old brownstone. A black wrought-iron gate opened easily to her touch and led through a small garden. Double doors with frosted glass opened into a tastefully decorated foyer. But there the elegance ended. The carpet was a stained, unsanitary green. Beige walls blended into obscurity. The only redeeming feature was the carved oak stairway that even time and lack of care had failed to alter.
Moving to the desk, she gave the security guard her name. Within a few minutes, a man descended the stairway.
Tall and painfully thin, he looked to be several years her senior. He was wearing sedate khaki trousers, a white golf shirt and leather loafers. His glasses were wider than his face.
Summoning a smile, Temple said. “Jon?”
Color flooded the man's pale features, making his ears stand out from his crewcut like two, giant hydrangeas.
An alarm went off in her head.
Uh-oh.
“Hello,” he said.
His voice was so inaudible she'd barely made out the greeting.
Temple extended her hand. “Temple Burney.”
“Nicetomeetyou.”
Unbelievable! A mumbler. Megaphone Darrell on Saturday, Jon the Mumbler tonight. She was batting an even thousand this week.
“Ready to go?” she asked.
“Thank you. Yes,” he whispered.
Experience told her disaster loomed, but being a trooper she led the way out to the truck. After all, Steph and Scotty were expecting them, and while she wouldn't hesitate to call Scotty and bail out, she didn't want to waste the efforts Steph was sure to have made toward a nice evening.
As they pulled away from the curb, she said. “Hope you don't mind the truck. I've driven it so long I can't bear to part with it.”
“Idon'tmind.”
“Pardon?” He was mumbling again.
“Idon'tmind.”
It sounded to her as if he'd said, “You've lost your mind.” Obviously not. Scotty had said Jon was shy, not insensitive. Maybe things would improve when he relaxed. At the moment, he was plastered against the passenger door.
Picking up speed on the freeway, she tried to keep the conversation rolling. “So, you're a friend of Scotty and Steph?”
“Yes.”
“Pardon?”
“Yes.”
“Very long?”
“Notvery.”
She turned. “Pardon?”
His eyes darted back and forth in an attempt to avoid hers, reminding her of a lizard. A great big old lizard. A trapped lizard, dying to get loose.
“Not very long. Watch that car. It's coming over.” Jon collapsed on his seat, wiping sweat from his forehead. His superhuman effort at normal conversation had clearly exhausted him.
Mentally sighing, Temple concentrated on driving. It was going to be a long night.
Thirty minutes later, they exited the freeway and entered a pretty, tree-lined residential area. The homes were mid-priced, brick, with small lawns and colorful flower-bordered walks.
The smell of outdoor barbecue flavored the air as Temple drove the Silverado to Scotty and Steph's cul-de-sac. Temple parked at the curb, between two abandoned children's bicycles and a Big Wheel. Jon followed her silently to the door, like a shadow.
Jim Scott, I'm going to throttle you.