Authors: Marya Stones
Mona, however, wasn’t at all satisfied with the way the story was developing, and she couldn’t hide her suspicions.
“He’s bull-shitting you. Jamaica? Rasta trials? Sixth sense? What bullshit. Hey Greta, wake up!”
Mona and Greta spent an evening drinking two bottles of red wine and discussing the whole story. While they were arguing back and forth Greta noticed how far she had come in believing Mike in the meantime. She defended him. She covered his back. She justified what he had done.
“You’re in love with the guy, aren’t you?” suddenly popped out of Mona’s mouth.
“No, don’t be crazy! What makes you think that? I don’t even know him that well. Maybe something could come of it – but there really isn’t anything between us. Well, we did have something – that last time in Munich he practically kidnapped me – to Salzburg. And the sex was really hot. It’s true—he could be dangerous,” Greta giggled like a teenager.
“He’s been that for a while now – he is dangerous. Really, Greta! You’re not even aware how deep you’re into it. We don’t have to discuss this at all anymore. You’re madly in love. Maybe he’s cast a spell over you with his sixth sense? “ Mona giggled too, like a little troll.
“Oh, you’re really crazy – I am not madly in love. I’m not a teenager any longer.” Greta paused and looked at the floor. “But he definitely has something that fascinates me. I’m extremely attracted to him and want to know more about him.”
“Just so you don’t get burned or have your heart broken, m’luv.” Mona gave Greta a hug and there wasn’t anything left to discuss.
The remaining two days in New York were like a vacation for Greta. She could finally completely enjoy the city. She went on a productive shopping trip with Mona, and treated herself to a musical on Broadway and a visit to a spa. The girls met on Mona’s lunch hour and spent the evenings together, making the rounds. New York presented its best side – it was Indian summer and they basked in the sunshine, the warmth, and the beautiful colors in and around Central Park. Mike made an effort to stay close and spoiled her verbally with his text messages. He wanted to try to take her to the airport and to say good-bye in person. The hours flew by too fast and suddenly it was time to get ready to return to Munich. Mike knew the departure time and wanted to meet Greta at the airport. She had almost packed everything when the doorbell rang. The bag that she had brought along for her short trip was bursting at the seams because of all the things she had bought; Mona had left her a suitcase that she would drop off on her next stopover in New York.
The door . . .
Mona had gone to work and Greta didn’t expect anyone. She didn’t want to open the door because it would take too much time, and she didn’t have any to spare.
The doorbell rang again.
Maybe Mona had ordered something. The least she could do is open the door for the delivery man. Greta pushed the buzzer: “Yes, hello?”
“This is the car service to the airport, Miss Mayfield.”
“Oh, who are you? I didn’t order a car.”
“I’m George, Mr. Sloan’s driver. He wanted to spare you the trouble of public transportation to the airport. May I carry your bags down?”
Greta hardly knew what to say.
“That’s very nice. Yes, I have a suitcase; I appreciate your help.”
She was dumbfounded. Was Mike’s father in the car downstairs waiting, too?
Oh, man, I hope not. I’m not ready for that. Please!
And then, I’m really not properly dressed, Greta thought. She looked at herself: comfortable jeans, the cowboy boots from Mike, a T-shirt and a cashmere pullover, sort of a casual, sloppy look.
It looks okay, but if such a high-powered, influential man wants to drive me to the airport . . .
I can’t change now, and it won’t get any better, Greta reassured herself. George was apparently already at her entry, and the doorbell rang again. Greta opened the door. George looked like a chauffeur sent by central casting – just as one would imagine: not too tall, with a little belly, closely shaved, black shoes polished to a high shine, and, of course, a dark suit and cap with a rim. He tipped his cap and bowed slightly in Greta’s direction.
“Is Mr. Sloan here, too?” Greta burst out.
“No, Miss Mayfield, I’m sorry to disappoint you. You’ll be making the trip alone. I hope my company will be satisfactory.”
Greta breathed a sigh of relief, and gave him the suitcase. Still completely surprised by the luxurious service, she followed George with her hand baggage.
Be satisfactory?
Hey, the guy obviously didn’t know that Greta didn’t travel in such circles. It was super cool to get to the airport so easily. What luxury! I could get used to this, she thought. It was hard to suppress a broad smile. Thank God George couldn’t see her – it would have been too embarrassing.
Greta closed the door to the apartment. She had left a little thank-you note for Mona with a gift certificate for her favorite spa. Mr. Popcorn and Curly Bob had gotten some honey in their milk-bowls. Greta knew already that she would miss those two. Hopefully her flight plans included a trip back to New York soon. She was already looking forward to it. This city would never lose its fascination for her.
As Greta stepped out the door, a black ultra-elegant limousine with tinted windows stood at the curb . George had already stored the suitcase and was opening the door.
Shit, why don’t I have my chic Prada sunglasses on? That would be more fitting. Incognito, “Starlet Greta” gets into the limousine that will take her to the airport.
Oh, Greta, she banished her fantasies, you’re such a dreamer. She smiled to herself as George closed the door with a dull thud. Nevertheless, the put on her sunglasses, and quickly sent Mona a text message:
You won’t believe how I’m getting to the airport – in Mr. Right’s limo! –am happy. Thank you for being there! Immediately, a text message came back: Where did the limo come from? Did he send it? If yes, then enjoy and take care of yourself. Mona xxx
Then Greta sent a message to her best friend, Nathalie, at home: I’ll be back tomorrow. Please come over; we have to talk. So much. G. xxx
Should she send Mike a message too? That would work, right? Yes, she thought, I’ll do that right now.
I feel like Carrie Bradshaw. Thank you for the limo, Big—or should I say Mr. Right? Thank you, Mike. Kiss, G.
Before she pushed the button to send the message, she hesitated. Should she really call him “Mr. Right?”
Oh, stop with the muddled thoughts again. Let it go!
And the message was on its way.
George parked right at Departures upon arrival at the airport. Greta thanked him sincerely, and he seemed embarrassed.
“You know, that’s my job,” he said, and smiled at her.
“And you do it really well,” Greta said spontaneously
George gave a superior smile and placed her suitcase on the sidewalk.
On the way to the counter Greta thought to herself, “Oh, man, what kind of idiotic babble was that again? “You do it really well . . .well, what is he supposed to do if he’s a chauffeur? That wasn’t exactly Carrie-like or professional.”
Greta had to wait a while at the Departure counter. She was flying stand-by, and could only get a seat if one happened to be available. Everyone who had paid full-fare went ahead of her. Sometimes it was really risky if one wanted to fly immediately. It could easily happen that all the seats were taken –and then one was simply left behind. But Greta was sure she’d get a seat today. She had to return to Munich no matter what. Her flight plan showed that she was on duty the next day, on a tour within Europe, three days in a row. Not bad, Greta thought to herself: overnights in Athens and Budapest.
The flight was filling up and Greta was getting a little nervous. She looked over at the check-in window again and again and hoped for a positive twinkle in the eye of the ground crew. But that didn’t happen. Check-in became busier and busier. Her cell phone vibrated and showed a new text message, from Mike.
I’m glad you had a good trip to the airport. Angel, are you at the counter already?
Yes, she quickly texted in return, it looks full. I hope I get a seat. She wanted to continue texting when someone jostled her from behind. She turned around and took a deep breath, getting ready to give the jostler a piece of her mind.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?! . . .MIKE! What are you doing here?”
Mike grinned. “Even if I couldn’t pick you up, I could at least make every effort to say good-bye to you. Because of the connections to Switzerland for Steve, I spent the whole morning here. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how long it would take to get everything organized. But it worked out! The flights are booked. You’re still here and I can still give you a great big hug. How does it look? Will you get a seat?
“At the moment, it doesn’t look so good.”
“Oh, that wouldn’t be all that bad. You’ll just stay a little longer. He put his arms around her and kissed her on the mouth.
Greta could hardly react and didn’t really want to do anything to prevent him from doing what he was doing. Oh, man, he was really a good kisser! After that kiss, she couldn’t be mad at him, but she at least tried to look a little mad.
“If I don’t get a seat, I have to book immediately with another airline at full price. I’m on duty tomorrow, an inter-European three-day tour. Besides, the schedulers in Munich know that I’m in New York, waiting stand-by for a seat. I have to fly, or I’ll have a giant problem on my hands.”
“Don’t worry. There’s always a solution.”
The ticketing area became fuller and fuller and Greta became more and more nervous.
“Can you do anything here?” Mile wanted to know. “Do you have to stay in the vicinity of the ticket windows?”
“Actually, no. But I somehow have the feeling that if I stay here I can communicate the necessity of getting a seat by my presence.” Greta smiled, somewhat embarrassed about her own naivete. “No, honestly, it doesn’t help at all to stand here next to the window. I’m on the waiting list. As soon as the flight is closed the stand-by’s are called. That’ll take at least another forty-five minutes.”
“Well, then, we can go get a drink, right? What would you say to a good-bye drink in the bar on the first level?”
“Oh, I’m not sure,” Greta hesitated.
“C’mon.” Mike pulled Greta along even though she wasn’t sure that this was a good idea. Wouldn’t it be better to wait at the window to be called? But it was too tempting to go get a drink with Mike. They hardly saw each other over the last few days. The plans had been so different. Greta’s thoughts ran in circles.
And besides, he’s such a good kisser. And he smells so damn good again. I’m just gonna go with him. It’ll work out with the seat on the plane.
Arriving at the bar, Greta still wasn’t so sure how clever it was to distance herself from the ticket window. If she’s called and not there, then the free seat is given to the next stand-by on the waiting list. And that’s it, then. Oh, it’ll be fine, she said to herself. They both ordered a gin and tonic, and the drinks arrived quickly.
“Cheers, dear Greta. I would have so enjoyed having you by my side the last few days to have a drink. . .or two. And now you’re leaving and I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.“ They sat at the bar next to each other on barstools. The place was loud and actually not very bar-like or romantic. Greta, however, didn’t notice anything. She had eyes only for him. He held her hands in his, pulled her close to him and kissed her again. This time long and passionately. Greta couldn’t do anything but melt inside. Everything around them suddenly seemed unimportant, even the return flight to Munich. If only I could stay here longer, she wished. Between the next kiss and the one following that, which became more intensive and passionate, they sipped their drinks.
“If I could, I would take you with me right now, and screw you on the spot.” Greta was already completely hot and now her face turned red. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. She felt drawn to him like a magnet. Very slowly she pulled his shirt out of his pants in the back. His skin felt warm and soft. Her hand wandered further along his side. She noticed how he also desired her touch and how his arms grew even tighter around her. No sooner had she pulled his shirt out of his pants, than his hands slid under her T-shirt. And his hands too were exactly as she remembered, sensitive, smooth, soft, and perfectly gentle. Now his hands were also greedy for her and had already reached the clasp of her bra. Should she allow him to open it? How wonderful it would be to feel his warm, gentle touches on her breasts.
But here in the bar? In public? That can’t happen – and yet, I want him now.
Everything in Greta vibrated, and the desire to be touched seemed to cry out within her.
“Come, we’ll go to the restroom in First Class. I have a Platinum Card which will get us into the Lounge. Come quickly, I have to touch you. Now, quickly; intensely.”
Greta wanted it too and allowed herself to be pulled along. He placed a bill on the bar and taking long, large steps, he pulled her toward the First Class Lounge. He inserted his card at the entry, and they were inside. It smelled of freshly ground coffee, warm food at the buffet, and sweets, available everywhere on the small coffee tables. A thick rug covered the floor and the seating nooks were upholstered in fine leather. Someone played a piano in the background, everything very dignified and in good taste. The personnel was also very refined. Well dressed – the women in jackets and skirts, the men in suits. They had noticed Greta ‘s and Mike’s arrival, but were discreet, and didn’t bother them. Both left their bags and jackets at the first unoccupied seating area and moved in the direction of the restrooms. It was not unusual that guests immediately headed toward the toilets upon arrival, and no one thought anything of it. The entrances to the restrooms were in a corner. Mike went first. Greta followed right on his heels. The first door was the men’s toilet, and Mike opened the door.