Authors: Carolyn Nash
“Right,” I said. “Ranks right up there with root canal
without Novocain.”
He laughed. “I’ll call you in a few days and we’ll do that
lunch.”
“Great.” I reached down, picked up my purse, draped my coat
over my arm, pulled my carry-on case out from under the seat in front of me,
and balanced the whole mess on my knees. I listened to the announcements, and
at the last small lurch as the plane came to a complete and final stop at the
gate, I snapped off the seatbelt and stood.
I turned and smiled. “Well, bye. Take care. Good luck.”
Andrew was looking up at me. It just wasn’t fair. Through
the window behind him I could see a rim of fire from the last of the sun just
before it slipped behind the hills. Shafts of light shone through the window,
outlining his hair and skin in gold.
I turned quickly, started to walk away, but then turned back
and dodged around one of the businessmen opposite who was trying to get his
coat out of the overhead compartment. I tore a corner off my itinerary,
scribbled my cell number on it, and handed it to Andrew.
“Please let me know when everything is okay.”
He smiled and nodded.
And then I leaned forward across the empty seat. “Please, Andrew,
please take care of yourself,” I whispered. He started to say something, but
before he could, I turned and hurried from the plane.
My pace slowed in the jet-way. The other passengers pushed
past me, getting on with the business of their lives, everyone and everything
going on as normal as if a man hadn’t just told me that someone was trying to
murder him, as if I hadn’t crawled through an explosion and fire that very
morning and pulled a friend from the wreckage, as if I weren’t on the dream
trip of my life, as if my carefully built emotional defenses weren’t in a
blender with no idea what would pour out. I couldn’t muster the energy to
rejoin the rush, the push up that narrow square tube toward the terminal. The
other passengers merely brushed past me, not really seeing me except possibly
as a competitor in that deadly serious contest of who will reach the luggage
carousel first.
The tunnel led to a large circular area with a half dozen
gates leading off it. As I stepped out, I had a moment’s
deja vu
, then
realized it wasn’t
deja vu
but an actual memory of a traffic circle in
Washington D.C. I’d once been trapped in. A wrong turn had taken me in and I’d
circled five times before frustration overcame terror and I shot across three
lanes, narrowly missed a little Peugeot and a much larger transit bus, and shot
up the first side street available. The Friday evening traffic running through
the terminal was almost as terrifying: battalions of business-people armed with
swinging briefcases quick-stepping through; troops of skiers leaving for a week
in the mountains of Colorado, their nylon bags packed with down vests and gorp.
I tried to negotiate an entrance just as three businessmen came up behind me
and brushed by on either side. Each gave me an equally dirty look as if I were
trying single-handedly to stop the progress of the world.
I plunged in and moved with the other salmon upstream until
I passed through airport security. Then I moved over, huddled in the lea of a ticket
counter, and dropped my case at my feet. I pulled the itinerary from my purse. A
chauffeur was to pick me up here near the metal detectors and guide me to a
limo. I ran my finger down the itinerary. Dinner at the hotel tonight, Coit
Tower tomorrow morning, the De Young Museum tomorrow afternoon.
The De Young. No. Forget it. Forget
him.
I ran my finger on down the list, running through the week’s
events in my mind, but even as I did, I had to fight an almost overwhelming
urge to check back over my shoulder to see if Andrew had come safely from the
plane.
“Would you be Ms. Brenner?”
From out of the crowd a short, sober-faced, white-haired man
in a black suit had materialized. He stood slightly hunched over, as if he were
protecting himself from being swept away in the current of humanity. Tucked
under one arm was a black chauffeur’s hat.
“Yes, I’m Melanie Brenner.”
I might as well have told him I had an extra $2,000,000 and
would he take it off my hands. That I was goddess of life and had just granted
him immortality. He beamed. He smiled so hard his eyes disappeared in a mass of
crinkled skin. He looked like it was everything he could do to keep from
breaking into a jig.
“It is a pleasure, Miss Brenner.”
I felt a bubble of laughter percolating up. “Thank you.”
“I’m Edward Kent. If I might take your case?” He lifted it
from the floor and tucked it efficiently under his arm, somehow without
disarranging his hat. “And your luggage claim checks? Your bags will be
delivered to your hotel room later. I’m sorry about the crowd, but if you’ll
follow me, m’lady, I’ll guide you to the limousine.” He waved an arm grandly
across the lobby and bowed like a courtier.
I laughed and bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you.” Bless him. He
was certainly helping to get my mood back on the right track.
He smiled and plunged into the crowd. I followed him,
staying close on his coattails. He weaved swiftly through the throng somehow
maintaining a straight course through the shifting currents. He encountered
only one obstacle just a few yards up from the security station that forced a
detour. Two men stood there, one short and thin, the other tall with a
well-developed paunch straining at his jacket button. Mr. Kent nearly ran into
them, and I into him.
“Pardon,” he murmured, and skirted around them. The two men
ignored us. The large man pivoted, scanning the crowd all around. The thin one
watched only one gate, the one directly behind my back. Mr. Kent walked on, and
I tried to follow, but I lost him in the crowd because I’d turned to look back,
turned to look at the short man, trying to place him because somehow he looked
familiar, then trying to see what the two men looked for, trying to confirm
that it wasn’t what the crawling fear inside me already knew it was.
A tall man appeared back in the shadows of the ramp from my
plane and I saw the short man’s head come up. He quickly checked something in
his hand, and then looked back at the tunnel. But when the tall man coming from
the plane reached back and took the hand of a woman followed by two small
children, the short blond man relaxed.
The dark-haired flight attendant from first class appeared
with two other flight attendants that I hadn’t seen before. She and the others
moved into the crowd and disappeared. The short man nudged his companion and
said something. The larger man shook his head and nodded back at the tunnel. I
stepped back, trying to see through the crowd, to see the tunnel, to watch the
two men, and brought the heel of my pump squarely down on the toe of a very
expensive cowboy boot.
“Ma’am!”
“Oh, sorry,” I said and stepped back and tripped over a
suitcase being wheeled expertly through the crowd by a flight attendant from
another airline. The Texan reached out and grabbed me before I could fall, but
I couldn’t even think to thank him because the little man was reaching to grab
his large friend, flashing the photo in his hand, because now it was Andrew
stepping up the ramp, carrying his paper-sack luggage.
“Oh, no.”
“Ma’am?”
I looked up into the smiling face of the Texan whose toes I’d
nearly crushed.
“Nothing.” I looked frantically around.
“Are you all right, Ma’am?” He looked concerned, but I also
saw his eyes flick up to the clock above one of the gates.
“Yes.” I looked at that kind, middle-aged, sun-darkened
face, thinking how the slight impatience in the eyes would quickly turn to
outright skepticism and disbelief if this frantic woman who had nearly broken
his foot started to explain how killers were after her professor who was
accused of dynamiting his lab but he really didn’t…
“I’m fine, thank you. Sorry.”
“That’s quite all right, Ma’am.” He checked the clock again,
smiled, and then rapidly merged back into the crowd and was gone.
Andrew had paused near a wall, but now he stepped out into
the crowd and started moving toward security.
Not now!
I looked quickly over at the two men. The little one nudged
his mate; the big man turned and nodded. They started through the crowd.
I stood like an island in a stream of people passing on
either side. Dozens of people all of whom would react precisely like the Texan.
I’ve got to do something.
No, damn it, keep out of it. He
wanted you out of it. He told you to stay away. You told him you would. What
could you do anyway?
Andrew walked through security and headed for the escalators
leading to the main terminal. The men angled off on an intercept course, moving
quietly, hunched over slightly, weaving in and out of the throng.
I’ve got to do something.
I scanned the noisy crowd; saw the way the two men moved
quietly through it.
Quietly. They were moving
quietly. Andrew would never know they were there.
“Mr. Kent!” I called loudly. I turned and waved an arm. “Yoo-hoo!”
The little man had stopped near a car rental kiosk to wait for me. His eyes
widened when he heard my cry and saw me waving my arm like a mad semaphore
signaler.
“Mr. Kent, there’s my friend. I’ll just go get him.” People
turned to stare. I elbowed past them. “Oh, Andrew!” I cried. I pushed
frantically, trying to run, dancing around people, trying to keep in sight the black
and silver cap Andrew wore pulled down over his face, and the dark head of the
taller of the two men following him. “Andrew!”
His head whipped around. He scanned the crowd. I waved my
arm. “Andrew, uh, dear!”
He pulled off his sunglasses.
What are you doing?
his
lips said. He rose up on his toes and quickly searched the crowd. I saw the two
men turn aside as Andrew’s eyes scanned past them. I started using my heels on
purpose then, treading on toes liberally, using my elbows on stomachs and
backs. People swore angrily, but they got out of the way.
Andrew’s eyes came back to me. He shook his head, and waved
the brown bag at me.
No
, he mouthed.
Get out of here
. He slid the
glasses back on, pulled the bill of the cap down, and began to push through the
crowd once more. The two men quickened their pace.
“Andrew, honey!” I pushed roughly between two businessmen,
ignoring the fact that the corner of one of their briefcases collided painfully
with my knee. I passed within three people of the two men. “Sweetheart, there
you are!”
Andrew tried to duck away, but he couldn’t get through a
troop of middle-aged couples in loud clothing and floral leis coming up the
walkway. He tried to move around them but I made one last lunge and grabbed his
elbow. “Wait, honey, I’m here!” I swung him around and threw my arms around his
neck.
His arms went awkwardly around my waist and the bag banged
against my hip. “Melanie,” he hissed. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Shut up, listen,” I hissed back.
I leaned back and smiled. “Sweetie, I thought I’d never find
you.”
“Look over my left shoulder,” I said through my teeth. “Those
two men. One big, one short and blond. They’re after you.”
“Jesus. Get out of here.” He tried to push me away but I
clung to him tightly.
“No, I told you,” I squealed, my voice getting louder and
louder. People were beginning to turn and look. “You’re going the wrong way. We’re
meeting him over there.” I pointed grandly at Mr. Kent standing against the rental
counter and laughed loudly. Even through the crowd I could see the look of
pained resignation on the little man’s face as he watched my antics. “I don’t
know what you’d do without me!”
I heard a man’s voice behind me say, “I do.” More people
were looking, some with open expressions of disgust. I hooked my arm through Andrew’s
and pulled him toward the other side of the hallway. “I have a limo waiting
just outside the terminal,” I whispered, then continued loudly, “I mean really,
I don’t know what you were thinking, I mean, my gosh!”
He let me guide him through the crowd toward Mr. Kent. The
stream of people parted and then turned to stare at me as Andrew and I walked
through them.
“Well, you didn’t even notice my hair,” I squealed. “I mean,
my gosh, I spent four hours at the salon and do you even notice? No!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two men standing
watching our progress. The small man started to move toward us, but the large
man put a hand on his shoulder and held him back. He bent and spoke into the
smaller man’s ear. They straightened and continued to stare as we moved up to
Mr. Kent. I didn’t let up the mindless chatter.
“And my nails. I mean an hour and a half and you don’t even
notice. I mean, I don’t even know why I even try.” I flung my arm out for him
to admire my nails and almost decked a pompous looking little man in an
unlikely plaid sport coat. “Oh, sorry,” I said nonchalantly.
The little man harrumphed, raised his hand surreptitiously
to check his toupee, and walked on. My eyes followed him, then went past him. The
two men were moving behind us, keeping their distance, but they were following.
“Mr. Kent! Here we are!” I sang.
Kent nodded and I smiled and said quietly, “Mr. Kent, we
have a problem. Could you get a police officer…”
Andrew’s hand closed on my forearm. He smiled and leaned
down. “No police,” he whispered in my ear as he smiled at Mr. Kent.
Mr. Kent looked at the two of us, his face carefully
neutral.
“Melanie,” Andrew whispered, still smiling, “I want you to
stay out of this. I’m going to leave and I want you to just stay right here.”