The Balance Thing (23 page)

I gave her my most serious don't-even-think-of-fucking-with-me look. “This is an emergency.”

She pocketed the phone with a smile. “Federal regulations.”

My mouth went dry. “Do you have the other kind of phone? Like on real planes? Where you pay with a credit card?”

She shook her head. “We used to, but—”

I tuned her out. I couldn't call Josh or Vida.

“What time will it be when we land?”

“We'll be in Hong Kong—we're making a stop in Hong Kong—at approximately ten-thirty Saturday night Hong Kong time.”

“What?”

The woman was unflappable. “It's the time change. On a plane this size, it's about a twenty-hour flight, so—”

“So it will be what—six-thirty in the morning Saturday in LA time? In Vegas time?”

She dimpled. “Yes, you're very quick—”

She said something else, but I wasn't listening. It would be six-thirty Saturday morning before I could talk to anyone. By which time they'd be worried sick.

No, they wouldn't, I realized. Because Max would get there this afternoon. And he'd tell them that Joe Elliot had been plotting something with Sir Charles. And they'd call WorldWired to see what had happened. And they'd find out.

And they'd hate me.

While I sat there waiting for my head to explode with the hideousness of what I'd done, the door at the rear of the cabin opened. And an extremely rumpled man stepped out.

“My word! What a surprise! If it isn't my old friend and conspirator!”

George. Sir George, or Earl George, or whatever the hell I was supposed to call him. Looking like he'd just woken up from a nap.

“Well, isn't this a treat? My dear girl, whatever are you doing here?”

I gave him the only possible answer. “Making the biggest mistake of my life.”

W
e stared at each other for a moment, while the flight attendant stared at both of us. George finally broke the silence.

“My dear, I seem to have the knack of stumbling across you at rather pivotal moments in your life.”

I nodded. “Yes, you do.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” He took a seat in the chair opposite me.

“Yes, I would.”

 

I BABBLED. I BABBLED
while the nice lady produced hot tea and cookies. I babbled while George had a cup. I babbled right up to the part where I told him Joe Elliot was taking orders from Sir Charles, and what the bastard knight had assumed about why George had gotten me the job.

George interrupted me by slapping the arm of his chair. “It's just what that scoundrel son of mine would do. Thinks I'm a doddering old fool, so he assumes everyone else must think so too. Damn rotten of him to think that you and I—that we…” He slowed down at that point and shook his
head again. “Oh, um…well. Mustn't worry about it.” He patted my hand. “I'm just very glad I had some shopping to do in Hong Kong or I mightn't have run into you.”

Then the absurdity of the whole situation hit me, and I must have gotten some sort of look on my face.

“My dear? Are you all right?”

“It's just so stupid,” I told him. “I mean, even if we were—who cares? I mean, in my other job, with Vladima, I've been sleeping with my boss for over a month—and it never even dawned on me until right now that I was sleeping with my boss. We were just—and everybody knows, all the minions, and they couldn't care less. Except maybe some of them are happy for us—”

I realized I was babbling again.

“Do you mean to tell me you're still involved with that sexpot vampire creature?” George looked delighted. “Why, my grandsons have been absolutely inundating me with e-mail petitions to have a movie made about her.”

I made a sound that was half laugh and half gasp. “At least something's working out the way I planned.”

The old earl gave me a slightly puzzled smile. “But my dear, if you have this other job, and if you have this chap that you're…ah…well.” He avoided my eyes. “I have to wonder what in heaven's name you're doing on a jet bound for Guangzhou by way of Hong Kong?”

The horrible hideousness of what I'd done sucked all the air out of my lungs. “I've ruined everything,” I said. “I just saw the job, and the money, and the chance to do what I'd always thought I wanted.” I shook my head. “But I don't want it.”

I looked at him. “And I didn't want Sir Charles to get his
way, but now I've handed over everything that matters. I didn't want to let down Joe Elliot or the company, and now I've let down Josh. I've let down Vida. I've let this stupid job destroy my entire life.”

And as I said it, I knew it was true. The job I'd wanted to
be
my life was nothing more than a distraction. I had a life. And it was with Josh, and my friends, and even—damn her—Vladima.

“George, I have to stop this! I have to make it right!” I grabbed his hand. “I can't go to China!”

“Well, I must say, I feel somewhat to blame for everything, as I'm the one who recommended you for the job in the first place. But never mind.” He rubbed his hands together.

Never mind? Hadn't he been listening? Why did he look so happy all of a sudden?

“Do you know, I have to thank you in advance,” he said. “Because you've given me an opportunity I've been waiting for my whole life. Or at least since I first saw
Casablanca
more years ago than I care to remember.”

What the hell was he talking about?

“So thank you, my dear, because—with apologies to Mr. Bogart—I can tell you that if you stay on this plane, you'll regret it. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.”

At this, the flight attendant burst into applause.

“Thank you, my dear.” He blushed, as he glanced in her direction, then turned to me.

Every muscle in my body longed to wrestle him to the ground and shout
“I know!”
Instead, I took a deep breath. “That's great, but—”

He cut me off with a wave of his hand, turning to the flight attendant. “My dear, could you please tell the pilot to request a new flight plan? I think we're going to Las Vegas.”

 

BY THE TIME I MADE
it to the convention hall, the show was closing for the day. I had to fight my way upstream against a tide of pimply power geeks and sweaty costumed superheroes to make it to the door. Then I flashed my pass at the guard, and I was in.

The show floor was enormous, and it seemed bigger somehow for being mostly empty of fans. The booths looked worn and ragged. Posters were torn, drinks had been spilled, and half-eaten hot dogs and pizza slices littered the place. Racks of comics had been picked over. I knew it would be hours before most of the exhibitors were finished for the day, and by the time they left, the booths would be restocked, reswept, and ready for another onslaught.

The only problem I had now was finding the one damn booth I cared about.

Gigantic banners hanging from the ceiling indicated the major show areas on the floor. I quickly disregarded Japanese animae, children's cartoons, and the adult section. I was looking for Web-based titles, and as I jogged past a giant black sign advertising the X-Men, I saw it.

And I stopped. It was time to slow down and catch my breath. Time to approach with caution. Time to get the lay of the land and see which way the wind was blowing. Basically, it was time to stall.

The booth was about five down and to my right, on a corner, just as I'd arranged. I couldn't help but be a little proud
at the empty T-shirt shelves and bare magazine racks. We'd been a hit.

The gang was all there, everyone wearing the regulation black jeans and “Vladima's Minion” T-shirts. Everyone except Shayla, that is. She was sleek and busty in her black leather costume, showing even more cleavage than her cartoon counterpart.

The place was clearing out quickly now, and suddenly the throbbing dance music from the PA system, which I hadn't even noticed until then, was cut off. A loud announcement was played to the effect that only exhibitors should now be on the floor.

I heard Shayla's voice over the general noise. “Thank God! Can I take off these boots now? They're killing me!”

I moved a few booths closer. Jeremy was tugging at Shayla's fetish footwear and looking damn happy to do it. She pulled the black wig off and shook out her blond ponytail. I didn't imagine Jeremy could take much more.

The PA system started up the music again, but now it was the kind you hear in your dentist's waiting room. I suppose the schmaltz was meant to drive the ultra-cool comic people out as quickly as possible.

I took a position at the booth diagonal to Vladima's. I didn't think I exactly blended in with the life-sized cardboard cutout figures of the Goth Girls, but their attendants seemed to be on a break, so I was able to watch the minions unobserved. There was Donovan, packing up the laptop that had been playing Vladima's greatest hits on the giant screen above the booth. There were Rabbit and Alex, pulling more boxes of T-shirts from underneath the table to be sold to Vladima's increasing number of fans tomorrow. Raven seemed to be everywhere, clipboard in hand, checking off the
to-do list I'd prepared for her a hundred years ago.

And there was Josh. He was deep in conversation with an obviously star-struck dweeb. The fact that the dweeb in question was clearly in awe of Josh and not Shayla pegged him as a wanna-be comic book author, not a mere fan. In fact, he was just pulling a tattered volume out of his back pocket, offering it with shy pride to the man I was afraid to face.

Josh. He was wearing the leather pants and black silk shirt I'd picked out, and I even saw a glimmer of some deep red jewel on his cuffs. He looked exactly like the rock star of the dark world that I'd wanted him to be.

He also looked beyond tired. I couldn't imagine what I'd put him through, on top of the punishing demands of the conference itself. But he nodded and accepted the offered book, taking the dweeb seriously. He probably made the kid feel as if all his dreams could come true.

Josh was a good man.

That thought provoked a strong urge to melt into a puddle right there at the Goth Girls' cardboard feet. But I steeled myself. This was not the time for sentimentality. This was the time for a clear head and a command of language. I had a lot of explaining to do.

I'd been mentally drafting my speech all the way here, and now—at about the fifth version—I thought I had it down rather nicely. The last thing I needed was to look into Josh's eyes and go all mushy.

Suddenly I realized I'd been spotted. Shayla was beaming at me, frozen in a posture of surprised delight. Jeremy noticed something was up and followed her gaze. Then he was grinning at me too. The next thing I knew, all the minions had stopped what they were doing and were just gaping
at me. It was like a
tableau vivante
of the undead. A
tableau mortante
.

Josh was the last to notice anything, and then it was only because the dweeb had shaken his hand and left. Josh looked around at his staff with a “What the hell?” expression.

Shayla nodded toward me, the look on her face encouraging. Josh turned.

And just like the first time I'd ever seen him, as our eyes met across the chaos of a show floor, everything else seemed to slide into a slow-motion blur. Josh was the only fixed point in my world.

At first he just stared. Then he looked away, and when he turned back, he was angry.

Suddenly I couldn't remember a word of my speech.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

It was a keeper of the Goth Girls who gave me the order. I jumped.

“Yoki, get security. We've got another weirdo.” Three Japanese teenagers in neon miniskirts and extreme ponytails were looking at me with varying degrees of hostility.

“Um…”

“It's okay,” Josh's voice called.

I winced.

“She's with us,” he said.

I opened my eyes and looked at him.

He cleared his throat and bowed his head, as if he couldn't stand to see me. Then, “She's with me.”

And when he looked at me again, every coherent thought I'd ever had left me. I felt myself pulled toward him as he moved across the aisle. I dimly heard Shayla saying “All right” and someone, maybe Jeremy, whistling.

We just stared at each other, then “Becks,” “Josh,” both at the same moment.

He ran both hands through the mess of his hair, letting out a breath. “You're here.”

“I'm here.”

He nodded and looked at me again, and I had the strangest floating sensation.

“Your flight to China got canceled?” His voice was rough, whether from a day of shouting over the noise or from anger, I didn't know.

I took a breath, remembering everything I had to tell him—why I'd gone, how I'd realized what an idiot I was, how I wanted him to forgive me.

What I said was “We turned the plane around.”

His eyebrows went up.

“I'm sorry I missed the show,” I said. “I'm sorry I didn't call.” I wanted to touch him, to make a connection, but I didn't seem able to move my arms. “I sorry—” I met his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“Why—” He cleared his throat. “Why did you come back?”

Which was the perfect opening for Phase Two of my explanation. How I realized the Vladima thing was rewarding work that I was actually good at. How I realized Vladima and the minions needed me far more than WorldWired ever would.

“Because I love you.”

The look that passed between us could have kept all the lights in Vegas burning for a week. I took one step toward him.

Then the PA system started blaring a new song and everything went to hell.

“Oh, Josh,” I groaned. “Not this. Not ‘Can you Feel the Love Tonight?'”

“Jesus Christ, Becks.” Josh pulled me into his arms. “Will it kill you to have one goddamn genuinely romantic moment?”

“Josh.” I wanted his mouth on mine more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. “I refuse to have this be our song. Maybe it's okay for Vida and Tim—”

“You don't get to have a say in it.” He moved his head toward me in a way that made my stomach wrap itself around my spine.

“Josh,” I said firmly, “this will not be our song.”

The look he gave me scorched everything around us. “Oh yes it fucking will.”

Then…oh yes.

Oh yes it fucking was.