by Lori Woods
“More of a second date kind of thing,” Molly joked, and Marionette laughed.
“Well, we’ll have to make sure you behave yourself this time around, won’t we?” Marionette said. “Otherwise it’s going to be very awkward when I get back to work next week at the shop. I don’t know if Amaya and I will be able to keep a straight face working next to Kris if you wind up marrying a stranger in Vegas again.”
Roxie smirked. “Well, I don’t plan on doing that again, believe me. How long has Kris been renting out that back room in your shop anyways?”
“Few months,” Marionette said. “If that. He’s been doing fairly well for himself with the private investigator thing.”
“Isn’t that how you two met Roxie?” Amaya asked. “I never really got the full story there.”
“Yeah, Kris had to go undercover with some illegal street racers, and he needed some arm candy to help play the part,” Marionette explained. “So Molly and I dressed up and went with him to a race, and Roxie saw us and called us out in ten seconds flat. Knew we didn’t belong there. It was a little embarrassing, actually, at how easy she noticed we didn’t fit in.”
“You look like a couple of good girl Barbie doll types,” Roxie said. “Not meant as an insult, by the way. You two just looked too… sweet. And Kris might as well have walked in wearing his gun on his hip and his badge on his chest. He carries himself like a cop still. It was really obvious.”
“You don’t still do street racing, do you?” Amaya asked.
“What if I do?” Roxie asked with a grin.
“I mean, you’re dating a former cop,” Amaya said.
“No, I don’t still street race,” Roxie said after a moment’s pause to let them all wonder. “I hadn’t been doing it much anyways when we all first met. I mostly would go as a spectator at that point. Though I do miss it. Who knows, I might just snag me another race before too long. I can’t help myself.”
“Aren’t you worried about breaking the law?” Molly asked nervously.
“Sure,” Roxie said. “But, girls, that’s half the fun. I grew up around a bunch of grease monkeys. Wrecked my first racing bike when I was four. Totaled my first car, racing, when I was thirteen. It’s always been my life. I like the risk. That’s just the type of woman I am, but I think it’s probably time I toned it down a notch. Why else do you think I wound up in a place like Savannah? Not a whole lot of street racing around there, you know? It’s better to avoid the temptation when it’s not around. I was surprised I found a street racing group at all, but you guys broke that up pretty quick, didn’t you?”
“Sorry we ruined the fun,” Molly said.
“It’s fine,” Roxie said. “I could have wound up in jail myself, I suppose. Kris managed to keep that from happening since I testified against all those guys. They sure are going to be ticked when they get out of jail. Oh well, not my problem.”
“What are you doing now, Roxie?” Amaya asked curiously.
“Finishing school,” she said. “I know more about cars than any trained mechanic I know, but I’ve got to get the certificate to do it legally, I guess.”
“You going to work on cars when you get out?” Amaya asked.
“That’s the plan,” she said. “Open up my own shop.”
“That’s probably safer than illegal, underground racing,” Molly said, and Roxie snorted slightly in response.
At last, with their stomachs full, they headed back to the boarding area. Their flight was at last boarding, so they headed on. It was only then that Marionette realized that none of them would be sitting together. They were staggered all over the plane. “Bummer,” Marionette groaned as Molly sat herself down up front. “See you ladies in a little later, I guess.”
Marionette dragged herself towards the back of the plane, pleased that she was at least going to be getting a window seat. She put her luggage up above her head and then slid into her seat, wondering who she was going to wind up being stuck next to during the flight. She had brought a book with her for the flight, so she went ahead and opened it up while the plane was being boarded. Soon an older man in a business suit plopped down next to her, exhaling loudly as he did so. “Looks like we’re going to be seat buddies,” Marionette said to him in a friendly tone, and he smiled and nodded.
“Looks that way,” the man said. “Names Charles Sears.”
“Marionette,” she said. “Headed to Vegas for business or pleasure?” she asked.
“Business,” he groaned. “Always business.”
Chapter 3
Marionette frowned back at the man, Charles. He looked like the type who would miss the birth of his own child for a board meeting. The type who worked every holiday not because he had to but because he’d rather be doing that than spending any sort of quality time with his family – if he had any family, that is. She could tell this was going to be a long, boring flight sitting next to the stiff in the suit. He was an older gentleman with a gruff face, a ridiculous amount of crow’s feet, and more gray hairs than a man his age need have.
“What about you?” Charles asked, clearly not that interested but not wanting to appear rude. “Business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure,” Marionette said. “I’m getting married in less than a month, and my girls are taking me for a bachelorette party.”
Charles smirked, seeming now mildly interested in her. He actually managed to give her a sideways glance for just long enough for his eyes to flicker away from the magazine he was reading. “Vegas is certainly the place to go for a party.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Marionette said, and a thought occurred to her. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to switch seats with one of my girls, would you? We all got separated during the flight.”
The man puffed out his chest. “Your failure to plan does not constitute an emergency on my part.”
“You could have just said you didn’t feel like moving,” Marionette said and proceeded to start looking for her headphones to listen to music – no longer interested in trying to hold a conversation with this man. It was going to be a long and uncomfortable flight, she realized.
“Sometime today!” she heard Charles grumbling, and she glanced up from sifting through music on her phone to see that the man was trying to get the attention of a nearby flight attendant.
The man came hurrying over. “Welcome back, Charles,” the man said, looking quite tense.
“Get me my brandy,” Charles demanded.
Marionette was rathe taken back by Charles’s tone, but the flight attendant seemed to have braced himself for this. “Of course, Mr. Sears,” the attendant said and hurried off.
“I take it you fly on this airline a lot?” Marionette questioned.
“My job keeps me busy,” Charles said. “Investments. Work a lot in stock. You?”
“I run an art studio out of Savannah,” Marionette said.
“Interesting,” he said, though he clearly did not find this to be interesting at all. He caught sight of another flight attendant, and he waved her down frantically. “My brandy? Sometime today!” he said the moment the woman came over to him.
“I believe Lewis is getting you your brandy, Mr. Sears,” she said. “But I will check on it for you.”
“Tell Lewis to speed it up,” Charles insisted, and Marionette felt her own cheeks turning red in embarrassment. She hoped no one thought she was there with Charles with the way he was acting.
Lewis, the male flight attendant, returned a moment later with some brandy for Charles who sipped on it happily. Lewis turned to Marionette apologetically. “Is there anything I can get for you, Miss?” he asked.
“A glass of red wine would be wonderful,” Marionette said.
“Oh, I love your accent,” he said. “French?”
“Oui,” Marionette said, smiling at him. “Lewis, was it?” she asked.
“Lewis Reynolds, yes,” he said. “And if you need anything at all, just let me know.”
“You heard her say
she wanted wine, Lewis,” Charles spat.
“Er, yes, I did,” Lewis said. “I’ll be right back with that wine.” And he hurried off.
Marionette shot Charles a look, but he wasn’t looking up from his magazine and couldn’t see her discontent. “I like this airline,” Charles said, flipping a page in his magazine. “Though they could do some courtesy training for their flight attendants. They’re slow as all get-out.”
As if to prove him wrong, Lewis arrived back with Marionette’s wine before Charles had even finished his sentence. Marionette thanked him profusely and made a slight face at Charles for Lewis to see. Lewis smiled, but the smile was gone quickly as Charles nearly tossed his empty brandy glass into the man’s hand and told him to fetch him another one but to “Speed it up this time!”
Marionette realized very quickly how unpleasant of a time she was about to have. Her seat buddy was already driving her crazy, and the plane hadn’t even taken off yet.
Across the aisle and more towards the front of plane, Molly was having a bit more luck. She sat herself down in the aisle seat next to a rather homely looking man who shuffled to get his belongings out of her way. “Sorry, so sorry,” he said quickly, grabbing some papers he had thrown all over her seat. “Dropped it all a moment ago. Meant to get it before,” he was saying, looking like he thought she was going to bite his head off.
“It’s fine, take your time,” Molly said, stuffing her bag up in the overhead bin. She sat down beside him as he stuffed his work into a dirty, worn duffel bag which he promptly stuffed under his seat.
He looked like he was someone who had really been through the wringer. His hair was a mess, his face unshaven – a bit of five o’clock shadow still etched on his cheeks and chin. He wore an old, stained button-up that was torn on his left elbow, and his blue jeans were several sizes too large. A part of her wondered if he was homeless or just broke, but then again he was sitting in first class seating so she presumed he just liked to be comfortable.
Once she was seated, Molly smiled over at the man. “I’m Molly – Molly Jenn,” she said.
He smiled at her. “Robyn Colt,” he said, and they shook hands. “Where are you from, Ms. Jenn?”
“Please, just Molly,” she said. “Well, I was from Brooks originally. Small town about an hour south of Atlanta. But I moved out to Savannah little over a year ago.”
“Big jump,” he said. “Why the move?”
“Opened up a sweet shop on River Street,” she said.
“I know the area,” he said. “Savannah’s a gorgeous town. Never been to Brooks. Is it nice?”
“It’s nice, but sort of a one-horse kind of town,” Molly said. “How about yourself?”
“Atlanta native,” he said and ran his fingers through his messy, mildly greasy hair.
A perky young flight attendant with curly blonde locks approached them, smiling. “Can I get you folks anything to drink?” she asked politely.
“I would love some water,” Molly said politely. “I might have some wine a little later.”
“Anything you need,” she said and looked to Robyn. “And you, sir?”
“A bottle of water will do,” he said.
She returned shortly with Molly’s glass water and his bottle. “My name is Trinity Davis if you need anything at all,” she told them. “We will be taking off in just a few short minutes.”
“Thanks, Trinity,” Molly said.
Trinity smiled brightly to see that Molly had bothered to hear her name and then trotted off to help someone who was waving her down in the back. Molly glanced back to see that the man seated beside Marionette was frantically trying to get her attention. The man looked rather snobbish, and Molly felt rather thankful she had wound up with the seat up front with the nice man in the sloppy clothes. From the looks of things, the man in the suit had already annoyed Marionette as she was sinking down into her seat and playing with her phone to avoid conversing with him.
Marionette turned back around in her seat and began digging around in her purse for a book. She had brought two as she liked to read on the plane. Robyn grinned. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” he said. “You enjoy your classics?”
“I love this book,” she said.
“Have you heard the legend of the author’s meeting with Abe Lincoln?” he asked.
“No?”
“Well, no one knows if it’s really true or not, but supposedly Stowe met Abe Lincoln right in the middle of the Civil War. She wrote the book to promote awareness on the issues of slavery. Supposedly he said to her when he was introduced, ‘ah, so you are the little lady who started this great war!’ – I’d like to think it was true. The idea that books, that written words, can shape nations,” he said rather dreamily.
Molly smiled. “I have never heard that story.”
“That’s probably all it is,” Robyn said. “But like I said, I like to think it’s true. Love that book. It’s a really beautiful story.”
“I’m about finished with it,” Molly said. “I’ll probably finish it in the next hour or so. Then maybe you and I could spend the rest of the flight talking literature.”
“That sounds wonderful,” he said and cracked open his water bottle. “These flights can be really boring depending on who you’re seated next to. I once sat on an international flight – fourteen hours – with someone who spit when they talked. Felt like I had taken a shower by the time I got to my destination.”
Molly laughed. “Oh, what a nightmare. Well, I promise to avoid spitting on you as much as I can during the next four hours.”
He laughed. “I appreciate that. Now, don’t let me disturb you. Finish up your book. Then we can talk.” He winked at her, and she laughed a bit.
Molly cracked open her book. It was one of those books that had been on her reading list for a very long time but she hadn’t quite gotten to it yet. It had been sitting on her bookshelf at home for ages, but she had finally decided to read it after one of her employees, Bonnie, had been assigned it for a school assignment. Bonnie was a high school student doing dual enrollment – the book was one of her college English assignments, so she had decided to read it along with her.
She settled down into her seat just as they began their ascent, her nose glued to her book and very much looking forward to what she presumed would be a lively discussion with the kind man seated beside her. Molly really felt she had lucked out on a seating partner – if the girls weren’t going to be able to sit together, she was at least going to be able to enjoy some pleasant conversation with a stranger. It was, truthfully, one of her favorite things about flying – meeting people.
Soon they were off the ground, and the bachelorette party was headed for Nevada.
Chapter 4
Roxie sat by the window after throwing her luggage sloppily up into the overhead carry. She propped her knees up on the seat in front of her and slouched back far into her seat, playing with her phone in her lap. A part of her was hoping the seat next to her would remain empty, but she had no such luck. An older man in a business suit made his way from the front of the plane, and Roxie just knew he was going to wind up right next to her. She sighed. He was an overweight guy, and he kept checking his ticket like he kept thinking he was reading it wrong.
She continued fiddling with her phone, her black leather pants sticking slightly to the seat as she readjusted. At last the fat guy in the suit was standing right over her, and he continued to study his ticket for several long, uncomfortable moments as he confirmed where he was supposed to be seated. He looked at her, shifted his gaze to the empty seat, then to his ticket, and then back at her before sighing like he was exceptionally disappointed.
The man put his suitcase in the overhead bin and wiggled his way into the seat. He wasn’t morbidly obese or anything of that nature, but he was big enough that his gut seeped over into her seat a bit, and he immediately claimed the elbow rest they shared – not that she cared. “Sup,” Roxie said, and he looked at her like she was some sort of rabid animal.
Roxie had to admit she was not exactly the friendliest-looking woman out there. She had a pink stripe in her black hair and was currently wearing a sleeveless shirt that showed off a number of tattoos – not to mention the black leather pants with the tear in the knee and the fingerless racing gloves. “Uh… yes… hello,” the man said, straightening himself up. “Ralph.”
“Huh?” Roxie questioned, looking up from her phone. “Oh, hey – Ralph, you said?”
“Yes, Ralph,” he said. “Ralph Beard.”
“Roxie,” she said, sticking out her hand to shake.
He stared at her hand like he thought if he touched it his whole body would break out in ink. He thought about it for a moment and then shook. Roxie sat herself upright, yawning. “You should cover your mouth when you yawn, young lady,” he said, and he kept glancing at her revealed stomach. “I don’t get that fad. What are they called? Crop tops?”
“Er, yeah,” Roxie said.
He was now staring at her tattoos. “Interesting tattoo you’ve got there,” he said.
“Which one?” she asked.
“The car,” he said.
“I’m an amateur mechanic – used to race,” she said.
“Really?” he asked, mildly impressed. “Racing?”
“Street racing,” she said. “I’m out of that now, of course. But I still love my cars. Bikes too.” She held up her arm to reveal that the tattoo continued revealing a motorcycle racing behind the car tattoo he had pointed out.
“Very… interesting…” he said.
If he thinks the car and motorcycle are interesting, he would have a stroke if he saw the ones on my legs, she thought with amusement. “Thanks,” she said. “In school right now to finish my mechanic’s license.”
“Good for you,” he said. “Not your typical woman’s field.”
“No, it’s not,” she said. “But I’m good at it.”