by Carolyn Nash
Friend.
I pulled my hand from his.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?”
“Yes. Okay. But what are you going to do?”
“You do ask the difficult questions, don’t you?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. The only way I can prove that J.P. had anything to do with this is to find some kind of hard evidence. I doubt I’ll find the proverbial smoking gun, but what I might be able to find is some evidence that he’s been the one plagiarizing my work, and not me, his. If he has been doing the research, he’ll have lab notebooks with daily records, experiments that worked, experiments that didn’t, conditions used, all the kind of intimate detail that can’t be faked. If he has tried to fake it, I’ll know it, and I can prove it to someone else. I’ve got to get into his lab, find the evidence, and get it to the police before his people can get to me, or before he has time enough to alter it.”
“Oh, and in your spare time you’ll discover the Unified Field Theory, the meaning of life, and chocolate that tastes as good as the real thing but actually has negative calories. Look, I’m sorry but you need help. If not mine, somebody’s.”
He shook his head. “I’ll manage.”
“But…”
“I said I’ll manage.” His face was deadly serious. “I am not letting anyone else get in the line of fire. I almost lost one friend already. I’m not risking anyone else.”
“Okay.”
“You said that before.”
“I know. But, okay. Will you do me one favor?”
He eyed me suspiciously. “Tell me what it is first.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Should I?”
“I guess not. Look, all I ask is that you call me and let me know what happens. I’ll be at the Pacific Crest Hotel. I’m not sure exactly where it is, but...”
“I know where it is.”
“Okay, good. Just call me. I’ll want to know how everything turns out.” I was leaning forward talking earnestly, and suddenly, it was if I had stepped back into the aisle and looked down on the two of us sitting in those extra-wide, first class seats. In the window seat, Andrew Voted-one-of-America’s-twenty-five-most-eligible- bachelors Richards. My major professor. Escort of supermodels. In the aisle seat, Melanie Brenner, the meek and mild. The insignificant. The plain and dull.
I sat back. “I mean, call if you have time to call, but if you don’t, it’s okay, I’ll understand.”
Andrew reached out absently and lifted a thick strand of my hair from where it had fallen down next to my cheek. He ran his fingers down it then dropped it back over my shoulder. He touched my cheek lightly. “I’ll call you.”
“Good.” The word came out clearly, not choked as I would have thought considering my heart had risen and was now beating wildly in my throat.
He sat for a minute staring into the distance, then, he began to grin. He slanted an eye at me. “Greek, huh? I always thought I looked English.”
I groaned and looked away up the aisle, trying to see if they had some sort of emergency ejection handle so that I could propel myself out of the plane toward the much more desirable end of crashing to the earth rather than my imminent death by embarrassment.
He blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry. Did I say something?”
“Shut up, please.”
“Shut up? My goodness. We’re a little sensitive about something.”
The loudspeaker over our heads crackled and a garbled voice began to say something. I sat up straight and put a hand to my ear. “Oh, gee, listen. Hush a minute. They’re making an announcement and I do so want to hear this.”
“I know they’re fascinating, but...”
I gave him a stern look. “Please. I’m trying to hear.”
He laughed. “Of course. Pardon me.”
The announcement was for the most part gibberish, but I did hear the words “final descent” and abruptly the brief good humor dissolved. The short-lived sanctuary accorded us by United Airlines had come all too quickly to an end. We buckled our seatbelts in silence. As we bounced through a little turbulence, and my ears began to pop, I glanced sideways at Andrew. He stared out the window, seemingly lost in thought. He didn’t seem to notice my looking at him, so I studied his face and as I did, Cheryl’s and my talk in the break room on the day the contest results were announced came back to me. I’d lied then: I’d known she was right. The car ride and this plane ride confirmed it. I’d won the “perfect” trip. I’d been thrust by extraordinary circumstances into the company of the “perfect” man. This was precisely the sort of romantic fantasy my Walter Mitty’esque brain liked to write. But, I was the same Melanie and he was a nice guy. Oh, looking at him still made my heart beat sideways, and my whole body blush, but that was just physiology. He was so damned healthy looking that any woman would get her ovaries in an uproar. But undying love? Please. It had taken years, but the notion had finally sunk in. No circumstances, no magic trip, no magic man would change my life.
The plane began its final descent into San Francisco International. I looked past Andrew through the window. I could see a city that I figured was San Jose under us, and then suddenly, we were over San Francisco Bay. I looked farther west. Over the coast range I could see the blue-gray of the Pacific stretching toward infinity. Out near infinity, the sun had begun its descent behind a line of puffy clouds, outlining them with gold, filling them with orange and red. A trail of liquid fire led across the water from the sun to the mountains, skipped over the low hills and glinted off the Bay. Such moments of extreme beauty come so rarely, and I wanted to reach out and take hold of it, anchor it in some way so that I could savor it for just a few moments longer.
I felt Andrew looking at me, and my eyes shifted to his and it was if the fire from the sun had crossed the ocean, the hills, the bay, and now flowed from his eyes.
oh new shaky electric what is this eyes smile soul scary
Blink, Melanie!
I blinked. The surge of energy in the air between us cut off. Or rather, I took control and stopped my silly romantic thinking before it could once again lead me astray. Physiology. I doubt the energy was anything but my imagination, which was pretty much proven out by his next words:
“I may not have a chance later, and I just wanted to say thank you again for all you’ve done. You’ve really been a trooper.”
Trooper. Yes. Good. Just buds. Just pals. Just friends.
“Aw shucks, mister.”
He chuckled and I grinned.
The plane touched down with the slightest of bumps and the engines roared as the pilot reversed them and applied the brakes.
“Okay, listen,” he said. “When we get to the boarding gate, I’d like you to go on ahead. Walk out of here and forget this whole mess and enjoy your week. Just please don’t tell the police or anyone else anything that I’ve told you. Not yet, anyway. I’ll wait and leave after everyone else, just sit here until they kick me off. That way, anyone who might have been waiting should have given up. It’s not that I really think anyone will be looking, but, actually, I’m beginning to enjoy this cloak and dagger stuff.” He grinned.
“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.
CHAPTER 7
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 woul
d 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?”