“Then shouldn’t you be working on a beer?”
“OK, fine—maybe I can have just a beer—as in one.”
“Bartender, a pint of Stella Artois for James Bond here,” she said.
The bartender brought a pint, and I held up my glass to my two new friends.
“What shall we toast to?” I asked.
“The spies who keep the world safe,” she said.
Very funny.
“To those invaluable few—wherever they may be,” I added.
I took a sip of my beer, and it was indeed delicious, if not two hours ahead of schedule.
“Thanks for the beer,” I said, to the couple.
“No problem.”
“So, what takes you two to LA?” I asked.
“Actually, we’re only going to LA to change planes before heading down to Costa Rica for a college friend’s romantic beach wedding.”
“No shit? I’m going to LA to meet a potential new client, but, from there, I’ll also very likely be flying off to Costa Rica.”
“Small world. What kind of secret spy assignment do you have down there?”
“Nothing secret—just a missing persons.”
“Still sounds exciting.”
“Doubtful, as it’s probably all just a false alarm, and the so-called missing persons will likely turn up drunk and hungover before I even get there. So, enough about my boring-ass life—let’s hear more about this wedding.”
“Ugh,” the woman said, letting out a groan.
“What’s the problem? Are you actually a part of the wedding and have a lot of bridesmaid’s duties?”
“No, thank God, but Shawn does, as he’s one of the groomsmen.”
“So, you get to just sit back and enjoy the festivities.”
“Hopefully, though it’s a little complicated. Unfortunately, the bride-to-be kind of hates me because I dated the groom for all of one week during our freshman year of college.”
“So, your boyfriend is at the main table, and you’ll likely be seated with the photographer and the wedding coordinator if you’re lucky. Yeah, that would definitely suck a few dicks.”
“Yeah, pretty much—though Shawn’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friend-friends.”
Maybe in her mind, but I’d bet he felt differently.
“So, what do you guys do for a living?” I asked.
“Well, Shawn’s a professor at USF, but I work at an ad agency in the City.”
“Does USF have a strict dress code for faculty?” I asked.
“Not at all—he’s just wearing his wedding suit, because he didn’t have room to pack it.”
“A suit for a beach wedding? Sounds like you have a bit of a Bridezilla on your hands.”
“No shit.”
Interesting. I knew he didn’t look comfortable, but I forgot to factor in the possibility of a non-work event like a wedding or party—which was something I’d have to store away for future reference when I was trying to get a read on someone.
“Luckily, I get to dress in my usual attire,” the woman said.
“Luckily for all of us,” I responded.
She smiled at my compliment.
“I’m Tina, by the way, and this is Todd,” she said.
“And I’m Tag, and now we have the three T’s—Tina, Todd, and Tag.”
The first announcement for our flight came over the airport sound system saying they would be boarding the first twenty passengers, so I double checked my pass and saw that I was lucky number twenty. Southwest was a cattle call airline, which meant first come-first serve, and I had been lucky enough to make the first cut. Passengers who boarded later discovered most of the overhead bins already full and had to awkwardly mull around the plane and squeeze around all the other unlucky late boarders looking for space for their carry-on luggage. I chugged the remainder of my beer and thanked Tina again before picking up my laptop and boarding pass.
“Maybe we’ll see you on the plane,” she said.
“What are your boarding pass numbers?”
“Twenty-one and twenty-two,” she said.
“I’ll try and save you a seat.”
I left Tina and Todd and arrived at the back of the small line at the gate just in time to hear the Southwest employee at the front pick up the microphone and make another announcement.
“Once again, we are boarding passengers one through twenty only,” she said.
About five people left the line. Fucking gate crashers. It didn’t matter how many times they said one through twenty—there were always a few assholes who thought they could weasel their way into the line ahead of their turn. A minute later, we were moving, and I handed in my boarding pass and made my way down the jetway and stepped through the front hatch of the 737 to find the pilots and attendants greeting everyone warmly. I managed to nab the window spot in the row behind the nearest emergency exit then stowed my laptop, put on my seatbelt, and the spent the following downtime unconsciously taking stock of the other passengers as they boarded. The tan ones were likely returning to Los Angeles while the pale ones were merely visiting. The next group of twenty were now boarding, and the first of them was a tan, fit, intimidating looking gentleman, obviously of latin descent. He paused and eyed me for a moment as though he knew me from somewhere, but I was pretty sure he was a stranger. Thankfully, he moved on, and my two boozehound friends from the bar came walking up the aisle and took the seats beside me.
“Nice! You saved us a seat!” Tina said, as she patted me on the thigh.
It was an innocent touch, but my male awareness went into high alert, and it caused my heart rate to increase ever so slightly and send my eyes unconsciously downward to her chest to do a quick inventory of her nipples. They were both still there, and both were still poking through the thin fabric of her shirt. Shit, I shouldn’t have had that beer, as it was dulling my self-control and making me even more subject to the passing whims of my deep inner manitude. I was technically on a job, after all, and I shouldn’t be ogling the naughty bits of one of the three T’s before meeting my new client Triple D. I mustered my resolve, returned my gaze to bulkhead before me, and waited patiently for the crew to complete boarding the remaining passengers. Movement to my left brought my gaze back just in time to see that Tina was stretching her back, and it had the unintended effect of pressing her nipples taught against the fabric of her shirt. It was a sweet treat for my eyes, but, before I could look away, she caught me, and, instead of delivering a scornful gaze, she gave me a saucy smile. Interesting.
The final passengers boarded, then the flight attendant closed the front hatch, and we prepared for takeoff. The flight attendants assumed their various positions up the center aisle then gave their usual spirited performance about the various exits and flotation devices, and soon we were rolling along the jetway and getting in line behind a number of other flights waiting to take off. Skies were clear without an ounce of fog, so it was only minutes before we left the ground and were climbing and banking to the south for the hour long flight to LAX. This was it—there was no turning back. I was officially on a collision course with my beloved ex Estelle, and the thought alone was enough to make me wonder if perhaps I should be having another beer with my new friends. Oh well, what was life without a little emotional duress?
CHAPTER THREE
Triple T and A
WE WERE SOON at our cruising altitude, and, not long after that, the beverage cart was rolling down the aisle. Manning it were a male and female flight attendant team, and both were cheerful to a fault and were excellent representatives of the Southwest spirit—something I always enjoyed when flying this airline. As the cart drew closer, however, I was facing a bit of a conundrum—namely nerves at the thought of seeing Estelle again—and even more so considering it would be in the presence of her new boyfriend. That, in turn, was making me desire another beer, something I really didn’t need at this point in my journey. Worse still, excessive alcohol, especially beer, made me urinate frequently, and
that was a major bitch on a commercial flight, and even more so on a short one where the restroom signs only stayed on for about fifteen minutes before we began our descent. I can’t tell you how many times I got off a plane only seconds from peeing my pants. I certainly didn’t want to meet Dean Donald Delaney with urine flowing down my pant legs and pooling in my socks, so I needed to man-up and abstain. The cart rolled up, and the flight attendant smiled warmly and asked what I’d like to drink.
“Sparkling water please—and errr, fuck it, a Heineken if you’ve got it,” I said, at the last moment, suddenly changing my mind.
“Now, that’s the spirit, James!” Tina said, as she ordered the same for both her and Todd.
The flight attendant opened three beers and passed them over, along with the obligatory little bags of pretzels. When did the entire world become allergic to peanuts and relegate all airline passengers to fucking pretzels? I pulled out a twenty, handed it over, and told the woman to keep the change.
“So, James Bond finally decided to join the party,” Tina said, eyeing me curiously.
“A sudden case of nerves. One of my missing persons is an ex-girlfriend, and I’m a little conflicted about seeing her again.”
“Assuming you find her that is.”
“With my luck, I’m sure I will.”
“Yeah, that’s how life works, unfortunately. So, who broke up with whom?”
“Interesting question, but the answer is kind of complicated. She moved to LA to finish grad school, and we did the long distance thing for a short while but then…”
“Let me guess—she called and broke up with you.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“And probably even claimed it was unfair to make you wait for her.”
I regarded Nipples, and reveled at her keen intuition but also wondered if she might perhaps be a little psychic.
“How’d you guess?” I asked.
“I’m a girl, and generally girls are more capable of such cold, calculating cruelty, which also explains the second beer.”
“Wow, maybe you should have studied psychology instead of advertising.”
“I did, and that’s why I’m in advertising. Everyday, I use psychology to exploit people’s weaknesses.”
“Well hello, kindred spirit. I was a Social Psych major.”
“Nice, and were you recruited by the CIA during or after college?”
“Seriously now, I’m really not anything more exciting than a private investigator.”
“Sure,” she said, in a patronizing tone.
“I’m serious, and most of my cases are lost pets and seedy divorces.”
“Bullshit.”
“OK, I’ll prove it.”
I pulled out my iPhone and brought up a picture of Joyce and Mr. Pickles, with the former being my next-door neighbor and the latter being her obese house cat. Nipples immediately laughed then made the oooh sound that all women seemed to make when they saw a cute animal or a baby. I proceeded to explain that one of my illustrious jobs had entailed rescuing the monstrously sized feline troublemaker several months back.
“He’s cute,” she said.
“And large and manipulative.”
“He’s just a big kitty cat.”
“Exactly, and anyone who has ever had a cat knows it’s hard to determine who’s the owner and who’s the pet. Add thirty extra pounds to that equation, and you have a pint sized fur covered Napoleon with a penchant for liver and tuna.”
She scrutinized me for a moment.
“OK, so you rescued the feline equivalent of a pig. What was your next case after that?”
“Seedy divorce.”
“Well—finding lost pets and seedy divorce cases don’t seem like the work of a spy. You certainly put up a good front.”
“You can think anything you like, but it still won’t make my life any more exciting.”
“Spoken like a true spy. What shall we toast to, James Bond of the pet retrieval world?” she asked.
Todd leaned over and held up his bottle.
“To Thomas,” he said.
“Who the hell is he?” I asked.
“The groom.”
“No shit? Well then. To Tag, Tina, Todd, and Thomas,” I said.
We clinked beer bottles and sipped, and the alcohol entered my bloodstream and filled me with a false optimism about the days ahead. I eventually finished my beer then looked up to find the cart rolling by yet again, and, while I managed to abstain, I hadn’t counted on Tina ordering an extra beer and setting it on my tray table. Shit, that was three beers since two fifty-nine this afternoon, and it was now only four fifteen. I’d definitely have to pound down some water after we landed. I took a sip of beer number three, and watched as Tina placed her hand on my knee before leaning over and looking directly into my eyes as she spoke.
“So, Tag, I take it this girl broke your heart?”
“Kind of, though our relationship was fairly short, and I wasn’t exactly a perfect boyfriend in the very beginning.”
“Did you cheat on her?”
“It’s complicated.”
“So, that’s a yes.”
“Kind of.”
“There is no kind of—it’s either yes or no.”
“Are you sure you’re not an attorney? Because this feels a lot like a cross examination.”
“I’m a woman, so we have the same skill set, only we’re more ruthless.”
“Indeed.”
“Well? Are you going to answer the question.”
“Yes, but there were extenuating circumstances.”
“Such as?”
“We met while I was on a job.”
“What kind of job?”
Shit, I realized that this next story was going to do nothing to dissuade the whole spy thing.
“I was rescuing the former love of my life from an evil arms dealer on a beautiful Caribbean Island.”
“Are you making this shit up?”
“No, and, as ridiculous as it sounds, it’s the God’s honest truth.”
“So, you are a spy.”
“No, as I was actually hired by the woman’s sister and family—not the government.”
“Well then, please go on. It’s starting to get interesting.”
“So, while I’m conducting my former love’s rescue, I met the new girl, as she was the chief purser on the family in question’s luxury yacht, and we really connected and started dating. Unfortunately, on the night I snuck onto the island to rescue my former love, there was a moment of weakness on the beach.”
“Moment of weakness as in sex with your ex?”
“Yeah, and get this—it turns out the ex had married my best friend from the Air Force.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.”
“So, she was married and you were dating someone.”
“Yeah, but she sugar coated it by calling it two people taking back a moment that the world had stolen from them.”
“What the hell was that supposed to mean?”
“It was referring to the fact that we never got to have sex the first time around.”
“Why not?”
“Because a day after we shared our first kiss, I was shot in the hip by a member of the Taliban while rescuing a downed helicopter pilot, and I got shipped home before we could—um—consummate our relationship.”
“Wait, are you being serious?”
“Yeah—though it was several years ago while I was serving in the military and doing my last tour in Afghanistan.”
“Jesus, who the hell are you? Every second, your story gets a little crazier.”
No shit, and she was only getting part of the story. The truth of the matter was that I was leaving out a lot of specific details—such as the fact that the helicopter pilot was the current vice president of the United States and the same man who was about to run for president.
“It seems that way, but you’re only getting the highlights, so it sounds more exciting than it actually was—
well, at least until a couple of months ago, anyway.”
“Was that the Caribbean thing?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you hadn’t seen your long lost love for several years when you met this new girl?”
“Exactly.”
“Actually, I hate to admit it, but you were kind of between a rock and a hard place.”
“Yeah, the rock being my new feelings, and the hard place being my old feelings. Still, I told the new girl all that had happened, and we moved past it and had a lovely though brief relationship before she went off to finish grad school.”
“And now she’s missing?”
“Yeah, along with all her fellow scientists from their dig site down in Costa Rica.”
“Wait a minute. What’s your ex’s name?”
“Estelle. Why do you ask?”
Tina’s eyes went wide with recognition.
“Holy shit! She’s Bridezilla. Your ex is marrying our good friend Thomas McGuire.”
“No fucking way? Marrying? She told me they were just dating.”
“Afraid not. It’s their romantic beachside wedding we’re supposed to be attending.”
“Well that might have to wait—considering our bride and groom and all their fellow scientists are nowhere to be found.”
Tina and Todd’s party spirit was suddenly replaced by a look of concern, and it was an odd moment, as all three of us were in shock, though it was for entirely different reasons. They were worried about their friend while I was wondering why in the hell Estelle hadn’t told me she was getting married.
“Oh my God. It all makes sense now. Thomas had told us that Estelle had worked on a luxury yacht before coming to UCLA. What an unbelievably small world,” Tina said.
“Small indeed.”
“What do you know about their disappearance?” Tina asked.
“Not much. Estelle called me out of the blue last night and said she needed my help because there were things in the camp.”
“Wait—things?”
“Yeah, scary fucking things, and I also heard a freaky sounding roar in the background.”
“That doesn’t sound very good.”
“Nope, and especially considering that she ended the call with a scream before the line went dead. Honestly, I thought she was drunk dialing or fucking with me until I called the UCLA Archaeology Department this morning and found out that they had lost all contact with their team about the time I got the call from Estelle.”
The Chalupa Conundrum Page 3