Emergency Exit (The Irish Lottery Series Book 6)

by Gerald Hansen

  Offstage, a shiver of something crept up Mike's spine. Was it nervousness? How was that possible? Fear? Never. He wiped a bead of sweat from the collar of his shirt and wiped it on the frills that rolled down his chest. Strange. Peggy had never mentioned getting married. To an anesthesiologist, of all things! Named David, of all names! If he didn't think her so stupid, he would be tempted to think that...perhaps she knew about the scam...? But...no—

  “And without further ado, it is one of the most delightful pleasures of my life to introduce you to the very unique Mike Brown!”

  No time for further thought. Mike strut onstage to uproarious applause, jacket flapping, spotlight beating on his forehead, shoe buckles shining. He brandished the proof copy of Room of Dreams like a World Cup trophy. He swaggered towards the podium, wrenched the microphone from Peggy's hand, and made to kiss her cheek. She made a little squeal and scrabbled off the stage. Again, strange. What medications was the woman on? Mike spoke into the microphone, his brain unable to process what the silly woman had just done. He had the unwashed masses to entertain. He'd have to think about it later.

  “Thank you all so much for coming. I, your humble servant,” as if! Mike thought, “am ready to wow you all with selections from my first volume of poems called Room of Dreams, A Peek Into The Metal Box.”

  He heard the groaning of mechanics as the screen was lowered on the stage behind him. The screen that would show his pre-selected photos that matched ‘his’ poems.

  “It's the first of five volumes, I know you'll be happy to hear. Never fear, world, there's enough of Mike Brown to go around. I wish I could thank people for helping me with my creations, but, really, there's nobody to thank. Except myself.”

  There were a few titters of uncertain laughter.

  “My parents, I suppose, some might say,” he went on. He peered through the crowd, found his mother and father in the front row, and nodded at them. Henrietta was beaming up, her hands strangling each other as if in fervent prayer, her eyes shining with pride and joy, his father almost the same. “Yeah, without them I wouldn't be here, that's true. But beyond that, no. They were no help. It's all...” he tapped his head, “me.” He fluttered his hands up and down the length of his torso, indicating himself.

  He heard a gasp, and was sure it was his mother's, but then it seemed like it came from all corners of the room. He heard grunts that sounded like his father's anger. An olive sailed over his head. He ignored it. “And on that note,” he said. “I'm going to read one of my favorites. I know you'll enjoy it.” It was the very post-modern, E=me². “E Equals Me Squared.”

  Ignoring further groans—Fools! It's a perfect title!—he opened the book and turned to the page. He began to read.

  “Half a league, half a league, half a league onward

  You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar

  Ah, happy, happy boughs! That cannot shed

  I never saw a wild thing

  McDonald's Happy Meal

  sorry for itself”

  He paused. He knew he had to after the surprise of the McDonald's line. To let the majesty of it sink into their dumb brains. He felt something unseen wash upon him in waves, thrust up as if telepathically from the assembled masses. Some emotion. Could his work really be so marvelous that he could feel how it was affecting the hoards of dim-wits? The lumpen masses? Why, of course. He had expected nothing less.

  Mike peered through the blinding spotlight, saw heads lean together, lips moving, thought he heard mutterings that sounded like “tennis,” and “cleats,” but that didn't make sense. “Wonderful” and “amazing,” yes, but tennis and cleats? What were tennis cleats? Were they crazy?

  “Hail to thee, blithe spirit,”

  “Shelly!” someone yelled out, and Mike jerked at the podium. How dare someone interrupt! A heckler? Had they mistaken this for stand up comedy? In the Poet Club? Who had invited that asshole? And Shelly? Was 'Winters' to be next? Idiot! He continued forcefully on:

  “The Fountains mingle with the Rivers

  And the Rivers with the Oceans

  O Kirk!

  Kirk!

  O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done

  “Whitman!” A blini splatted on the front of the podium. There were some giggles. More food sailed onto the stage.

  “But O heart! heart! heart!

  O the bleeding drops of red

  red

  Roars of anger. “Cheat!” “Thief!” “Asshole!” More giggles. “Write your own!” “What is this shit?”

  “red

  Red Lobster

  A terrible beauty is born

  “Yeats!” “Boooo!” Laughter. “Get off the stage!” Taunts. “Red?! Where are the tomatoes?” A mushroom hit him on the shoulder. More laughter.

  You can dance

  Into the valley of death

  You can jive

  Rode the six hundred

  Google.”

  Mike attempted to give a grand bow, but a lobster slammed into his face. He was greeted with hoots of derision and, worse, uproarious laughter. He stared in disbelief at the crowd, but they didn't seem to be looking at him. They were looking past him. He whipped his head around.

  His eyes saucered.

  “What the hell?!”

  The screen behind him wasn't showing leaves, wasn't showing entrails...it was showing him! His brain struggled to comprehend. Photos. Of his face. While he was naked. Having sex. His face scrunched with manic delight, hair matted, eyes bulging, delight now ecstasy, now fear, now pain, now with handcuffs, now stretched with horror, face like a whimper, a close up of a dildo, a massive black one, a photo of—

  No! He couldn't look! There was no sign of the girl in the photos. But he recognized the pillows. Daisy's! And there she was in the front row! With Gretchen! Gretchen's face was stretched with shock, but Daisy was roaring with laughter. As were those around her. And through the glare he spied Peggy, tittering with glee! With her 'husband,' Vince! What the hell was Vince doing with—

  And now the howls of laughter bounced from all areas of the room as the photos dissolved into a film. A close up of Mike, lowering himself onto the body of Daisy—with her face digitized out, of course—him lowering himself onto her, him looking into her eyes with an excited gleam. He cringed. He knew what was coming next.

  “Have you ever,” he heard his voice booming from the speakers, high-pitched and odd, “had sex before...with a poet?” And then, louder even than the roars of laughter in the club, his squawks and squeals of sexual delight.

  Before Mike even had time to react, a frathouse type guy roared, “You freakish Ben Franklin fruitcake!” and charged the stage.

  “No, Sam!” Mike heard Gretchen shriek through the laughter. “Are you insane?”

  “No!” the apparent “Sam” said, “But this asshole is!”

  Mike squealed as the fist raced towards his face. He held up his book, his dear Room of Dreams, but it clattered to the floor. The fist connected with his face. He felt his nose crack as he flew backwards, heard his knee-breeches splitting as he sailed through the air, but instead of the hard stage floor, he plunged into a soppy, viscous mess inside a tub. Svardian warthog blood soup. Held by LeRoy on one side, Vareen on the other.

  The roaring laughter continued as Mike thrashed in the gloppy, bloody mess.

  “Gretchen! I will get you for this!” he wailed.

  He grappled the sides of the tub and tried to haul himself out as the laughter continued to ring in his ears, the appetizers continued to splat into his body. He wiped the slop from his face. And looked up at his father, looking down on him.

  “I don't know who this Gretchen is,” Richard Brown said, “But you're going to have difficulty 'getting' her...from your cell in rehab! If not a more secure federal facility! For the mentally unstable! Where you will be for a very, very long time. You're a lunatic!”

  CHAPTER 20 THREE MONTHS LATER

  29. A PASSENGER IS ARGUING with another crew mem
ber and it's threatening to get out of control. You should:

  A. call the senior crew member in charge and have them sort the problem out. X

  B. ask the crew member to step aside and deal with it yourself.

  C. walk away.

  30. AER is the code for:

  A. Sochi, Russia X

  B. Aberdeen, Scotland

  C. Alice Springs, Australia

  31. A passenger burns their hand on a hot beverage. You should:

  A. cover it with dry ice.

  B. cover it with wet ice. X

  C. cover it with a bandage.

  32. According to the regulations, at altitudes above 12,500 feet MSL up to and including 14,000 feet MSL, when must the flight crew be provided with, and use, supplemental oxygen?

  A. Immediately X

  B. After 30 minutes

  C. After 45 minutes

  33. A passenger has requested a special gluten-free meal to be loaded on the plane, but it is not on board. You should:

  A. lie and say the vegetarian option is gluten-free.

  B. apologize and give them a free bottle of champagne.

  C. report the incident and do nothing.

  D. suggest a compromise and try to make a gluten-free meal out of what is available in the galley. X

  34. In airline terminology, what does ASAP stand for:

  A. As Soon As Possible

  B. Airline Safety Action Program X

  C. All Seats And Passengers

  35. Which airport is abbreviated LEI?

  A. Leipzig, Germany

  B. Almeria, Spain X

  C. Jayapura, Sentani, Indonesia

  36. What is the correct response if a customer asks “What's the weather like in Bangkok?”

  A. One minute. I will know it and tell you.

  B. I will tell you when I have asked.

  C. I am going to tell you soon.

  D. I'll try and find out for you. X

  37. You are on a very long flight to Japan. A female passenger approaches you and tells you the man sitting next to her has smelly feet. You should:

  A. ask the man to put his shoes back on.

  B. move the female to another seat. X

  C. do nothing because it's too embarrassing.

  38. Two passengers enter the lavatory together and have been there a long time. You should:

  A. knock on the door and shout loudly to vacate the lavatory.

  B. do nothing. X

  C. wink at them when they come out.

  D. enter immediately after they exit and clean up any mess.

  39. There is a medical emergency, and the plane had been diverted to a remote island. You are now waiting for the plane to take off, but it needs refueling. The Captain asks you to help pay. You should

  A. give him your credit card. X

  B. report the incident to the company and leave the plane immediately.

  C. argue with him.

  Gretchen sat on the subway, the A train from JFK. She had her wheelie case before her, and was reading a book instead of doing a scratch card. She had flown in from São Paulo. Really.

  A few days after Mike Brown's poetry 'debut' at the Poet Club, she had received a call from a withheld number. It was a Felicity Farcourt, from Oceanic Airlines. Felicity's daughter had shown her the Judge Edna Lee video on Youtube, she told Gretchen, and she had read the comments underneath which said Gretchen had been forced to work for Nickel and Dime after missing an Oceanic interview. Many of the comments concluded that that would drive anyone insane. Felicity had also read a comment from some 'Sam,' who said he was responsible, and begged Gretchen for forgiveness. Whether Gretchen had forgiven this Sam was unknown, but it had sparked an idea in Felicity's mind. She discussed it with the rest of the Oceanic PR team. Always looking for good publicity, they thought it would be a wonderful gesture if they offered Gretchen the opportunity to retake her flight attendant exam before the required five years had passed.

  Oceanic was not only a more sophisticated airline than Nickel and Dime, they wanted to say, not only an airline with a beverage service and real seats, but also one that cared for its employees or, in this case, even its prospective employees. Gretchen had taken the exam, aced it, and started flying internationally the next week.

  Darko had been stricken, but Gretchen told him not to worry. She would continue to teach him on her days off. How could she not? He was so nice, and she wanted to help him become the American he wanted to become.

  No more denim heavy with coins, no more micro-skirts. Oceanic's in-flight uniforms, designed by one of fashion's top names, were constantly voted the classiest in the world, regularly thrashing British Airways and even Air France. Gretchen sat now, proudly, in her minimalist navy dress with the polished black belt and crisp white collar, as she closed her book and thought. São Paulo had been really wonderful. As Paris had been, and London, Shanghai, Jakarta and Cairo. This really was the life. She and Vince were planning on flying to Bangkok when the weather got colder in the Western Hemisphere. Oceanic always put her up in a hotel with at least three stars wherever she flew, so she and Vince were sure to have a marvelous vacation. And would probably be upgraded. She would check the flights beforehand to make sure the loads in First were light enough so they could travel in style. But traveling in style was now nothing new for her. That's what she did every shift. Cooking in the galley, of course, and sitting on a jumpseat, and there were always crying babies and drunk passengers. But she was finally living the life she finally wanted to live.

  She got off the subway at the stop near her home and climbed the stairs. The wheelie case thumped behind her, but now there was a spring in her step, and once she got onto the sidewalk, there was no thumping, but the whimsical rolling, almost musical, of the wheels behind her. She had someone to go home to. Vince Henderson.

  Mike had gone looking for revenge, but Gretchen had found love. And a career. The career she had always wanted. She had asked Vince later, after the reading and Mike's downfall, what Mike Brown could possibly have hoped to gain from such an elaborate and costly scam. Had Mike really hated her that much?

  Vince had shrugged. “I didn't really talk to him about it much. He was sort of dismissive with me. You know, a member of his staff, one of his servants. But I guess he didn't know you had paid off your student loan with the money from the scratch card. He thought you still had it all.”

  “But he was loaded! Why would he want to get his hands on a measly $30,000?”

  Vince had shrugged again. “Because he's an asshole? Because he could? Because he had nothing better to do?”

  Gretchen had nodded slowly. Yes, a bit of all three. They had gone a bit overboard with the photos and the video and the Svardian warthog blood soup, but maybe Mike deserved what he had gotten from the others.

  She put the key into the front door of the building, Vince's building. Gretchen still had half her clothes and belongings at Roz's place and was still, of course, paying her rent. But most of her time these days was spent at Vince's.

  He had indeed gotten the part in the Breaking Bad sequel and, wonder of wonders, that had led to a screen test for an upcoming crime drama, Guns of New York. He had been offered the role of Detective Ash Johnson, the second male lead. Filming would start in the fall. After their trip to Bangkok.

  “Honey?” Gretchen called. “Vince?”

  She flipped on the light in the living room.

  “Surprise!”

  There Vince stood, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a box of chocolates in the other. A bottle of champagne sat on the table.

  Gretchen flinched as he approached her.

  “What's up?” she asked. She looked nervously around the apartment. Had he invited ex-girlfriends and their sisters and pets to come live? Had he decided to write poetry? Why did this display of love make her so suspicious? “Did you break something?”

  Vince laughed as he pressed the gifts into her hands. He poked his handsome head through the roses and kissed her. />
  “Of course not. I guess I'm not being really original, what with roses and chocolates. But I just wanted to tell you I love you.”

  “Really?” she asked through the plastic wrapping and stems with thorns. It didn't seem like it could be true.

  He took her gently by the shoulders and sat her down on the sofa. She was gripped with a sudden horror as she wondered if he was about to propose.

  “Yes, really.” She let the roses and box of chocolates fall to the cushions as he held her in his strong arms and covered her face with kisses. “I love you so much, Gretchen Barnett. I just wanted to let you know.”

  After a few moments of feeling the softness of his lips, the gentle caresses of his hands, she felt herself relax. As his tongue slipped into her mouth, somewhere in the depths of her mind, Gretchen realized it might take her a while to trust a man again. It had been three months, after all, and she had found no anomalies between who Vince said he was and what he did when she was jet-setting. And she had scoured the internet. He really was Vince Henderson. He really was going to star in Guns of New York. And he really did love her.

  She lost herself in his gray eyes. She had finally found him. It. True love.

  He had actually bought two bottles of champagne; the second was in the fridge. He had ordered Thai delivery—Thai would always be 'their' food—and the celebration, the celebration of love, lasted throughout dinner and both bottles. Gretchen was feeling rather tipsy. She barely remembered the slow, loving sex they had. Then she had gotten out of bed, and said she had to buy some aspirin from the bodega downstairs.

  “I'll go,” Vince said.

  “I don't mind. Really. I'm the one that needs them.”

  Gretchen shrugged into a yellow summer dress, 50s vintage, slipped some sandals on her feet, leaned over the bed and kissed his forehead. His eyes were drowsy and he looked handsome on the pillow, his hair mussed from the lovemaking. Then she then went downstairs, gripping the railing for support. She was rather unsteady.