by Roger Herst
"Terrorism?" a female passenger near the agent half asked and half declared.
"We don't know, ma'am. They haven't said anything like that."
The man with a cell phone raised his free arm and waved for attention. "I'm talking to a friend waiting for me at LaGuardia who says the airport closed down because there's an abandoned car on the curb outside. They've called for a bomb squad from Manhattan. An Army ordnance team is being helicoptered from New Jersey."
Gabby turned away to peer through the panoramic window overlooking the Potomac, with the familiar white dome of the Capitol in the distance. If she hadn't stopped to visit Senator Zuckerman and taken the 2 pm flight, she would have made it. Now there was no telling how long the delay would be. It was time to abandon thoughts of conceiving a child this month. Fate seemed to be working against her.
She walked through the terminal, searching for an area with less noise, then dialed Kye on her cell phone, not expecting to reach him, but, to her surprise, he answered. A dedicated listener to radio news, he already knew about events at La Guardia.
"It sounds like chaos out there, Gabrielle, " he reported. "Traffic is blocked for miles in all directions. I couldn't get there if I wanted to. I'm afraid you'll have to grab a taxi into town. I'll wait for you at the hotel. Don't forget, the show begins at eight."
Her voice conveyed frustration and disappointment. "I have no idea when I'll make it, but the important thing is that I get there sometime this weekend. The theater and dinner aren't important to me, so call a friend to see the show with you."
"That's not the plan, Gabrielle. If I can't go with you, I'll sell the tickets back to the scalper and get scalped a second time. Just get here whenever you can and we'll make adjustments as necessary."
After making several contingent plans with Kye, she walked to Terminal B to wait in United's Red Carpet Club and have a cup of tea to settle her nerves.
The saga at La Guardia was already on a television screen hanging from the ceiling of the club lounge. Reporters, who were not permitted to approach the suspect car parked on the departure level curb, nevertheless employed cameras with telescopic lenses to show a vintage Dodge sedan. A squad of firemen mulled around the vehicle, waiting for better equipped bomb squads.
"Maryland plates," a female reporter said on voice over. "As of yet, we don't know who owns the vehicle or why he or she left it unattended, but the police are taking no chances. As you can see from these videos, the airport is nearly deserted. For safety, passengers have been moved away from the potential blast site."
Already convinced the television would provide her with little new information, Gabby selected a computer magazine to leaf through. Hot tea with lemon relaxed her a little. Another passenger waiting nearby changed the TV channel only to find the La Guardia story on the second channel. From picture windows overlooking the runway at National Airport, she observed a line of jets taxing for take off. Four planes in a row landed on the north-south runway.
An hour and twenty minutes later, after a robot, dubbed "Brilliant Alfred" by the Army, determined that the Dodge could be safely towed from the airport, LaGuardia re-opened its runways to incoming traffic. Planes circling about with low fuel reserves were given landing priority. No planes could leave the terminal for take off, until all incoming aircraft were on the ground. Passengers waiting inside the facility reported chaotic conditions around the gates. The airport's finely tuned schedule had been badly disrupted and it would take hours resume normal operations.
Gabby's plane finally landed at LaGuardia at ten minutes before six. At least sixty people were in a queue for taxis outside the US Airways Terminal, a bad omen for anyone in a rush. When she saw an airport bus headed for Grand Central Station pull up into a loading zone, she made a quick decision and clambered aboard. Since the Sheraton Russell was only two blocks south on Park Avenue, it proved to be a good choice. Still, traffic into the city moved at a snail's pace, and it was almost 7:15 pm before she arrived at the hotel.
Kye was pacing the lobby, a cell phone to his ear. The over-night traveling bag in her hand made their embrace awkward. "I was worried about you," he opened after a series of rapid pecks on her cheek. "Looks like we must postpone dinner if we're going to make the show. But there are still a few minutes for you to freshen up in the room. It must have been an awful trip."
They headed directly for the elevator. On the way up she said, "The trip itself wasn't bad, but waiting around was no picnic. I was looking forward to being with you this afternoon. I really had the feeling this was going to be our afternoon together. Then everything seemed to collapse." She snuggled against him, pressing the full length of her body against his and undulating with suggestion as she pecked at the flesh beneath his chin. Her breath warmed his cheek. His arms hauled her against him and squeezed. When the elevator door opened on the fifth floor, two silver-haired matrons in bulky suits, their arms toting heavy handbags, were waiting to go downstairs. Kye and Gabby were caught in an embrace. Kye, who recovered first, affected a whimsical pout directed to the ladies and said without a hitch, "Better than in the rear seat of an old jalopy, now isn't it?"
The women produced scowls of disapproval. Gabby wondered aloud whether they disapproved of caressing in public or the inter-racial couple engaged in it.
As Kye placed an electronic key into a slot on the door, she asked, "Anything new about LaGuardia that I might have missed during the flight."
"The authorities towed the car from the airport curb, but didn't find any explosives. They still don't know who left it, but presumably terrorists weren't involved. The police are searching for the owner now. We'd better get moving if we're going to make curtain. I've moved our dinner reservation at Trattoria to after the show. My associate, Tom Baldachi, and his wife are going to the ballet and have asked to join us."
Gabby registered her displeasure by snapping. "You know I make love better on an empty stomach. How do you expect me to perform stuffed with wine and pasta?"
"We can make it a short meal and than come right back here."
Kye's unquenchable sociability annoyed her. He was constantly invading their marital privacy by making plans with others. Her job required her to work with and among people and, for the most part, she enjoyed their company. But she looked forward to spending personal time in seclusion with her husband, if and when it was possible to isolate him from others, which wasn't often. Kye was constantly inviting friends and associates to join in meals, sports and entertainment, without forewarning her. To find strangers in their home was not unusual. On an intellectual level she understood how his inclination to bring new friends into their lives was a healthy response to her reclusive tendencies. But on an emotional level, she felt compromised. It particularly bothered her that Kye failed to understand how she had something far more important on her mind than theater, food, and company, however good.
She dumped her traveling bag on the bed and kicked off her shoes. Her skirt dropped to the floor only an instant before she pulled down her underwear. It took a bit longer to unfasten the petite buttons of her silk blouse. When she noticed his eyes on her, she asked, "Hey, sailor. Got any interest now?"
"Sure do," he replied, stepping over to assist her untangle her arms from the long sleeves of the blouse. "Greatest body in town. If it wasn't that we have outrageously overpriced tickets, I'd jump you right now. But I guess that can wait. 'Absent thee from felicity awhile,' Hamlet said to Horatio. Felicity will come in time. now get thee into that shower before we're late. I'll have the bellhop order a taxi."
Gabby tried to keep in mind how Kye planned for them to have a New York evening, with a fabulous dinner and a Broadway show, yet sitting in orchestra seats watching the performance was not her first choice and her mind kept drifting – first Senator Zuckerman and then to the delay at the airport. There was something odd about both incidents, though she couldn't put a finger on exactly what. The more she thought about them. the more she felt it had something to do with inc
ongruities, but exactly what incongruities, she didn't know.
Cheryl Teabrook's Heaven is No Place for the Soul was a modern drama about California's role in America's new demographics. In the play, Angelia and Hap Cecil, recent arrivals to Mill Valley in San Francisco's suburban Marin County, seek a new life, unfettered by expectations of family in their native Memphis. Competition for jobs in Northern California is ferocious, so Angelia and Hap are forced to make compromises. While studying for the California bar Angelia, a graduate from St. Louis Law School, takes a job in a San Francisco law firm not as a lawyer, but a paralegal. Hap, a University of Wisconsin PhD in clinical psychology, sublets a single office in an insurance company and struggles to attract paying patients. Both are overwhelmed by the near perfect California weather for windsurfing and mountain biking. Their evenings are spent sampling ethnic restaurants and hanging out at San Francisco beer pubs. Settled into a small Mill Valley apartment, it takes them no more than two months to adopt the Bay Area as their home, spelled with a capital "H." When asked where they hailed from, the response is unequivocal and enthusiastic. Though actually born in Tennessee, California always seemed their spiritual home. Immigrating to Northern California provided the psychological satisfactions of returning to one's childhood nirvana.
California is expensive and their life style curtailed by financial problems. They travel in the company of well-heeled friends who often pick up the tabs at trendy restaurants. To be successful in having others foot such bills, they decide to socialize with separate friends, since paying for a single guest is less conspicuous than treating a couple. As they spend more time apart, they begin bickering when together. Hap's insight into the lives of his patients provides him perspective on his own plight. They are recent arrivals to California, fugitives who were running as fast as possible to experience all that California has to offer. They mock their adopted homeland as the "State of the Second Chance," an autonomous republic of individuals fleeing career, family, and financial failures in their previous lives.
By the intermission, it looked as though the marriage between Angelia and Hap is destined to fail.
When Kye asked Gabby for her thoughts about the play, she defends her native state. "California isn't nirvana, if that's what you're implying," she said to Kye, who squired her toward a refreshment stand for ginger ale.
"The theme is a bit tired, isn't it?" he uttered. "Plenty of people don't end up in the doldrums in California. Lot's of good folks in technology live wonderful lives there. Had I not met you, I would have moved Politicstoday to the Bay Area. If you'll come with me now, I'll move Images tomorrow morning. These days, we're more an on-line public relations firm than a campaigning company and, spiritually, less in the domain of government than the land of images. My partners have suggested that I move the headquarters. If the merger goes through, I'm going to be in California a lot anyway."
Just as Kye reached the refreshment stand, his cell phone rang. Gabby immediately stepped forward to order the ginger ales and fished her purse for a billfold.
Kye's head bobbed before throwing a scowl in Gabby's direction. His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened, yet it was clear that the caller would not give him a chance to respond. "Okay, okay," he finally snapped, "all right, but Gabby and I don't want to make this a long night. She's had a very long and hard day."
"What was that all about?" she asked as they stepped away to drink their ginger ales.
"Nothing serious. The Baldachis bumped into friends at the ballet and invited them to Trattoria with us. That will make six."
"A cast of thousands," she commented, revealing her disappointment. Private time with Kye was becoming more and more elusive. "Can't we just skip dinner altogether and go back to the hotel and jump into bed?"
He looked exasperated. "Unfortunately, I can't do that. My friends have wanted to meet you for a long time. And I can't ask Tom to un-invite his friends after the fact. We'll make it a short dinner. Let's beg off early and have each other for dessert."
"The best invitation I've heard," she said. "When I was a kid, my sister and I used to plead with our mother to serve dinner 'Chinese style,' which meant to us the dessert came first and the main course later. You can imagine how disappointed we were to learn that Chinese people aren't fond of sweets. I'm all for reversing the normal sequence tonight."
Sipping their drinks, conversation slipped to earlier events at Ohav Shalom and how, against her better judgment, the Jewish community in Washington was determined to publicize the break-in and theft. "It's embarrassing," Gabby said, "because I felt helpless to defend myself. My congregants look at me as a hero, but I only see myself tied up and unable to fight back." She held his arm, drawing herself closer to him. "I thought I had thick skin, but I flattered myself. My skin feels as thin as papyrus."
Flashing overhead lights indicated that the intermission was ending and it was time to retake their seats. In the third act, Angelia and Hap's relationship predictably deteriorates. Angelia attaches herself to a group of outdoor women who make challenging excursions into the Alaskan wilderness. Hap, as his name would suggest, haplessly meanders into an extramarital relationship with a young woman from Arkansas who is a fanatical vegetarian and vitamin addict.
In the fourth and final acts, Angelia leaves her law firm to run for the County Council on a feminist ticket. Hap forgoes psychology to open a boutique coffee house with three partners, South of Market, near Fed Ex Stadium. Angelia rejects a lesbian relationship with one of her outdoor friends, but discourages men who approach her. The marriage ends with an amicable divorce, both members agreeing to divvy up the few items of sporting equipment they had managed to acquire.
When Kye asked if Gabby liked the play, she said it was overrated by drama critics, who were no doubt Eastern intellectuals bashing the West. Cheryl Teabrook had exaggerated the influence of California on her characters. Given the personalities, their marriage might just as well have failed in Tennessee.
Kye and Gabby were the first to arrive at Trattoria Dell'Arte and went to the bar while busboys prepared their table. When it was ready, Kye was alarmed to find that Tom had called ahead. Through a series of chance encounters and generous invitations during various intermissions, the intimate party of four had burgeoned to a party of ten. Who the additional diners would be, Kye had no idea, though he said that Tom was incapable of bumping into anyone without having him join whatever he was doing. Gabby glanced at her watch to calculate how long it would be before she could get Kye into bed. The long day had tired her and she wondered how good a bedmate she would be, if and when she ever got there.
Tom's friends arrived before him and introduced themselves, a white-collar criminal lawyer and a software developer, both with girlfriends years younger than themselves. In addition, there was a gay ballet buff and an ex-ballerina who had obviously gained many pounds since her days on the stage.
By the time Tom and Marsha Baldachi arrived, all had ordered drinks and were in conversation about the theater and ballet they had just seen. A short while later, three large platters of anti-pasta, a selection of roasted eggplant and peppers, garnished with shrimp and cuttlefish, circulated. A team of waiters hovered nearby to deliver menus, accompanied by an explanation of the evening's specials. Wine lists appeared along with several bottles of sparkling mineral water. In passing conversations, the New Yorkers sought insider information from their Washington visitors about two ongoing scandals in the Departments of Energy and the Interior. Apparently, Kye had told Tom about Gabby's aborted race for Congress, and telling Tom anything was tantamount to a press release.
As waiters took orders, it was clear to Gabby that the company was interested in more than after-theatre fare. The guests ordered lavishly both appetizers and main courses, providing their personal views regarding appropriate wines for each course. Her hand straddled Kye's and her thigh rubbed against his, silently urging him not to allow this dinner to extend long.
When asked her opinion about Heaven is
No Place for the Soul, she provided concise and non-provocative responses, preferring to take a peripheral position in the conversation. A salad of radicchio lettuce and baby artichokes barely interested her. In contrast, Kye attacked his sautéed polenta and suggested they order two additional bottles of Chardonnay before their waiter brought the more serious St. Julien caret they had pre-ordered for a pasta course. To ease her frustration, she excused herself to go to the ladies room, shooting a fiery glance at her husband as he courteously stood to let her slip by. A few tables away, she turned to observe him engaged in animated conversation with the ex-ballerina.
The presence of a pay phone near the entrance to the ladies room reminded her she had forgotten to call Carey Sylerman. From her handbag, she retrieved an electronic scheduler and punched in Carey's name for her Brooklyn number. After five rings and no response, Gabby was about to give up when an answering machine responded with a female voice, not Carey's. Gabby left her name and phone number for the Sheraton Russell Hotel, then entered the ladies room, as she humored herself, "to make room for more wine" that she didn't wish to drink.
It was a few minutes before 2 a.m. when the dinner broke up and Gabby and Kye stood on the street, waiting for a taxi. Characteristically, he made no excuses and did not acknowledge how a detour to Trattoria materially altered their plans. Fatigue and a late night meal had long since eclipsed Gabby's anticipation of love-making felt during the show. To make matters worse, the American Association of Clinical Oncologists and the Texas Bar Association were holding conferences in New York City, and taxis at that hour were impossible to get. Kye possessed an admirable whistle and was willing to throw himself into the traffic to hail one, but all were occupied. Kye and Gabby ended up walking eighteen blocks to their hotel, barely speaking a word.