Detour Paris: Complete Series (Detour Paris Series Book 4)

by Dancer, Jack

  “Did I just say what I think I said?”

  “Yep.”

  “Criminies Terry. What am I saying?”

  “I dunno. What are you saying? You mean, to have him sexually or to have him, have him?”

  “I don't know,” I say, but thinking to myself not wanting to admit that maybe it's I want him, want him. Maybe I really do want him. This is crazy. How could this have happened? How could I let it happen?

  “Monica?” Terry snaps me out of it.

  “What?”

  Her eyes are boring into me. “You're love struck on this guy aren't cha? It's all over your face. He's gotcha, and now you got a thing for him.”

  “I do not,” I retort defensively. “I can't believe you'd even think that. Besides, I'm married. I couldn't get involved with this guy, even if I wanted to. And I don't want to, so don’t even go there.”

  “You're divorcing.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

  “Hey, if that’s not it, then what are you saying you don’t want her to have him. So, you’re jealous. Why? I’ve no idea. He’s the biggest two-timer I’ve ever seen! I can’t get over the nerve of this guy.”

  “You mean two timing his girlfriend, Ebba?” I ask.

  “Course I mean his girlfriend, Ebba. Who do you think? Here she’s brought him along on this trip, and they haven’t even boarded the plane together, and already he's goin’ out on her. Just like that! It’s unbelievable.”

  “Of course, there’s the spouse too,” I say.

  “What spouse?” Terry asks.

  “My spouse, for crying out loud. What spouse do you think?”

  “Oh, yeah, there’s that, I guess. I don’t know. Just seems different somehow.”

  “It is different. I’m married, and he’s not.” Well, not exactly, I’m thinking.

  “But, you're divorcing.” (pause) “Monica, you are divorcing aren't you? You said you were.”

  “Yeah, I'm divorcing.”

  “Wait. Does Al know you're divorcing?” (pause) “Monica?”

  “He ought to know shouldn't he?”

  “But, does he know?” (pause) “Damn girl you haven't even told him, have you?”

  “You know Al. He'd kill me.”

  “Good gravy girl. What're you thinking?” Terry says.

  “I'm thinking I still want to live, is what I'm thinking.”

  “Well I guess I can't blame you there. So, what does Tucker think? I mean what’d you tell him?”

  “He's confused.”

  Terry bursts out laughing. “And you're going to keep him that way, right?”

  “He's settling in.”

  “Settling in? What does that mean?” Terry asks.

  “It means he's getting comfortable with not knowing for sure either way.”

  “Hmmm, sorry, you lost me with that one.”

  “It's simple really. Tell him the truth, or keep him confused. Confusion abrogates guilt,” I say.

  “I see. And for you, Monica?”

  “I don't have to lie.”

  “So, it leaves you room to go either way, if it comes down to that, I mean.”

  “That's the beauty of confusion. Besides, it's a natural state of mind for men as far as their understanding of women goes. The way I see it, I'm providing a guilt-free comfort zone for him to operate,” I say smugly.

  “Girl, you are a genius,” says Terry with admiration.

  “Not a genius, just a woman operating within my womanly ways. No different than you. It comes so natural to you that you give it no thought.” A subtle but agreeable smile crosses Terry's face as I say this.

  “So, I take it; you were busy with this guy?”

  “Let’s put it this way, I had a lot on my hands . . . er, I mean, in my hands,” I say with just enough snigger to tease up her nosiness a few hundred notches.

  “Details?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. So, what's this prick like?”

  “Now if you’re going to be nasty, I’m not going to tell you what it is about his prick that I like,” I quip.

  “Oh, my Gawd. Okay, make me like him.”

  “You’ve seen him. What’s not to like? He’s good-looking. Makes a good living, apparently. Has his own company and people running it for him while he just does whatever it is he does, whenever he wants to do it. I think he dates around a lot, travels.”

  “Must be nice, but then that’s all you do too, isn't it - whatever you want?” Terry says with envy.

  “Not quite, I’m married remember, and bored, like to death, at least until this trip.”

  “Okay, so tell me about Mr. Two-Timer. I already know from Ebba he's filthy rich,” Terry says.

  “Filthy? I think he does well, but filthy rich? I don't think so.”

  “Monica, Ebba says he's worth over ten million,” Terry exclaims.

  “What? You're kidding, ten million? I can't believe that. You sure Ebba's not full of it?”

  “No, I'm not sure. Ebba’s full of a lot of things, and it wouldn't surprise me for a minute that she's exaggerating just to make herself look good, like she's snagged a really big fish.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t so. I think it's more likely Ebba's full of baloney.”

  “Yeah probably. Still she thinks this guy’s the cat’s meow. She also thinks you two were playing house all the way over here.”

  “Why? What’d she say?”

  “It’s not what she said. It’s what she didn’t say.”

  “Well, what didn't she say then?”

  “She didn’t say she didn’t buy into this crazy detour story, but she didn't say she believed it either, which was why she insisted on driving to Portbou and seeing for herself.”

  “The whole story's pretty unbelievable. I mean, who in their right mind would fly to London and then train all the way to Barcelona when all they had to do was catch the Air France flight to Paris and make a connection?” I say.

  “Yeah, who’d do that unless they had something else in mind?”

  “So, what’d you think?”

  “Until you tell me different what I'd like to think is you two caught the Air France flight to Paris and shacked up in a nice, little romantic hotel and made mad passionate love for a couple of days and nights and then jumped a train. Isn't that what really happened? Tell me yes, because it's way more romantic than riding trains for two days and nights. You didn’t really fly to London and catch the Eurostar did you?”

  “Yep, we did.”

  “So, the whole story’s true?” asks Terry.

  “Yep,” I confirmed with my bad girl smile, “but that there's more to it than that.”

  “What? Tell me,” she leans in.

  “I didn’t fuck him,” I silently mouthed back.

  “You didn’t what?”

  I leaned over into her ear and whispered, “Fuck him. I didn’t fuck him.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope.”

  “Now wait a minute. You just said how much you liked his . . . you know,” she nods toward her crotch.

  “And I do. I mean I did.”

  Listening, Terry sits up, all ears.

  “So, I find the closest bar and order up a Cosmo to kick off the three-hour wait. No way, was I going back down to the stew lounge and listen to those old cows moan about not getting their alimony checks or complain about their ex’s new girlfriend again.”

  “Hey, watch it. Those old cows just happen to be me,” she says.

  “You know that's not true honey,” placing a friendly hand on her shoulder, “you don't moan.”

  “You bitch,” she shakes me off, and we both laugh. “Yeah and this old cow's not getting any younger waiting for you to get on with this friggin’ story either.” And we both laugh.

  “Pshaw,” I say.

  “Only my best friend can get away with that, you know,” she says jutting an admonishing finger into my face. Now get on with it. I don’t have all night,” (pause
) she animates thinking, “Okay, maybe I do have all night.”

  “Anywhooo, I’m sitting at the bar, Cosmo in hand, and who should walk in but Whatshername's boyfriend.”

  “Ebba the girlfriend, Tucker the boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, Ebba,” I roll my eyes.

  “I take it; you're not nuts about Ebba?”

  “Duh. That's obvious. You know I had never heard the name Ebba before. Tucker told me it was German. I was curious so I looked it up and do you know what Ebba means in German?”

  “What?”

  “Oh, come on, you can do better than that. Take a guess.”

  “A bear?”

  “Close. A Boar,” I say and start laughing. “Can you believe that? Ebba means B-O-A-R. Damn. Think I'd rather be called the village whore than the village boar. Grunt, grunt.”

  Now we're both laughing hysterically.

  “Oh, that’s rich. What were her parent's thinking?”

  “I can’t believe she hasn’t changed her name,” I say.

  “Guess it doesn’t matter if no one knows what an Ebba is,” she comes back.

  “Unless you’re in Germany.”

  “She probably calls herself Mindy over there,” and we both burst out laughing.

  “Who cares? I think this new revelation calls for another drink, how about you?”

  “Absolutely, can't let all this fun get in the way of a good buzz,” she says.

  I motion to the Scruples bartender for another round.

  “So, where was I?”

  “Whatshername's boyfriend.”

  “Whatshername's boyfriend who had to get off the plane.”

  “Yeah and Nanette was really upset about it.”

  “So, why would Nanette care that Tucker was bumped?”

  “I dunno. I don't think Ebba was all that concerned about it. She knew he could catch the Air France. She was more aggravated about Nanette making such a big deal over it. She also said it was Nanette, who asked her to bring Tucker along in the first place. Said, she wanted to meet this hunka hunka burning love Ebba'd been bragging about, and I think Ebba did it just to show him off.”

  “You think Nanette has designs on, Tucker?”

  “Who knows? It might be she just wanted to mess with Ebba. You know how obnoxious Ebba can be. Always trying to impress everybody. Nanette probably just got fed up with it and figured this trip would be a good time to put Ebba in her place.”

  “By snatching her boyfriend?”

  “Nanette's no slouch, and Barcelona’s her home turf. If anyone can do it, it's probably Nanette. Oops,” Terry says catching herself. “My stupidity's showing again huh? Because the one person we know who can snatch away Ebba's boyfriend and who, in fact, has already snatched Ebba's boyfriend, is sitting right here with us.”

  “Who?” I say looking around, then back at her raising my hand to my chest questioning, “You mean moi?”

  “Duh.”

  “Maybe, but there's a difference,” I say.

  “Which is?”

  “I didn't try to snatch away her boyfriend. He was the snatcher. I, the snatchee.”

  “Okay, get back to where you were telling me how you and Tucker hooked up - you know, at the bar and Whatshernames boyfriend shows up.”

  “So, I'm sitting there and who should show up but Whatshisname.”

  “Bet he was happy to see you.”

  “I'm sure.”

  “How'd you know he was coming?”

  “Nanette tipped me off with a call. Told me he was on his way, that she'd told him to find me because I hadn't made the flight either.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I don't know. She said he was pissed he'd gotten bumped. Thought he might bag the whole trip, so she told him I knew the ropes with the Air France backup and to find me for help.”

  “Some help. If she had any designs on him for herself, she sure sent him in the wrong direction,” Terry says laughing.

  “I think she was just trying to help the guy out.”

  “Yeah, and I'm Mother Teresa. So, was he still pissed about getting kicked off?”

  “If he was he didn't show it. I think he forgot all that and decided to take up the hunt instead.”

  “Take up the hunt?”

  “You know. Guys on the hunt for girls, bagging the prey, all that.”

  “Oh, right. The cave guy. Club the woman and drag her back to his cave.”

  “Right. Anyhow, he comes over and takes the empty stool next to me, and we start commiserating about missing the flight and the downsides of traveling on companion passes. He’s a perfectly pleasant guy, and we spend the next hour drinking and talking and whatnot.”

  “Whatnot?” she asks.

  “Whatnot,” I repeat.

  “Tell me about the whatnot,” she says as the bartender comes over and sets fresh drinks in front of us.

  Wow. This young stud turns both our heads.

  “Muchas gracias,” we say in unison.

  “Prego,” he answers.

  He retreats, both our eyes hanging on him when Terry turns and says, “Okay, don't leave me in suspense for the whatnot. Proceed please.”

  “Well, I was just glad someone I sorta knew, showed up. Turned out we hit it off pretty well. We’re both getting looped, of course, but we're enjoying each other's company too. Then, out of nowhere he walks out of the bar.”

  “Walks out? As in left?”

  “Yeah. I was surprised too. I had no idea what he was up to. I even started thinking maybe I said something that chased him off. But, he’d left his carryon so I knew he’d be returning. After a few minutes, he did, and he cleared things up.”

  “Okay, how?”

  “I'd have never believed it had I not been there,” I say pausing for effect.

  “Believe what?”

  “When he walked out he went to check the departure's board, and he came back with this crazy idea.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He asked if I was up for a little adventure.”

  “Uh oh,” she says looking wary.

  “That’s when he brought up the idea of catching the 12:30 to London, then taking the Eurostar to Paris and from there, taking the train down through France to Barcelona. He said he knew it was a crazy idea, but it was something he’d always wanted to do, and this would be the perfect opportunity to do it. No one would know where we were or what we were doing.”

  “He was sure right about that.”

  “Said it'd be more fun than catching the Air France flight to Paris and maybe getting bumped again.”

  “So, you just went along with it?”

  “Yep, barely gave it a second thought. Look Terry, I've been bored to death for the past ten years, and I'm not getting any younger. And Al's sure not getting any friskier either,” I confess, “except with his secretary.”

  “You're kidding? His secretary? The son of a . . .”

  “Forget it. Let's not get sidetracked.”

  “So, obviously you went for it and you guys caught the flight to London. Unbelievable. So, what happened then?” she asks giggling and shaking her head in utter disbelief.

  “The whatnot of course,” I said as if this was the dumbest question in the world.

  “Oh, my Gawd.”

  ***

  “Luckily, we got the last two seats in business. I mean literally. They were on six, tucked way back. Only the galley slave could see us, and I let her know I'd been a Sky Girl, and we were on our honeymoon. She turned out to be great, she really was. Even brought us a bottle of Dom during the dinner service. It was all pretty perfect.”

  “Atta girl, we train 'em well. Tell ‘em your Pan Am and you’re a Sky god,” Terry says.

  “Goddess,” I correct her.

  Holy Moly, I think I’m starting to feel Juan’s concoction.”

  “Juan?” Now I'm confused.”

  She nods toward the bartender.

  “Oh, that Juan. Okay. Anyway. Once the galley slave had removed t
he remains of our dinner, I dash the readers, so our little corner of the world is nice and dark and cozy and throw the blanket over us. Then, just like a guy, wouldn’t you know it; he makes some comment about joining the mile high club.”

  “That old saw?” she says.

  “Yep. And the thing is I was going there on my own but when he came out with that, all I could do was let it go. He was a total amateur, poor thing.”

  “Let it go?”

  “Don’t be funny. I hadn’t even gotten my hands on it yet. You’re so bad.”

  “Me? Uh-uh, this is your bad we’re talking about here. And, just keep going before I dump you and start flirting with Juan over there.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.”

  I ignore her. “So, when he said the mile-high thing, I did what he did to me at the bar.”

  “Which is?”

  “I got up and left.”

  “Oh, that,” she did a double take, “You got up and left?”

  “I went to the loo.”

  “Didn’t say anything?”

  “Nothing. Just got up and went.”

  “Then what?”

  “Before I go back to the seat, I put something in my mouth and hold it there until the moment is just right.”

  “What the hell are you talking about you put something in your mouth?”

  “I had this little bottle of massage oil, flavored massage oil. Cherry,” I tell her. ”When I was in the loo, I put some in my mouth and held it there, then returned to the seat and snuggled up to Tucker again under the blanket. Without saying anything I reached over and started unbuckling his belt.”

  “Oh, my Gawd.”

  “I then took my finger and very lightly ran it up and down his you-know-what, which was, of course, already standing at full attention.

  “Holy Mother of God.”

  “So, I’m massaging away, and he’s as hard as a choir boy in a porn shop, and in no time he’s shooting himself into the blanket.”

  “Holy mother of God.”

  “It was really pretty awesome. I mean, can you imagine?”

  “You are one crazy chick, you know that?”

  “I guess I am, and I was sure having the time of my life being one.”