by B. N. Toler
“You mind giving me a hand, here, Señora?”
Without thought, I rushed to help him, wrapping my arm around his waist and hoisting him up. He was surprisingly heavy for his size. Once he was standing on the stool, he slicked his hair back with one hand and adjusted the collar of his suit with the other. “Gracias.” He nodded.
“Now, to you.” He began buttoning my suit as we stood eye to eye; me on the ground, him on the stool. “Okay,” he took my shoulders and turned me so my back was to him. “When we are up there in the . . .” his wording drifted off, “the . . . what is that thing called?” he mumbled to himself.
“The plane?” I squeaked out, panic choking me.
“Aw, yes, the plane. I’m so stupid,” he chuckled. “When we are up there, I will come behind you and begin hooking us together.”
“We’re not hooked together before we get on the plane?”
“Oh, no . . .” he laughed haughtily. “That would be awkward. You’re a beautiful lady . . . it would make being a man . . . how you say . . . difficult.”
My mouth popped open, but he continued on, loudly, stopping me from voicing my objection.
“Now, señora, I know you say you’re nervous, but I do this many time.”
“How many times?” I asked as I spun around to look at him.
“Oh, so many,” he assured me with a bright smile. “At least twice.”
“What?” I shrieked. That was it. I was done. I could no longer pretend for the sake of not possibly offending him. A bell from the back sounded loudly and Marcello shook his hands.
“You help me down, please?” he asked. “I turn alarm off.”
He wrapped his short arms around my neck and I lifted him off the stool, placing him on his feet on the ground. “You wait here. I be right back.” He scurried down the hall toward the back into a room and a few seconds later the alarm shut off. My chest constricted with anxiety. It’s going to be okay, Clara, I inwardly told myself. I stared straight ahead, fists balled up at my sides, and told myself to just leave. So what if they took the deposit? There was no way I could jump out of a plane with that tiny man. On the count of three. One, two . . .
“I come back for you, señora,” Marcello called as he came back down the hall. He lugged something heavy behind him, the weight so much that he stopped every few seconds to adjust his grip. Ah, crap. Finally, he got a good hold on the giant item and came toward me, the thing he was dragging bumping along behind him. When he reached me, he dropped the straps and put his hands on his hips, working hard to catch his breath.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing to the thing he dragged in.
Letting out a long breath, he turned, hands still on his hips, and in his deep accent replied, “That’s the chute.”
My eyes felt like they were about to bulge out of my sockets. I’d had enough. This was over. Frantically, I unzipped my suit and started jerking it off. I couldn’t get it off fast enough. “What’s wrong, señora?”
“I’m sorry, but I think I’ll need to come back another day.” I grunted as I fought to get the suit over my sneakers.
“Okay, Marcus,” another voice called, causing me to jerk my head up. “I think you’ve gone far enough.” And there he was. Paul James in the flesh. Looking more handsome in person than he did in his pictures.
“They never make it this long. She’s a real gem,” the man whose name was apparently Marcus chuckled in a very non-accented voice, and his small but manly looking face lit up with a grin. In fact, I recognized his voice. He was the guy that answered the phone the day before. I’d imagined a giant on the other end of the line, certainly not “Marcello,” or Marcus, or whoever the hell he was.
I stared at them blankly, still trying to understand what was happening. I wasn’t an idiot. It appeared the little man had played a joke on me, but that just couldn’t be, right? This was a business, for God’s sake. You don’t do shit like that to your clientele.
Paul looked down at his clipboard and lifted a page, seemingly reading over something, but I could see from where I stood it was only a blank piece of printer paper. “You are . . .”
“Severely unamused,” I answered snidely. “Do you think this is funny?” I asked, looking directly at Marcus.
His head reared back slightly. Was I the first person to confront him over his “jokes”? “Yeah,” he snorted. “Actually, I do.”
Stepping toward him, I looked down, my stare burning into his. “Tell me, little man, do you enjoy using your short stature as a crutch so people can empathize with you? Or has being vertically challenged always given you a free pass to behave like a huge assclown?”
He glared up at me. “Excuse me? Vertically challenged?”
“Oh,” I snorted. “Please understand any empathy or politically correct standards I held myself to a minute ago are long gone. You’re a petty little shit who thinks it’s funny to prank unsuspecting customers who are probably already nervous as hell by making them think they are tandem skydiving with a man too small to do it. What the hell is a matter with you?”
Crossing his arms, he inhaled deeply. “I’ve had a lifetime of jokes played on me, lady. I think you run-of-the-mill folks can handle a few minutes of it.”
“Well, whether those people were average, tall, or short, you’re still an asshole,” I stated bluntly. Looking up to Paul, I said, “And you’re the owner, I presume?”
“That’d be me,” he confirmed.
“You condone this?”
“Life’s too short, lady. Lighten up. It was only a joke. I’ll tell you what,” he spoke softly. “You jump for free today.”
I lowered my head, attempting to calm myself. This was the most poorly run business I had ever seen. They had employees playing pranks on customers, no phone etiquette whatsoever, no one to greet people as they entered, and now they were offering a free jump to pay me off for offending me?
“Sure,” I agreed, my eyes wide, indicating my annoyance. “Let’s get this going.”
She hadn’t spoken a word since we’d left the office. We drove separately to the airfield. Every time I talked to her, she simply nodded to acknowledge me. Even when we climbed onto the plane and I introduced her to Sap, our pilot, she couldn’t even muster up a greeting for him. Damn, she sure was wound up tight. I mean, she was a babe, for sure, but she had an air about her I didn’t much care for. As if she was so much better than me. Whatever. Clearly she had a stick up her ass and lacked a sense of humor. She wasn’t the first one to get pissed over Marcus’s little joke, but usually we had them chuckling a little after they’d cooled down. But not this chick. Hell, no. I couldn’t even get a smile out of her.
As we were ascending, I couldn’t wait to get this shit over with, and send her on her way. When we’d reached 4,000 feet, I got on my knees and yelled over the engine for her to do the same. As I buckled us together, I could feel how tight and rigid her body was. She was scared shitless. Since the day was a bust and I doubted she’d give the business any glowing reviews or bring us any new business, I decided to enjoy myself . . . at her expense, of course.
Leaning over, I put my mouth near her ear so she could hear me. I paused a moment, not sure why I was so stunned by her scent. She smelled like clean linens; like when my grandmother used to hang my clothes out on the line on a hot summer’ day. I have always loved that smell—so fresh and crisp. “You scared or something?” I managed to shout after a beat.
She shook her head no as her eyes squeezed shut. Oh yeah, she was scared.
“Well I am,” I falsely confessed, hiding my smile behind a serious façade. She glanced back at me over her shoulder with a wide, questioning look.
“You never know what could happen,” I continued when I knew I had her full attention. “I mean . . . the chute could fail to open. I could have a heart attack midair. We could land hard and break our legs. You just never know.” I looked at her in the most thoughtful of ways.
She turned her head forward and I felt her
inhale as her back pushed into my front. Smiling to myself, I checked the buckles one more time and slipped my helmet on. There’s always risk involved when jumping, but I knew we were safe. I just wanted to mess with her one more time.
“Okay, I’m going to open the door and I want you to stick your feet out on that step right there, hands go here.” Taking her hands, I placed them on her shoulder straps. “When I tell you to, you’re going to push off the platform and keep your hands right here until I tell you to let go. Your legs need to stay between mine and—”
“I can’t do it,” she blurted out as she pushed back, away from the door. As she pushed, pain shot up my back as I fought not to let her topple us over.
“Calm down,” I grunted. “Everything is okay.” Drama queen.
“I can’t do it,” she insisted, panic laced in every word.
“I promise—”
“I’m not fucking jumping,” she hissed, interrupting me. Throwing my hands up, I began unbuckling her.
“We’re not jumping, Sap. Take us down,” I shouted over the engine. Once she was free from me, she plopped down, pulling her knees to her chest and staring off into space. What a fucking waste of my day. The damn jump was free. Come on, lady.
When we landed, she climbed out of the plane, peeled off her suit, and left it crumpled on the ground. Apparently I was also a maid service. As she marched to her car, she didn’t even bother to say bye or thanks or screw you. She just left.
“I hate to see her leave, but I love to watch her go,” Sap murmured.
Cutting a look to him, I smirked. “You’re a dirty old man, Sap.”
He smirked back, the wrinkles around his eyes creasing. “I’ve been called worse.”
As Clara slammed her car door and started the engine, I said, “She’d eat you alive.”
“Nah,” Sap argued. “A woman like that just needs a man that appreciates her spirit.”
“Is “spirit” a code word for ass?”
He snorted a laugh. “Sometimes they like to hand over the reins.”
“Sap.” I chuckled. “What the hell are you talking about, old man?”
He slapped me on the back, hard, knocking the air out of me. “She needs to rule the world, boy, but needs a man that can rule her.”
I snorted. How wrong he was. “She’d likely castrate any dude that tried to rule her.”
Sap’s mouth quirked to one side. “Paul, for all the women you’ve been with and all the places you’ve been, you sure don’t know much about the opposite sex.”
“I know enough,” I argued as I unzipped my jumpsuit. “And I know she’s a prude that needs to get laid.” That chick was a complete killjoy.
“You see a prude. I see a woman waiting to be unleashed.”
“Oh yeah?” I chuckled. “Saw all that in the fifteen minutes you were with her?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, Sap. We’ll be back in an hour, and I promise this time we’re jumping.”
I’d certainly taken her off guard showing up unannounced. She looks like she’s seeing a ghost.
“Where’s the professional greeting?” I jest. I’m trying to piss her off as much as the announcement of her bullshit meeting did to me. Shit, I’m still pissed. And the Clara I remember would give me an eye-roll and tell me to fuck off. But she doesn’t do that. She just stares at me, her mouth slightly open. Two people, clients, I assume, sit at the table in the corner filling out their paperwork as Clara and I remain eyelocked.
“Who ready to jump today?” a deep Spanish accent asks. One second later, Marcus rounds the corner, his hair slicked back, wearing a wicked thick, black mustache. His diving suit is covered in Mexican flags, and his front tooth is capped in gold. Grinning, I shake my head. I can see he’s really upped his game since I’ve been gone. As soon as he turns his head toward me, his smile fades and he darts his gaze to Clara.
“Paul,” he intones in his normal voice. “It’s been a long time.” He clears his throat and extends a hand to shake mine. I look at his hand and curl my lips.
“I don’t want to shake your hand.” I smack it away and his head rears back slightly, shock strewing across his face. “What the hell is that?” I grimace. Marcus is my best friend. We don’t shake hands. “Come give me a hug, man.” I grab him in a bear hug and lift him off the ground, squeezing him.
“My ribs,” he groans as I squeeze harder. When I set him back on his feet, his face red as a ripe tomato as he gasps for air.
“You’ve gotten a little soft in the middle since I last saw you, old friend,” I joke. “Guess that’s what old age will do to ya.”
“I’m two years younger than you,” he replies morosely. “I’m also about three feet shorter than you and I still have a bigger dick.”
“Marcus,” Clara shrieks as I laugh.
Turning to the two customers at the table, he waves. “Sorry. But it is big.”
“Oh my God,” Clara sighs. “Let me get Bowman and Larry to finish up in here.” Clara scurries off down the hall and Marcus and I move to the small couch by the entrance.
“She’s still wound up tight,” I comment as we sit.
“She has her reasons,” Marcus argues and my brows furrow. Is he defending her? That’s new. They hated one another when I left.
“Oh does she?” I ask sarcastically.
“Paul,” Marcus says, his gaze fixed on the wall. “You’ve been gone a long time.”
“And I’d still be gone if she hadn’t cut off my money,” I add.
Marcus snorts and shakes his head. “It was the only way to get you to come home.”
“And why did I need to come home?”
He places his little hands on his face and rubs hard a few times. “Because—”
“Marcus,” Clara calls, interrupting him as she gives him a pointed, wide-eyed look. “I think we need to get the van ready for our jump.”
I haven’t jumped in months and the idea of doing it again brings a small smile to my face. “Maybe I’ll jump, too.” I stand and begin to head toward the back, but just as I’m about to pass Clara she presses a firm hand to my chest, stopping me. Here we go. I knew as soon as I said I’d jump she’d throw a hissy about it.
“I’ll get you a suit,” she tells me. “You stay here.”
I stare at her as she heads back down the hall, blinking a few times, wondering what’s happening. She didn’t even bat an eye about me jumping.
“Okay.” I snort as I spin around back to Marcus. “What the hell is up with . . .” My sentence trails off when I realize Marcus is staring out the large front window into the parking lot where a couple of teenagers are pulling what looks like camera equipment out of a van. A pretty brunette in skinny jeans, a green shirt, and a black beanie motions her hand several times, indicating for the others to hurry up. Quickly, her two male friends gather everything and one slams the van door shut.
“Who is that?”
“I don’t know,” Marcus says, simply. Seconds later, the bubbly brunette breezes in, forgetting to hold the door for her friends.
She takes a slow look at the place, nodding to herself until her gaze lands on me. “Holy shit.” She gasps. Looking back to her friends that have just walked in, she squeals, “That’s him.” She points a tiny finger at me. “That’s Paul James.”
Both of the guys dart their stares at me, their eyes going wide when they realize it’s true. “No way,” the taller one with shaggy hair says.
The brunette beams a huge smile at me and I take a step back. What the fuck is going on here? “Mr. James, I’m Ashley King. I go to Redford High.” Then jabbing her thumb over her shoulder, pointing at her friends, she adds, “And this is Zane and Mills, my crew.” I’m confused. Why are kids from the local high school here?
“Yeah, how about you turn that camera off,” I tell the one she indicated as Zane, who is holding a camera on his shoulder, taping our conversation. Ashley looks to Zane and nods yes, telling him to do it. Zane rolls his eyes but drops t
he camera to his side.
“Turn it off,” I order him. With a grunt of protest, he turns it off.
“That a boy, Zane.” I applaud.
“Your name is really Zane?” Marcus questions, his hands on his hips as he gazes up at the trio, his expression stoic.
The one called Zane looks down, and his head rears back as if he’s only now just noticed Marcus. “Holy shit,” Zane exclaims. “You’re a midget.” Immediately, Ashley turns and smacks him on the back of his head. “Ouch,” he whines. Kids.
“You don’t call them that, Zane.” Then looking at Marcus, she smiles brightly. “They prefer to be called little people,” she adds.
“Or just people . . .” Marcus replies.
“I’m sorry about him,” Ashley continues, ignoring Marcus and Zane. “He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.”
“I’m sorry,” I intervene. “Ashley, is it?”
“Yes, Mr. James, and might I say I am a huge fan.” She steps toward me, reaching out a hand, but when I cross my arms she drops it. “We’ve watched every YouTube video of your stunts available. You are an amazing man.”
“And that would probably mean something to me if you were legal, hon, but seeing as how you’re not, let’s skip your mediocre attempt to appeal to my vanity. What do you want?” It’s been years since I’ve been recognized or interviewed. A large part of that probably has to do with the fact I’ve been living in other countries for the past twelve years, but that’s not all of it. My glory days are long gone, my legacy having faded.
Ashley nods, understanding I’m not susceptible to flattery. “I’m here about Desperately Seeking Epic.”
“What?” I ask, furrowing my brows in further confusion.
“The Craigslist ad.” Without looking, she reaches a hand out and snaps her fingers. Mills immediately hops to and pulls a paper from his backpack, handing it to her. As I reach for it, Marcus snatches the paper from her hand and backs away.
“Look, kids, he’s just gotten into town,” Marcus interrupts. “Why don’t you guys call tomorrow and maybe he’ll have time to discuss this with you.”