Clayton gave a weak smile as the men helped him with his luggage. “We have been instructed to put your car in the hanger; it will be safe there once it’s locked up tight. We’ll be cruising at 20,000, should be a nice flight back. There is a little weather over Oklahoma, but we should be able to fly over it.”
“A little weather…what does a little weather mean? No, don’t tell me, I really don’t need to know.”
“I have some Dramamine if you would need any Mr. Crawford, you know, just in case,” offered Ralph.
“No thanks,” Clayton smiled, “I’m a firm believer in coming prepared; I brought my own.”
“Fine, then we are ready for take-off,” Ralph announced as they climbed aboard. The plane’s interior was as lavish as the exterior. It held six passengers and with extra fuel tanks, it could fly non-stop to France. It had three seats on either side of the plane, which reclined nicely into comfortable beds. All the furniture was covered in a deeply rolled, soft calf-skin leather, imported from England. The walls were covered with a relaxing gray paneling; the dark blue curtains gave a rich accent to the rest of the interior. It was dressed out with all the comforts of home, from a flat screen TV, a small desk with a computer monitor, and even a printer. It had its own kitchen with a fridge, microwave, sink and a small, well-stocked bar. And let’s not forget the most important item for Clayton Charles Crawford: A Bathroom. For passengers who tend to get a queasy stomach while flying.
“Well,” he thought to himself, “if I’m going out at least I’ll go out in style.”
After they were airborne though, it wasn’t as bad as Clayton had imagined, so he mixed a hi-ball and relaxed in one of the recliners. It was so quiet in the cabin and not the slightest vibration, it gave the sensation that he was floating.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he said out loud, “none of that kind of thinking.” He quickly turned on the TV to get his mind off of the floating thing. Some kind of game show was on and he decided to watch that for a while.
He must have dozed because the next thing he knew he was being shaken. Shaken, shaken, he woke with a start. The entire plane was shaking and then it just seemed to fall… four hundred, maybe five hundred feet straight down and then with a shattering bang, it felt like they hit something.
“What the hell was that?!” He shouted into the intercom.
“We hit an air pocket and lost some altitude,” Ralph answered. “You’d better fasten your seat belt; we are running into some heavy turbulence.” The plane continued to shake and vibrate.
“Don’t worry, my seat belt has been fastened ever since I got on the plane.”
“We’ve run into some bad weather and we will attempt to fly over it, so hold on, it could get a little rough.”
This was not good, Clayton told himself. “This is not going well, uncool and…and, if I live through this I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”
Then there was another big bang and the cabin lights blinked out and came back on.
“We are experiencing a little difficulty, Mr. Crawford, so I’m going to set her down at the nearby airport.”
“What was that bang?” Clayton asked.
“Nothing to worry about, the man says,” Clayton mumbled aloud. “The plane is shaking to pieces, the wind is whipping all around us, lightning flashes everywhere. We’re 20,000 feet higher than what any normal human being with his feet planted firmly on the ground should be and he tells me not to worry! If ever I get down to mother earth safely again I will never get into one of these heavier than air machines again for as long as I live.”
But land they did, and it was quite an experience for all involved. The plane was hit by lightning twice, knocking out the radar and most of the instrument panel. Ralph was a superb pilot and it took all his years of experience and skill to get them down safely in those conditions.
The repairs on the plane wouldn’t take long, a simple matter of disconnecting the damaged panels and sliding the new replacement panels in. If the mechanics worked through the night and into the next day, the plane should be ready for flight by noon the next day. Getting the mechanics to work through the night wasn’t difficult, either. Just pay them triple time and you had more mechanics than you needed.
Ralph Copeland and his co-pilot, Jimmy Jones, sacked out in the pilot’s lounge while Clayton found a room in the airport hotel.
Later that night, once settled in his room, he had plenty of time to think about the past and about Michelle. After a hot shower, he stretched out across the bed. It didn’t seem possible that Michelle was really dead. His mind drifted back to when they first met.
They’d met three years ago at a fitness center in San Francisco. Clayton held a black belt in Karate and was just finishing a class when he saw her at the front desk paying her bill. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, five feet six inches tall, blond wavy hair that fell loosely to her shoulders. She had an oval face, a smooth, soft complexion, full red lips and sparkling blue eyes.
It was like he was struck dumb, his feet wouldn’t move. She took his breath away.
He composed himself the best he could and walked over to her as she was just finishing her business.
She was wearing a white and blue halter that revealed the soft swell of her breasts and only the hint of cleavage between them. Her white jeans clung to her like she was poured into them, showing off her narrow waist and round, inviting hips. Her outfit was finished off with blue and white Nike’s. She wore little jewelry, only a simple pair of earrings and a small gold locket around her neck.
“I’m sorry for staring, but I just had to meet you. I’m Clayton Crawford and I’d like to buy you breakfast or lunch…even dinner would be nice, or for that matter all three if you’d like.” The words came out in a rush, try as he might to control them.
“Don’t be sorry for staring at me clay,” she smiled, “every woman likes to be noticed. I like your no-nonsense approach. At least, you’re honest and I would be glad to have lunch with you because it being 1:00 o’clock,” she glanced at the clock on the wall, “it’s a little late for breakfast.”
They went to an upscale restaurant the he knew of not far from the gym. Taking a table in the far corner, the waiter took their drink order and gave them a few minutes to study the menu. They talked of many things and enjoyed each other’s company.
“I’m a Maryland girl, made in the USA. Frank, that’s my father,” she explained, “is an arms dealer and has factories all over the place. I’m here on business for him.”
“How long will you be in town, then,” Clayton asked. “I’d sure like to see you again… and again and again.”
“Whoa cowboy… easy! Take your time Clayton, this girl doesn’t like to be rushed. Tell me a little about yourself. Are you from California or another transplant?”
“Yeah, well, ok. I’m a California boy. Born and bred in San Jose, right by the big water. I was learning to surf by the time I was five.”
“You surf!” she exclaimed. “I love to surf. Go all the time, but mostly in Hawaii, of course. They have national meets there where you’ll find all the surfing greats.”
“Well, I’m not a surfing great, by any standard, but I still love the sport. When they realized I couldn’t make a living at it my parents shipped me off to college. Oakland U. I majored in History and four years later I had my PhD.”
“I was educated in Business Management,” she said. “Four years of it and I really enjoyed my college years. University of Maryland. I guess I could have gone to any school I chose, but, will I don’t know, I was kind-of a home body. My mom was still alive and so was Jimmy, that’s my brother. He was killed in some desert in the east, during some forgotten war. Mom died of Cancer about a year or so before Jimmy. So now, there’s just Frank and I. One big happy family, right?”
“What were you doing at the gym?” she changed the subject. “Do you work out regularly? You look like you pump a little iron.”
“I guess that I’ve been blessed with an athl
ete’s body. No, I’m really into Karate. I’ve been a student since my college years, oh… some six or seven years now.”
“Karate? How did you ever get interested in that, of all things?”
“Mainly by chance. You see, I was going with a girl at the time, who had a friend, whose brother was into Karate pretty heavy. Anyway, I took her to see one of his matches, and that was all it took. I tinkered with it for a little while before I found out I was pretty good at it. So, since then, I’ve been at it pretty heavy. That’s why I was at the gym, I’d just finished one of my classes.”
They finished their drinks and ordered the meal. He had his favorite lunch time fare: a cob salad and iced tea. She had her favorite also, fish and a small salad and tea. The meal was excellent. But then, how can you mess up a salad?
“Are you an instructor, then?” she asked.
“Oh no, just a simple student, but I do have a third degree Black belt. Two more to go before I make master. I have another two or three years to go before I do that though, so I have a way to go yet.”
“Say,” she said. “Not wanting to change the subject, but I’m going to a little gathering tonight with a few friends. I certainly would be nice to walk in there with a third degree black belt expert on my arm. How about it, would you like to come along and have some fun?” she asked enthusiastically.
“Sure,” he said. “What time, where , what does the attire call for?”
“It’s at Bay Yacht Club in good old San Fran. The time is about 7:00 o’clock, give or take, and the dress is casual.”
“Great, where do I pick you up and what time?”
“You know the Carlton Arms hotel here in town? I’m in room 43-A. Pick me up about 6:00 o’clock.”
“Ok,” he said, and then realized something very important. “Wait a minute here, I don’t even know your name…you never told me your name.”
“Oh,” she laughed, “I’m Michelle Wellington.”
Chapter 3
That’s when it all started. She was wild and exciting, carefree and always smiling, the life of the party.
The party that night was very loud with the band banging away, people laughing and shouting over the music, but he didn’t notice all the noise or the crowded rooms. He was so taken by her he didn’t mind any of it, not even the few friends of hers that he met but didn’t care for. They were too slick, too polished and snobbish. He’d seen dopers before and a lot of them were so smashed they didn’t know what from where. He noticed that she was on something too, but not really bad. He said nothing of course.
He felt a boy on prom night with his best girl. They danced and drank to the wee hours of the morning, until the eastern horizon began to lighten by a dim glow of the morning sun. It must have been 5:30 before they left the club and had to call a taxi service to drive them home.
“Why don’t you come in,” she asked. We can have a night cap.” Then with a giggle she corrected herself, “or should I say a morning cap.”
“A little hair of the dog, aye? No, I don’t think so. I know when enough is enough and I’ve crossed that line a long time ago. I’m going home and crash.”
The cab pulled up in front of the Carlton Arms in Frisco and the door man opened the door of the cab for her. “Good morning Miss Wellington.”
“Good morning to you too, Jorge,” she returned the doorman’s greeting, then as she climbed out of the cab she turned back to Clayton. “And you, sir, are a spoiled sport and no fun. You don’t know what you just turned down.” Then she walked stiffly to the grand entrance of the hotel as the expressionless Jorge closed the cab door.
Clayton turned to the driver and gave him his address, then leaned back in the passenger seat. “Don’t worry Clayton old boy,” he thought to himself, “I’ll see her again – I hope.”
And so he did. For the next six months it was one big whirlwind of feverish activity. Money meant nothing to Michelle. Once she rented a 140 foot yacht, crew and all, right down to a big name chef. She stocked the ship’s galley with everything you could think of, from the choicest cuts of meat, steaks, and ribs, and fresh fish, to the finest wines she could buy. They sailed to the South Pacific, she Clayton, and a few close friends.
When he told her he didn’t have that kind of money, she just laughed and told him not to sweat the small stuff.
Then there was Monte Carlo, on the French Riviera for a 30 day party at a luxury resort. They partied on the beach by day and gambled at one of the many casinos by night. Sometimes they gambled at several in one night...kind-of like party hopping from one to another. Clayton sat back and marveled at her luck at the tables. She always won much more than she lost. Sometimes she would leave ahead $80 or $90 thousand, and this happened more times than not. She was just lucky, that was all Clayton could lay to it.
Now alone in his room, waiting for the repairs to be made on the plane, the ugly truth of her death began to seep in. He couldn’t quite yet believe Michelle was really dead. It was like a bad dream that he would soon wake from, and everything would be alright.
He really wasn’t sure how he felt about her anymore. After all, it had been almost three years since their separation and the only time he had seen her during that time was when it couldn’t be avoided, two or three times, at the most. Oh, he’d seen her picture in the society pages and read about her exploits, as it were, but other than that, there was no contact at all. Still… she was his wife.
Still, she was his wife whom he had once cared a great deal for. Hell, he didn’t know, maybe he even loved her at one point and maybe he still did a little. And then there was Frank, her father. They had grown quite close in the past three years with hunting trips to the Rocky’s or Alaska, fishing and skeet shooting.
Frank owned a couple of racing cars, so it was trips to Daytona or wherever they would be racing at any given time. And of course, the race tracks to bet on the horses. This would devastate him, he had lost his wife to Cancer some 14 years ago. Then his only son was killed in Desert Storm, and now his daughter, dead in a meaningless car accident. Shit, what a rotten break for Frank, he thought to himself.
It was 6:00 o’clock in the evening. Clayton had a late lunch so he wasn’t hungry yet and decided to watch a little TV to pass the time. He turned it on and was channel surfing when he stopped in his tracks. There on the screen was Michelle’s picture, a full face close-up. The Media had picked up the story and had run with it.
Michelle Wellington Crawford, a young and beautiful socialite, had been killed in a high speed car accident on a lonely mountain road on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Daughter of Frank Wellington, industrialist in Baltimore Maryland, with factories in several states. The young woman was married to a Clayton Charles Crawford, but had been separated for several years. The couple had no children. Mrs. Michelle Crawford worked for Senator Harding of Maryland, as his personal secretary. She was 32 years old and rumored to be one of the richest women in the state. It went on to tell of her education and other background information.
He sat back in his chair as the realization finally hit him. This was no dream from which he would wake up. Michelle was really dead. He leaned forward in his chair, buried his face in his hands and in the quiet solitude of his room, he wept.
The next day with the planes repairs made and fueled up, they continued their flight to Baltimore. Frank met him at the airport in his stretch limousine. They sat with seats facing each other. The limos interior had soft hand rolled leather upholstery with a small bar, and electric window that separated the driver from the passenger compartment. It had several phones, a TV and even a small refrigerator…all the comforts of home surrounded by pure luxury.
“Geez Frank, I’m sorry. I just can’t tell you how sorry I really him, words just don’t do the job sometimes,” Clayton said, as he took a real close look at his father-in-law and friend.
“Yes, I understand what you’re saying and I want to thank you for coming so soon. I know you must be a busy man.”
“Non
sense,” Clayton said. “She was my wife and you‘re more than my father-in-law, you’re my friend.”
“Yes of course, I’m sorry if I sounded so formal, I guess I’m still in shock. I had to identify her this morning…Wasn’t much left as she was burned pretty bad. Just her purse, which was burned and scorched, her driver’s license and some rings and such. The ME sent off for her dental records but that was just a formality. It was her all right. When she was a child she broke her arm falling from a swing and the x-rays of the corpse showed the same break,” he said, his voice cracking and weak.
He stopped talking then and just gazed out the window.
”Funny,” he said, still looking off into space. The things a man thinks about time like this. I’m reminded of when she was just little tot. It was her first day at school and of course we had a driver there. We pulled in front of the school and I got out and walked around the car to open her door. Well, she jumped out before I even got around the car, and when I got there, I bent down to kiss her and she gave me this big smile of hers told me not to worry, daddy, I’m not afraid of any old school.”
The Crawford Chronicles - Book 1 Page 2