Topless Agenda

by Lyle Christie

  “How long was it before you two got together?” Tatyana asked.

  “Yeah, how long was it?” I added.

  “Uh—two weeks,” Corn said, meekly.

  “Months, he means months,” Lux added, as she glared at Corn.

  Nice try, but my money was on Corn’s answer.

  “What’s your guess John?” I asked.

  “Me? No idea. I left the day after you.”

  No one spoke, and the room grew quiet, the only sound the low hum of the jet’s engines.

  “So, why did you get transferred stateside?” Tatyana asked, breaking the momentary silence.

  “I got wounded while rescuing Sasquatch here,” I said, pointing at John.

  “So you got the bullet, and Corn got the girl.”

  “Well, I didn’t get either,” John said.

  “But you did get the second best job on the planet, Mr. Vice President.”

  “Which, depending on the day, can also be the second worst job on the planet,” he countered.

  “True,” I admitted.

  Corn drained another martini and refilled his glass. I could tell that the fucker was feeling a little uncomfortable with the after dinner conversation, so I decided to give him a brief reprieve.

  “Honestly, I don’t hold any grudge. I’m happy for these two. Lux probably couldn’t have chosen a better man—in my absence.”

  “Very funny,” Corn said.

  “And what did you do after you left the service?” Tatyana asked.

  “I was recruited by Corn and Lux’s employer, and I stayed at that job for about five years before I got out and moved home to the Bay Area to become an underpaid private investigator.”

  “So, you guys all worked together at the CIA for a bit?”

  “Yeah, but, oddly, we never crossed paths.”

  “Never? Seriously?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not unusual, as intelligence agencies are always compartmentalized to reduce the risk of someone leaking information. Knowing only about your area limits liability and helps with damage control.”

  “So, you didn’t even get together socially outside of work?”

  “Nope. None of us have seen each other since our unlikely reunion on Soft Taco Island.”

  Tatyana looked at me and smiled.

  “It’s pretty amazing to think you were still willing to drop everything and travel halfway around the world to rescue your former love. That’s pretty damn romantic.”

  Corn’s demeanor changed, and his expression became more scrutinizing as he listened.

  “Yeah, I suppose so—in a tragic Shakespearean kind of way. We were two lovers torn apart, not unlike Romeo and Juliette, though, in this instance, it wasn’t because of our families but rather a lucky shot from an AK 47. Of course, in our story Romeo came back to rescue his Juliette, only to find out that she had married his best friend Corn-holio,” I said.

  “We weren’t exactly lovers. Tag had a bullet in his hip for God’s sake,” Lux said, sounding a little defensive.

  “Wait! You two never had sex?”

  Lux and I shared an uncomfortable look.

  “Nope,” I said, trying to clear my mind of the fifteen minutes of heaven we spent on the beach.

  Corn was too buzzed to pick up on the underlying tension that now filled the air, but Tatyana, however, wasn’t so easily swayed, and the look in her eyes made me suspect that she knew there was more to the story.

  “That’s tragic, but it makes me wonder what it was like when you two first saw each other on the Island. Any great welling of emotion at your unusual reunion?”

  Welling? More like swelling, as in the swelling that occurred between my legs. Now, Corn was listening more intently—the haze of the booze momentarily clearing. Lux, too, was paying close attention, her gaze shifting nervously between Corn and me.

  “Of course, there was a great welling of emotion, we’d been extremely close back in Afghanistan.”

  “So, was there still any sexual tension after all those years?”

  Sweet Jesus! Now it was beginning to feel as though I was being interrogated, and I looked to Lux to see that she too was feeling equally put on the spot.

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it sexual. It was more about the excitement and anticipation of seeing such a close and dear old friend,” I said.

  “And how about you, Lux? Is that also how you’d describe it?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it’s just as Tag said.”

  Tatyana was following the scent of our little tryst with the tenacity of a bloodhound, but neither Lux nor I would, obviously, ever say a word in front of Corn. Of course, at some level, I couldn’t have cared less if he found out considering the possibility that they might have gotten together only two weeks after I left Afghanistan. What the hell kind of mourning period was that? Fuckers. I needed a break, and it seemed like as good a time as any to refill my glass and get free from Tatyana’s this is your life with Lux cross-examination.

  Just as I was about to head to the bar, I heard footsteps coming from the front of the plane and looked up to see Yvonne’s boyfriend, the infamous Brett, walking into the lounge. He was basically a good guy, though he had four obsessions that made him a little difficult at times. The first was his outspoken love of the United States Naval Academy, while the other three were women, tanning salons, and maintaining the whitest set of teeth you could possibly ever imagine. Even at this moment, his brilliant smile was illuminating the room like a searchlight, and I felt myself kind of wishing I had my sunglasses.

  During our time together on the Soft Taco Island adventure, we’d had a bit of an adversarial relationship but eventually became friends, which made his current appearance a welcomed intrusion. Unfortunately, the tan wonder had to fly the first leg of the flight, so his interruption would be brief at best. Yvonne, upon seeing her love bear, jumped up and latched onto him like a spider monkey and kissed him so affectionately that the rest of us turned away uncomfortably. At least someone was getting some loving.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, after finally breaking the suction between his and Yvonne’s lips.

  “Great, how long until we reach Zurich?” I asked.

  “Morning.”

  “No tailwinds?”

  “Nadda.”

  “Shit.”

  “How was dinner?”

  “Amazing.”

  “You look tense,” he said.

  “No—just introspective from walking down memory lane. There’s a lot of history in this room.”

  “Well, have fun with that. I’m heading back to the cockpit.”

  “If I come up there, will you let me sit on your lap and steer the plane?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “What if I bring a toothbrush and some whitening toothpaste?”

  “Again, no.”

  “What if I let you tell me stories about the Naval Academy?”

  This time, he thought for a moment before answering.

  “Tempting, but the answer is still no.”

  “If you’ll all excuse me, I think I’ll join my man in the cockpit. Good night, everyone,” Yvonne said.

  She stood up, and she and Brett turned and left, and, for the first time, I actually missed my tan friend, and would have almost rather heard stories about his precious Naval Academy than continue on with this parade of lies and half-truths. I should have known that succumbing to our human weaknesses on the island that night would come back to haunt us, though I never imagined it would be this soon.

  Tatyana, seeing our glasses were empty, refilled them with the last of the pitcher then stood up and walked over to the bar. Now, feeling a healthy buzz weighing heavily on my weak male brain, I couldn’t help but watch the hypnotic motion of her hips and backside as she moved across the plane like a model on a catwalk. Each step sent a wave up her body that peaked with a subtle bounce of each breast. All of a sudden, I felt a sharp searing pain in my shin and turned to see Lux glaring at me after having delivered yet
another strong and purposeful kick to my shin. I shrugged off the blow, rubbed the sore spot, then looked over to see that John, the consummate cocksman, had also been enjoying the same spectacular view, but, unlike moi, continued to do so. Men would be men, I suppose, except for Corn, who, oddly, just stared into his glass, his thoughts apparently a million miles away. Interesting. I wonder what was going on in that corn-fed head of his?

  The sound of Otis Redding’s classic Sitting on the Dock of the Bay suddenly filled the air, and I couldn’t help but smile. That song always brought on warm feelings of nostalgia—firstly because it was such a great song and secondly because it was supposedly written on a houseboat in Sausalito—perhaps even one docked in the same harbor where I currently resided. It was a nice distraction and covered the awkward silence while we waited for the next round of drinks, but it also had the added benefit of bringing my attention back to Tatyana who was dancing ever so slowly to the music as she worked behind the bar. John, also having zoned in on Tatyana, sensed a strategic opportunity, and got up and joined her, thereby making his first official play of the evening.

  “So, Tatyana, any plans once we reach Zurich?” he asked.

  “Not sure yet. I might see an old friend or perhaps do a little sightseeing. How about you?” she responded.

  “Well, these three are going to be extremely busy, but I might be able to get free, and, if so, perhaps we could get together and grab dinner,” he suggested.

  “Yeah, that could be fun,” she said, smiling.

  The two of them eventually came back and joined us, and we sipped our drinks while Corn proceeded to guzzle his down quickly then head off to the bar to make another round. He was spending an unusually long time there, downing a few extra shots as he prepared the next pitcher. Something was definitely amiss with the tub of love for him to be drinking like a frat boy on a Friday night. Hoping to avoid my own morning of doom, I decided to head to the bar for a sparkling water as a buffer before my next cocktail. Corn, who had just finished squeezing the juice out of a couple of limes, leaned in and lowered his voice as he spoke.

  “I need to talk to you—in private,” he said, his tone oddly ominous.

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “It’s better if I tell you later,” he said, only a second before Lux arrived at the bar and ushered us back to the sofas.

  What in the hell could he want? Did he somehow know about Lux and me? Shit, there was definitely something bothering Corn, and I sincerely hoped I wasn’t the root of that problem. I returned to the others, and we sat, drank, and talked well into the evening. Eventually, Lux and Corn stood and wished everyone a good night before heading off towards their cabin, where a very inebriated Corn wobbled beside Lux—her labored efforts the only thing keeping him from running into every piece of furniture in the lounge. That just left just me, Tatyana, and John all alone to finish out the evening. We now had two lions and a gazelle, or, perhaps, more accurately, one lioness and two defenseless horny little impalas. Men, in spite of their inflated sense of self, rarely had the upper hand when it came to the opposite sex, and were, more often than not, the unknowing prey. Regardless of that fact, my old friend was trying his best to woo Tatyana, and, clearly, the title of vice president went a lot further in the dating world than private investigator—but that didn’t mean that I was going to make it easy for Sasquatch.

  Pleasantly buzzed and holding my own, I was happy to spend the rest of the evening talking with the very interesting Tatyana and a very interested John. The conversation covered a number of topics but eventually led to how our lives had come to be where they were today—John’s story obviously being the most illustrious. Of course, the presence of an available female turned it into a subtle game of social chess, with John and I desperately trying to gain an advantage in the battle for Tatyana’s attention and, ultimately, affection. Finally, around midnight, the three of us decided to say good night, and we all retreated to our staterooms. I took a seat on my bed, and, as I looked around my room, I thought back to my first night aboard the Vandenberg jet and decided to recreate the moment by making myself a light bedtime cocktail. To that end I would swing by the galley then return with my adult beverage and finish up the evening with a shower and a drink before bed, so that I would wake up in the morning refreshed and ready for Switzerland.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mile High Club Provisional Membership

  I WALKED ALONG the forward passageway, the dull drone of the jet’s engines the only sound as I entered the galley and grabbed my favorite glass. It was German, shaped like a boot, and made an excellent container for my late night cocktails. I had first discovered it on my flight to Soft Taco Island, and now, a week later, we were joyously reunited. I added a little vodka, lemonade, and pomegranate juice before mixing it with a spoon and giving it a quick taste test. Delicious. Drink in hand, I left the plane’s galley and headed back to my room, passing the crew’s cabins, where I noticed that one of the doors was now slightly ajar. I glanced inside and saw Tatyana undressing, and tried to do the gentlemanly thing and avert my eyes, but, before I could move on, she saw me and came out to the hallway wearing only a pair of thong underwear and a sheer bra. Sweet succulent peaches! Her attire, rather than conceal, only served to emphasize the precious cargo it contained, and mere inches below my eyes, the dark protrusions of her nipples were as obvious as the nose on her face—the entire scenario bringing forth a great question. Can a man maintain proper eye contact in the face of such gloriously divine partial nudity? I would say it’s possible, though not if he’s consumed as many cocktails as I had. My gaze, therefore, kept wavering between her beautiful face and various lady parts, yet she made no move to cover up or send me on my way. I decided at that moment that it would be a hell of a lot easier to have a normal conversation if I just acknowledged the obvious.

  “So, you’ll have to forgive me if my eyes start to wander, as I have a hard time maintaining proper eye contact around scantily clad beautiful women.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s just the alcohol talking.”

  “No, that’s definitely me talking, and I’ll have you know that ever since you walked into the lounge earlier this evening, my man-forecast has called for cloudy judgement and a serious chance of boners.”

  “Interesting forecast,” she said, as she looked down and gave my happy place a brief once-over.

  “Yeah, but since you walked out into the hallway in your current outfit, my man-forecast has been elevated to a category five boner alert with a hundred percent likelihood of precipitation—in my pants.”

  She laughed then reached over, slid my glass out of my hand, and took a drink of my cocktail.

  “So, Tag—now that we’re alone and speaking more frankly, I’d sure love to know what’s actually going on between you and Lux.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t buy any of that horseshit from earlier.”

  “What horseshit?”

  “All that horseshit. If I had to guess, I’d say that something happened between you and Lux on Soft Taco Island.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because both of you looked as though you were about to shit your pants when I brought up your little reunion.”

  Sweet psychic hotlines! I hoped that Corn wasn’t as perceptive as Tatyana!

  “Well, due to confidentiality concerns, I can neither confirm nor deny such allegations, but I will say that anyway you slice it, Lux is a married woman and our romance is a thing of the past,” which was technically true, and also acknowledged the fabricated time bubble we used to justify making sweet love only four days ago.

  “That sounds like a yes to me, but I suppose it’s all in the past now anyway.”

  “Yeah, and these are my only love entanglements at the moment,” I said, holding up my hands and wiggling my fingers.

  “So, no other woman in the picture? I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s been a tough couple of months.�
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  “Tough how?”

  “It all started with a bad breakup from a bad woman, followed by two months of abstinence, then a brief stint as a man-whore until meeting a good woman on the Sozo.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “Estelle Connor.

  “Oh yeah, I know her, and you’re right—she’s definitely a good woman.”

  “Yeah—we had a brief thing, but I fucked it up—by—um—allegedly not having sex with Lux.”

  “So, it’s over with Estelle?”

  “In all likelihood.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Not for me.”

  “Yeah, but maybe for someone else,” she said, raising an eyebrow and giving me a mischievous smile.

  “Perhaps, though I’m really trying to get back to the old pre man-whore me.”

  “Life is too short to live that way. You’re only human, and humans get lonely and crave a little company and some sexual healing now and again. Believe me, I know.”

  “Really? I can’t imagine you alone, let alone, lonely.”

  “There aren’t a lot of available guys at thirty-five thousand feet, and even when you find one, it ultimately becomes a long distance relationship.”

  “Shit—I never thought about it that way. That must be hard.”

  “It is.”

  We had a moment of silence, where I thought about how nice it was to have a rather frank conversation on the difficulty of love and relationships.

  “I must say, Tatyana—I thoroughly enjoyed spending the evening with you, and hope we get to do it again sometime—schedule permitting, obviously,” I said.

  She smiled.

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  We shared yet another moment of uncomfortable silence, and I found myself in the unusual circumstance of not actually being sure what to say next, and I, unfortunately, went the pussy route and decided to call it a night.

  “Well then, I guess I should probably get to bed, as I will most likely have a crazy day tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, me too—well, not the crazy part, hopefully.”