I dropped the other two marked napkins in front of the bulkhead boys. Dr. Ethics didn’t even look up from his screen. The chiropractor saw that his napkin had something written on it and flipped it over, apparently eager to get his pudgy fingers around his beer.
No sooner had I returned to the galley then I turned to find Malcolm, hands in his pockets, relaxed against the coat closet. I was disappointed but not surprised. I stacked some cups that didn’t need stacking. “The seat belt sign is still on,” I said. “You’re in violation of about twelve different FAA regulations.”
“You wouldn’t turn me in, would you?”
“I’d be taking a risk not to. There could be an inspector onboard.”
He gave me a look that made me believe the risk might have been worth it. He was clearly the kind of man who didn’t have much use for rules.
“Would you be available to join me for a drink this evening in Chicago?”
I stared at him. He was disarmingly flushed and a little nervous. He was obviously flirting, yet he offered no password. What was I to make of this?
“Well…that depends.”
“On what?”
“It’s possible I will be otherwise engaged this evening.”
“Is that true, or are you giving me the brush-off?”
I lowered my voice. “I’m not brushing you off. I’m waiting for verification.”
“Verification?”
When he said it back to me, I realized what an odd choice of words that must have seemed if he wasn’t the guy. Maybe he wasn’t. That would be nice. “I’m waiting to hear back from a friend. We’re supposed to get together tonight. Otherwise, I would love to get a drink with you.”
He grinned. “Do you mind if I check back with you later, then?”
“Please do. I expect to hear something soon.”
After he’d gone back to his seat, the cockpit called to say they were hungry. I was setting up their trays when I heard the curtains rattle behind me and felt a hand on my butt.
“Hey-”
I whipped around, expecting that Malcolm had finally made his move. Instead, I found myself eye to eye with the pudgy chiropractor. He didn’t look bored anymore. He held his empty beer glass in the hand he wasn’t using to grope me.
“Just sampling the merchandise. So far, I like what I see.”
He set the glass down and started to reach for me again. I grabbed his wrist. “I’m not exactly on the clock right now. Not yours, anyway.”
His blue eyes danced in his raspberry soufflé face as he leaned in close enough for me to smell his deodorant. “You like it rough, right?” He let out a low groan that might have been aiming for sexy but sounded as if he had sciatica. “That’s what I asked for.”
I squeezed his wrist, roughly, and moved close enough that my knee brushed the inside of his thigh. Not a lot of tone going on there. “You can’t get rough enough for me, baby. What’s the code word?”
“Mercury.”
The correct response sent my heart pinging around in my chest like a copper BB in a tin can. I had successfully connected, a realization that both excited and terrified me. I couldn’t wait to get him out of my space.
“Go back to your seat. I’ll bring you another beer.”
“Nine o’clock,” he said. “Seven Oaks Hotel. Call before you come up.”
After he disappeared behind the curtain, I picked up the Airfone and dialed up Harvey. I crossed my fingers that the call would go through. When it did, he picked up quickly.
“It’s the chiropractor.”
“Oh, dear. I still have not heard back from my contacts. I believe we are short of the critical facts we need for him.”
“We have several hours yet. I’m not meeting him until nine o’clock. I’m sure you can come up with something by then.”
“Is everything all right?” he asked. “You sound-”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? We can call this off.”
I took a deep breath and tried to let my heartbeats space out. “Thanks for worrying, but I’m okay. I’ll call you after we land.” As I was hanging up, the toilet flushed, and my date for the evening emerged, gut first, tugging at his pants. About then is when what he said really started to sink in. He wanted rough sex.
Please, Harvey, please, come up with something good.
Malcolm took my rejection cheerfully. I wished he’d been a little less cheerful. Once I knew he hadn’t tried to buy me for the evening, I had spent time talking to him-maybe flirting was more like it-throughout the service and after, mostly to keep from having to look at the chiropractor in 3E. Every time I looked his way, he seemed to be leering back at me.
We landed routinely, and as the passengers filed out, I stood at the door to bid them adieu and ask them to fly us again sometime. Malcolm slipped me his business card as he deplaned, which I tucked into a safe place. The baby titan dragged himself off, still looking distraught and listless. He did thank me for the Advil. My date went by with a wink that might not have seemed lewd to a casual observer.
I was gathering my own things, getting ready to leave, when my colleagues from coach started to filter up from the back. One of them, Monica, tapped me on the shoulder as she went by.
“I need to talk to you,” she said. “Meet me out front.”
Monica’s name was as much as I knew about her. Besides one point late in the flight, when she’d come forward foraging for snacks, we hadn’t spoken except to introduce ourselves. She didn’t look happy when I approached, and I wondered if I had screwed something up again without even knowing it.
“We’re switching,” she said.
“Switching what?”
“We’re swapping dates.”
For about five seconds, I had the luxury of not completely absorbing the meaning of what she’d said. But then confusion gave way to understanding, which turned immediately to the highest state of alarm, and as she stared back at me and it all started clicking into place, I wondered why I had never come across her name or her face in my investigation.
“No. No way.” I worked hard to keep my voice from turning shrill. “I’m not swapping dates with you.”
“I know the chiropractor,” she said, smiling a smile that could have been carved with a razor blade. “He’s a big tipper, and I have seniority, so I’m taking him.”
A big tipper? The guy cleaned out in his divorce? It had never occurred to me to look for another hooker onboard. Even if I had, what were the odds she’d recognize my date and decide to swipe him? I was so screwed.
“I’m not telling you where he’s staying.” I said it with more than a little desperate belligerence.
“Sweetheart, it’s done. I’ve already talked to him. I’ll be at the Seven Oaks tonight.” She held up her very own cocktail napkin. It had notes scribbled on it in big, loopy, cheerleader handwriting. “You’ll be here.”
When I didn’t take it from her right away, she let it go, and it fluttered to the floor. “Your code word isDallas, and his response isAlice. He’s expecting me.”
“You didn’t tell him you switched?”
“He’s a first-timer. You’ll do. And by the way, Curt prefers me to you, anyway. See ya.”
Picking up the napkin seemed like a gesture of surrender that I didn’t want her to see, so I waited until she was on her way before reaching down for it. Apparently, I was going to the Days Inn, which was bad enough. Worse than that was the time we were supposed to meet-eight o’clock. I checked my watch. I had two and a half hours to turn this thing around. I had to get to Harvey. I looked again at the napkin. No name. I checked the front and the back. There was noname.
Monica was almost out of sight. I felt like a cartoon with my rolling bag flying and sweat popping off my forehead as I maneuvered through the concourse to catch up with her.
“I told you it’s done,” she said, when I finally caught her, panting and gasping. “Don’t bother me, or I’ll give you a bad report, and you’ll never get in. I know this is your test run.”