Terminal Compromise Part 109

"Has she sold any of her art?" Sonja asked.

"It's on perpetual display, she says," Scott said.

"Why don't you buy one? To make her feel good?"

"Ha! She feels fine. Beverly Hills is not the worst place in the world to be accepted." He lost himself in thought for a moment. "I think it has worked out for both of us."

"Except, you're lonely," she came back.

"I got into my work. A career shift at my age, you know, I had a lot to learn. So, I've really put myself into the job, and I've been getting a lot out of it." He stared at the gorgeous woman to whom he had been telling his personal feelings. "But, yes, I do miss the companionship," he hinted.

The clock over the bar announced it was quarter to ten. "Hey."

Scott turned to face Sonja squarely. "I gotta go, you don't know how much I don't want to, but I gotta." He spoke with a pained sincerity.

"No you don't," she said exuberantly.

"Huh?"

Sonja's entire face glowed . "Have you ever done anything crazy?"

"Sure, of course," Scott nonchalantly said.

"No, I mean really crazy. Totally off the wall. Spontaneous."

She grabbed Scott's shoulders. "Haven't you ever wanted to go off the deep end and not care what anybody thinks?" Scott felt himself getting captured by her exuberance. This absolutely stunning blonde bombsh.e.l.l exuded enough s.e.xual enthusiasm for the entire NFL, and yet, he was playing it cool. He wondered why.

"I was a real h.e.l.l raiser as a kid . . ."

"Listen, Scott." Her demeanor turned serious. "Are you willing to do something outrageous right now? And go through with it?"

Here was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen asking him to make a borderline insane promise. Her painted lips broke into a lush smile. Ten minutes to the last flight.

"I'm game. What is it?" Scott played along. He could always say no. Right?

"Wait here a minute." Sonja grabbed her purse and dashed out of the bar. Scott's eyes followed her in stunned amazement.

Scott finished his beer and the clock indicated that the last flight to New York had left. He wondered what was keeping Sonja so long, and then she suddenly whisked back into the bar.

"C'mon, we have to hurry." Sonja shuffled papers in and out of her purse. She threw enough money on the bar to cover their drinks.

Scott scooted off of his bar stool laughing. "Hurry? Where're we going?"

"Shhhh, get your bags," Sonja said urgently. "You do have a pa.s.sport don't you?" She asked with concern.

"I just came from Europe, yeah." His bewilderment was clear while he retrieved his luggage.

"Good. Follow me."

Sonja dashed through the terminal to the security check with Scott struggling to keep up. The view of her exquisite figure was noticed by more than just Scott, but she left him little time to relish the view. She tossed her purse on the conveyor belt as a dazed Scott struggled with his own two bags. She darted from the security station leaving Mason to reorganize himself. His ability to run was enc.u.mbered by his luggage so he watched care- fully to see into which gate she was headed.

Gate, gate? Where am I going? And why? He would have laughed if he wasn't out of breath from wind sprinting through the airport.

He followed Sonja into Gate 3.

She handed a couple of tickets to the attendant. "We're the last ones, hurry up, Mason," Sonja giggled.

"Where are we going . . .where did the tickets . . .how are you?"

Scott stumbled through his thoughts.

"Just get on the plane. We'll talk." She held out her hand, beckoning him seductively.

The attractive flight attendant stared at Scott. His hesitancy was holding up the flight. He looked at Sonja. "This is insane,"

he said quietly.

"So it is."

"Where? I mean where is this plane headed?"

"Jamaica," she beamed.

"Oh, Sonja, come on, this isn't real." Why the h.e.l.l was he trying to talk himself out of a fantasy in the making.

"I'm getting on. I need a weekend to cool out, and I know you do. After what happened." Sonja took the separated boarding pa.s.s and looked back once before she left. Scott stood still. He stared as Sonja disappeared down the tunnel to the plane.

The flight attendant appeared quite annoyed. "Well, are you or aren't you?"

Scott reasoned that if he reasoned out the pros and the cons the plane would be gone regardless of his decision. "f.u.c.k it," he said and he walked briskly down the ramp.

He entered the Airbus behind the c.o.c.kpit and turned right to find Sonja. It didn't take long. She was the only person sitting in first cla.s.s. "Fancy running into you here," she said waving from the plush leather seat.

"Quite," he said in his well practiced West London accent. "Dare I guess how long it's been?" He placed his bags in the empty first cla.s.s storage compartment.

"Too long. Much too long. You had me worried," Sonja said melo- dramatically.

"I still have me worried."

"I thought you might chicken out," she said.

"I still might."

The three hour flight was replete with champagne, brie and simi- lar delicacies. They munched and sipped to their heart's con- tent. One flight attendant, two pa.s.sengers. Light talk, innocu- ous flirtations, not so innocuous flirtations, more chatting - time pa.s.sed, hours disguised as seconds.

Half Moon Bay is a one hour cab ride from the airport and, true to Jamaican hospitality, the hotel staff expected them. They were led to two adjoining rooms after being served the obligatory white rum punch with a yellow umbrella. It was nearly 3 AM.

Scott was working on 60 hours with little or no sleep.

"Scott?" Sonja asked as they prepared to go into their respective rooms.

"Yes," he said.

"Thank you."