-For Arcadya. One 'bicker-in-a-box', as requested.
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Flight Risk
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I hate flying. Specially those little puddlejumpers, hop between LA and Sacto. Late flights aren't so bad. Most folks settle for some brief shut-eye.
'Cept the couple across from me. Saw her first. Pretty little woman, with a cross kinda bustle to her, like the world had best pay her mind. She's trying to manage her bag into the overhead locker, near brains herself with it, before this man takes over. Face is sorta familiar, but out of LA, blond and handsome is a dime a dozen. Near everyone as even serves you a coffee has a resumé – prob'ly seen him grinning off a billboard or prancing on MTV. She lets him wrestle the bag off her, so I guess she knows him, since she don't rip him a new one. He shoves his own bag under the seat, sits beside her.
"Don't I get the window seat?"
"It's dark. There's nothing to see."
"So you won't mind if I do."
"I thought you liked the aisle seat, so you could ogle the stewardesses."
"You wrong me. I like to stretch my legs out. These seats are designed for midgets."
"I'm perfectly comfortable."
"That's what I said...ow."
He keeps bugging her, all through take-off, and she gives him an earful back. Way she snaps at him reminds me of my second wife. Woman spent her best years trying to reform me. Useta smoke my cigars round the house just to annoy her. Funny, but since she's been gone, I haven't fancied a one...
Seems they work together. She's a cop of some sort, but what the hell he is, I can't figure. Whatever it is, seems to involve being punched by a prominent citizen as didn't like his son being exposed as a cross-dressing club artiste. 'Course, it seems that the man then punched said citizen back for being a bigoted idiot. And then gave the kid the number of a show biz agent in Vegas. None of this is making the woman happy. The fact that they appear to have arrested a murderer somewhere around this is almost thrown away in the conversation. Something about embezzlement and...goats?
We hit some bad weather. Only a little bitty storm, but we're only in a little bitty plane. Ping of the seatbelt sign, and even in the low cabin-light, I can see how pale she's gone. I can see her small hand, gripping the arm-rest. And if I can see how white her knuckles are, I bet...yep. He either don't know when to keep his mouth shut, or he enjoys baiting her.
"I'll hold your hand if you're scared."
"Dammit, Jane. I've flown hundreds of times..."
"But you still don't like it. Someone else being in control."
"This has nothing to do..." Bounce of turbulence, and she shuts her mouth sharpish.
"You get airsick." He's gleeful. "The mighty Agent Lisbon has a flaw."
Shake, bang, rattle of the plane going sideways. Man has the reflexes of a cat, smooth flick of his wrist producing the bag even as she loses her lunch.
"I swear...if you tell anyone..."
"Sssh."
No woman looks her best throwing up. Amy useta get sick as hell on the water, and she hated me seeing her like that. Never bothered me, though – swearing at me took her mind off it some.
Least it might stop them bickering. He rubs her back, comforting little circles, and she heaves miserably. Gentle way he scoops back her hair says more'n anything.
"Serves you right for eating those Singapore noodles." he says, fondly.
Yep, nothing like making a woman mad at you to make her forget feeling sick and scared.
He fishes in his bag, pulls out a bottle of water. Glare as she grabs it off him could drop a man in his tracks. He takes his hand off her back, reluctant-like. But he's got a tissue for her when she's finished drinking.
"Give me your wrist. Come on."
"Not having you hypnotize me."
"It's acupressure. Make you feel better. Now don't be so damn stubborn. Wrist."
"No hypnotism?"
"Would I do that?"
Her wan little face is looking at him like she might bite, but she holds out her arm in limp defeat.
Man has a voice could charm stones to dancing. Murmurs to her, low and calm, as he moves his thumb on her arm. And in five minutes, she's flaked out.
She's gonna be mad as all hell when she wakes up. Guess he likes to live dangerously.
Amy and me, we had our fights. Some folks is made that way. 'Course, later, you get to the making up. It suited us fine for forty years. Guess it suits them, too, whatever it is they have. He tucks her against his shoulder, and closes his own eyes.
Flight levels out some. Attendants make it round, and he manages to make handing over a couple of full bags seem a prize. Little woman is still out of it. I can just see the side of his face as he looks down at her. Kinda sad and sorry and proud all at once. Reckon it might have something to do with the ring I can see on his hand, as he runs a gentle thumb down her jaw.
Well, I ain't one to go throwing stones. Amy was married to another fella when she met me, and I'd already put my own marriage in the crapper. There's nothing in what they've said could make you think they have something between them. It's all in what they ain't saying.
She comes to on the descent when he touches her hand, leaps away from him with a squeak. He regards his shoulder with a quizzical eye.
"You've drooled on me, woman."
"You hypnotized me."
"I did not." He looks up from mopping his suit with an expression that looks genuinely affronted. "I said I wouldn't."
"Then why the hell was I sleeping on you?"
"Drooling on me. You were tired from throwing up."
Reckon there's a bridge in 'Frisco for sale, too.
She glares at him. Puts colour in her cheeks, at least. He grins back.
"You might want to touch up your lipstick, you know. You look dreadful."
What with fussing with her face, and sorting her hair, she don't even notice us touching down. He does. I'm starting to think that I do know him from someplace. Mebbe a card game. Though I don't reckon you'd play him more than once. Less you had no more use for your wallet. Or possibly your soul.
He gets up, gestures politely to her. She elbows him as she goes past.
"You'll never make an air marshal, Lisbon."
"Bite me."
Reckon he'd like to, way he's looking after her.
That's how I see 'em, heading out into the night. He's carrying her bag, and she's fighting him to get it back, same feisty little creature she was to start.
I'd bet any dollars you like that he'll fetch her Singapore noodles for lunch tomorrow. And that no-one around them will ever know the why of it.
