CHAPTER II

Three years later

You can't give away something that doesn't belong to you.

He almost blurted this out when she asked him to give her away at her wedding. And that wasn't by far the only thing he might've blurted out.

Jack Tripper wasn't the most mature of men. When he was upset, his first impulse was to behave with all the destructive force of a four-year-old brat. Every day he wondered how he managed to keep himself from throwing a tantrum and smashing everything around him to smithereens.

That wasn't entirely true. When she had first met this nondescript guy and when he had unexpectedly turned out to be a very real menace, Jack had done all he could to sabotage and derail it.

He needn't have bothered. He could have lain across their path like a fallen tree. They would've just walked over him without noticing.

...

Ever since she had announced her engagement, the girls had been planning and plotting and whispering and giggling in that infuriating way women have when sharing something which is off-limits to men. The place was suddenly cluttered with colorful catalogs and glossy magazines.

Once, when the girls weren't around, he picked up one of those and leafed through it. And immediately wished he hadn't.

Now he couldn't shake a vision of her dark-eyed loveliness decked out in something lacy and satiny and strapless and pristine white. Form-fitting sheath showing off her figure in all its petite perfection. Glossy ringlets of hair caressing silky tanned shoulders. Pearls adorning her slender throat and dainty earlobes. White satin roses crowning her head like a regal diadem…

If she looked like that at her wedding, Jack was sure he would have a heart attack and die right there and then, and this whole nightmare would be over.

She ended up picking the most hideous dress imaginable – a baggy, high-necked ecru monstrosity. It was almost as if she were trying to look as drab as was possible for a girl as stunning as her. As if telegraphing the message that now she had snagged herself a man, she had no further need to be attractive.

The groom was all but panting every time he looked at her. His bride's dress was clearly the last thing on his mind.

As they approached the altar in a measured stride, the bride on his arm, Jack had a sudden wild impulse to shove her at the groom who would then knock over the minister and send the whole lot of them flying in all directions. Instead, he primly kissed her hand and ceremoniously handed her over to the groom. The obsolete, meaningless rite of transferring ownership of a woman from one male to another.

If this delirious oaf, who just barely managed to say his name right when reciting the vows, thought he could ever own this woman, he was in for a big surprise. But that was his problem now. Definitely not Jack's. Not anymore.

…

Jack made it through the ceremony without incident. Then, just as everyone was getting into their cars to drive to the reception, he ran out into the street, flagged a taxi and plopped down on the back seat.

The middle-aged driver turned around. "Where to?"

"Uh… dunno… who cares?" mumbled Jack.

"I beg your pardon, sir? Where are we going?"

"Just drive, okay?" Jack made a vague gesture towards the road up ahead.

"Young man," the driver was not amused. "Either make up your mind where you want to go or get out. Have you been drinking?"

"No, no, I'm fine. The airport! Let's go!"

…

Why the airport? Jack tried to answer his own question while sitting at one of the bars, downing drink after drink in the hopes of achieving mental clarity.

Finally came the insight he had been seeking.

His mortal fear of flying made this the most terrifying place for miles around. Like a carnival funhouse for a toddler. Being here should've scared all thoughts of what had just happened and what was going to happen right out of his mind. It wasn't working.

Perhaps he needed to be on board an actual flight to experience that kind of fear.

The scene at the ticketing window went pretty much the same way as the exchange with the taxi driver. He assured the agent he needed to be on the first flight out, regardless of where it was headed, was politely asked if he would like to step away from the window or if he would prefer for security to be called, and suddenly yelled in a mix of inspiration and desperation: "San Fran! When's the next flight to San Francisco?"

"Boarding now, sir. Gate Nine. Do you want a ticket?"

"Yes! Perfect!"

…

By rights, he shouldn't have made it onto the plane. By that time he was so wasted he could barely make it up the gangway.

The flight attendant, a cute young woman with short red hair, gestured for him to step aside. "Sir, you are visibly inebriated. I am not supposed to let you on board in this condition."

"Huh?" Jack blinked at the girl. His interactions with the taxi driver and the ticketing agent had drained his intellectual capacity to the last drop.

"But if you promise to stay in your seat and behave yourself I might make an exception."

"Ooh, so pro… promise!" Jack tried to high-five the girl, who instead fixed him with a stern look.

"Please make sure that you do. If you bother other passengers or create any kind of disturbance I'll be in big trouble. And so will you."

"Yes, ma'am!" Jack gave her a military salute and pushed on along the aisle, holding on to the backs of the seats he passed by.

Fortunately, by the time he got to his own seat, he was already into the passing-out-and-sleeping-it-off phase. After his butt touched the seat, he spent the one-hour-long flight snoring thunderously yet peacefully.

…

"The guy in 25A has passed out," said Gina, the other flight attendant, after the plane had landed in San Francisco and all the other passengers had disembarked. "What a nuisance. Shall we call security to get him out of here?"

"I'd rather not get those security types involved. They give me the creeps. Let's try to wake him up."

"Sure. I don't want them here any more than you do. When did he have a chance to get that liquored up during the flight, I wonder?" Gina looked at the oblivious Jack pensively, head to one side. "Kid's a total cutie! Too bad he's a lush. What a waste."

Flight attendants are trained to be prepared for any kind of emergency. Gina fetched a cup of cold water and emptied it over Jack's head. That revived him just enough to be dragged onto his feet and, eventually, down the gangway.

"Are you gonna be okay from here on?" asked the redhead as they came out of the terminal. "I really need to get to my hotel and crash before the return flight. Be sure to change out of this wet shirt first chance you get." She glanced around. "Where's your luggage?"

Jack appeared to be deep in thought. Then, with a triumphant Eureka! grin, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and held it out to her. "This is it. Wanna check if there's a spare shirt in there?"

The young woman stared at him in dismay, shook her head – and suddenly smiled.

"Boy, you are weird. Nothing new to me, though. I get to see all kinds in this job. Okay, let's get your butt on a taxi. Where are you staying?"

"Nowhere." Jack was already getting the hang of carrying on this line of conversation.

"Do you live here, in San Fran?"

"Nah. L.A."

"Do you have a place to stay the night?"

"Nah."

"Oh dear Lord, what am I gonna do with you? I can't just leave you here all by yourself!"

"Why not?"

"The way you look and sound and smell, you'll be picked up by the cops in no time. Whatever your purpose in coming here, I doubt it was to spend the night in jail." She sighed. "I know I'm gonna regret this. You better come along with me, champ. We'll get you sorted out later."

…

Jack opened one eye to a monumental hangover, a strange room and a random girl in bed next to him.

"Oh good, you are alive," said Random Girl.

"I am?" Jack didn't sound convinced. He performed a cursory self-check. "Hmm, I guess I am, at that."

"Told ya," smiled Random Girl. "How are you feeling this fine morning?"

"Never felt worse," reported Jack cheerfully. "Wanna get married?"

She shrugged. "I guess, in about ten years or so, if Mr. Right comes along by that time. For now, I'd settle for a nice cup of coffee. Any special reason you were asking?"

"Yes. I mean now. Today. To me."

"Sorry to disappoint you but I'm afraid not," said Random Girl. "You could use a strong coffee, too. If you can keep it down."

"Okay, I'll try to manage a coffee," conceded Jack. "What's your name, red?"

"Nicki," said Random Girl. "You?"

"Track Jipper – I mean Tack Dripper – er, I mean Jack Tripper. I think I am ready for that coffee."

…

"Let's see. Your girl dumped you, you got shitfaced and blew town. Did I get it right?"

"The shitfaced part. And the blowing town part. Only she did something much worse. She got married. And she's not my girl."

"You mean, she was your fiancée? Oh, I am so sorry."

"Nah. My… my roommate."

"Roommate?! My roommate got married last month but I didn't take on like it was the end of the world. She was more to you than that, right?"

"So much more." Jack leaned his head on the back of his chair with a deep sigh. "So much, much more. So much, much, much – "

"I get the drift," interrupted Random Girl, a.k.a. Nicki. "Pray continue."

"And then she went and got married." Another sigh. "To somebody else."

"I figured out that last part, too," deadpanned Nicki. "Look, Jack… Shit happens. To everybody, not just you. What's your plan for now? Do you know anyone in San Fran? Do you have anything to do here?"

All Nicki got for an answer was a mournful stare and yet another heartrending sigh.

"Okay, then. I suggest you come back to L.A. with me. I have a couple more hours to kill before the return flight. We can take a walk around town if you think you can stay on your feet. And then we'll head back to the airport – and home."

"And then what, Ra- I mean, Nicki?"

"And then, Tack Dripper, you carry on with the business of living, just like the rest of us. Grit your teeth if you have to, as long as you don't forget to wear a nightguard. You have any better ideas?"

"Yes. How about you marry me?"

"Oh, you are still on that. Okay, then I have a better idea. I live in L.A., too. Here's my card. How about

you give me a call if you wanna grab a coffee or a bite to eat? Preferably when you are sober. Then we'll see about marriage."

…

Home, she said.

It didn't feel like home anymore. Last thing he wanted was to go back to that place.

But what else could he do? Where else could he go? He had already tried running away like a pissed-off preteen. That hadn't helped any. The only thing to do was, just as Random Nicki had said, carry on as best he could. Pretty sage advice for someone that cute and redheaded. Face life such as it was now. As it would always be from now on. Grit his teeth and –

"Ja-a-ack?!" said a very familiar, very surprised voice right behind him.

"Chrissy!" He whipped around, triggering a fit of dizziness, and grabbed her shoulder for support. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing here? I came to see Janet and Philip off on their honeymoon. They just left. What are you doing here? Where have you been since yesterday?"

"Oh, Chrissy, honey…" He rubbed his eyes. "I am so sorry…"

"And so you should be! Where did you disappear to? Nobody had laid eyes on you since right after the ceremony! You got Janet so worried, she almost canceled her honeymoon!"

"But she didn't," he said under his breath.

"It was all we could do to convince her to go. Poor Philip! How could you do this, Jack? To Janet, to us, to everybody?"

The blonde was spot-on on every count. But why did her voice have to be so shrill and screechy? Jack was still not quite up to it.

"I am so sorry, Chrissy… I had some urgent business in San Francisco. I caught the late flight out and just got back. I'm very tired. I need to get ho- I mean, to the apartment."

"Urgent business in San Francisco? What urgent business in San Francisco? You never said a word about any of that! You never even told anybody you were leaving! You could've at least told Janet, instead of ruining her wedding reception!"

"You are right, Chrissy. I didn't think. Could you please talk not quite so loudly?"

"I am not talking loudly, I am talking normally! Why?.." She blinked, taking in the swollen, unshaven face and the bloodshot eyes. "Have you been drinking? Oh no! You are hung over! Is that what the urgent business in San Francisco was about – drinking all night long? Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Jack!.. Jack? What's going on, honey? Please talk to me!"

Suddenly, there was nothing shrill or screechy about her voice. Suddenly, her heavily made-up eyes were full of genuine concern and understanding – an understanding such as she could not possibly have.

"Jack, listen," she lightly touched his arm. "How about we don't go back to the apartment right away? Let's – let's go someplace nice and quiet and just sit and talk. Would you like that?"

He nodded gratefully – and collapsed onto her soft warm bosom.