Hot sun beat down the asphalt parking lot, where Wulf’s car and two security SUVs were parked in front of the three-story, slump-block building. A steel Quonset hut towered over the airport terminal that looked like a beat-up office building.
Rae took Wulf’s offered hand as she unfolded herself from his dark Porsche. Sunlight scorched her eyes and the top of her head after the dimness inside the tinted windows of the car. Her hands felt cold as she stood on unsteady legs, and she held her fingers together and to her stomach, trying to warm up. A harsh whiff of airplane exhaust, like kerosene fumes, hung in the hot air.
Rae said, “I didn’t know the airport even had a Terminal Seven.”
Wulf checked the time on his phone. “It’s private. I hired a plane.”
“You can rent a plane?” And thus she made another poor-folks faux pas in front of the upper-class richies. She cringed.
Wulf smiled, and Rae was relieved that his kind smile wasn’t condescending. A sultry breeze ruffled his blond hair. “I don’t travel often, so I don’t keep a plane. I hire one based on the circumstances.”
They walked through the terminal’s lobby that looked like a mediocre doctor’s office with cubic orange chairs and outdated magazines on peeling linoleum coffee tables, though no doctor’s office had the three-story panoramic windows with the view of a propeller plane buzzing down the landing strip right outside.
The plane outside the windows looked like a two-man toboggan that someone had bungee-corded wings onto. The windshield looked like it belonged on a motorcycle. A pilot signaled thumbs-up to the person behind him.
Rae’s knees got wobbly because there was no way that she was going up in that crop duster, and she sat on one of the orange chairs. The fabric scratched her legs through her panty hose, and she could smell something metallic, like blood. “Is that our plane?”
Wulf glanced at the prop plane. “Heavens, no. That’s someone’s toy. I booked a Gulfstream.” His phone chimed. “Ah. It’s ready. Shall we?”
The security guys clustered around them as they walked out the back doors of the terminal to the plane.
Oh, good Lord, they had just breezed through the lobby and bypassed the security checkpoint. She couldn’t even find the security checkpoint. Maybe it was hidden behind the potted palms or was back in one of the offices, but they were going to get into trouble if they jumped security.
Rae grabbed Wulf’s arm. “We weren’t screened. We didn’t go through security.”
Dieter laughed while he scanned the tarmac around them.
Wulf said, “And it’s a good thing we didn’t, considering all the weapons our friends are carrying.”
“Oh. Right.” And another gaffe. One of the stiletto heels on the strappy pumps she wore stuck for a second in a tarmac seam, and she teetered. Wulf steadied her.
A few hours earlier, she had dressed in The Devilhouse’s costume closet and been surprised to find not just the nine gorgeous gowns in her size and length that were hanging there a few weeks ago, but six more dresses: cocktail dresses, less formal party dresses, and a gray, pinstriped business suit, plus shoes. She scanned the other racks. There seemed to be a few new dresses tucked into the other sections, but nothing like the embarrassment of riches that had appeared in her size.
While it was nice, and more choices are always great, she had a feeling that Wulf was shopping for her, or more likely, tasking someone else to do it. Singling her out like that embarrassed her. It wasn’t fair to the other girls, even though the racks sections for dresses that were size four and average length already held dozens of gowns.
From the new ones, she had chosen a short navy blue silk dress with a ruffle just above her knees. She had smiled at the time, thinking that ruffles may have gotten into her brain.
Now, the sun’s heat radiated off the tarmac and warmed Rae’s legs all the way up her short skirt.
The group of them approached a jet airplane, which appeared small compared to commercial jets but got bigger as they neared it. A stairway reached down to the tarmac like the planes in old adventure movies.
Was it an old plane? Was it World War Two vintage? Would such an old plane be safe?
The security guys clustered around the bottom of the staircase, watching, while Wulf and Rae climbed the stairs. The engines radiated heat that came at her sideways, while the desert sun shone above them. She yelled above the jet engine noise, “Are they more nervous than usual?”
Wulf nodded. “Your escapade in the desert increased our security levels, but this tightening of security was inevitable.”
“What’s so special about now?” Her thighs burned as she climbed the steep steps.
“Next week, actually.”
He must mean the trip to Paris, or he might mean his move out of the country. Either way, they were nervous and he was leaving.
Inside the Gulfstream jet, Rae had expected to find tight rows of seats, suspiciously like the sardine-can seating of an airplane, but she had a moment of bobble-headedness because the inside looked more like a living room. Leather recliners were grouped around tables, not in rows. A couch was pushed up against one wall of the airplane.
Couches did not have seatbelts. Thus, planes should not have couches.
The windows were round, large circles like portholes on a yacht. Instead of durable plastic or strong metal on the walls, burled wood lined the curving walls.
Planes should not be made out of wood. Wood did not fly.
“Shall we?” Wulf gestured to a group of four seats around a table. He sat next to the porthole.
Rae took the seat across from him. She was trying not to stare at the brushed aluminum and mirror-shiny wood of the table, but she couldn’t stop herself from toying with the suede-soft white leather on the chair’s arms.
This plane must be built for luxury rather than durability.
Or sturdiness.
Or safety.
Her hand, still petting the leather, started to shake.
“I’ve arranged for a snack on the flight,” Wulf said. “The concert will begin relatively soon after we land, so supper may be late.”
“That would be great. What’s next week? You mean that trip to Paris, where I might go with you?” She reached into the corners of her seat for the seatbelt.
Wulf leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “That’s something we should discuss.”
“Where’s the seatbelt on this thing?” Rae peered around her hips, pushing at the seat cushion.
“It’s in there somewhere.”
“But you have to wear your seatbelt for take-offs and landings, and you should keep it buckled the whole time.”
Wulf raised one eyebrow. “You can if you want to.”
He glanced out the window at the sun that glared on the table. Cirrus clouds streaked the azure sky. When Wulf turned back to her, she noticed that his eyes were same electric blue of the desert sky outside the porthole. He should have been born in the Sonoran desert, not across the ocean.
The security guys filed in and took the seats more toward the back. Most of them swiveled their seats around, stretched out, and closed their eyes, napping. Dieter and Hans asked the stewardess, whom Rae had just noticed in the very back of the plane, for a chess set.
The stewardess brought a wooden box over to the two men, then brought wine and glasses for Rae and Wulf. The lady poured the wine, the white kind, into the glasses.
The plane pushed backward out of the parking spot. The stewardess swayed but didn’t spill even a drop of the wine.
“Are we going to take off? Shouldn’t we give these back?” Rae asked, trying to hand her the wine glass.
“It’s fine, sugar. The bases fit right into the cup holders.” She pointed one manicured nail at a hole cut in the table and smiled at Rae. Her teeth shone porcelain white, and her lips were slicked with maroon lipstick. Her flawless skin was dark honey brown. The lady’s tranquil expression didn’t betray the least concern that Wulf was flaunting all the usual, sane safety standards.
“Shouldn’t we wear seatbelts?” Rae asked.
“You can if you want, honey. They’re right there in the corners. They might have fallen down a bit because people don’t usually pry them out.” She wandered back to the galley.
They all swayed as the plane reversed direction and taxied forward.
“This is weird,” Rae said to Wulf. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the chair’s armrests. She took a swig of the brisk white wine, hoping it would calm her down.
“It is different than commercial travel.”
She blurted, “I’ve never been on an airplane before.”
Rae expected Wulf to snort or roll his eyes at such a hillbilly admission, but he slid around the table, changing seats to sit beside Rae. He lifted the armrest between them, elbowed it up, and draped his arm around her.
She snuggled in. The warmth that drifted out of his suit coat smelled like lavender and cinnamon. “I’m not scared.”
He whispered into her hair, “Of course not. I just can’t keep my hands off you.”
The jet engines revved, and the plane accelerated, pushing Rae back in the seat and into Wulf’s arms, and they lifted off into the clear sky and flew all the way to Los Angeles.