Greg’s driver, Rakesh, maneuvered Greg’s car through the traffic and the jumbled roadways like an expert. We drove over the busy Triborough Bridge across the East River leaving Manhattan behind to cut through Queens County. JFK airport was only twenty miles away but took over an hour with all the traffic.
After the wine and perfect meal, I’d agreed to accompany him to the airport. The car inched along in the brutal afternoon traffic. Being tipsy from too much wine was the only rationale excuse I could find for my stupidity. And it was annoying since I had to make this same long drive for my flight tomorrow. Greg must have sensed my irritation. He squeezed my hand and thanked me for coming along.
Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits were playing on the car’s stereo and the bittersweet lyrics from the song Somewhere Beyond the Sea. I’d heard the song many times but never realized Sinatra was singing about being unhappy at sea, separated from his lover, vowing to return and never go to sea again.
“You see, even Sinatra doesn’t think your cruise is a good idea.”
I wasn’t regretting my voyage, but this ride to JFK with so many things to do.
Greg put his hand on my leg and kissed me. “If you don’t enjoy the cruise, fly back from whatever port. I’ll arrange it. We could spend the holidays at my weekend house.”
“Another house?”
“I spend my weekends in Sands Point. I was only in town last weekend for the Turner exhibit and decided to host the dinner party.”
“Where’s Sands Point?” I’d never heard of this place.
“On the North Shore.”
“On Long Island?”
The North Shore of Long Island was the infamous Gold Coast where the top of the pyramid lived. Not the one percent but a tiny sliver of one percent - hard to imagine, much less calculate. Compared to the Gold Coast, the Hamptons were filled with nouveau-riche beach bums. Gauche Hamptonites like Charlie amused by how outclassed he’d become. I’d been there before to visit a friend with a modest, but pricey cottage-style home.
“Yes, that fictionalized area where Gatsby lived. But I can assure you, the parties are not that glamorous.” He put his arm around me and pulled me closer. “So many things I’d like to show you, Kat. Places we must go when you return. I know it won’t be easy for us, but I’m genuinely fond of you.”
He leaned forward and said something to Rakesh and closed the tinted privacy window that separated the front seat from the back.
Frankie was belting out his song Come Fly with Me while Greg whispered, “I wish you were flying with me to Paris.” He kissed my neck. “I suppose you don’t have your passport with you?”
I shook my head. “No, I have to go on my trip.”
I squirmed when I realized this wasn’t going to be an ordinary trip to the airport. Not that I objected to trying again, but it was the strange surroundings. I tried to remember when I last had sex in an automobile. Some heavy petting in college, but that car was parked in a secluded area. And in New York, I didn’t own a car or want one.
“Kat, it’s all right,” Greg whispered tickling the inside of my ear. “He can’t see or hear us.”
I tried to relax and enjoy his kisses. Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the plush leather seat using my purse as a pillow. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see this.
He pulled off my wet boots and jeans and wasn’t as prudish as I’d classified him. I tried to enjoy his attention down below as the car crawled along in heavy traffic. I hoped he wasn’t going to ask for reciprocal treatment and was relieved to hear plastic ripping. He asked if I was ready, and I nodded. As ready as I ever would be in a car.
I was tempted to sing along with Frankie and urge him to Fly Me to the Moon. I was serenaded on both sides with Greg and the music. I was tipsy, but not inebriated like Tuesday night and hoped he wouldn’t have performance issues.
Our coupling or his earlier therapeutic confession must have worked since he moaned and stopped moving. I opened my eyes relieved this was done without having a car accident. He propped himself on his arms smiling at me, and I could feel some wetness around my stomach.
“Was it good for you? I know it was rushed.”
Sinatra was serenading us now with I've Got You Under My Skin. Somehow the song lyrics were synchronized to the right moment as if he was watching us.
“Yes, lovely.” I was pleased he was concerned. Would I ever relax enough to enjoy it again? It takes time. But with Matteo, it didn’t take long. “I have a lot on my mind. You know with the trip and every -”
A loud pop rang out, and the car dipped to my side. Greg sat up and slid open the back window. While he zipped up his pants, he asked Rakesh, “What happened?”
“I believe we have a flat, Sir.”
Rakesh steered the car from the far-left fast lane to the right side of the road and the shoulder. I pulled my underwear on and grabbed my jeans from the floorboard to get dressed and hoped we wouldn’t be rear ended.
Greg watched Rakesh and the highway as we came to a stop. What perfect, ironic timing. At least Greg was fast, or he would have been really upset. The whole situation was one of those too funny to believe moments, but no one was laughing.
Greg looked at his watch, and I asked him when his flight was leaving.
“Not until five thirty,” But it was already after four.
“Don’t you need to be there two hours before?” Now I was worried he wasn’t going to make it.
“No, an hour is fine.”
Rakesh and Greg got out to assess the damage. They went around to the trunk, and I climbed out too. The car was parked on the shoulder next to a grassy area between the highway and the access road
Rakesh lifted the spare tire out of the trunk. He searched around and said, “Last time I had the car serviced they didn’t put the tools back.”
“What tools?” I asked hoping it wasn’t going to be bad news.
“Tools to change the damn tire,” Greg said. He marched off to the back seat and took his phone out of his briefcase and returned to glare at both us.
Rakesh and I stood there, and I scrunched up my shoulders as if to say “So what. Things happen.” Rakesh looked nervous, but I think he appreciated the gesture.
Greg called someone. “Miriam, we had a situation here on the way to the airport. We have a flat tire, but we appear to not have the proper equipment to change the damn tire. Can you arrange for a car or taxi, or I’ll miss my plane.” He specified the closest freeway exits and hung up.
“I’m sorry, Greg.” I put my hand on his shoulder, but he jerked away as if my touch stung. I didn’t know what to do or where to go, so I got back into the car. I left the door open a crack and checked my phone for updates. Greg approached, and I started to say something to console him.
“Kat, don’t. You’re raising my blood pressure. If we hadn’t had lunch.”
I didn’t like his reaction one bit. “This isn’t my fault. I didn’t cause the flat or forget the tools.”
“You’re right. It’s been a hectic week.”
I was about to suggest he try my week, we could even trade, but didn’t want him to snap again and bite my entire head off.
I had an email from Amber at the travel company. The email was welcome news and stated all my medical tests came through, and I was cleared to go. She reminded me about the deposit due with the rest payable in Copenhagen on Saturday.
I called her and gave her my credit card information. She said a local representative would meet me on Saturday at my hotel to go over the final updates, documents for signing, and specifics for boarding the ship on Sunday.
After I had hung up, Greg told Rakesh a taxi was on its way and that she ordered a second car from town to help him with the flat.
Greg turned back to his phone and said, “Can you check on flights too. I’m on Air France flight 23, my usual, but I may not make it. Can you see what their status is and if there is space on the next flight? There used to be a few more going nonstop. I’ll hold.”
He looked stressed. “I must get to Paris tonight. I have a full schedule tomorrow with appointments that took months to set up.”
Whatever. Keep it in perspective. I want to board my clipper ship this weekend, but the world won’t end if I don’t make it to Copenhagen. It’s not like his livelihood depended on getting to Paris. He wouldn’t lose his job or go down one iota in his standard of living. He lived vastly superior to almost everyone else on the planet.
He was still on the phone. “Great news. Thanks, Miriam. But this has convinced me, can you put through the order on the Esplanade? I want to switch to the SUV.”
He sighed and added, “Yes, I know, I prefer the town cars, but adapting to the times. And, Miriam, let me know via email what you want from Paris this time.”
As he hung up, a taxi pulled up and stopped in front of us.
Greg reached into the car to take his briefcase and said to me, “Aren’t you coming?”
“Okay. Or I can wait here with Rakesh. I have to get my shopping bags.” They were in the trunk, and I wasn’t leaving without them. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be around him in his foul mood, but it would be faster to get a cab from JFK than wait here with Rakesh.
“Right,” he said and marched to the trunk. He took one shopping bag while Rakesh took the other, and they loaded them into the cab’s open trunk.
“Madame,” Greg said and waited by the cab’s open door. I climbed in and slid over to the other side, so he could join me in the back seat. He could have gotten in first, but it wasn’t his modus operandi. Make the woman go first and struggle over to the other side. I regretted this whole trip, even the sex. Greg had again morphed into someone I didn’t want to be around.
We were speeding along the highway to the airport, and I hoped his plane was still there.
“Oh, your luggage.” I hated to remind him, but we must have left it behind and going back would cause even more unwanted delays.
“This is it,” he said indicating his large briefcase still looking ahead.
“But aren’t you going for a week?” This would barely hold one clean shirt.
“I am. I have an apartment in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. I don’t need to bring anything but my laptop and some paperwork.”
“How convenient,” I said relieved. Naturally, Greg would have an apartment in one of the best, historic neighborhoods in Paris. I envied him. That was the way to travel. No packing necessary. Buy what you need. One of these days I would make a trip just like that.
He looked at his watch. “It will be tight, but I think I can make it.”
It was almost five, and I didn’t know why he was optimistic. Even with no luggage to check, he still had to get through security and to the gate. And for an international flight, they had to check his passport. I was glad I wasn’t accompanying him. Running through the Met once was fun, but this was too stressful.
I glanced over at him and wondered if he thrived on this last minute crazy stuff. I sure didn’t when it meant missing a flight or something important.
He tapped his leg with his fingers, and I was impatient too. I couldn’t wait to get back to Manhattan and hoped rush hour wouldn’t take too long.
We turned off at the airport exit, and he leaned forward giving the driver his credit card. “She’s returning to the city. Put both fares on my card with a twenty percent tip. She’ll sign for it.”
He turned to me, “Kat send me the receipt. Do you still have my card?”
“I think so.” I took my wallet out to check. “Yes, I have it.” I waved his card to avoid being scolded like a school girl.
“I’m sorry Kat. I didn’t expect such a stressful conclusion today.” He patted my leg. “It’s usually boring and routine. You made today very special for me.”
I didn’t say anything and didn’t plan to when the cab stopped at the Air France terminal. I stared straight ahead so he could only kiss my cheek goodbye. But he put his hand under my chin and coaxed my face towards him. Our eyes met for a second, but I refused to smile and looked away.
“You’re upset, aren’t you? I’m sorry, Kat. I must run. I’ll call you.” And with that, he kissed me and disappeared flying in his special way through the airport.