was not hot, sipping my beer, which was not cold, and staring at the LCD flat-screen TV over the bar. It was tuned to a local news station. The sound was muted, and I was too far away to read the closed captioning.
I was just starting to unwind from the toothpaste incident when I gagged so badly I almost puked my burger and beer all over the table. I wasn’t choking on the mediocre airport cuisine. What made me want to throw up was what I saw on the television screen.
Me.
Me at Grand Central, holding a black medical bag with a bank of lockers behind me.
“Holy shit,” I said.
“Holy shit, what?” Katherine said, sitting down at the table with a grande cappuccino and a blueberry muffin.
She sat facing away from the television.
“Holy shit, I need another beer,” I said, jumping up and heading for the bar. I got there just in time to read the tail end of the closed captioning: …wanted for robbery. They flashed a phone number.
And then they cut to a commercial.
I looked around the bar to see how many other people had caught it. A dozen, maybe more. What else do people sitting around an airport bar do but stare at the TV? Hopefully they wouldn’t look up at me.
I tucked my chin down, put one hand over my eyes, and studied the floor tiles as I walked back to the table where Katherine was sitting.
“Where’s your beer?” she said.
“I changed my mind,” I said. “You know what I really need?”
“No.”
“A hat.”
I lifted the somewhat faded, definitely broken-in Yankees cap off her head. I put it on mine. It didn’t fit.
“It’s way too small for your big head,” she said.
“Well, let’s buy one that fits,” I said.
“As soon as I finish,” she said, picking up her muffin and biting it.
So we sat and talked. And then it happened again. My picture flashed on the TV screen.
I didn’t try to read the closed captioning. I just kept my head down until Katherine polished off her cappuccino. Then we walked over to Hudson News. Katherine checked out the magazines, and I went to the gift shop.
I was about to buy a Yankees baseball cap when I saw the berets. Absolument, I thought. Très français and a much better disguise. They had two colors—brown or red. I settled on brown.
I moved over to the sunglasses rack and picked out a pair of mirror-lens wraparounds.
Then I found Katherine. “What do you think?”
She laughed out loud. “What happened to the baseball hat?”
“I’m an artist. We’re going to France. I definitely need a beret. And sunglasses,” I said, putting on my shades. “Is this perfect or what?”
“Or what,” said Katherine. But she was grinning.
Chapter 39
Dinner was served about an hour into the flight to Paris.
“At long last,” I said. “Fine French cooking. Maybe we should eat and critique our dinners.”
I had the beef goulash; Katherine opted for the herbed chicken.
“Bland, dry, overcooked,” she said after a few bites. “One star, and that’s only because I’m an easy marker. How about you?”
“Four stars,” I said.
Katherine threw me a look.
“I think it’s the ambience,” I said, kissing the back of her neck. “And the company, of course.”
As soon as the trays were cleared, we turned out the overhead lights and raised the armrest between our seats, and Katherine curled up against me, wrapped in a blanket and my arms.
She zonked out in minutes. I couldn’t sleep.
I loved this woman. What was I dragging her into?
If that toothpaste incident had escalated one more notch, Katherine’s behavior might have branded us as troublemakers, but my carry-on bag would absolutely have landed us both in jail.
What was I thinking? What had I gotten her involved in? Was I crazy? The questions were bouncing around in my brain like a beach ball at a rock concert.
Somewhere along the way I fell asleep, and I didn’t wake up till we were on our final approach to Orly airport. Looking out the window, we could see the lush vineyards and
I was just starting to unwind from the toothpaste incident when I gagged so badly I almost puked my burger and beer all over the table. I wasn’t choking on the mediocre airport cuisine. What made me want to throw up was what I saw on the television screen.
Me.
Me at Grand Central, holding a black medical bag with a bank of lockers behind me.
“Holy shit,” I said.
“Holy shit, what?” Katherine said, sitting down at the table with a grande cappuccino and a blueberry muffin.
She sat facing away from the television.
“Holy shit, I need another beer,” I said, jumping up and heading for the bar. I got there just in time to read the tail end of the closed captioning: …wanted for robbery. They flashed a phone number.
And then they cut to a commercial.
I looked around the bar to see how many other people had caught it. A dozen, maybe more. What else do people sitting around an airport bar do but stare at the TV? Hopefully they wouldn’t look up at me.
I tucked my chin down, put one hand over my eyes, and studied the floor tiles as I walked back to the table where Katherine was sitting.
“Where’s your beer?” she said.
“I changed my mind,” I said. “You know what I really need?”
“No.”
“A hat.”
I lifted the somewhat faded, definitely broken-in Yankees cap off her head. I put it on mine. It didn’t fit.
“It’s way too small for your big head,” she said.
“Well, let’s buy one that fits,” I said.
“As soon as I finish,” she said, picking up her muffin and biting it.
So we sat and talked. And then it happened again. My picture flashed on the TV screen.
I didn’t try to read the closed captioning. I just kept my head down until Katherine polished off her cappuccino. Then we walked over to Hudson News. Katherine checked out the magazines, and I went to the gift shop.
I was about to buy a Yankees baseball cap when I saw the berets. Absolument, I thought. Très français and a much better disguise. They had two colors—brown or red. I settled on brown.
I moved over to the sunglasses rack and picked out a pair of mirror-lens wraparounds.
Then I found Katherine. “What do you think?”
She laughed out loud. “What happened to the baseball hat?”
“I’m an artist. We’re going to France. I definitely need a beret. And sunglasses,” I said, putting on my shades. “Is this perfect or what?”
“Or what,” said Katherine. But she was grinning.
Chapter 39
Dinner was served about an hour into the flight to Paris.
“At long last,” I said. “Fine French cooking. Maybe we should eat and critique our dinners.”
I had the beef goulash; Katherine opted for the herbed chicken.
“Bland, dry, overcooked,” she said after a few bites. “One star, and that’s only because I’m an easy marker. How about you?”
“Four stars,” I said.
Katherine threw me a look.
“I think it’s the ambience,” I said, kissing the back of her neck. “And the company, of course.”
As soon as the trays were cleared, we turned out the overhead lights and raised the armrest between our seats, and Katherine curled up against me, wrapped in a blanket and my arms.
She zonked out in minutes. I couldn’t sleep.
I loved this woman. What was I dragging her into?
If that toothpaste incident had escalated one more notch, Katherine’s behavior might have branded us as troublemakers, but my carry-on bag would absolutely have landed us both in jail.
What was I thinking? What had I gotten her involved in? Was I crazy? The questions were bouncing around in my brain like a beach ball at a rock concert.
Somewhere along the way I fell asleep, and I didn’t wake up till we were on our final approach to Orly airport. Looking out the window, we could see the lush vineyards and
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