B004183M70 EBOK (25 page)

"So this is what you meant by
stew-bums?" I asked.

"Airport johnnies, hostess-hoppers,
stew-bums, whatever you want to call them, they're always around. That's how
Stu and I met."

"Have you talked to Stu?"

"No. I told him I'd speak to him when
I got back," Darlene said stubbornly. "You know that, Bebe."

"It's not exactly a secret that I want
the two of you back together again."

As we walked on through the airport, the
guys continued their catcalls.

I said, "I see you're not wearing your
engagement ring.

"I'm not permitted to. Stewardesses
are supposed to be swinging singles. We're not allowed to marry, and if we get
engaged, we get six months' notice and we're out."

"Gee, that means if you marry
Cole—"

"Whew! We're here right on the dot. I
have to sign in, Bebe. I'll be just a minute." Darlene went behind the
long Skyway counter and through a door, dodging my remark.

I stood holding my light blue suitcase, forcing
that scene of Bradley being led away in handcuffs from my mind. Instead I
focused on what had been New York International Airport until last Christmas
Eve. On that day, in honor of our assassinated president, the airport was
renamed John F. Kennedy International Airport.

Lots of people were flying these days.
Darlene had told me the latest figures showed almost nine million people—more
than the total population of New York City!—used an airplane for travel.

Oh, it was no use. All I could think of was
Bradley. Someday. Wasn't that what Bradley had said? Someday he'd choose the right woman. I'd wait for him, even if he
didn't want me to. What alternative did I have? I loved him. In that instant I
thought of Louis. I couldn't go out with him again.

Other Skyway stewardesses arrived,
including a harsh-faced, tight-lipped busty stewardess with brassy blond hair,
but I didn't think any of them could hold a candle to Darlene.

I realized I needed to check my suitcase
with the Skyway clerk and did so.

A few seconds later Darlene emerged and
came to my side. She wasn't smiling. "Let's make tracks, honey. We need to
go to the gate. I'll board the plane, but you'll have to sit in the waiting
area," she said in a tight voice.

"Darlene, what's wrong? You've got a
murderous expression in your eyes," I said as we walked along.

She adjusted her features. "Did you
see the bottle blonde bursting out of her Skyway uniform who came in after
me?"

"Yes, I did notice her."

"That bitch is Peggy. I can't believe
my luck, Bebe! She's chief stewardess on our flight. Keep the knives away from
me."

"Oh, gosh, Peggy's the one who claims
to have had a fling with Stu in Paris," I said.

"You got it, honey."

"Stu wouldn't have such bad
taste," I assured her. "Darlene, you're not going to beat Peggy up,
are you?"

"I'm not making any promises. Here's
the seating area. I see from your empty hand that you got your suitcase
checked. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll come out and get you when the
plane is ready."

Darlene disappeared through the boarding
door.

I sat trying not to think about the
weather. The dark clouds over the city had finally let loose their contents.
Rain poured down outside the large window. Tonight, after an emotional day, my
nerves were on edge. Did airplanes have windshield wipers?

Around six Cole arrived, his legs spread as
if he were riding an invisible horse. He sat directly opposite me, one leg
crossed over the other, a black Stetson on his head. At his side was a leather
briefcase, obviously custom-made. He folded a newspaper and began to read.

Neither of us spoke.

Next to arrive was Lola. I knew before I
saw her from the flashbulb lights going off. My eyes popped at the sight of her
printed silk minidress in oranges, pinks, grays, and black. Wild, concentric
circles danced on a geometric background. The dress had cutout arm-holes and a
folded down collar. On her feet were mid-calf black patent-leather boots.

People stared. Lola's appearance screamed
high- fashion model. Looking at those black boots, I mentally chided myself
for not daring to wear my white go-go boots. As soon as I got home, I would be
sure to correct that mistake.

"Hello, Bebe," Lola greeted me in
a chipper tone.

Remembering my determination to be her new
best friend, I replied, "Come and sit next to me, Lola. You look stunning.
Where did you get that groovy dress?"

"Oh, a friend in Italy sent it to me.
Emilio Pucci. You might have heard his name," she said.

"I have. His designs are so different,
they explode with life," I said.

"Don't you think wearing Pucci right
now is in bad taste?" Pierre said, appearing in his entirely black uniform
of pants, shirt, sports coat, and beret. He carried a large bag that probably
contained his cameras. "It was a Pucci scarf that was used to strangle
Suzie."

Lola lit a cigarette. "Was it? I
didn't pay attention to the details of the murder. I only know she was
strangled. Forgive me, Pierre."

He gave her a brief nod, put his bag down,
and took a seat on my other side. Claiming both of my hands in his, Pierre
said, "Ah, you never disappoint me, Bebe. How did you convince that
monster of a boss that you were needed on this shoot?"

I smiled as Pierre released my hands, but
when I opened my mouth to give him the explanation I'd planned, Cole spoke:
"She's in charge of the shoot, if you can believe that. At the end of the
reception, the Williams guy was arrested for murder and hauled off by the
police in handcuffs," he said, tipping his Stetson back on his head.

Darn him! I had hoped to keep the news of
Bradley's arrest a secret for a while.

Pierre jumped out of his chair and began to
pace. "There is justice! I can never have Suzie again, but the one who
took her life will be punished."

Lola blew smoke from her nostrils.
"Damn. I wish Bradley hadn't been the one arrested. He's so handsome. I
hope he's replaced by someone reasonable. I wonder if I should approach
Ford."

"Ford Modeling won't take you,"
Pierre said with a grimace.

Lola tried for a hurt expression.
"Pierre, I thought we had decided to be friends."

"And as a friend, I'm telling you,
Lola, Ford will not put you on their talent list."

While Lola seethed, Pierre turned his
attention to me. "You are in charge of the shoot, Bebe? Nothing could make
me happier."

"Thank you, but I'm sure I won't have
much to do. Everyone is a professional," I said, wishing I were correct
and didn't have egos to juggle.

Lola put out her cigarette in the metal
tray fixed in the armrest of her chair.

Pierre took my right hand and held it.

I began to hope a storm would hit Saint
Thomas, the island chosen for the shoot, so the whole thing could be canceled
without any blame on my head.

I could kill Cole.

I needed chocolate.

Gloria walked up to our sullen group
carrying her big white makeup bag. "Somebody else die?" she cracked,
placing her case on the seat next to Cole and sitting in the following seat.

Lola said, "No, but Bradley Williams
has been arrested for Suzie's murder."

Gloria's brown gaze flitted to me, then to
my hand in Pierre's before she answered Lola. "Mr. Williams? I didn't peg
him for the killer."

"Who did you think strangled
Suzie?" Pierre asked sharply.

Gloria was in the hot seat, and I for one
waited for her answer.

She hesitated, then assumed a rebellious
air. "I don't wanna say. The police know what they're doing, I
guess."

Her words hung in the air.

"If you don't think Bradley did
it," Lola said, "then maybe you should voice your opinion as to who
did."

"Maybe I already have," Gloria
shot back.

Darlene joined the group. "Everybody
ready to jet down to the island?" she asked cheerfully.

We all rose, Darlene giving me a
"what's wrong" look.

I shook my head in response. To Lola, I
said, "Would you sit next to me on the flight? Maybe you could give me
some fashion and makeup tips. I admire you, Lola."

As I predicted, she fell for the flattery.
"Sure, Bebe. We can talk about ideas for the shoot."

Oh, no, we wouldn't. Bradley had gone over
with the Durden swimwear people exactly what they wanted: white-sand beaches,
blue water, palm trees, and a fabulous girl in a sexy black bikini.

Everyone settled into their seats on the
plane. Lola took the window seat, which was fine with me. Rain poured from the
skies, quashing any wish I had to look outside during takeoff.

All our seats were in the front section of
the plane, which carried a total of 115 people. Darlene had told me that
earlier. She also said we'd be cruising at 610 miles per hour. It sounded way
too fast to be safe.

I watched as people boarded the plane after
us, hoping for a nun or priest for protection. Funny, though, neither appeared to be taking a trip to Saint Thomas.
The majority were couples, young and old, seeking an island paradise.

Across the aisle from me, Pierre sat next
to Cole, who was in the window seat. Pierre argued with busty Peggy about how
fragile his cameras were. She finally wrapped his case in a blanket and took it
to a special compartment in the staffs area.

Gloria sat one row back, sulking. A vague
feeling of unease came over me. Did Gloria think Lola had killed Suzie? Was
that why she was surprised Bradley had been arrested? Who did Gloria think had
killed Suzie? Would she tell me?

As the plane engines roared to life, I
noticed with pride that Darlene worked in a businesslike, hustle-bustle
manner, smiling and friendly with everyone, not giving any particular passenger
more attention than another.

However, I did see her try to knock Peggy
down with the wheeled cart. I looked to the galley kitchen. Darlene was
snagging Peggy's stockings on a low stainless-steel cupboard, and Peggy was
opening a bottle of champagne directed at Darlene's eyes. The two hissed what
surely were insults at each other.

After the plane took off, Darlene served Lola
and me prime rib and champagne. I gave her a look when she poured the
champagne, slanting my eyes at Lola. Darlene nodded. No alcohol for Lola.

However, despite my earlier warnings, the
model kept signaling for more champagne. When Darlene ignored her, Lola snagged
Peggy. "That other stewardess won't refill my champagne."

"I am so sorry. She's a fill-in, not
very good at her job. I'll take care of you," Peggy promised.

Darn Peggy! "Lola, should you be
drinking the night before the shoot?" I asked.

She waved a careless hand. "I've been
dry for almost a week. I deserve some champagne. It won't make any
difference."

There was nothing I could do. Plan B: Maybe
Lola would get tipsy enough to confess, but not so drunk she'd
ruin the photo shoot.

I counted three glasses of champagne that
slid down the model's throat before Peggy took away our dinner plates. Lola
hadn't touched her food.

"Thanks for sitting next to me,"
I said in a confidential tone, holding my half-full champagne glass in my
right hand. "I'm looking forward to the photo shoot."

Lola lit another cigarette, then reached
across me to accept a champagne refill from Peggy. Her fourth. "Not nearly
as much as I am. Durden swimwear advertises in all the major magazines. My
career will be revived."

I patted her arm. "Lola," I
whispered, forcing her to move her head close to mine, "you're going to be
bigger than you ever were before. I have Pierre eating out of my hand. He'll
want to please me, and what will please me is you looking sexier than any movie
star in these photos. Even Liz Taylor."

"Are you sleeping with Pierre?"
Lola asked. "I think he's falling for you."

Oh, no. "Not yet, but it's only a
matter of time, now that Bradley's been arrested," I fibbed, trying
another tactic. "I've been more than a secretary to Bradley, if you know
what I mean." Mentally, I thought I would have to buy a thick new notebook
for confessions.

Lola smiled smugly. "Too bad about
Bradley. I'm glad I have you on my side, Bebe. I warn you, though, Pierre can
be intolerable with his French sensibilities." She finished her glass of
champagne and signaled to Peggy.

"What can I get you?" she asked.

"I'm switching to Manhattans,"
Lola said to Peggy, who raced up the aisle to get the highball.

In the galley, Darlene knocked over the
drink the minute Peggy mixed it. The two were at it again.

Lola said, "I'll be the top model in
the city. What better way to celebrate than drinking Manhattans?" she
asked, then giggled.