Whisper Privileges (9 page)

Suddenly grateful she had opted for tennis
shoes this morning, the perfect match to her sleeveless white tank
and khaki shorts, Sydney had the feeling this was going to be a
very long day. But with the Cuban coffee still warm in her hands,
she decided she’d be just fine,
so long as she had her
espresso
. She picked it up on her way in from the enormous tent
behind her. Housing area restaurants as they doled out local
flavors, the scent of which drifted through the morning air
tickling her appetite, it was the place for meet and greet. Aromas
of
pollo asado
and
croquetas de jamón
beckoned her
belly, not to mention the plates of
guava
pastry she saw
splayed across the tables next to the ham and eggs. The city
leaders were offering an amazing taste of Miami for their guests
today, dishing out breakfast for the arriving athletes—it was all
she could do not to march back there and fix a plateful for
herself!

But it was their way of showing the athletes
the best of their city and if you asked her, it was working. Her
stomach grumbled. Ah...but Cuban food was a weakness of hers. Add
the local celebrities on hand, the football and basketball players
easy to spot, the good-looking men and women most likely actors or
models or singers and you had VIP written all over the venue. Even
the esteemed Governor was on hand to take part in the welcoming
committee.
But didn’t Javier say this was a big deal
?

He did. A very big deal on a very large
scale.

Watching the first plane touch down, with
another aircraft discernible in the distance not far behind, she
realized he wasn’t kidding. Captivated by the fancy jet as it
glided to a halt at the end of the runway, these kids were
certainly traveling in style. It made a sharp and steady turn, then
headed their way. She’d never been on a private plane before, let
alone one on this level of sophistication. Sleek and gorgeous, it
was polished to a shine and Sydney could almost feel wealth
dripping from its exterior.

As an airport employee directed the plane to
stop, the cheerleaders formed two lines, making space for
volunteers and a miscellany of others to get in place along with
them where the athletes were set to disembark. Sydney maintained
her distance, marveling at how well the girls directed everyone
into an organized welcoming committee as the plane turned off its
engines. Several men wearing identical white ball caps, credential
passes hanging from their necks on orange lanyards stood waiting
for the door to open. Once opened, the flight of stairs popped out.
As if instructed on cue, they assisted a girl dressed in royal blue
T-shirt and white shorts as she intently navigated the steep flight
of stairs. The spectators waited patiently, but when she hit the
ground the crowd cheered.

Appearing stunned, the girl advanced toward
them, engulfed in a mix of shock and awe, as though she couldn’t
believe all these people were there to see
her
. Yet she ate
it up just the same, Sydney noted, humored by her response as
several of the high school girls held their hands out to high-five
her. Others clapped their pom-poms together and Sydney was
heartened to see, did so with as much exuberance as if they were
cheering their high school football team on its way to play for the
national championship. When the girl neared the end of the line, an
older woman reached out and wrapped her arms around her, enfolding
her in a spirited hug.

It struck Sydney that these people were
complete strangers to these kids, yet here they were, hugging,
clapping, high-fiving… Six more athletes decked out in the same
blue shirts and white shorts filed out of the plane behind her,
followed by the pilot. All made their way through the welcoming
line before an awaiting photographer corralled everyone back toward
the aircraft for pictures. Sydney sipped from her Styrofoam cup,
the aroma stiff and pungent, as the athletes—most of them in their
teenage years—stood shoulder to shoulder with their two pilots.

“Squeeze in,” the photographer told them.

Bodies sprang into action and smiles beamed
as they huddled close together.

“You guys make this plane look good!” the
co-pilot commented.

One of the girls giggled. “I feel like a
rawk
star!”

Beyond them, Sydney heard the high-pitched
engines of another plane as it slowed to a park position nearby.
Her pulse snagged as she caught sight of a tall blond man jogging
toward it. He turned, summoned one of the golf cart type vehicles
to pull up to the rear and at once Sydney realized she thought it
was Clay.
Would she see him today
? Inadvertently she looked
around. Not knowing when his son’s flight was scheduled to arrive,
she couldn’t be sure, though she had to admit, a part of her hoped
so.

Music kicked to life from back in the
terminal. A local DJ had been hired to play Latin music while a
dance group, dressed in full costume, performed a variety of
merengue, salsa and more. She’d been treated to a brief
demonstration on her way in this morning—skirts whipping about,
heels and hips moving in sync, arms gesticulating about them—and
she thought they were good. Really good.

Following the volunteers to the next plane,
Sydney watched the welcoming process unfold all over again. Like a
bunch of groupies hungry for a sight of their favorite actor,
everyone waited outside the jet until the doors opened and the
Olympiads made their way onto the tarmac. The only thing they were
missing was a red carpet. But something told her that if it could
have been arranged, the Special Olympics would have secured one for
each and every plane. She was beginning to realize it’s how they
did everything: top notch with over the top celebration and
fun.

Kids barreled out of the plane one by one,
some smiling, others giggling, but with each and every one their
joy was palpable. Sydney felt a small zing as she watched the last
young man hasten down the staircase, run toward the cheerleaders
and gripped by pure unadulterated excitement, made a grand
squat—his arms held high in the air as though accepting victory for
the gold he already won. Everyone hooted and applauded and he
smiled large and proud. Behind his thick glasses, she recognized
the distinct eyes of a child with Down’s syndrome, the innocent
smile consumed with delight. She imagined just getting here had to
be a big deal for them. In the doorway of the plane, the pilot
appeared and her heart stopped.
Was that
—?

She looked closer. Oh my God—it was! It was
the famous actor-turned-pilot who lived right here in Florida.
Sydney couldn’t help but stare at him as he confidently descended
the steep steps of his aircraft, hugged several of the athletes and
then posed for pictures with them. He looked different in real
life. A bit older, a bit heavier, but every ounce as gorgeous.

“Hey.” Someone touched her on the arm and she
jumped.

Sydney whirled to find Clay standing before
her, his blue eyes piercing in the morning sun. Her heart jumped.
“
Hey
,” she replied breathlessly. “I was wondering if I’d see
you here.”

He slid a glance toward the group gathered
near the plane for pictures. “From what I hear, it’s the place to
be today.”

Her hands tensed around the warm cup of
coffee. Casual in jeans and red T-shirt, Clay’s cologne smelled
fresh and clean, his hair loosely combed, his complexion clear, his
eyes brilliant. “I guess. It’s like a zoo out there,” she tried to
joke, but her mind went straight back to that kiss he placed on her
hand yesterday. Lingering, sensual, she could almost feel his lips
on her hand now. She stepped away from him and asked, “So what time
does Q arrive?”

“Not until four.”

“
Four
? But it’s only eight now.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice lithe. “But I
didn’t have anything else to do today so I thought I’d come by and
harass you a bit before he arrives.”

A tinge of heat rose to her cheeks and she
smiled. “You don’t harass me, Clay.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “No?”

Nerves tangled in her stomach. “No.”

He lifted his gaze back to meet hers. “Maybe
I’m not trying hard enough then.”

“I don’t understand—you
want
to harass
me?”

“Until you go out to dinner with me, yes
ma’am, I do.”

Sydney suppressed a swell of pleasure. The
play was forward, direct, and left no room for doubt.

“Not ready, yet?”

When she said nothing, Clay seemed unfazed.
“Okay. I can do challenge.”

She lowered her voice and said, “I’m not
trying to be a challenge, Clay. I just don’t think it’s a good
idea.”

“Dinner?”

“You’re here for your son.” She glanced at
the nearby plane. “I don’t want to take you away from him.”

“First of all, you refused me before he was
ever in town, and second, once he is, he won’t even know I’m
alive.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true. He’ll be so busy with his coach
and team he won’t have time for me—which is a good thing.” She
raised a brow at the assertion. “Believe me. He’s having the time
of his life. Q is where he wants to be, where I want him to be.”
Clay thrust a smile behind his words. “No sense his old man can’t
do the same.”

Sydney dodged him for a quick peek at the
pilot, and his famous dimpled smile.

“Besides, I thought you enjoyed lunch.”

She turned back to him. “I did, but—”

“Dinner won’t be any different.”

Something told her that was far from the
truth. Dinner with Clay would take on an entirely different tone
than lunch. It would be quiet and cozy and
intimate
—something she wasn’t sure she was ready for with
him.

“But I won’t pressure you.” His gaze touched
upon her mouth again then switched gears. “So what’s on tap for
today?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re working, right?”

She gave him a hesitant nod, her stomach
riddled with uncertainty—
excitement
.

“Okay. I’ll help. What do we do next,
boss?”

She shook her head and chuckled.

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he warned
her, “You better put me to work, because I have nothing else to do
until four—except find
trouble
.”

Find trouble. Who was he kidding? He was
trouble! But deciding there was no harm in playing along, she
agreed. “C’mon.”

Chapter Seven

A few hours later, Clay stood by her side
down the long line of planes parked on the tarmac. Many had
departed after dropping the athletes, but many remained. Mostly
white jets, big jets some of them, the majority marked by slim
lines of color that ran the length of them, numbers on the tail,
the aircraft organized in perfectly straight rows. Orange cones
were positioned by the front wheel of each, creating a long,
somewhat layered look of order and precision. The sight appealed to
him.

“I can’t believe how many planes there are,”
Sydney remarked. “It’s unbelievable.”

Glad to finally have her alone and away from
the hubbub of golf carts weaving in and out of planes and athletes,
transporting luggage and people to the terminal, he turned to her.
Despite the heat and humidity, she looked as clean and clear as she
did this morning. Hair pulled back, the golden strands shone
against the sleek brunette, then became lost in the thick wad of
her ponytail. He recalled the first time he saw her on the beach.
Skin slick with perspiration, her body drenched with color from
hours on the court...

It was all he could do to not to reach out
and touch her. She was beautiful then, but even more so now, up
close and personal. Clay dug his hands into his pockets and said,
“And to think that all these pilots donate their time and planes to
help our kids out.”

“Incredible,” she replied absently.

He overheard one of the reporters claim that
this was the largest civilian airlift operation in the country.
Didn’t surprise him. It was an extraordinary effort on behalf of
the kids and one he, as a parent, appreciated—more than he could
ever say. But over the past three years, generosity was something
he had become accustomed to with regard to the Special Olympics.
Complete strangers willingly gave hours to the cause, from doctors
and nurses offering health screens during events to school children
drawing pictures and singing songs, everyone seemed eager to
contribute in whatever way they could. “So much of what goes into
these events is voluntary, it boggles the mind,” he said. “People
from all walks of life turn out to make these events happen, from
handing out water to offering a simple hug.”

Sydney looked at him and beneath a line of
dark brown lashes, the green of her eyes saturated with sunlight.
The corner of her mouth tipped up into a smile. “I noticed a lot of
hugging going on.”

“It’s odd at first, isn’t it? When you’re not
used to seeing it, I mean. Complete strangers will watch the
events, cheer the kids on, give high-fives or thumbs-up. But some
of us? We’re just huggin’ fools.” The phone at his waistband
buzzed. Unclipping it, he saw that it was his mother and answered
immediately. “Hello?” Clay smiled at Sydney and gave her a
thumbs-up. “Planes are landing every thirty seconds around here. If
he’s late, his pilot may have to circle overhead for a few hours.”
Listening, he nodded and replied, “Okay. See you then.” To Sydney
he said, his pulse ramped, “Q’s in the air.”

It’d been almost a week since he’d seen him,
which was a long time for the two of them, but the coach assured
Clay there was nothing to worry about. This was how they handled
things the last time he and the team went to nationals and everyone
did fine. Clay’s chest tightened. But this was Q’s first time. His
first time and he didn’t know exactly what to expect, though for
Q’s sake he was going to hang strong too, and go with the flow.