“My pleasure Lady Billingsley. I am well. Thank you for asking.”
“Splendid.” I drummed my fingers on my knee. “Are we picking up Mr. Philips at the Drake?”
“I’ve been instructed to give you this.” He handed me a white envelope with a wax seal on its back. I ripped it open, pulled out a card and read:
Dear Groucho,
* * *
I regret to inform you that I will not be accompanying you today on the first leg of your trip to Fredonia. My lower back pain flared last night and I am laid up at Northwestern Hospital’s Spine Center for several days. Please don’t fret. Everything will be fine. E-mail or text Lady or me if you have any questions. (FYI: Lady is quite busy attending to E and her secret mission.) However one of us will be winging our way to you and Fredonia shortly. We wouldn’t have engaged your services if we didn’t truly believe you were a smart girl who could roll with the punches.
* * *
Sincerely,
* * *
The Damp
I wrung my hands. I hadn’t planned on pulling off this massive deception on my own. I’d counted on having Mr. Philips at my side and Zara on speed dial and text for emergencies. What if I couldn’t do this by myself? What if I screwed everything up and ruined Elizabeth’s big secret task? I’d never forgive myself.
The chauffeur drove past MadDog on the way to O’Hare Airport. I gazed out the tinted window and my mind drifted. I knew this was a journey of a lifetime, but I already missed my former job, my friends and my family. I wondered if they missed me.
Then realized that really didn’t matter right now. I had a new job and I had promised—no, I’d actually sworn on my parents’ graves—to give it my all.
Chapter 10
I reclined on my cushy, leather seat in the First Class section of British Airlines Flight #1509 to London and attempted to log into the LuLu inflight Internet service because I desperately needed to find out who this Nick character was—pronto.
But I couldn’t access the LuLu site. Bad gateway, bad portal, bad vibes, whatever. I tried Lulu’s helpful—not—chat service but still couldn’t log on. Kristine, the flight attendant, tried to help, but we couldn’t get there. Jane Dawson tried to help. It wasn’t happening.
I peeked at Nick through the small separation between Jane and my seats. He was absorbed in his laptop, typing furiously.
“He’s quite handsome. You two know each other?” Jane asked.
I boomeranged back into my chair. “No.”
When I realized that Elizabeth probably did know Nick…
“By ‘No,’ I mean—kind of,” I said. “We haven’t seen each other in a very long time and you know how it is when you vaguely remember someone but blank on all the details?”
“Absolutely,” Jane said. “I do believe that was called the sixties. But you’re too young for that era. What’s your excuse?”
“Oh. Um. Yes. We probably met at a polo match or a royal party. And there’s just so much hubbub. Who can keep up?”
“That would totally make sense,” Jane said. “Those soirées are packed with people. How can you possibly remember a third of the folks you’re introduced to?”
Kristine made her way through the First Class cabin and jotted down our drink and dinner orders. “Did you get that Internet connection to finally work, Lady Billingsley?”
“No.”
“That’s just crazy. I’ll try and help you again after the dinner service.”
“Thank you,” I smiled and nodded. “That would be terrific.”
“Lady Billingsley?” Jane asked and arched an eyebrow on her expertly lifted forehead.
I waved my hand dismissively. “Half of Europeans have some kind of title. It’s no big deal. It’s not like I’m a Princess or anything.”
“I’m keeping my eye on you. I have this gut instinct about people and I think you’re going places,” Jane said.
I laughed. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”
“Seriously. I get hunches, intuition, a sixth sense. I’m good with things like this.” She dug in her purse and handed me her card. “Get ahold of me when whatever it happens.” She wagged her index finger. “And if you don’t and I find out about it—I will track you down, interview you and make you tell all!”
Over an hour later, my tummy still rumbled because I was too nervous and had only picked at my pecan-encrusted baked chicken with broccoli florets and new potatoes.
Kristine flitted around the First Class cabin clearing trays and refilling drinks. It was the perfect time for me to hit the ladies’ room.
I scooched past Jane who was still eating, stood in the aisle and stretched my arms high overhead—it felt so good to move a little after all of today’s stress. I made my way up the aisle when I sensed an interest, a gaze directed at me. I turned and caught Nick halfway out of his seat eyeing me with one arched eyebrow.
“No. Way,” I hissed, pushed my way into the bathroom, slammed the door shut and fiddled with the horizontal slide-y lock three times before it engaged. I looked into the mirror and saw a red-faced, irritated reflection of Lady Elizabeth Billingsley. I didn’t see a lot of Lucille Marie Trabbicio anymore and frankly—that kind of scared me.
I did my business, washed my hands, applied lip-gloss, smacked my lips together, and ran a hand through my blonde-streaked bouncy hair. I fumbled with the lock, pushed open the accordion door and stepped out.
Only to see Jane Dawson hunched over in the middle of the aisle while Nick straddled her from behind—his arms wrapped around her chest just underneath her boobs as he hoisted her up in the air—over and over again.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “Let go of her you beast! Is there nothing you won’t do to get a woman into the Mile High Club?”
Kristine and I shoved past each other as we hustled toward them.
“Leave the poor woman alone!” I said.
“Keep going!” Kristine yelled.
Jane Dawson’s face was blue as she gurgled, hacked and spit out a chunk of pecan-encrusted chicken glombed onto a new potato. It flew through the air and landed on my foot. Actually on the toe of my designer pump. I feared for a second that Elizabeth and Zara would kill me. But then watched as Jane slumped back against Nick who caught her.
“Oh my God! Jane—are you okay?” I asked.
“Good job!” Kristine patted Nick on his shoulder, leaned in and examined Jane’s face and throat. “Say something to us, Ms. Dawson. Anything.”
Jane breathed heavily, her chest expanding and contracting. “You saved my life, young man. Thank you.”
“It was nothing,” Nick said.
I had experience in CPR. How did I not recognize this was a medical emergency and not sexual harassment?
“You’re breathing freely Ms. Dawson. That’s a very good sign.” Kristine lifted the armrest between our two seats. “Can you help?” She asked Nick.
He nodded, scooped Jane up in his arms, moved in a few feet and gently lowered her onto my seat.
Kristine popped open an overhead bin and we grabbed some pillows and a few blankets. She propped one under Jane’s neck and her back, and one under her knees as her legs rested on her 3B seat.
I ripped the plastic bags off the blankets, shook them out and draped them across Jane.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jane said.
The other passengers in First Class were half out of their seats or craning to get an eyeful. One guy even whipped out his iPhone, which I snatched from his hand. “Show’s over folks,” I said. “Let’s be respectful and give the woman some privacy.”
“We know you’re fine Ms. Dawson,” Kristine said, “but I’d prefer that you rest here a bit. Do you have any medical conditions I need to know about?”
“High blood pressure and anxiety,” Jane said.
“I’m going to alert the captain and get the blood pressure monitor. I’ll be right back.”
“But where will Elizabeth sit?” Jane rasped.
“Right next to me,” Nick said. “There’s an empty seat—right next to me.” He pointed at the seat directly next to him.
Blech.
I frowned as my eyes swept the First Class cabin. It was indeed the only open seat remaining. I stepped around Nick toward the curtain that separated first from coach and peeked behind it. It was packed except for a few unoccupied center seats.
A baby screamed at the top of his lungs and up-chucked all over his mother. A guy with a greasy comb-over situated in the next aisle eyed me, winked and pointed to the empty seat next to him.
I sighed. “How many hours left in this flight?”
“Six hours and forty-five minutes if we’re on time,” Kristine said as she squeezed in next to Jane and took her blood pressure.
“Well then let’s pray that time flies.”
“And fly it will, my Lady.” Nick took his seat next to the window and pointed to the aisle seat next to him. “You have nothing to worry about. I won’t even talk to you. Not one question. Not one word. Not a sound.”
I leaned closer to the aisle in seat 4B in case Mr. Cocky decided to grab me or grope me or trundle me off to the Mile High Club. But Nick was the perfect gentleman and no such thing happened. In fact nothing happened. Just like he said—he didn’t even talk to me, let alone acknowledge my presence.
I’d sneak glances at him that he either didn’t notice or ignored, as he was absorbed in his laptop, typing away. There was no way I could open my computer now, let alone get online, in case he saw anything that might compromise my job.
I paged through the European Vogues until my neck felt itchy and I feared I’d break out into hives if I laid eyes on one more anorexic, airbrushed model in a designer ad for a product I couldn’t pronounce, let alone spell.
The in-flight movie selection was boring—no action adventure, no romantic comedies, nothing fun and hilarious like The Heat or Bridesmaids. Only earnest British stories, which had their appeal, or artsy European films that translated to nothing blowing up, no romantic banter, but featured a few scorching sex scenes. I didn’t want to be watching that in case my seatmate decided to glance my way and take it as an invitation.
I glanced at my fancy watch fifty times but there was still a little under four hours flying time remaining. I desperately wished I could do yoga in the aisle or run laps up and down the plane’s length. I also knew this would draw undo attention to myself and would not be considered lady-like.
Shit.
Who knew being lady-like would be so difficult?
I glanced again at the gorgeous male specimen named Nick, who now power-napped in the seat next to me, his long legs splayed out in front of him, his handsome head resting on the seat behind him. Was it my imagination or had his black facial hair grown just a touch since we first met only hours earlier?
A sexy dark shadow travelled across his chin, crossed above his full upper lip and graced the lower part of his face. Dear God, he was so hot when he wasn’t blathering on about something. No wonder Elizabeth had played slap and tickle with him.
I glanced at the door to the First Class bathroom facility and imagined us trapped in there. It would be tight. I would be warm. He would be 3/4 naked. We would be…
Get a grip Lucy!
I scrolled through the in-flight movies again:
Hitler’s Last Days.
No.
Meet the Queen’s Corgies.
No.
The Crocheter’s Daughter.
And no.
When I had an idea. I tried to squash it. But it percolated, tempting me like a moth to a globe lamp on a moist, hot summer night. I told that thought to go away. But it jammed its fingers in its ears, stuck out its tongue at me and shook its head, ‘No.’
I told that thought to take a hike.
It said, “Can’t. We’re on an airplane flying over the Atlantic.”
I sighed. I simply couldn’t resist.
So I did it.
Chapter 11
I tapped Nick’s shoulder lightly, repeatedly, until he startled awake. “What?”
“Hey Nick,” I said.
He grunted and rubbed his eyes. “What Lizzie?”
“I have an idea,” I said.
He stretched his shoulders forward, then back and yawned. “That’s awesome. However, I must remind you that I’m not talking to you.”
“I know you said that earlier but I have this great idea for a game we could play together for the next four hours on this incredibly boring flight.”
“Really?” One of his black eyebrows rose.
“No, no,” I said. “It’s not like that.”
“Then I’m still not talking to you.” He ran his fingers through his hair and stretched his legs.
“Hear me out. Let’s pretend we don’t know each other. Like—we’re strangers who met for the very first time in First Class on a boring transatlantic flight.”
His eyes lit up. “Tell me more.”
“I get to ask you a question and you answer it. Then you get to ask me a question and I answer.”
“Hmm,” He rubbed his chin. “Are there prizes involved?”
I shrugged my shoulders and smiled.
“What are the rules of this game?”
“I think because we’re ‘strangers’,” I fake finger quoted in the air, “we should start with PG questions and see where it goes from there. Yes? Okay. Great! I’ll go first. Nick—what do you do for a living?”
“Hedge fund investments,” he said. “I run my own company and handle investments for a few other clients as well.”
“You must be very smart,” I said.
“I am. But you already know that.” He smiled.
“Oh sir.” I batted my eyelashes. “How could I? We’ve only just met.”
“Right. You’re good,” he said. “I hate to tell you but this is a major turn-on.”
“That’s not a question,” I said.
“Um, right,” he said. “What do you do for a living?”
I cleared my throat and fanned my face. “I’m on break from school. And I’m currently working part-time on a side project that’s a little out of my comfort zone.”
“What constitutes a little out of your comfort—”
“My turn,” I said. “What brought you to the States?”
“Again, business. Trying to put out fires as well as searching for opportunities. I love Fredonia but the long-term goal is expansion. My turn. Favorite movie?”
“Oh gosh,” I said. “That’s a draw between While You Were Sleeping, the first three Bourne movies with Matt Damon, not that other guy, Terminator—obviously the second one when Linda Hamilton kicks ass, and Love Actually.”
“That’s six,” he said.
“Count the three Bournes as one long, spectacular movie. Which brings it down to four. What are your four favorite movies?” I asked.
“Hmm. It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“I loved Zuzu’s petals.” I angled to face him.
“My favorite part is when Jimmy Stewart jumped into the river to save Clarence,” he said. “Casablanca. And Die Hard,” he said. “The first one.”
“As far as I’m concerned there are no others,” I said. “You like the classics. I’m impressed!”
“And… The Hangover,” he said.
“Meh! You had to throw a bromance in there. But I loved how in that movie things just kept going from bad to worse. Okay, okay!” I jumped a little in my seat and shot my hand up in the air. “My turn!”
“The movie question was your turn.” Nick captured my hand in his much bigger one, pulled it down and held it. “Are you cheating this early in the game?”
“No!” I yanked it away and blushed. “Fine. Your turn.”
“Best kiss ever? To make it PG-rated you must exclude me of course.” He grinned.
“Oh.” I bit my lip and thought and the answer popped into my head—it just wasn’t the answer I was expecting. “That would be the last time my mom kissed
me—right before she died.” Tears welled in my eyes.
“Oh, Lizzie, I’m so sorry. I think that qualifies as the best and worst kiss ever.” He took my hand and squeezed it.
But this time I didn’t push him away.
And just like that the hours flew by. I didn’t even notice that we were late, delayed almost forty-five minutes. Our seats were in the upright position, our tray tables firmly locked. I pressed my toe against my tote and slid it back under the seat in front of me as we made our descent to London’s Heathrow Airport.
“Best dessert?” Nick asked.
“Chocolate anything,” I said. “The darker the better. You?”
“Chocolate and peanut butter all mixed up. But the peanut butter has to be crunchy,” he said. “Favorite sport?”
“Hands down—football,” I said.
“I think it’s hilarious that the Americans call it soccer.”
“Oh no. I don’t mean soccer.” I frowned. “I meant football. Like real football—you know the Chicago Bears, the Green Bay Packers—”
He reached out and grabbed my hand. “How long have you been in the States? Have you gone mad?”
“Um,” I said. “Almost sixteen months?”
He laid the back of his palm against my forehead. “I think you’re feverish. Possibly delusional? Who could like American football more than soccer? How could this strange twist of events happen to the girl I always admired? I might think differently of you here on out.” He rolled his eyes.
And I giggled. “Might I remind you sir—we’ve only just met.”
The plane shook a little as we descended through clouded skies. I held onto the armrest tightly. He put his hand on top of mine. “Breathe,” he said.
I inhaled and exhaled slowly.
“That was perfect.”
I nodded.
“Now try it again,” he said.
Part-time Princess Page 7
