by Gigi Blume
Dog Man chuckled and swooped up Reeses, offering me his other hand to help me up.
“I’ll manage,” I clipped, perhaps too forcefully. I probably shouldn’t have snapped at him. He was trying to help me up after all. But the fall to the hard floor hurt my pride as well as my poor tooshie. I turned my eyes to my phone, shattered in a sad pile of bits of plastic and glass on the floor.
“Oh crud,” I heard Dog Man say. “That sucks.”
“That sucks?” I managed to say. It was then I noticed the makings of a suppressed laugh on his lips. “That…sucks?”
“I mean…I hope you have insurance.”
I did, thanks to my brother, but that wasn’t the point.
I forlornly scooped up the shrapnel surrounding my dead phone, mourning over it on my hands and knees. I promised Will I’d call him in Chicago between connecting flights and if I didn’t he’d worry himself sick—just what a man needs a few days before his wedding.
“Here, let me help you,” Dog Man said, no longer laughing at my expense at least.
“No thanks, dude.”
“Listen, I—”
“Just please…go away.” I was too embarrassed, and if I was being honest with myself, kinda attracted to Dog Man, which only made my face red.
So...Merry Christmas to me? The hap-happiest time of the year. Maybe.
2
Georgia
One would imagine airlines seated first-class passengers last—being closest to the front and all. But no. Having a premium seat subjects you to stares and a good measure of jealous looks from those who pass by on their way to the economy seats. Or in my case, a haughty glower of disdain from dog man. When he caught sight of me in that oversized luxury seat with lots of legroom, his eye twitched—just a tiny bit. I could hear the sneers of his inner voice say, “Figures.” I’d seen that look before. Poor little rich girl.
He shook his head and chuckled before adjusting the strap of the mesh dog carrier on his shoulder and then slugged onward. Back to the backity back back. Who was this guy to judge me anyway? He was probably one of those inconsiderate hobos who didn’t clean after their dog did its business. I could just picture him shaking his head all the way down the aisle.
Whatever.
It wasn’t my idea to purchase a first-class ticket. My brother bought it, all the while scolding me for waiting too long to book my flight. He’d said something about guaranteeing my seat since I’d already missed out on a direct flight, it being the holidays and all. But I wasn’t about to apologize for Christmas.
I settled in with a small town romance on my Kindle while the plane taxied and took off. A few minutes after we hit cruising altitude I overheard a hushed confrontation between a flight attendant and a lady with a toddler.
“I’m sorry, ma'am. You’ll have to take your seat,” the flight attendant said. Her hair was pinned in a tight French twist and her navy blue skirt looked like it was cutting off her circulation. An extremely wiggly child in pigtails squirmed in the passenger’s arms. She appeared to be training for cirque de soleil the way she was bending backwards.
“It’s just she was climbing off my lap. I’ll go right back when the seatbelt sign is on.”
“We can’t allow passengers to walk freely around the cabin. We have to get through with the beverage service.”
The tired mom scanned the first-class area, gesturing to the empty seat. “I’ll be out of your way in here.”
“This area is restricted. I have to ask you to return to your seat.”
The poor woman hitched the squirrely little girl on her hip and disappeared down the aisle after the flight attendant drew the curtain. This was followed by silly squeaks and squeals so high-pitched, a coloratura soprano would be jealous. A few people laughed but I figured there were others who didn’t appreciate the joyful noises of a toddler.
When the flight attendant returned my way I called her to me. “That woman with the baby. Is she traveling alone?”
She twisted her brows and gave me a confused expression. “Yes, I believe she is, Miss Darcy.”
Miss Darcy. This lady knew who I was, or rather, who my brother was. His name was on my itinerary since he paid for the flight. A celebrity brother had its perks even though it was annoying.
“I would like to switch seats with her.”
Her confused expression turned to shock. Or she was appalled. I couldn’t figure out which. “I….uh…I’ll have to ask my supervisor.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” I gathered my things, which consisted of a small purse and my Kindle. “I’ll just pop into the bathroom while you lead her up here. Then you can show me my new seat.”
I didn’t wait for her response. I took my time in the first-class bathroom, flossing my teeth and re-applying my lip-gloss. By the time I finished, the little girl and the mom were gleefully sharing the seat I vacated with lots of room to wiggle and roam in peace.
I was feeling pretty darn good about my Christmas good deed, smiling to myself as the flight attendant led me toward the rear—until I got there.
“This is you. The middle seat.”
Yikes. No wonder the tike couldn’t sit still. The seat was tiny and the older woman in the aisle seat hardly tucked in her legs to let me pass. There was approximately three inches between her and the seat in front of her. But the real shocker was the person who occupied the window seat. I first noticed the bag tucked under the seat and a little black nose peeking out from under the folds of mesh. Big, brown eyes regarded me, sorrowfully imploring to be let out—and maybe to jump on me. Again. Reeses and his human stared at me incredulously. The latter, a little more bemused than the other.
“Bored with champagne and caviar?” His elbow was on my armrest.
“What?”
“I saw you in the fancy section. Were you curious how the other half lives? Or did they kick you out?”
I nudged my right elbow, knocking his off the armrest. “Nope. I’m just hoping to get attacked by your dog again.”
“Attacked?” He laughed. “Yeah, those doggie kisses are mighty lethal.”
Charming.
“How do you know I’m not allergic?”
“If you’re allergic, you probably shouldn’t have tried to pet Reeses earlier.”
“I wasn’t trying to pet your…Reeses. I was trying to get through your entourage of jail bait so I could plug in my phone.”
At that point Dog Man‘s lip twitched. I thought at first he was trying to hold back a guilty grin but there was more to it than that. His features spread out to reveal a mouthful of teeth. I’m talking really nice teeth. But that’s beside the point. He was laughing at me. Laughing. At me. The nerve—especially after all the trouble he’d caused me. To crown the whole, his little dog considered the laughter an invitation to join the fun because he slipped out of his mesh bag and jumped on his human’s lap. No biggie. Just a dog on a plane.
Here’s where I feel I should add a little disclaimer. I loved dogs. Adored them actually. I couldn’t have pets where I lived, but if I could, I’d have adopted a dog. For the time being, I had to settle for visits to California where I got to snuggle with my brother’s cocker spaniel to my heart’s content. So I had absolutely nothing against Reeses. But I was a rule follower and I was pretty sure dogs had to stay put in their carriers while in flight. Dog Man didn’t seem to care one bit.
“Ya know. If you get caught, they'll issue you a travel ban. I’ve seen it happen.”
“Doubtful.”
“Fine.” I angled my body away from him the best I could in that tiny seat and plugged my earbuds into the armrest. Weird place for the media controls, but whatever. I’d be laughing my head off once that fierce flight attendant put Dog Man in his place.
But Reeses was swift. It was as though he could sense when someone was coming because he’d jump into his carrier (which was more like a duffle bag) and bury his head under the flap. Then, when the danger passed, he’d leap right back onto Dog Man’s lap with his
cute little ears perked up.
Unbelievable!
All my efforts to find my happy place were in vain. The lady sitting to my left continued to push the call button. At first I thought she wanted to complain about Reeses, but she only wanted a pillow. Then a blanket. Then when she was told there were no blankets, she wanted the “waitress” to drape napkins over her shoulders. Of course she was a gem compared to the guy. He seemed to consider himself entitled to my armrest. His elbow pressed directly over the media controls, either changing my channel or increasing the volume to deafening levels. Each time I kindly asked him to move his elbow, he just said, “Oops.” and replaced it there again after a minute. Seriously. What kind of dummy designed those media controls?
My only consolation was the short duration of the flight. Soon we’d be in Chicago where I’d catch my connecting flight to Los Angeles and the Dognamic Duo would go to whichever circus they belonged.
But, oh! Fate was a trickster. Or at least the weather was.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking…”
3
Georgia
The ticketing agent at Fort Dodge Municipal Airport was garnering a little too much amusement at our expense. It was a nightmare scenario out of a Steve Martin movie. Chicago O’Hare runways all slick with black ice. No flights for a couple days out of Fort Dodge, Iowa. But oh, there’s a Motel 6 in town with a great continental breakfast. Happy Holidays.
I attempted to reason with the lady one last time while the line behind me grew into a collective frown.
“So you’re telling me you can’t find any flights to LAX? Or at least another airport where I can grab a connecting flight?”
She lifted one brow and peered at me over her reading glasses. “Listen, I already said…this is a municipal airport.”
“Yes, but surely they can arrange for some commercial planes to swing by and take all these people where they need to go. Or lots of small planes. It’s Christmas.”
“I don’t know what Polar Vortex means to you folk in L.A. but here in Iowa it means: All. Flights. Grounded.”
Honestly I thought polar vortex was some kind of Star Trek thing. But I digress.
“So, when you say all flights grounded, does that pertain to flights going to a warmer climate?”
She exhaled a heavy, punctuated breath. It was a statement in itself, pretty much declaring my idiocy. I was okay with that as long as my questions were answered. She held up her hand and began ticking my options off on her fingers.
“You can accept the hotel and food voucher and wait out the storm.”
Tick.
“You can catch the charter bus tomorrow morning into Chicago.”
Tick.
“Or…you can try to rent a car.
Tick
“But…” The but was accentuated with a scary plosive consonant accompanied by a spray of spit. “…they only keep eight cars in the fleet.”
I bolted. Yes, I thanked the lady, but I was running so fast she probably didn’t hear me. Eight cars in the fleet. Total? Or eight of each kind? I hoped and prayed I wasn’t too late. In retrospect I should have asked where the rental car place was but really, Fort Dodge Municipal Airport, Iowa was more like a library than a transport center. My brother’s house was bigger which kind of wasn’t a fair comparison because Pemberley was crazy huge.
I wondered as I ran through the carpeted corridors, past Native American wall art, past a life-size plaster statue of a moose, past a museum exhibit of the early aviators, how my day took such a wild turn. At this moment I should have been boarding my second flight to L.A. with a steamy peppermint latte acquired at the Chicago airport Starbucks. I’d be taking my seat, settling in for a lazy five hours in the air before I got to see my brother and his fiancé. Before arriving home for Christmas. And instead I was rushing through a sad little airport to get one of eight rental cars before people with working phones could snatch them up in the app.
What kind of lunacy was this? First thing first. Rent a car. Then buy a burner phone to call Will. Then…drive to a working airport? I couldn’t think that far ahead without my caffeine.
I found the line to the Cheap and Cheerful Car Rental before the blaring yellow sign came into view. There definitely was nothing cheerful about that line. Also, even if the travelers waiting not so patiently were four to a party, eight cars wouldn’t be enough to accommodate all those people. My chances of getting out of this place were getting dimmer than the fluorescent lights on the tile ceiling. In my desperation I thought to myself, “Surely one of these nice souls would have room for one more.” Then I thought about how my brother would react and tamped that down before the imaginary voice in my head could yell, “Stranger danger.” A businessman in an important looking suit glared angrily at his expensive looking watch then shot laser beams toward the front of the line where the clerk attended to a customer. Said customer was most assuredly thinking to himself. “Too bad, suckers. I got here first. Enjoy your lumpy oatmeal tomorrow morning.”
Or maybe it was a sweet elderly lady taking the last car so she could see her grandchildren for the holidays. I had to know who to direct my ire towards. So I followed the important businessman’s gaze until my vision landed on the lucky jerk renting one of the last cars. Dog Man.
Seriously, my day couldn’t have gotten any weirder. There he was, fumbling through his stuff, dropping all the contents of his wallet onto the counter. The cashier shook her head and said something I only caught the tail end of as I drew closer.
“…can’t accept cash. Credit cards only.” She shrugged as though she couldn’t care less and for a split second I felt sorry for Dog Man. Nobody should have to endure the indifference of a tired rental car clerk. Not three days before Christmas. Then I remembered his indifference about my broken phone and a small part of me—the vindictive part—rejoiced at his plight. He looked so pathetic in those jeans that were too worn to be fashionable and a pair of extremely insensible Converse All Stars—also run down. Did this guy not know how to dress for the snow? Reeses’ little snout peeked out of the bag on the floor and I only had time to note the flash in his eyes upon spotting me before he unzipped the bag with the force of his body. Yes—unzipped the bag. He bounded to me and jumped so fast, I could only open up my arms to catch him. That took a lot of faith on his part. I could have let him tumble to the floor for all her knew. Instead I found myself with an arm full of energetic Jack Russell Terrier and a face full of doggy kisses. Why me? Was this his secret ploy to get away from his current human? I thought only cats did that.
“Give me ten seconds,” Dog Man begged the cashier.
“You got five,” she said impatiently.
I was halfway to the counter by the time Mr. Attention Seeker reached me.
“You again,” he snarled.
“Can I help it if Reeses likes me better than you?”
“Just give me my dog.”
“Ooh,” I chirped. “Do I sense a hint of jealousy?
Something in his features shifted, as though I’d hit a nerve and he narrowed his stare into slits, stepping into my personal space. I could smell the prickly annoyance on him…and I kind of liked it. His face was so close to mine I could bite his nose if I were so inclined. Reeses’ doggy ways were beginning to rub off on me.
“Don’t flatter yourself, princess. He's just hoping for some caviar to drip from your entitled chin.”
“Okay, first of all…ew, and second—”
“Excuse me. Can you two love birds hurry it up?” The guy next in line waved his arms around.
Love birds?
“Sir,” the cashier called to Dog Man. “Does your wife have a credit card?”
Ping! I had a light bulb moment. One my over-protective brother would certainly not approve. Dog Man saw it in my eyes and wildly shook his head.
“Oh, no. Nope. She's not my wife.” He slipped back to the counter. I still had Reeses.
“Listen, I’ve got a hundred twe
nty-eight fifty. That’s more than enough for the rental to California.” He practically threw all his cash at the clerk. His hands were shaking. This guy had some serious issues.
“Even if we did accept cash, and we don’t, that will only afford you one day’s rental.” The clerk was smiling but I could see the condescending frown under the surface. “Now please. Step aside.”
I really couldn’t explain what came over me in that moment. Perhaps it was sheer desperation to the point of complete loss of common sense. I didn’t know anything about Dog Man other than a superficial assessment of his appearance—however easy on the eyes said appearance was.
“Actually, he’s telling the truth.” I shot Dog Man a just follow my lead sideways glance. His brows scrunched together. I continued as if I didn’t notice. “I’m not his wife. Yet.” I extended my left hand to proudly display the cubic zirconia ring my brother made me wear to fend off would-be suitors. I wasn’t kidding about the over-protective bit. “We haven’t told my parents yet. We’re on our way to California to surprise them. Reeses here helped with the proposal. Didn’t you, boy?”
A collective awww came from all the females within hearing distance and I nuzzled Reeses to drive it home. Good crowd.
“What are you doing?” Dog Man hissed.
“I’m sorry Homer. I forgot you get embarrassed easily.” I planted Reeses right in Dog Man’s chest.
“My name is not Homer.” He glared at me with a heat so intense his chocolate eyes almost turned to ganache. I waved it off to explain to the clerk.
“Oh, I just nicknamed him Homer Simpson because he loves ‘dem donuts.” I pinched the sweater bulging around Dog Man’s waist.
“That’s adorable. Do you have a credit card or not?” Such a ball of sunshine, that lady.
“American Express okay?”
My new fake fiancé’s eyes went round as I handed the cashier my Platinum card. Sunshine Lady snapped it from my fingers and ran it through the computer at the other end of the counter.
