Whisper Privileges

by Dianne Venetta

  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 fo
r 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.

  “You okay?”

  Surprised by the question he asked, “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You had a faraway look there for a minute.”

  “Case of parental nerves, I guess.” He slid the phone back in place.

  “You’re nervous?”

  It sounded odd coming from her. She was an athlete—should be a pro. She probably never got nervous, but him? He was just a dad trying to do right by his kid. Clay shrugged it off with a laugh. “This is the first time he’s been on a plane without me.” His humor faded. “Feels kinda strange.”

  “Are you worried something’s going to happen?”

  “Nah.” Pulling his head up, he waved it off with a toss of his chin. “It’s just new terrain for me. You spend so much time doing for your child that when they don’t need you, it’s sometimes hard to know what to do with yourself.”

  “You can help me check on the bus schedule,” she offered. “We had a few hiccups earlier and I need to make sure everything has been fixed.”

  He paused and held her in his gaze. “Would you like to meet him?”

  “Who?”

  “Q. If you’re not doing anything when his plane arrives, that is. I don’t want to interfere with your work.” From what he gathered, her job was all she had outside volleyball. And Q liked meeting fellow athletes. It made him feel more solid in his accomplishments when they recognized him as the same.

  “Sure,” she replied. “No problem. I’m here all day and you see what I do.” She held her hands out as if to say “not much.”

  He’d take it for what it was worth. He and Q were strangers to her.

  “But right now, I have to go check the schedule.”

  Clay followed her to the terminal and held the door open. It was a simple gesture but her nearness as she passed held a particular allure for him. Walking shoulder to shoulder with a woman was a new experience for him, one he found definitely appealed to him. Hell, he enjoyed just watching her. Strolling behind her, he marveled at the fluidity with which she moved, the way her broad shoulders held steady as she walked, her hips swaying ever so slightly as long muscular legs swept forward and back. And then there was her butt. It was incredible, really, how her backside could remain so full and luscious while the rest of her was lean and mean. Rocking gently side to side, it was fast becoming one of his favorite features.

  Inside the hangar, card tables were lined along the walls with volunteers posted at each. Signs taped to the front indicated their purpose. Most folks sat in folding chairs while others stood, directing athletes this way and that. Sydney stopped at a table manned by several older women and asked them, “Have we heard from the bus company?”

  The woman in the center flooded with relief. “Yes. In fact they just called.”

  “What was the hold up?”

  “Traffic.”

  “Excuse me. Ms. Flores?”

  Both heads turned at the sound of her name. A woman dressed in a pale pink T-shirt, navy blue slacks and white sneakers walked over to them. “I’m glad I found you,” she uttered with exaggerated relief. The Mayor has been looking for you.”

  “Mayor Cortez?”

  “Yes. Told me to tell you to call his cell when I found you.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. She handed it to Sydney. “The number’s written on the back.”

  “Someone’s important,” Clay murmured at her shoulder.

  But Sydney ignored him. “Okay,” she said, staring at the card as though it were poisonous to the touch. Retrieving it, she mumbled, “Thank
you.”

  Clay noticed a marked distress in her voice. “Trouble?”

  She looked up at him. “Trouble? No, why would you ask?”

  “You don’t look very happy.”

  “Mayor wants to have lunch... I need to call him.”

  “Any chance I can claim you first?”

  She flipped him an unreadable gaze. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  Had he crossed the line? Pushed too hard? But if she left now, he might not get to see her again and he had yet to secure a dinner date with her—the only reason he came to the airport early. As she pulled the slim phone from her front pocket, he asked, “Will I see you after lunch?”

  Her expression clouded. “Don’t know.”

  Clay thought he detected a hint of disappointment on her end as well, but couldn’t be sure. “I’ll be here until four.” She nodded and Clay watched her go, his mind softly registering the sway of her hips. He wondered if the lunch was business or pleasure. From her first reaction, it didn’t appear she was looking forward to the date. But could that have been because of him? Charlie’s caution came to mind. If you can’t do something to further her career, she ain’t interested. His spirits dipped. Lunch with the Mayor sure seemed like a primo advancement opportunity for an event planner. An event planner he was beginning to like.