The comely young woman took his identification and checked it against the system. The computer spat out a small sheaf of papers, which she arranged while trying to maintain her smile. She handed him an envelope containing his itinerary as well as his boarding passes.
The airline lackey took Barry by the elbow and escorted him through the concourse to the TSA screening area. He guided his burden around yet another group of surly travelers, lifting the ropes to allow them access to the scanners at the front.
"Jonathan, let’s get our VIP through here quickly and without any problems."
The uniformed security guards looked the swaying man over and made a token gesture at waving the metal detector wand over him. Of course, it sounded off when it passed his keys, phone, and belt buckle. The man patted the areas down quickly and waved them through. Barry simply smiled, knowing he was living the good life.
He lifted his right hand to look at the boarding passes: Flight 637, from New York Kennedy to Lucca Airport with layovers in London at Heathrow and in Rome. The estimated length for the flight was ten hours. Oh well, more time for drinking, sleeping, and if he was lucky enough, getting a new punch in his Mile High Club card.
Barry was escorted to Gate 48, which had a digital sign over the airline counter that read: 637 London-Rome. On Time. He was happy to see he wouldn't need to wait among the masses for that long. He could already see the people pointing and the hushed whispers that always accompanied it.
"Hey, Tommy. Is there a more...private place I can wait? I don't really like all the gawkers." A camera flash lit the concourse as a photographer snapped a series of shots from down the hallway.
"Fucking paparazzi." Barry was reaching to pull his iPhone from its holster on his belt when it rang. Loudly. It was the theme song for his show. All heads turned his way, as he fumbled to silence the call. It was Carlos.
"Speak!" He held the phone to his left ear, the single steel hoop in his lobe tinking against the glass screen.
"Barry, I just wanted to call to let you know that when you get to Rome, we reserved a private jet that will take you the rest of the way to the Lucca airport, near Derosso. There will be a car waiting when you get there."
"Well, at least you got that part right. Why couldn't I have gotten a private jet here? You know I'm not crazy about being out amongst the unwashed masses."
‘FLIGHT 637 WILL NOW BEGIN PRE-BOARDING FOR THOSE PASSENGERS WITH SPECIAL NEEDS OR SMALL CHILDREN.’
"Gotta run, Carlos. It's time to get on the plane." The phone beeped as he hit the End Call button on the screen. He reached out to shake his escort's hand.
"There's my call, Tommy. Thanks for your help." He turned and started for the tunnel when the sound of Thomas's voice reached out to him.
"You don't have any kids or special needs, Mr. Nero."
"Of course, I do. How many celebs have you met?"
"Quite a few, sir."
"Well, good. Now tell me this—weren't they all kinda special, in one way or another. Some a little more retarded than others, but we all seem to get handlers to keep us out of trouble. So, if you want to keep me out of trouble, I would recommend you get me on that plane and a scotch in my hand."
Thomas looked at the gathering crowd and made a split second decision.
Less than a minute later, after quickly and quietly invoking the supervisor's name, Barry walked down the gangway to the plane, waving over his shoulder to the irritated airline employees.
He rounded the bend in the walkway to see that his helper must have radioed ahead. The flight attendant was waiting at the hatch, scotch in one hand and a pillow in the other.
Maybe it was going to be a good flight after all.
***
Barry opened his eyes from his recollections, just in time to see a stunning redhead swishing down the aisle. She was smoothing down a short black dress that looked as if she had been sewn into it.
Some models are described as having an hourglass figure. This one had an hour-and-a-half. She had a pair on her that could only be implants and hips to match. These godly proportions were offset by one of the tiniest waists he had seen on a woman.
Barry caught her attention as she neared. "I know I have seen you somewhere before. Aren't you on TV?" It sounded like a line, and it truly was.
The curvaceous woman smiled at his advances with lips so full of collagen, they were almost full-time duck lips. She leaned forward onto the armrest of the empty seat, allowing the low cut neckline of her dress to show off her ample assets.
"No, I'm sorry," she replied with a light French accent, "but you are confusing me with someone else."
"I know I've seen you somewhere."
"Well, are you into latex?" A smile spread across those augmented lips as she sat down in the empty seat. It was a good thing he had purchased both seats on this side of the row, just in case such a situation should...arise.
Barry shifted his legs slightly back toward his side. He was used to being the hunter, not the prey. She laid her shapely calves across his as she looked into his ice blue eyes. Her eyes were such a bright green, they had to be contacts. Between the dyed red hair, the contacts, and the surgery, it was almost as if the universe had dropped a plastic toy into his lap.
"There is only one piece of latex I wear, but I think Buffy up there might get pissed if I whip it out here."
Her pale skin flushed at his comment.
"No, I meant latex clothing. I am a glamour and fetish model. I specialize in latex."
"Oh." Barry looked dejected, as his advances were rebuffed. He had thought this one would be easy. She certainly looked the part.
"How about I join you for a drink and perhaps we can spend this long, long trip a little more pleasantly? What are you drinking there, whiskey?"
"Scotch." Barry raised his glass to catch the attention of the flight attendant. The tall blonde (her name tag read 'Chloe') who had greeted Barry at the door calmly approached the pair, having a good idea of what was happening. This wasn't her first flight with these types.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Nero. Is there something else I can get you?"
"Yes, Chloe. This young lady will be joining me here for the remainder of the flight,so if you would like to change her seat in your records, it might be a good time.”
“That’s fine. Mr. Nero. We don’t need to change anything.”
“Oh, and a drink for the beautiful lady as well. She'll have..."
"Vodka and cranberry, please." She turned back to Barry with a smile. "That was a bit presumptuous of you, to assume that I will stay with you for the rest of the flight."
"It's not an assumption. It's a history. I just know you will want to stay."
"Well, in that case..." She got up and headed back toward the front of the plane. As she reached the restroom, she turned back to Barry, her emerald eyes piercing through him, and winked. She smoothly opened the door and entered.
Barry committed a grave sin in his urgency. He gulped down his scotch, the liquor coursing its way down, fueling the fire that he was feeling deep within. He calmly rose and followed in pursuit of the redhead.
He reached the lavatory door and quietly rapped on it with his knuckles. The door cracked open to show her smiling face. He glanced down to see she had unbuttoned quite a bit of the front of her dress. She also began to hike it up, a flash of silver showing a tease of what was below.
Barry smiled as she reached out, grabbed the front of his vest, and pulled him in, locking the door behind them.
* * *
The two reclined in the comfortable seats, sipping their cocktails. Their cheeks were flushed from their recent exertions. Barry smiled at the buxom young woman.
"I don't even know your name. I know about every other bit of you though."
"Just call me Kitten. It will keep it simpler."
"Kitten, it is. What do you say I make you purr again?" He slid his hand slowly up her thigh.
"Isn't it bad enough that this whole section heard us?"
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"I think it is more amusing that the first three rows smell like sex. And what a lovely smell it is." Barry waved his hand under his nose, cherishing the scent of her body that still lingered on his skin.
"Perv." She smiled at him.
"I resemble that remark, and don't you forget it." He smiled a wicked grin that had dropped more panties than most men would ever dream of.
"So, Mr. Nero, was it? Like the emperor? Seems fitting that we are headed to Rome then, or are you getting off in London?"
"Yeah, I like to think he was my ancestor. I'm getting off in Rome..."
"Unless we‘get off’ on the plane again." She returned his wicked smile.
"As I was saying, I am going to Rome and then catching a private jet to an exclusive resort in the hills of Tuscany."
"Ah, what a shame. I am staying in Rome for the week. There is a fashion show that I will be modeling for. I was hoping we could continue this in a bed."
"Bed, hot tub, balcony, whatever. How about when you are done with your show, you catch a plane down to Derosso and we can continue the party there?"
"I don't know. I mean, that was kind of fun, but to rearrange my itinerary for that?" She slowly stroked her hand over the growing bulge in his charcoal trousers, the wool rough against her palm. He twitched in response to her attentions.
"Kind of fun? I had time to get another drink by how long it took you to stop trembling."
Kitten just smiled into her drink, refusing to give the cocky bastard the satisfaction of being right. Cocky was definitely the right term. That man could sling some meat like a veteran butcher. It was a hell of a lot of fun tormenting him.
"So, how about it? You wanna come down to my hotel after your show?"
As if in response, she slid her hand up her thigh, parting her alabaster legs, giving her boy toy a glimpse of what he wanted. Stroking her fingers over herself, she then slipped them into his mouth. The look on his face was priceless.
"From my lips to yours." She leaned in and kissed him deeply. She knew then that she had this lecherous reality star wrapped around her finger. "Now, you keep those thoughts fresh. I have to go back to my seat for now. I have a few things I need to sort out before we get to London."
The luscious model rose, making sure her new plaything got a long parting view as she wiggled her dress back into position. She strutted down the aisle, back near coach.
As she sat down, Barry happened to glance past her. Through the partially open curtain, he saw a face fixated on his own. A guy, kind of average with dark brown hair fashionably mussed, locked eyes with Barry for just a few seconds too long. He quickly looked down, as if reading. A quick glance up showed that the star was still looking at him.
It wasn't like Barry was interested. He didn't swing that way, at least not sober. He was just curious what was going on. Was it another paparazzi camera boy or just a die-hard fan?
Whatever.
He waved for Chloe to bring him another cocktail while he tried to see where the tail his cock was just was doing went. Having no luck, he leaned back and fantasized about what he would do to Kitten when she arrived in Derosso. Of course, she was going to come. She already did five times today. He let out a truly twisted laugh at that thought.
* * *
The layover at Heathrow was uneventful. The only passengers that left the plane were staying in England. A few new people got on to replace a portion of the departed. Barry slept through the entire event. The alcohol and sex proved too great an adversary. He was awoken, somewhat refreshed, but cranky, by the fasten seatbelts announcement. He had slept at an odd angle, his neck stiff and sore, but they were almost to Rome. He could deal with some stiffness in his neck. Now, if only Kitten would return to take care of the stiffness in his pants.
Barry looked back to her seat, but the crimson hair was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she got off in London. He didn't think he scared her off. Odd…he didn't usually have that effect on women. Whatever. There would be plenty of exotic Italian women that could benefit from his affections.
The airliner landed smoothly and taxied to the terminal. The pilot informed them of the local time and weather, which was a brisk 66° at 1:43AM. Barry set his watch accordingly, wiping his fingerprints from its stainless steel casing when he was done replacing it on his wrist. As always, the passengers in First Class were allowed to disembark first. The flight attendants wished him a wonderful stay in Rome.
Chloe looked especially happy that he was leaving. She had no idea he was continuing onward. Before stepping through the hatchway, he glanced back into the cabin, hoping to catch sight of the scarlet haired siren. Not a red hair in sight. He had no idea why she was so special, but he couldn't seem to stop thinking about her.
Barry was greeted at the top of the gangway by a man in a well-fitted navy suit, holding a sign that read‘Nero.’ He wondered how many locals thought he was playing a joke.
He walked up to the man and smiled.
"I'm Barry Nero. Are you my tour guide?"
The man returned his smile as he extended his hand. Barry clasped the proffered hand in a strong grip and shook it twice.
"I am Armando, from the agency from which you hired the jet. There will be a bit of a wait until your plane is ready to depart. It was delayed on its arrival from Dusseldorf. In the meantime, would you like to get something to eat? There is a private lounge for just such occasions, just down this corridor."
Barry realized the rest of the passengers were exiting the plane and they were right in the way of the flow.
"Sure. I bet whatever you have will beat the garbage on the plane. Which way?"
Armando raised a hand and gestured toward a trio of large men in identical suits and earpieces. They also had matching bulges under their jackets.
They approached and took up positions surrounding Armando and Barry. Once in place, the group started to head toward the lounge in question.
* * *
The lounge was well appointed with a full bar and food on call. Barry spent the hour wait dining on a nice veal saltimbocca and a local Sangiovese. The atmosphere was nice and comfortable, all the while looking nothing like any American Italian restaurant he’d ever been in.
He blotted his lips with the black linen napkin and dropped it on the table as he stood. "Can we go ahead and go to the plane?" He was obviously done with the airport.
Armando gave a quick nod and waved to the security guards. They took up their places by the door. Barry sighed and moved to stand in the middle of the goons.
As they headed back toward the terminals, Barry took the opportunity to look about him, squeezing in a little people-watching. He noticed the guy from the plane that he caught staring at him. He was checking his phone, scrolling through texts. The young man glanced up just in time to lock eyes with Barry.
Barry returned his stare as he watched the guy's mouth fall open. He proceeded onward with a chuckle. Fucking stalkers, will they never end? Well, he won't be on the next flight at least. He wouldn't have to worry about the creeper anymore.
After a brief stroll across the tarmac, Armando and the goon squad left him at the stairs going up to the awaiting jet. Barry settled into the leather upholstery of a seat on the jet and looked about him. Curious, there was no flight attendant this time.
"Hello! Anyone else here or is only us tattoo guys?"
The door at the front of the compartment opened and a tall, thin man with smooth olive skin emerged. He was wearing a pilot's uniform that was crisply pressed, the creases as sharp as could be. The starched white shirt practically glowed against his skin.
"Pardon, my English not so good. The flight will be fifteen minutes once airborne. The bar is over there. No hostess on dis flight. Serve yourself."
He turned and closed the door behind him as he retook his place in the cockpit.
"My-a Eenglish, it's-a not so a-good." Barry shook his head as he strolled over to the limited bar. He found a bottle of an inexpensive whiskey.
&nb
sp; He settled in and began sipping straight from the bottle as the small aircraft pulled away from the terminal and began its taxi to the runway. As the jet lifted into the air, Barry sank into the seat with his bottle of whiskey by his side.
* * *
The silver dagger of aluminum sliced through the night sky, descending on a small patch of lights marking the runway. The aircraft settled gently on the tarmac and slowed to a gradual taxi as it reached its destination. A black sedan sat running on the side, waiting for its passenger to arrive. Exhaust plumed into the night.
Barry, already feeling the long pulls of whiskey he had taken during the flight, stumbled down the stairs and across the black pavement. The sodium arc lights cast a yellow haze across everything.
As he neared the vehicle, a muscular man in a dark suit, his skin sallow in the lighting, got out and opened the rear door for the inebriated man. Barry all-but-fell into the seat as the driver retrieved his bags from the jet. The car sank a bit when the driver dropped the expensive luggage into the trunk.
The driver then returned to his place behind the wheel and pulled out of the airport proper and onto an unlit access road. They drove through the countryside in silence for about ten minutes before Barry could no longer contain himself.
"How much longer will it be? I'm beat and want to get to my room."
The driver glanced in the mirror and shook his head. Barry was unsure if that meant he didn't know, or if he just didn't speak English. This was going to be a long week if nobody spoke English. Just because Barry was Italian, it didn't mean he spoke the language.
Barry sighed as he hit the bottle again, hoping the drive would be over shortly.
The car crested a hill and over the rise, and he finally saw his destination. An old stone edifice, lit with the same yellow glow he had seen at the airport, sat before him. Its stonework was quite beautiful, yet also showed its age. Surrounding the hotel was a number of smaller buildings, perhaps other amenities the resort had to offer.
Feral Hearts Page 10
