Small Town Girl

by Linda Cunningham

  “Have a good flight,” he said as she collected her things.

  “Thank you, I will,” Lauren said, smiling. She paid him and made her way into the terminal.

  When Lauren traveled with Charles, they always took the private corporate jet, but at least when she had to fly commercial, she could fly first class. The best thing about flying first class, reflected Lauren, was the absence of lines. She quickly checked in at the first class desk, then made her way through security. With only two men ahead of her, Lauren went through the checkin in record time and made a beeline for the Terminal 8 mezzanine and the Admirals Lounge.

  A tall, graceful woman graciously greeted her just inside the door, checked her membership, and opened the inner door for her. Lauren found a quiet corner and sat down where she could check her email and read for a while. A waitress came by.

  “May I get you anything, ma’am?” she asked, smiling.

  “Oh, yes, thank you,” replied Lauren. “I’d like a Bloody Mary, please. Oh, and could you bring me a turkey sandwich, please? Just turkey, lettuce, and mayonnaise.”

  “Certainly, ma’am. And the vodka would be?” acknowledged the woman.

  “Grey Goose, please.”

  “Very well.”

  Lauren opened her iPad. In ten minutes, the server had returned with the drink and sandwich on a small silver tray. “Anything else I can get you?”

  “No, no, thank you,” said Lauren. She realized now how hungry she was. She bit into the sandwich and took a sip of the Bloody Mary. Lauren always drank Bloody Marys when she had to fly. The spiciness of the drink settled her stomach, and the vodka relaxed her. She took a deep breath. Soon she would be with Charles. This was the way things should be.

  By the time Lauren had finished her drink and sandwich and had dashed off an email to Kelly, they were calling her flight number for first class passengers. She gathered her purse and tote and walked out to board the plane. Lauren settled into her ample seat, letting the steward stow her carry-on. She looked out the window across the tarmac. She could see into the terminal, see the lines of passengers slowly boarding the Boeing 777. Off to the side, she saw a young couple. The man was dark haired and handsome. The girl was blond and wore her hair twisted in a clip. They were facing each other, holding hands. Even through the airplane window, the distance across the tarmac, and the huge windows of the terminal, their mutual desire was easy to see. The man bent forward and kissed the girl fully on the mouth. She reciprocated and embraced him around the neck, holding him close. His arms went around her.

  Without warning, Lauren’s eyes filled with tears, and she had to look away. Memories of Caleb flooded her thoughts. She leaned back in her seat with an audible groan as she recalled those nights of passionate lovemaking. She closed her eyes. His gaze bore its way through her memory until she could see those flashing green sparkles of his hazel eyes in her own mind’s eye. She had the overwhelming urge to sit with him again on the steps of the porch and just listen to him talk. The timbre of his voice had been so soothing, and his quick smile had warmed her soul. In her mind, Lauren could feel the touch of his hand. His hands, strong and callused by work, and yet so gentle they could raise her desire with feather-light caresses wherever they touched her. They were hands you could trust your life to. That’s how she had felt. This is what I want. She gave a little gasp.

  “Are you all right, miss?” It was the steward.

  Lauren’s eyes popped open and a tear slid down her cheek. Embarrassed, she quickly wiped it away. “Oh,” she stammered, “Oh, I’m fine. Just a little nervous, I guess. Could I please have a Bloody Mary?”

  “Most certainly,” said the steward sympathetically.

  While he mixed her drink in the first class galley, Lauren turned her head to look out the window again, but all the people had boarded. The couple wasn’t there. She sighed. A good thing. She didn’t know why she would want to torture herself like this. She needed something to banish these thoughts or she would go crazy by the time she reached the other side of the Atlantic.

  The steward returned with her drink.

  “Thank you so much,” said Lauren gratefully.

  “No problem at all,” the steward replied. “If you want anything at all, just let me know. We should be airborne in about twenty minutes.” He smiled kindly at her and disappeared down the aisle.

  Twenty minutes. There’s time to call Charles, thought Lauren, just speak to him. It will make me feel better. She took her phone out of her bag and punched in Charles’s number. It went straight to voice mail. Lauren automatically calculated the time in her head. It was about eleven-thirty at night in London. Charles was either out where he couldn’t take a private phone call, or, if it had been a particularly grueling day of meetings, he might be sleeping. Lauren decided he must still be out because he always called her before he went to bed. This was good, because she could give another try just before take-off.

  She waited impatiently, sipping her drink and watching the crew. Lauren was an experienced traveler, and she recognized take-off as imminent. The flight attendants were putting things in order. The captain and the co-pilot were seated in the cockpit. Now the steward who had brought her her drink went to the cockpit door. The captain stood up, said something to him, and closed the door. Lauren heard a series of locks click. It was her last chance to call Charles before they were airborne.

  This time he answered. “Yes?”

  Lauren was delighted. “Charles! I just had to talk to you.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, I just miss you. Are you all right? You sound out of breath.”

  Charles’s voice lowered. “No, I’m fine. Just running out from a late dinner meeting back to the hotel.”

  The flight attendants were checking all the overhead compartments. The friendly steward winked at Lauren and made a flip with his hand, signaling her to cut the phone call. Lauren smiled back at him.

  “Charles, I’m…I’m on way to Kelly’s in the countryside. I’ve hit some traffic here. Can I call you back?” There was silence, followed by a rustling sound. “Charles? Are you there?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m here. What did you say?”

  Lauren was irked. Something was taking his attention. “Never mind, Charles. Just wanted to say hi and I miss you. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Fine, darling, fine. I’ll call you later. Bye now.” And he hung up. Lauren thought that was strange, but he was probably with a group of people, trying to get back to the hotel. He really should take better care of himself when he traveled. Well, when she got there, she would see to that. She would make him realize that traveling with her was much more pleasant than leaving her at home.

  “Flight crew prepare for take-off,” the captain’s voice announced over the intercom. Lauren watched as the crew went through the usual precautionary instructions, checked the seat trays and seat belts, and strapped themselves into their own seats. She leaned back and closed her eyes as the engines hummed and they taxied out onto the tarmac. The engine noise escalated as the plane gained speed, and then they were airborne, heading out across the Atlantic. Soon she would be far away from Caleb Cochran and seductive summer nights.

  Chapter Eight

  THE BOEING 777 DRONED across the Atlantic like some huge, migrating bird headed for home. Lauren tried to sleep, and she dozed on and off, but thoughts of Caleb Cochran popped up randomly, disturbing her rest. She could not get over the feeling that she needed to talk to him one more time. For some reason, even though she meant to break it off with him unequivocally, it did not make her feel as free and as powerful as she had imaged it would. Instead, there was a nagging feeling of something unfinished hanging over her head, along with an unpleasant void in her heart, as though she had lost something irreplaceable.

  Lauren straightened up in her seat, determined to banish any thoughts of Caleb by meticulously reviewing all the details of her upcoming nuptials. She leaned forward and took the wedding file from her purs
e. She smiled as she opened it. It was a small yellow folder stretched to capacity with notes, newspaper clippings, schedules, appointments, plans, and the names and numbers of everyone the wedding planner had on board.

  Lauren started with her dress. It was strapless with a tulle ball gown skirt over an organza insert. The fitted bodice was appliqued Chantilly lace, and the waist was girdled with a wide grosgrain ribbon. A twelve-foot tulle train embroidered with Swarovski crystals trailed out behind the dress. It was beyond expensive, which made Lauren proud. Money was no object, Charles had said. The eight bridesmaids would wear simple, strapless deep purple satin mermaid dresses, which flared out gracefully around their feet. Charles and the eight groomsmen would wear black tuxedos because there was nothing more handsome on a man, Lauren thought.

  The rehearsal night dinner was to be held at the Plaza. It would be a much smaller affair than the wedding, no more than sixty people, only close friends and family. The menu was still up in the air. Lauren wanted something simple, so that people would not be distracted by what they were eating and could enjoy each other. The wedding planner on the other hand was insisting on escargot with burgundy wine reduction and shrimp sautéed in basil sauce to start, followed by two entrees. There would be jumbo Portobello ravioli tossed with mozzarella and artichokes for the vegetarians, or Chateaubriand. Dessert was to be chocolate pyramids filled with raspberries and apricots and served on little gold plates. It would be spectacular.

  Fully six hundred fifty guests were expected at the ceremony the next evening, among them both New York senators, several members of Congress, Michael Jordan, Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones, Jay Leno, Patti LuPone, and Mick Jagger to name a few of the popular notables.

  The wedding and reception were to be held in the ballroom at the museum. Lauren had chosen a woodland fantasy theme. The high ceilings were to be swathed with deep purple velvet studded with tiny lights, to simulate the star-strewn night sky. A huge round chandelier, custom made for the event, would look just like the real moon. Live trees in pots, sprinkled with more tiny lights, would be brought in and placed in strategic arrangements like thickets around the huge room. At the far end of the hall, through a fabricated tree-lined path, was the tinkling waterfall, all pumps and pipes hidden, of course, in front of which Lauren and Charles would become man and wife. It would be the most magnificent wedding anyone had ever seen. Lauren’s brow furrowed a little when she recalled her mother’s reaction after Lauren had described the event to her.

  Immediately following her engagement, Lauren had made a special trip to San Francisco, rented a car, and driven up into the bucolic little valley where her parents lived. Three dogs had rushed out to greet her. Her mother was planting the garden, and her father was constructing another bank of solar panels. They were thrilled to see her. Lauren loved them both very much, but their hippy lifestyle had always rather embarrassed her. Their activist days primarily behind them, Lauren’s mother concentrated on her pottery and her father his music. To her, their life was so quiet and boring, Lauren wondered about their sanity. She preferred the intensity of city life. When Lauren’s grandmother had been alive, her parents had visited her in the city or she would take a quick trip up to New England to see them, but now they didn’t get back east any more often than Lauren went west.

  Lauren had showed them the ring and told them about Charles. They had met him once, when Lauren was first dating him. They’d oohed and aahed appropriately, in a somewhat detached manner, over the ring. Then Lauren had described the wedding plans. Lauren’s mother had laughed spontaneously, right out loud.

  “Oh dear, honey! What a waste of effort! Why don’t you just opt for the real thing and find a place in the country to get married?”

  Lauren shut the wedding file and settled back in her seat. It was that hippy mentality again. She closed her eyes and began to drift between waking and sleep. Her thoughts began to wander.

  I wonder what kind of wedding Caleb had? Probably small town bourgeois. In the village church with the reception at the American Legion hall in town. Catered by the same guy who did the school lunches. That laughing girl in the white dress in the picture in his kitchen. Undoubtedly his wife. She was very beautiful. Had that been her wedding dress? He must have loved her very much. Could he ever move on? Had she been buried in that dress? And her wedding ring. Had she been buried wearing her wedding ring?

  The vision of a disembodied skeletal hand, a gold ring rattling on one of its fingers, reached out toward Lauren through the void of her subconscious.

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  Lauren’s eyes popped open. It was the steward, bending over her with a plate of breakfast in his hand. Her heart was pounding. She realized she must have fallen asleep.

  “You cried out, miss,” he said gently. “It’s breakfast time, though. Here is an omelet and some coffee for you.” He was sympathetic, but totally professional, sparing her any embarrassment. He set the plate and utensils on the tray and went about his business.

  Lauren straightened up in her seat. Coffee would do her good. They were probably about an hour or so out from London. Soon she would be with Charles, and these dreams and dark thoughts would disappear. She sighed and stirred the cream and sugar into her coffee.

  They were closer than Lauren had thought. Within minutes of her finishing her coffee and deciding to leave the omelet untouched, the steward came sweeping through, picking up the plates, speaking to each first class passenger. “We are entering our descent and will be preparing for landing in a short while.” Lauren’s ears popped as she felt the plane slide easily down into lower altitudes. The steward was speaking over the address system. “We will be landing at Heathrow, London, England, in a few minutes. Please see that your trays are in the locked position and your seats are upright with seat belts securely fastened. All handbags and packages should be stowed under the seat in front of you. All electronic devices should now be turned off. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  Lauren did it all automatically. She felt the plane shift as the engines adjusted speed for landing. She heard the click and slow grind of the landing gear dropping into proper position. She glanced out the window. Bits of gray cloud flew past the window, and through the fog she could just glimpse the countryside surrounding the airport. She heard the captain say, “Flight attendants, take your seats for landing, please.”

  Now the plane was descending fast. Any visibility from Lauren’s point of view was lost in the morning mists that habitually enfolded all of London every day at this time. She could not tell how close they were to landing. Then she heard the flaps on the wings dragging against the pull of the sky. The engines subtly changed tone once again, and finally she felt the tires on the tarmac and the plane braking to come to a taxi speed.

  The steward’s voice was again on the address system. “Folks, we’ve landed at Heathrow, London, England. We hope you enjoyed your flight, and we appreciate your patronage. Please remain seated until the aircraft has come to a complete halt. Thank you for flying with us.”

  This was the hardest time for Lauren. All she wanted to do was jump up, grab her bag and her tote, and head out for the St. James’s Hotel. She knew she would still have to make it through customs, and these days, the customs officers didn’t care whether someone was in a hurry or not. They stoically and carefully did their job.

  At last the plane came to a full stop at the terminal. Lauren unbuckled her seat belt and collected her things. She was the first person in line as the steward was opening the door.

  He smiled at her. “In a hurry, miss?”

  Lauren smiled back. “I’m meeting my fiancé.”

  There was concern in his voice as he said, “Oh, I would have guessed something else.” But then he laid a hand on her arm and remarked honestly, “How nice. Have a good time in London. Bye-bye.”

  “Thank you,” said Lauren, and she exited the plane.

  Heathrow was a huge airport and very busy even though it was only si
x in the morning. Forty-five minutes later, Lauren was finally through customs and on her way in search of a cab. She followed the Ground Transportation signs and found the line of London cabs idling outside, waiting for fares. A driver jumped out of his vehicle.

  “Right here, miss. Where to?”

  “St. James’s Hotel. Near Mayfair.”

  “I’m familiar,” he said, taking her bags and putting them in the back. Lauren climbed into the funny little car, and they were off.

  “Traffic’s not too bad this time in the morning. We’ll be there in no time.”

  He was right. At 7:25, he was pulling up to the front entrance of the magnificent St. James’s Hotel. The doorman opened the cab door, and Lauren climbed out. The cabbie handed her her tote, and she tipped him generously. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. “And enjoy your stay.”

  Lauren was smiling in happy anticipation as she entered the lobby. She knew just where to go, and it was a good thing. If the concierge got wind of a visitor or was even asked about a certain guest, that guest would be notified instantly. They were very protective of their clientele.

  Charles always stayed in the deluxe suite on the fifth floor. Lauren slipped unobtrusively into the elevator. Suddenly, she felt lighter, more cheerful and carefree. At last she would be where she was supposed to be. At Charles’s side. She couldn’t wait to put her arms around him and kiss him and tell him how much she loved him.

  The elevator stopped, and she stepped out into the lovely wide corridor. It was very quiet. Sunday morning, after all. Her footfalls were totally absorbed by the plush carpeting as she approached the door to the suite. Mischievously, she stood off to the side of the viewing port and knocked on the door. There was no immediate answer. She could hear voices — the television. Charles would be watching the news, probably still in bed. She knocked harder. Now she heard his voice.