Chapter 58

Wedneday, June 20 Flight to LA

My alarm started beeping maybe three seconds before the phone started ringing. It was Arlene.

“Wakey-wakey, babycakes,” she said way too cheerfully for 4:30 in the morning.

“I’m up,” I said. “Almost, anyway.”

“I’ll meet you at the garage door in 10 minutes,” she said and disconnected.

I took one more rinse in the bathroom sink, brushed my teeth with the stuff in the medicine cabinet and went to dress. Cargo shorts, T-shirt, deck shoes, wallet, phone, keys. My slacks from last night went into my bag. I draped the shirt over the back of the easy chair.

With bleary eyes, I staggered out into the dark.

Arlene had a travel mug of coffee and offered me a slug.

“Never touch the stuff,” I grumbled. “Iced tea is my caffeine source.”

“Your loss,” she said, hitting the switch to open the garage door.

I let her back out before loading. She already had her bags — yes, plural — stuffed in the Jag’s trunk. I could hold my duffle and tablet in my lap. It became even easier when I put the tablet in the duffle.

“What time did you get in?” she asked as she pulled out onto a section-line road. “I was fast asleep by 8.”

“It was almost 10,” I said. “I was delayed by unforeseen circumstances, but I should be good. I can take a nap on the flight.”

“Bethany?” she probed.

“No,” I said. “I didn’t see any of the girls after I left the club.”

That sent her mind into overdrive. She wouldn’t rest until she solved the mystery. I could only hope our flight was on the ground in California before she finally put it all together.

Arlene merged onto the freeway and the Jag surged to keep up with the little traffic there was at this early hour. Just after 5 a.m., she pulled off and hit a McDonald’s drive-through for a little something to hold us until the inflight snack. The little sandwich I had was just enough to remind me I was hungry. Two large teas did more to perk me up.

About 30 minutes later, she steered into a longterm lot. I looped the strap of my duffle over my neck, pulled Arlene’s two rollaway bags out of the trunk and headed over to the shuttle stop. We were in line at the ticket counter several minutes before 6, but it looked like half the state was flying to LA this morning.

We checked her bags, got our boarding passes and headed to security, where of course I was “randomly selected” for additional screening. I wondered how often women like Arlene were “randomly selected” by grabby agents.

We were finally cleared and proceeded to our gate, where we still had more than an hour before we were scheduled to board. I took advantage of the USB ports they had in the armrests of the seats to plug in my phone and tablet, then checked email and last night’s scores. The locals had won their fourth in a row and were now a mere 13 games under. It had been 17 under thanks to a seven-game losing streak. I couldn’t wait for the NFL team to open training camp, still five weeks away.

Arlene took a look through the duty-free shop, but found nothing she just had to have. I must have dozed off because she poked my shoulder upon her return. It was now almost 7 and folks were starting to line up. I shut down and stowed my devices and cords. They finally called our row and I just followed the copper ponytail in front of me. I hoped it was the right one.

I stowed my bag in the overhead, slumped in a seat, buckled in and went back to sleep. I think we were somewhere near Albuquerque when the drinks cart came by. I had to make do with regular apple juice this morning, but I didn’t think anyone would notice. I wasn’t anticipating any blowjobs today.

My stupor didn’t really lift until we were on final approach, but I was able to unlock my seat belt once we pulled to a stop at the jetway and get my bag out of the overhead.

“I’m mad at you,” Arlene mock pouted when I sat back down.

“What did I do this time?” I asked.

“You slept almost the entire flight,” she said. “I was hoping to sneak you into the lavatory and initiate you into the Mile High Club.”

“Maybe on the return flight,” I said as the crowd began moving toward the exit.

I followed Arlene to the baggage claim, then began looking for our ride. My problem was I didn’t know if I was supposed to be looking for Robinson, Jenson or something else, like the name of the agency in charge of the shoot. That’s why I had Arlene. She handed me one of her bags, grabbed my hand and headed out to the concourse.

When she pointed out our driver, I instantly came fully awake. About 5-foot-5 of classic California girl — almost white blonde hair hanging past her shoulders, blue eyes in a tanned surfer-girl face and a body to die for.

Her livery only heightened the attraction. The top was about what one would expect for a chauffeur — the little cap, jacket and crisp dress shirt. Instead of a tie, though, the shirt was open a couple of buttons to reveal impressive cleavage that must have required one hell of an underwire to create. Instead of pants, she wore a micromini that just barely came below her ass cheeks and exposed bare thigh to the tops of her stay-up stockings. She was wearing what I’d heard Dad refer to as “fuck me” pumps that did incredible things for her legs.

The kicker was she wasn’t even the most outrageously dressed driver in a long line. It must be an LA thing.

I played a little game with myself, trying to guess her name — Suzi? Tanya? Heather? Sabrina? She looked like a Sabrina.

I wasn’t even close. The little nametag on her lapel read “Destinee.” Sounded like a stripper name, which may not have been too far off given her outfit.

She led us out to a Lincoln Town Car, my eyes riveted to her twitching butt. She popped the trunk and I hoisted the bags inside. The driver opened the passenger-side back door and Arlene and I slid in. I just thought Dad’s Buick had a big back seat. This was big and plush. It made me feel a little sad that the Town Car had been discontinued a few years back.

Destinee talked briefly with Arlene, making sure of our destination, then went around and got in the driver’s seat. As we pulled out into traffic, I tried not to look too much like a gawking tourist. I’m pretty sure I failed. We don’t have palm trees and movie stars on every block where I come from.

The drive out to Malibu was unremarkable except for the fact that I HAD NEVER DRIVEN OUT TO MALIBU! I kept craning my neck, trying not to point at everything that caught my eye. I still did a lot of pointing.

We pulled into the drive of what looked like something out of a Frank Lloyd Wright fever dream. Destinee held the back door as we unloaded. With our bags in hand, she gave Arlene a card with instructions to call if we needed to go anywhere. As she drove away, I couldn’t help but think she would have rivaled Arlene for the title of goddess of the cabanas back home. Here, she was just another hot chick.

With me playing pack mule, Arlene led us inside. I just gawked at the massive front room as she dealt with the lady who was in charge of the shoot. The back wall was floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the beach and ocean. I could see where they were already set up for shooting with what I presumed to be the photographer — at least there was a guy with cameras around his neck — issuing orders while a bunch of pretty people in swimwear stood around looking pretty.

Arlene interrupted my reverie and told me to follow her, then led me to a little closet door that dinged. This house had a fucking elevator!

When we reached our assigned rooms, Arlene put her bags on her bed and told me to go take a shower.

“I’m tired of smelling Jan Metzger’s perfume on you,” she said, sounding slightly peeved. “You should have showered and shampooed before we left.”

I did as I was told and washed everything I could reach. Arlene must really be pissed at me. She normally would have joined me to get the spots I couldn’t. I shampooed twice just to make sure.

As I was brushing my teeth, Arlene leaned against the door jamb and stared at me.

“Are you going to tell me about it?” she asked rather stonily.

I rinsed, spat and turned off the faucet as I wiped my face with a towel.

“Understand that it all started with my date with Bethany,” I said and explained Monday’s events, from Bethany’s fashion choices through our little makeout session. “Before we even left, I told Jan I’d take her out and do everything I had with Bethany to show I wasn’t just going to hop into bed with her daughter.”