right back into her rant. “Look, Ms. Producer, we need a proper limo. Like now!”
“But I don’t understand,” I said, the sweat starting to bead on my forehead.
“What’s wrong with this one?”
“First, it’s white. You see? Shit-box white. What are we, the construction crew?”
“Yeah,” said the other two models, nodding in unison andcocking their heads sideways.
I turned to the limo. “Sort of retro cool, don’t you think?” I said, afraid they might smother me in a triple D sandwich.
“No, not cool,” she continued. “And, it’s a piece of shit. It sputters uphill.”
Just then an airport security guard tapped me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Miss. You can’t set up your cameras here.”
“What?! You must be mistaken.”
“This is a private airstrip. You need a permit.”
“But. . . I. . . Wait. I, I, I have a permit. See, right here,” I stuttered, completely flustered. This isn’t happening. I’m always so organized!
Before I could think, my cameraman hurried to my side with his camera/tripod ensemble in tow. “Should I shoot this? Is this part of the story?”
“Jane!” Lucy growled. “What are you going to do about the limo?”
“Eight hundred an hour,” said the security guard, joining the chorus. “Your permit allows you on the airport common grounds. You need another permit to be on this private strip. It’s what the studios pay.”
It was all too much! As if swallowing a marshmallow whole, I felt my throat tighten to pea-size, and my face flush, glowing like a beacon. Then, the lump. The dreaded lump, threatening a wash of tears.
“One more thing,” the guard grumbled to our motley bunch, “you here for MC Toke?”
I nodded pathetically.
“He’s landing now.” He pointed to the sky.
Lord, please hit us with the big one right now. Or a flash flood of Biblical proportions. Something. Anything! Please! I even prayed that I’d been “punked.” Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, I begged my body, but the thrust toward full-blown blubbering seemed out of my control.
Then, suddenly, as if coming from the clouds, the Love Boat theme rang in the distance, superceding the sound of jet engines. That’s it. I’ve totally lost it!
My cameraman snapped his fingers across my glazed-over eyes. “Jane, is that your phone? Jane, your phone. It’s ringing. Jane?”
I glanced down at my phone, which was blinking with an urgent message, and I hit “read”:
Hi Hon-E,
KOTL —ILU.
Craig.
My eyes locked onto the little rectangular screen in front of my face.
“Quick, some net lingo here. What does KOTL mean?” I gently nudged one of the model girls beside me, suggesting the matter was both important and secret.
“Kiss on the lips,” she whispered, peering over my shoulder.
“Of course,” I nodded. “And ILU?”
“I love you, silly,” she giggled. “How sweet!”
Love? Could I be sure? Yes, true love. Chaos swirled around me while I connected deeply to invisible bits and bytes traveling through the ether, sent from his mobile device to mine. Sweeter acronyms had never been typed or transmitted.
When I finally lifted my head, I felt a rush of elation, the earth had changed colors, and the menacing people who seemed to be placed on this earth to destroy me were suddenly soft, fawn-like, and precious. I loved every one of them! For a split second, I might even have reached enlightenment, sitting on that great big puffy cloud in the sky—just me and the Maharishi! Pure, pristine, love. I began to glow. I felt unstoppable.
Back to consciousness . “Right, Lucy, sorry, but it’s too late. The limo will have to do. End of discussion. Joe, set up for the landing. Girls, follow him and stand behind the camera until I get there, which will be in a minute.” I motioned to the security guard. “Sir, here’s my credit card. Give it to whomever and charge it. And I’d like a receipt, please.”
I smiled the deepest smile my face could muster and
“But I don’t understand,” I said, the sweat starting to bead on my forehead.
“What’s wrong with this one?”
“First, it’s white. You see? Shit-box white. What are we, the construction crew?”
“Yeah,” said the other two models, nodding in unison andcocking their heads sideways.
I turned to the limo. “Sort of retro cool, don’t you think?” I said, afraid they might smother me in a triple D sandwich.
“No, not cool,” she continued. “And, it’s a piece of shit. It sputters uphill.”
Just then an airport security guard tapped me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Miss. You can’t set up your cameras here.”
“What?! You must be mistaken.”
“This is a private airstrip. You need a permit.”
“But. . . I. . . Wait. I, I, I have a permit. See, right here,” I stuttered, completely flustered. This isn’t happening. I’m always so organized!
Before I could think, my cameraman hurried to my side with his camera/tripod ensemble in tow. “Should I shoot this? Is this part of the story?”
“Jane!” Lucy growled. “What are you going to do about the limo?”
“Eight hundred an hour,” said the security guard, joining the chorus. “Your permit allows you on the airport common grounds. You need another permit to be on this private strip. It’s what the studios pay.”
It was all too much! As if swallowing a marshmallow whole, I felt my throat tighten to pea-size, and my face flush, glowing like a beacon. Then, the lump. The dreaded lump, threatening a wash of tears.
“One more thing,” the guard grumbled to our motley bunch, “you here for MC Toke?”
I nodded pathetically.
“He’s landing now.” He pointed to the sky.
Lord, please hit us with the big one right now. Or a flash flood of Biblical proportions. Something. Anything! Please! I even prayed that I’d been “punked.” Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, I begged my body, but the thrust toward full-blown blubbering seemed out of my control.
Then, suddenly, as if coming from the clouds, the Love Boat theme rang in the distance, superceding the sound of jet engines. That’s it. I’ve totally lost it!
My cameraman snapped his fingers across my glazed-over eyes. “Jane, is that your phone? Jane, your phone. It’s ringing. Jane?”
I glanced down at my phone, which was blinking with an urgent message, and I hit “read”:
Hi Hon-E,
KOTL —ILU.
Craig.
My eyes locked onto the little rectangular screen in front of my face.
“Quick, some net lingo here. What does KOTL mean?” I gently nudged one of the model girls beside me, suggesting the matter was both important and secret.
“Kiss on the lips,” she whispered, peering over my shoulder.
“Of course,” I nodded. “And ILU?”
“I love you, silly,” she giggled. “How sweet!”
Love? Could I be sure? Yes, true love. Chaos swirled around me while I connected deeply to invisible bits and bytes traveling through the ether, sent from his mobile device to mine. Sweeter acronyms had never been typed or transmitted.
When I finally lifted my head, I felt a rush of elation, the earth had changed colors, and the menacing people who seemed to be placed on this earth to destroy me were suddenly soft, fawn-like, and precious. I loved every one of them! For a split second, I might even have reached enlightenment, sitting on that great big puffy cloud in the sky—just me and the Maharishi! Pure, pristine, love. I began to glow. I felt unstoppable.
Back to consciousness . “Right, Lucy, sorry, but it’s too late. The limo will have to do. End of discussion. Joe, set up for the landing. Girls, follow him and stand behind the camera until I get there, which will be in a minute.” I motioned to the security guard. “Sir, here’s my credit card. Give it to whomever and charge it. And I’d like a receipt, please.”
I smiled the deepest smile my face could muster and
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