Turbulent Strangers

Chapter 1 Red safety lights illuminated Winston's narrow darkroom. The photographer sat in a fold-out chair by the counter, sipping his second glass of wine. Two dozen photographs dried on parallel lines suspended at head level. Two dozen black and white pictures of Winston's ex-boyfriend. Winston absently stroked his short salt and pepper beard while his gaze roamed over the images of the too-familiar model. The dark buzzed hair, the friendly eyes, the soft lips turned up in the corners in an elfish smile. His defined chest and smooth, flat abdomen. That sharp V that dipped under the rim of the designer name brand underwear he modeled. The photo session had lasted an hour and led into an evening of frenzied s*x on the first warm day of summer. Winston drummed a finger along one knee as he remembered Derek screaming in joy both times he came that night. Derek moved out two days later. One of Derek's model friends helped him pack up his things. Winston had watched them from the window in the street below, where the young models shared a kiss. Winston realized he had wasted an entire year of his life on the failed relationship. The cell phone in Winston's shirt pocket began buzzing. He answered the phone, putting it on speaker, and placed it on the counter next to his wine glass. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “Terry told me you might not be going to the wedding,” Mikey said, without any greeting. Knowing Winston for nearly thirty years gave him the right to skip pleasantries. “I'm not going. I'm mourning a failed relationship, I can't handle a wedding right now.” “Don't be such a queen. You are going. It's a great place to find an age-appropriate guy.” “Don't start with me.” Winston considered hanging up, but he knew Mikey would call right back. “Honey, it was hot when you were in your twenties and landing models. Then you were a stud when you kept it up in your thirties. But then it got sad when you were doing it in your forties. You're fifty four, now it's just desperate.” “I've tried dating men my own age. They get jealous of the models I shoot.” Winston closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Then give landscapes a try.” “It's a completely different… everything. I shoot people.” “Everyone loves all those pictures of flowers looking like p***y. You can take pictures of d**k-looking things.” “Tell Terry and Sam I'm very happy for them. And I'll send a card.” “Your sad sap self will go to Provincetown to celebrate our friends' marriage. Either you fly on out there, or five men in black masks will kidnap your ass. And it won't be as much fun as that sounds.” “You wouldn't.” “Try me.” Mikey sounded dead serious. “I guess you don't need the extra business.” “I'll bite. What does that mean?” Winston asked, although he kicked himself for playing Mikey's games. “You know Terry's fiancé is an agent. I have it on good authority there will be at least two A list clients and a gaggle of B and C listers. And with you being a bigshot photographer…” Winston considered the fantastic networking opportunity. He could parlay hobnobbing at the wedding into some major business. He sighed and said, “I'll see you in P Town.” “That a boy. See you then.” The call ended and Winston thought about enduring the merry wedding on his own and finished his glass of wine. Once outside the darkroom and the legion of smiles mocking him, Winston found the wedding invitation on his living room coffee table. He'd received it weeks ago, and quickly replied with his RSVP with a plus one. He'd bought Derek a stunning suit; it was the first thing the model packed when he moved out. He opened his laptop and booked a flight from LA to Provincetown. * * * * Winston gripped his armrest as the plane rocked up and down. He had been enjoying the flight, and even winked at the handsome flight attendant who gave him an extra bag of peanuts. Then the rain started pelting the plane and the ride got uncomfortable fast. “Been on a lot of flights,” the woman next to him said. “This is in the top ten worst.” Winston grimaced in response. Normally when he flew, he pictured the floor beneath him opening up and plummeting, still buckled in his seat, down to the earth below. The horrid turbulence didn't help any. Winston forced himself to open his eyes and look out the little window to his right. They passed heavy, dark clouds obscured by the thick rain. He shook his head for agreeing to the trip. Why hadn't he listened to the little voice that said the wedding would be the death of him? The plane lurched to one side and Winston shouted, “Oh Christ!” The young flight attendant Winston had flirted with gave him a worried look. Once the ride settled down, the captain's voice came over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentleman, I must apologize for the bumpy flight. The storm came in a little earlier, and harder, than we expected. We'll be landing safely in Richmond in just a few minutes, where I'm told it is a little wet.” “Great,” the woman said next to Winston. “I'll probably end up missing my connecting flight up north. I only have about ten minutes to dash across terminals.” “Good luck.” Winston said through gritted teeth. He had his own connecting flight to worry about. * * * * The words “delayed” and “canceled” flashed next to nearly every flight on the ticker. Winston, along with fifty other people clutching carry-ons, craned his head up toward the informational monitor with a sense of despair. He had planned on getting a quick bite to eat and drink during his forty minute layover, and then hop back in the sky on his way to Pittsburgh, where he'd get on a smaller flight to Provincetown. “Come on flight to Pittsburgh,” Winston whispered. Maybe it was fine flying north. “Don't do this to me.” Flight 517 from Richmond to Pittsburgh—Canceled. A wave of groans passed over the crowd. Winston resigned himself to joining the long line leading up to customer service. As the minutes ticked by and the storm raged outside, Winston shuffled closer to the desk. Winston knew he would have to be creative if he was going to make the wedding. Chewing on his bottom lip, Winston considered going with the flow and explaining to Terry and the others that it was out of his hands. Mikey would crucify him. “Next?” A young black woman waved Winston forward. “Hi,” Winston said, affecting a smile. “My flight to Pittsburgh was canceled, and I'm supposed to get a connecting flight to Mass from there. What should I do?” “We're trying to reschedule Flight 517 right now, sir. Perhaps for tonight.” “It's only noon,” Winston said. “This is Memorial Day weekend, sir. Most flights are full.” “I've got to get to a wedding tomorrow evening.” “Like I said, sir, you may be able to fly up to Pittsburgh tonight,” she said in an even tone. “I understand, but that's not my final destination.” Winston took a breath and asked, “Can you check on flights to Provincetown?” “One moment, sir.” She typed up a frenzy for several seconds and shook her head. “You will definitely miss all flights to Provincetown tonight, sir.” “Just great.” Winston fought the urge to punch the counter. The last thing he needed was TSA arresting him. “What about tomorrow?” “We can certainly get you on a flight to Pennsylvania tomorrow, sir. That connects to Provincetown on a dead eye flight.” “Meaning I'd reach Provincetown when exactly?” Winston asked, feeling for a moment hopeful. “About midnight tomorrow night, sir.” “The marriage will be consummated by then,” Winston said. “What else can you do for me?” “Sir, until this storm clears and we know more, I'm afraid there's not much else I can do.” She gave him a bored expression. “Thank you so much,” Winston said, leaving the counter. He approached one of the large windows on the wall and watched the storm trapping him in Richmond. He considered his few options. He could stay and take the gamble that things would turn out all right and either he'd make the wedding or he wouldn't. Most likely he wouldn't. The only sure way to make it on time would entail taking matters into his own hands. Winston took his phone out and checked the distance to Provincetown. According to the internet, it would take about twelve hours to drive to the wedding, which would leave him a little time to eat and nap. He pocketed his cell phone and made a beeline to the nearest security officer to ask where he could rent a car.