Crash Diet

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

“Ladies…?” he said politely. “Smooth flight. Very nice.”

“Well we have a perfect day for it,” Irene replied, avoiding his eyes and looking out the forward windscreen.

He turned his attention to Bev. “I need a word with Irene. Might I have a moment?”

“Sure Mr. Scirocco.” Bev raised her arms like a little girl wanting to be lifted. “I was just leaving; to check to see if Alex has any biscuits.” Scirocco extended his arms. Bev gripped his forearms and was lifted from her seat. “I’ll be in the service area.” And as she squeezed by Scirocco she lingered a moment with her breasts pushed into the front of his shirt.

“You little tart,” Scirocco chuckled. “Off you go before I turn you over my knee and slap your bottom.”

Bev giggled. And turning, she brushed the front of his trousers with a thigh. “Better than a biscuit...” And she wiggled her bikini-bum before side-stepping out the cabin door, discretely closing it after.

Scirocco shifted around and perched his haunches on the armrest of the right-hand seat. “That girl’s incorrigible.”

“I imagine that’s why you hired her.” Irene said.

“Yeah, I guess,” he conceded. “She can fly, can’t she?”

Irene had to smile. He had summed himself up pretty good, hiring a pilot without knowing if she could handle the aircraft: Perky t**s rule. “Sure. She hasn’t a lot of experience mind you, but she can fly.”

“Good to know,” he said, lifting himself from the armrest. “We make the return trip to Cracker-Jax the day after tomorrow. We’ll be going back empty except for me and six of my associates. Oh, and one last thing, Irene. You will be expected to comply with our dress code. You understand what that entails.”

“Yes, of course,” Irene reassured him. “I’m an older woman. I know how things work.”

“Good. We have an understanding.”

“Yes,” Irene said, feeling she had just sold her soul to the devil.

Once on the ground, Irene made her way to the Delta departures desk for her connecting flight to Atlanta. She was still humming like a live wire with the anticipation of a new job but relocating to a Caribbean island suddenly seemed daunting. She took a scrap of paper from her shoulder bag and started a list. Item number one: Sell the house.

In Atlanta, Irene rescued her BMW from the long-term parking garage and drove home in late afternoon traffic. It was almost dark when she pulled into her drive and, as she feared, her letter box was stuffed with notices demanding her attention. Irene sorted the envelopes, neatly arranged them, bound them up with an elastic band and placed them, unopened, onto her desk.

She pried the cork from a bottle of wine and debated her kitchen stove but found she was too keyed to consider cooking and ordered a pizza instead. Irene sat at her kitchen table and sipped wine while waiting for the delivery boy. Her home, a rambling ranch-style that she had once been proud to own and had set her back a cool two point two million at the bank, appeared formal, stodgy even, compared to her little Hobbit House under the palm trees at Cracker-Jax Key.

She found herself missing the heartbeat of the ocean and the sounds of the songbirds in the honeysuckle. And she even missed crazy Ditz, standing half-naked at her miniature propane stove, trying to work around steaming pots with her audacious t**s hanging in the way. Irene smiled at the image.

There was the lyrical chime of her bell and Irene grabbed her wallet from her shoulder bag. “Pamela,” she exclaimed when she pulled back the door.

Pamela stood under her porch light looking quite proud of herself. “Well, Miss Ross. I told him,” she announced.

“Come in,” Irene opened the door wider. “I’ve just opened a bottle of wine. Will you have some?”

“Yes!” Pamela answered. “I feel like celebrating!” And she led the way into Irene’s kitchen.

Irene poured another glass of wine and set it on the table. “So you had a talk with Adam, and...?”

“And I told him I was gay.”

“Just now?”

“Yes. I know you’ve been out of town and I hope I’m not intruding but I saw your light and just had to tell someone.”

Irene splashed wine in Pamela’s glass. “You’re not intruding. So you just came right out and told Adam you’re a lesbian?”

Pamela had a sip of wine, shuddered, but took a second, larger swallow. “Well no, I wasn’t that cold. I told him I loved him like family. That I looked up to him like he was my big brother. And that I always would.”

Irene groaned inside. Poor Adam. “And how did he take the news?”

“Not too well, I guess. But you know Adam– he’s got it all bottled up inside.”

“So he’s angry?”

“Yeah, I guess, and hurt. But mostly he’s confused.”

“I’m sure.” Irene took her wine glass to the counter and poured in vodka from the bottle she kept above the sink. “So why tell me?”

“You’re his friend, Miss Ross. He’s going to want to unburden himself, talk with someone, and I don’t think this is the kind of thing he can take to his parents. They had such high hopes for us.”

There was a sharp rap at the front door and Pamela jumped. “God, it’s him.” She looked wildly about. “He can’t find me here.”

“No– no,” Irene lay a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It’s just the delivery boy. I ordered a pizza.” She picked up her wallet and when Irene returned, the delicious smells of pepperoni and mushrooms tickled Pamela’s senses.

Irene took two plates down from the cupboard. “You’ll stay and have some, surely, it’s a large and there’ll be plenty.”

“If you’re sure, yes, it would be nice.”

“Good, I enjoy your company.” Irene retrieved the wine bottle from the fridge. “Take this. We’ll go out onto the terrace and enjoy the night air.” Irene recharged her glass with vodka.

“It’s so lovey back here,” Pamela commented as she set plates down on the patio table and separated two slices from the box.

Irene set the bottle of wine by Pamela’s elbow so the girl could pace herself then lighted four pillar candles before getting comfortable in a wicker chair.

“Yes. It’s a nice space,” Irene replied, admiring the landscaping. “But it will be gone soon.”

Pamela wiped her chin with a napkin. “Gone? Whatever do you mean?”

“I think I landed a new job. It will mean a move for me and I have to sell the house.”

“Oh Miss Ross. I’m so happy for you.” Pamela reached for Irene’s hand. “I mean, I know how hard it’s been; Adam told me. And it’s been all over the news. It was so unfair, what they did. But tell me about the job.”

“It’s with a resort in the Caribbean. I’ll be shuttling guests back and forth to Miami and live on the Island.”

“An island.” Pamela’s eyes glistened and she served up more pizza. “You’re going to live on a tropical island? That’s so exciting.”

“Yes. It’s a wonderful place.” Irene watched Pamela help herself to more wine. “And they’ve put me up in a cabana on the beach. I can hear the surf from my window. I went skinny dipping in the ocean yesterday morning.”

“So no more hot tub?” Pamela teased. “Not after tonight?”

“I would have thought you’d had enough of my hot tub.”

Pamela looked across at the tiled, kidney-shaped bath with its insulated cover. “I might try it again,” she mused. “My last chance, as it were.”

Irene got up from the table and opened the control panel. “I’ll have to adjust the heat, it’ll take a few minutes.”

When she turned back she was surprised to find Pamela standing behind her. “Who’s going to look after Adam, with both of his women gone?” And Pamela’s hand came up and she touched Irene’s cheek with quivering fingertips.

Irene hesitated. Pamela was coming on to her, she was sure of it. Her voice faltered. “I’ll– I’ll have a talk with him. See how he feels in a couple of days. And I’ll be back and forth to Atlanta during the coming weeks. I’ll look in on him. It will be fine.”

Pamela lowered her hand. “Are you going to sleep with him?”

“No. Absolutely not; considering the circumstances.”

“I guess.” Pamela wasn’t convinced. “But it might help; I don’t know. Do it, for him, if it’s what he wants.”

“No, Pamela. That’s not what Adam needs right now. But I promise to talk with him. Now come along and have another glass of wine while the water heats up.”

Pamela slipped her hand into Irene’s and led her back to the table.

“When did you first realize that you were gay?” Irene had to ask.

“I guess I always knew, it was coming to terms with it that took the time. At school, we all grew up thinking boys were gross but as we got older my girlfriends started adjusting their thinking; started dating, then fooling around and sleeping with guys. I didn’t get it; somehow I missed the point. I was hot for my grade eight teacher, Anna Fletcher,” Pamela laughed and bit off a bit of pizza crust.

“Your teacher?”

“Yeah. She was beautiful,” Pamela continued, “and she wore these stretchy slacks pulled tight. I think she did it to tease the boys. They were always rubbing up against her leg.” Pamela smiled, thinking back. “Mrs. Fletcher never realized that I shared the same feelings. All I dreamed about was having her take me home to share her bed. I’m sure Mr. Fletcher would have been impressed.” Pamela laughed again.

“Sure. Her husband would have loved the idea.”

“I guess, but I always thought guys were gross; I liked my girlfriends better. Adam was the first guy I accepted as part of my life. He was polite and understanding and we had fun together. But sleep with him? Yuck!”

“So you never made it with your teacher. Forgive me for asking, but I’m curious like most straight women. Have you had female lovers? What’s it like?”

“I’m in a relationship with a woman at the University. It’s just casual s*x, no strings, but I’m happy with it. And there has been one other, before. I’ve never had s*x with a man, but I know guys have never figured it out. With a guy it’s one shot before stopping by the bathroom on the way to the fridge. The thought that a girl can c*m a dozen times doesn’t occur to them. Only another woman understands, and knows how.”

Irene felt the air leave her lungs. Pamela was a bit of a revelation and Irene wasn’t quite sure how to respond to her. Instead, she drained the last of her vodka from the glass. “I need another drink.”