Crash Diet

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Irene giggled like a four-year-old. She set her mug on a beach table, peeled off her tee-shirt and ran to the water’s edge. A wave swooped in and swirled around her hips. She felt the sand move under her feet and couldn’t catch herself. With a yelp she lost her balance and fell flat into the salty brine. The wave receded, rolled her over twice and left her sitting on her bare ass in sandy soup. Ditz was shrieking with laughter.

“Oh sure!” Irene shouted across the water to where Ditz was paddling on her back, her breasts bobbing on the surface like a frisky pair of jelly fish.

“There’s a trick to it,” Ditz called back. “Don’t try to wade in, you’ll get knocked over. Wait ‘til you see a wave coming and do a shallow dive over it. When it recedes, it will pull you out to where I am.”

“I could drown.”

Ditz swung her legs around. “It’s only four-feet.” She stood in waist deep water and flicked the hair from her eyes. “See?”

“Oh...” Irene struggled to her feet, keenly aware of the grit between her buttocks. She waited for a suitable wave, did a sloppy dive and landed face down. The water closed over her body and she let herself sink; the ocean holding her like a mother. A sense of peacefulness possessed her, like in her whole life, she had never truly relaxed until now. All the problems and frustrations of the last six months washed away. She could hear the muffled sound of the surf and tiny bubbles tickled her naked skin. She felt new and refreshed. The water moved her.

She surfaced and sloshed out to where Ditz was paddling in circles. “The water’s fabulous.”

“Told yah.”

“And this is how you start your day? Every day?”

“And end it, lots of times. A quick skinny dip before bedtime and you’ll sleep in child-like innocence.”

Irene stood up and looked back at the shoreline. “It’s a wonder the trees aren’t filled with guys.”

Ditz chuckled. “I’ve caught a few of them at it. I just take it as a complement; some young bucks getting off on an old broad like me. C’mon, I’ll race you to the shower.”

Hand-in-hand they plunged through the surf and ran up the beach shrieking like schoolgirls.

The shower certainly wasn’t for the modest. A pipe extended out from the eves at the back of the cabana and supported a shower head the size of a dinner plate. Below, several flag-stones had been set into the sand. “You go first,” Irene offered.

“Don’t be silly. There’s lots of room.” And Ditz pulled Irene up beside her and reached for the rope. A deluge of cool water fell on their heads and Irene lifted her face into the spray. When Ditz let go of the rope, Irene was giggling like a kid. They passed a bar of soap back and forth, rinsed and shampooed.

They were rinsing a final time when Irene noticed the look of anticipation in Ditz’s eyes. Her lips were twitching as if ready to suggest some new game. But instead, she reached out her arms and gathered Irene into her embrace; held Irene, breast pressed to breast with the rubbery sensation of peaked n*****s. A hand behind pulling them belly to belly and she held Irene just long enough to prove it wasn’t sisterly.

Irene was taken off guard; genuinely surprised by the lusty intention. But what surprised her more was her acceptance. She wasn’t compelled to pull away. Didn’t feel any sense of revolt or guilt. Actually felt herself responding and returned the affection by running a hand down her new friend’s spine. She even added a slight return of insistence, pressing lightly with her fingers, her touch lingering just above the cleft in a lofty behind.

Ditz pulled back, her eyes dancing. “This is nice,” she said, then dropped her arms, releasing Irene and leaving her breathless. “Let’s dry off and have another cup of coffee.”

She showed Irene to a couple of loungers positioned in the garden. The women stretched out and languished in warm sunshine and the insistent breath of the trade winds dried them in moments.

Ditz stood naked at the breakfast bar and poured coffee and rum while Irene brushed the last of the dampness from her hair. Irene was sorting her thoughts as she admired the woman. They were about the same height but whereas Irene was tall and slim, Ditz was tall and bodacious. She had the body of an athlete; the neck, shoulders and arms any young man would be proud to show off to his football coach. Her breasts were like a couple of bricks, perched high on her rib cage and each sporting a thick n****e.

Below, she zeroed to a narrow waistline but flared again, into rocky hips. Ditz had the thighs of a body builder. And between, a thick angular slice of golden pubic hair didn’t quite conceal the leathery lips. Irene wondered about the brief marriage: Had Ditz found a heterogeneous lifestyle with Harry unbearable? Had she discovered something about herself that caused her to run from her husband and bury herself on a Caribbean island?

Bang. Bang. A sharp rap on the door jolted Irene from her thoughts.

“Hold onto yourself,” Ditz belted out. “Let me get my friggin’ pants on.”

Ditz hastened to tie her beach wrap about her waist while Irene scrambled to the opposite love seat where she would be hidden from view. Ditz stepped to the door and covering her breasts with her left arm and a cupped hand, she used the opposite hand to fumble the door knob. “Oh. It’s you,” she announced and dropped the arm, her n*****s bouncing. “It’s the mailman.”

Irene shriveled on the love seat holding a cushion to her chest and hoping the mailman wasn’t about to be invited in for coffee. But Ditz accepted an envelope and closed the door. “Just Peitro, cute Haitian kid. He’s in love with me, poor thing,” Ditz smiled, “so I give him a little something to think about, in bed.” She turned the envelop in her hands. “It’s for you; from Scirocco. Maybe he’s going to make you an offer.”

Irene dropped the cushion. “I hope it has something remotely to do with flying an airplane,” she said.

“Mr. Scirocco?”

Irene stood in front of a walnut desk the size of her dining room table back home.

“Ah, Mrs. Ross. Good of you to drop by.” He half-lifted his haunches from his leather chair but didn’t extend a hand. “Please. Sit.”

“It’s Mizzz Ross,” Irene stated flatly.

“Yes, sorry.” He was lifting a file folder from his top drawer and didn’t look up. “I knew that, of course. My apologies. Coffee? Tea? Something from the bar?”

Irene shook her head, no, and wondered what else he knew about her. She slipped into one of his guest chairs and swung one knee over the other, resisting the urge to break the nervous tension by bobbing her foot.

His office was on the mezzanine level of the casino and overlooked the gaming floor. As he browsed hand written notes, Irene watched the card dealers and the girls spinning the roulette wheels through a floor to ceiling window. A girl on the catwalk outside stepped up to the opposite side of the glass and appeared to be looking in. She was a lusty blonde in a short skirt. Odd behavior, Irene thought until the girl blended her lipstick with the tip of her little finger then, after a wistful glance over her shoulder, adjusted the cups of her bra.

The girl was looking at her reflection in what she thought was a mirror, Irene realized. But it was two-way glass. Staring at the girl, Irene felt the flush of voyeurism and turned away, embarrassed for her.

“Pretty girl,” Scirocco commented. The long legs and perky breasts had attracted his attention.

“Yes. She’s young and quite lovely,” Irene agreed, “as is all your staff.”

“You came in quite low yesterday; buzzed the casino and rattled the windows. I didn’t appreciate it.”

“You would have appreciated it even less if I had come straight in and discovered a cow standing in the middle of the runway,” Irene replied softly, without intent.

“I see.” Scirocco leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. “So I understand you want to work for me.”

Irene recrossed her knees and leaned forward. “Yes, Mr. Scirocco. I have five years as co-pilot in the DC-9 and three years as pilot before moving to a DC-10. I know these planes. I was with United Airways for eleven years in the 10-10.”

“Until you crashed.”

The heat came up into Irene’s neck. “Yes. Until I crashed,” she said weakly and saw her new job slipping away.

“Sioux Falls, wasn’t it?” Scirocco looked over his notes. “One hundred and eleven passengers dead and you haven’t worked since.”

“It’s been hard,” was all Irene could think to say.

“Yes. Well airline companies are inclined to try to impress their customers with their safety records. You would be viewed as a liability.”

Irene shrank in her chair. “Yes. I’ve heard the argument. But I didn’t murder those people, Mr. Scirocco. I’m not on death row.”

“More like purgatory.” He closed the file and studied her a moment. “How much money do you owe?”

There was no dodging the question. “The legal bills. The insurance claims. They arrive in my mailbox daily. I still don’t know the final tally but if I liquidate everything, everything I have, I’ll still be in hock.”

“I see. May I assume, then, this job is important to you?”

“Yes.”

He looked down and drummed his fingers on the file folder. “You were contracted to deliver my plane to the island. I’ll pay you for that. And I understand that you are interested in working for me on a permanent basis but I’ll tell you straight up: There are two other ladies competing for the job.”

Irene tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “I understand.”

“Both are younger women and may be better suited to my needs. How old are you, Irene?”

“Fifty-two.”

“An older woman. Well maybe an older pilot would instill confidence in my guests. Who knows? And I like an older woman from time to time. They understand how things work, know what they’re about and what is required of them. Older women accept the reality of getting ahead. It comes with experience.”

The innuendo was clear but Irene chose to ignore it.

“Let me think it over,” Scirocco continued. “In the meantime I want you to prepare the plane for a return trip to Miami. We fly out tomorrow at ten with a full contingency; seventy passengers. And I’ll be aboard. I have meetings in New York and will catch a connecting flight.” He put the file folder back in his drawer. “See Toby down at the maintenance shed. He’ll look after you.”

“May I ask what happened to your last pilot?”

“She had family problems,” he said smoothly without looking up.

The word family had taken on a whole new perspective for Irene. “Family,” she repeated.

The meeting was over and Irene pushed herself up from the chair. “Thank you for considering me,” Irene didn’t try to conceal her shaky voice. She turned toward the door.

“You’re a good looking woman, Irene,” he called after her. She paused, half-turned. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars, right now, for your panties.”

Irene thought her chest had caved. “W-what?”

“C’mon Irene. You’re old enough to know how the game is played. Lift up your skirt, take off your panties and hand them to me. A thousand bucks, cash, right now. You need the money.”

Irene felt the prick of perspiration across her shoulder blades. Yes, she did need the money. She was broke and if not for Ditz’s generosity she might find herself digging around for kitchen scraps. But still, after what she’d been through, this blatant demand to remove her underwear was too much. She looked across to where he sat studying her body. “I’m not wearing panties, Mr. Scirocco. Maybe next time I’ll get lucky.”

As she turned to the door she heard a faint croaking sound, like a dog trying to force down a chicken bone. It was a victory, a small one, but a victory all the same.