And You Can't Tell Anyone, chapter 37
In what seemed to take centuries, Mike managed to get dressed in some ill fitting formal clothes and find his way to the car. His nerves were clamouring wildly as he waited for the car's battery to finish warming.
Come on! Hurry, hurry. There!
Frantically he turned the key, and the car spluttered to life. The engine roared in protest as Mike stomped on the gas and released the clutch too swiftly. Billie Joe would probably not be pleased if he knew how Mike was manhandling his car. Then again, Mike did not really care.
I've gotta make it. I have to make it.
*Billie Joe*
The guitarist paced around the kitchen, glancing at the clock after every circuit. Adrienne was watching him sympathetically while she sipped some coffee. The scrawny teenager sighed and ran his hands through his hair.
"So," Adrienne asked uneasily, "Do you have any idea what time the flight left?"
"Nope, none at all." Billie Joe grumbled.
A smile teased at the corner of her mouth. "Why not? Call the airport and see if they'll tell you about England bound flights."
Billie Joe pecked her on the cheek, "Fuck, Adie, you're a genius."
She kissed him back and laughed. "No, I'm not. Just, I've got the lady perspective: ask for directions."
That gorgeous smile eased onto her face, and it made him halt for a moment to smile back.
Playfully, she shooed him, "Get phoning!"
Billie Joe shook his head and scurried to the phonebook.
*Mike*
Jerking to a halt at a red light, Mike glared at the hateful red glow. Every second he waited felt like a thousand years. The ring of the cell phone in his pocket made him jump. Releasing his death grip on the stick shift, he dug out the phone. Cradling it between his shoulder and ear, he sternly accelerated the car out of the intersection, leaving long tire treads in his wake.
Damn, I wish I had my truck.
"Yeah?"
"Mike, it's me, Billie."
"Yeah? What? Did you find her?" It was impossible for him to prevent himself from sounding frantic.
"No, sorry man. How far are you from the airport?"
"I don't know, five minutes at most."
"You need to hurry then, 'cause that's all the time you got. Adie thought we should call the airport and check out flight times. Turns out there are three. One left at seven thirty, one's leaving at eight fifteen, and there's another at eleven."
"Did you find out which one she's on?"
"No," Billie Joe sighed. "The chick at the fucking desk wouldn't tell me."
"I'll find Wren," Mike replied firmly.
"Mike," Billie Joe hesitated, "You know that she could have been on the seven--"
"Shut up Billie! I'm not going to lose her so easily, I'm not."
"Then you better make fucking sure you bring her back then," Billie Joe's voice was taunt and determined. "Oh, uh," his voice softened, "Adie says she wishes you luck. Yeah, I guess, good luck too."
"Thanks."
The light changed and Mike stomped on the gas. He did not stop accelerating until he reached the parking lot of the massive airport. Involuntarily his gut clenched as one of the steel, man-made birds took to the air above.
Damn. I can't be too late!
Mike checked his watch and let out a small sigh. He still had three minutes. That flight could not have been hers; he hoped.
Spurred to action, he yanked the keys out of the ignition and shot out of the car. Leaving it double parked in front of the main doors, Mike burst inside.
It was completely confusing inside the high-ceilinged building. All around were white walls. A clear glass ceiling revealed an equally bland overcast sky. Down at earth level, people were bustling back and forth all over the place. Overwhelmed at the masses, Mike jerked to a halt.
How the hell am I going to get anywhere?
His blue eyes caught sight of a large sign proclaiming that it contained flight information. Darting around the people, Mike raced up to the desk. His momentum was so great that he crashed into it with a thud. The middle age woman behind it looked up sharply.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes...I...need a...I need to know about...a flight for England. Is there a Wren Calderwood on any of them?" Mike leaned against the counter and puffed.
I should have never started smoking.
"I'm sorry sir, but that information is not releasable to the public." The woman sounded just as lively as the computer sitting in front of her.
"Please," Mike begged, "Just let me know if she was on the seven o'clock one at least."
"Sir, there's no way I can do that."
Mike cursed under his breath and bit his lip. He had to make this woman understand.
"Look, I don't seem like I'm very old, but the biggest mistake of my life is about to happen. I'm not going to bomb the plane or anything; I just need to talk to her."
The desk clerk cocked her head slowly. Her lips pursed, showing lines on her face. Silently, she began typing. As she did so, she said, "I must be getting to be a romantic in my old age." Her faded, sad eyes skipped up the computer screen. "She's ready for departure at gate D479. It's off to your left."
"Thank you," Mike gasped and sprinted away.
D479, D479, D479, I need gate D479.
On and on he ran, down the seemingly endless main walkway of the building. On support posts all along, the gate numbers were painted.
D475...D477...D481? Where is it?[/i]
Filled with the knowledge that every second was crucial, Mike spun around. His eyes searched frantically for the numbers. Overhead, flights were being called on the echoing intercom. It added to the feeling that he was small, insignificant, and lost.
Where is it? Damn it all! Where?
A crowd of people suddenly started moving, revealing a corridor. Upon it was painted the numbers and letters he needed.
D579!
Sparked to action, he continued his mad sprint. His sneakers-clad feet skidded on the tiled floor as he raced down the hall. Reaching a small waiting area, he felt shock to discover all the chairs vacant.
He jogged over to a man in airline uniform standing near a set of closed doors.
Heart rising into his throat, Mike demanded breathlessly, "Is this the flight to England?"
"Yes, but I'm sorry, the plane has already begun taxiing," the employee replied.
"Is there any way--"
"No, I'm sorry. Once the plane is on the runway, it will not be returning for any passengers. I can get you another flight if you have your ticket."
Mike felt the placid words like a physical blow. Quietly, he responded, "No, I don't have one to exchange. I was trying to catch up to someone."
So, it was all for nothing? I love her, and now it's over, just like that.
Defeated, he turned and walked miserably away.
Come on! Hurry, hurry. There!
Frantically he turned the key, and the car spluttered to life. The engine roared in protest as Mike stomped on the gas and released the clutch too swiftly. Billie Joe would probably not be pleased if he knew how Mike was manhandling his car. Then again, Mike did not really care.
I've gotta make it. I have to make it.
*Billie Joe*
The guitarist paced around the kitchen, glancing at the clock after every circuit. Adrienne was watching him sympathetically while she sipped some coffee. The scrawny teenager sighed and ran his hands through his hair.
"So," Adrienne asked uneasily, "Do you have any idea what time the flight left?"
"Nope, none at all." Billie Joe grumbled.
A smile teased at the corner of her mouth. "Why not? Call the airport and see if they'll tell you about England bound flights."
Billie Joe pecked her on the cheek, "Fuck, Adie, you're a genius."
She kissed him back and laughed. "No, I'm not. Just, I've got the lady perspective: ask for directions."
That gorgeous smile eased onto her face, and it made him halt for a moment to smile back.
Playfully, she shooed him, "Get phoning!"
Billie Joe shook his head and scurried to the phonebook.
*Mike*
Jerking to a halt at a red light, Mike glared at the hateful red glow. Every second he waited felt like a thousand years. The ring of the cell phone in his pocket made him jump. Releasing his death grip on the stick shift, he dug out the phone. Cradling it between his shoulder and ear, he sternly accelerated the car out of the intersection, leaving long tire treads in his wake.
Damn, I wish I had my truck.
"Yeah?"
"Mike, it's me, Billie."
"Yeah? What? Did you find her?" It was impossible for him to prevent himself from sounding frantic.
"No, sorry man. How far are you from the airport?"
"I don't know, five minutes at most."
"You need to hurry then, 'cause that's all the time you got. Adie thought we should call the airport and check out flight times. Turns out there are three. One left at seven thirty, one's leaving at eight fifteen, and there's another at eleven."
"Did you find out which one she's on?"
"No," Billie Joe sighed. "The chick at the fucking desk wouldn't tell me."
"I'll find Wren," Mike replied firmly.
"Mike," Billie Joe hesitated, "You know that she could have been on the seven--"
"Shut up Billie! I'm not going to lose her so easily, I'm not."
"Then you better make fucking sure you bring her back then," Billie Joe's voice was taunt and determined. "Oh, uh," his voice softened, "Adie says she wishes you luck. Yeah, I guess, good luck too."
"Thanks."
The light changed and Mike stomped on the gas. He did not stop accelerating until he reached the parking lot of the massive airport. Involuntarily his gut clenched as one of the steel, man-made birds took to the air above.
Damn. I can't be too late!
Mike checked his watch and let out a small sigh. He still had three minutes. That flight could not have been hers; he hoped.
Spurred to action, he yanked the keys out of the ignition and shot out of the car. Leaving it double parked in front of the main doors, Mike burst inside.
It was completely confusing inside the high-ceilinged building. All around were white walls. A clear glass ceiling revealed an equally bland overcast sky. Down at earth level, people were bustling back and forth all over the place. Overwhelmed at the masses, Mike jerked to a halt.
How the hell am I going to get anywhere?
His blue eyes caught sight of a large sign proclaiming that it contained flight information. Darting around the people, Mike raced up to the desk. His momentum was so great that he crashed into it with a thud. The middle age woman behind it looked up sharply.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes...I...need a...I need to know about...a flight for England. Is there a Wren Calderwood on any of them?" Mike leaned against the counter and puffed.
I should have never started smoking.
"I'm sorry sir, but that information is not releasable to the public." The woman sounded just as lively as the computer sitting in front of her.
"Please," Mike begged, "Just let me know if she was on the seven o'clock one at least."
"Sir, there's no way I can do that."
Mike cursed under his breath and bit his lip. He had to make this woman understand.
"Look, I don't seem like I'm very old, but the biggest mistake of my life is about to happen. I'm not going to bomb the plane or anything; I just need to talk to her."
The desk clerk cocked her head slowly. Her lips pursed, showing lines on her face. Silently, she began typing. As she did so, she said, "I must be getting to be a romantic in my old age." Her faded, sad eyes skipped up the computer screen. "She's ready for departure at gate D479. It's off to your left."
"Thank you," Mike gasped and sprinted away.
D479, D479, D479, I need gate D479.
On and on he ran, down the seemingly endless main walkway of the building. On support posts all along, the gate numbers were painted.
D475...D477...D481? Where is it?[/i]
Filled with the knowledge that every second was crucial, Mike spun around. His eyes searched frantically for the numbers. Overhead, flights were being called on the echoing intercom. It added to the feeling that he was small, insignificant, and lost.
Where is it? Damn it all! Where?
A crowd of people suddenly started moving, revealing a corridor. Upon it was painted the numbers and letters he needed.
D579!
Sparked to action, he continued his mad sprint. His sneakers-clad feet skidded on the tiled floor as he raced down the hall. Reaching a small waiting area, he felt shock to discover all the chairs vacant.
He jogged over to a man in airline uniform standing near a set of closed doors.
Heart rising into his throat, Mike demanded breathlessly, "Is this the flight to England?"
"Yes, but I'm sorry, the plane has already begun taxiing," the employee replied.
"Is there any way--"
"No, I'm sorry. Once the plane is on the runway, it will not be returning for any passengers. I can get you another flight if you have your ticket."
Mike felt the placid words like a physical blow. Quietly, he responded, "No, I don't have one to exchange. I was trying to catch up to someone."
So, it was all for nothing? I love her, and now it's over, just like that.
Defeated, he turned and walked miserably away.
