A Night to Remember Ch. 02

"And that's why you've had enough?"

"It's one reason." While talking, Jack had filled a suitcase with essentials and could have filled the other two, but he wanted to get the hell out of the house. He put his coat back on, grabbed the case and a garment bag he had put his suits in and dragged them to the front door.

Myrna was sitting on the sofa, a look of scorn on her face for Jack. As soon as Sally appeared, the realtor went to his wife and comforted her. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help but overhear. Are you okay?" She put her arm around Sally, but it was not the casual sort of gesture a person would do for another she barely knew. There was definitely familiarity. Jack also now noticed that her attire was a bit more casual than he might have expected a real estate agent to be wearing to visit a client. Like focusing a camera, the picture became suddenly clear: Myrna's casual attire, Sally's incorrectly buttoned shirt, the lack of sex in their marriage, her frequent meetings and what not with women . . . Sally was a lesbian!

He decided to have a little fun with her. "Another reason is our sex life, or lack thereof. Care to talk about that?"

"Sex? What has that got to do with it?" Sally asked with a frown, as though wondering where that came from.

"It's what married people do—unless they're doing it with someone else."

"Jack, whatever are you talking about?" She was attempting to conceal her worry.

Myrna suddenly also had a nervous look.

"I think we both know." Jack made an instant decision to not let on any more, opting instead to let Wes know about his suspicion. Perhaps the attorney could have Sally watched for a while and discover better grounds for divorce.

Once in the car, Jack sped off and didn't look back. It occurred to him that maybe he should have been angry over the probability that Sally was a lesbian and likely had been for years, and that she had just used him all that time basically to support her. But reaching into his jacket pocket for the boarding pass—that was strange, he thought he had folded it with the writing on the inside not outside like it was now—and the knowledge that he was going to be with Catherine, and nothing else mattered.

* * *

"Can you believe that?" Sally shouted angrily. "What has gotten into him? He's always done what he's supposed to do."

Myrna put her arms around her friend, hugging her. "Are you kidding? This is perfect. Now we can be together whenever we want."

"It is for that reason. But what am I going to do for money? I'll have to go to work."

"You work anyway. You just do it voluntarily. Now, you'll get paid."

"I can't get paid for the things I volunteer to do."

"With your talent for interior decorating, you would have no trouble getting a job," Myrna noted. "I can even throw you some work. Many of my clients are looking for a decorator when I sell them a house. I can direct them to you."

"That's a good idea."

"Of course, it is." The realtor pressed her lips to Sally's, caressing her breast. "Now, let's pick up where we left off before we were so rudely interrupted; particularly since we don't need to be in a hurry to finish."

But the phone rang before they could resume. Sally scooped it up, thinking it might be Jack, and ready to give him a piece of her mind.

"May I speak to Jack please?" It was a downtown number.

"May I ask who's calling?" Sally asked the unrecognizable voice.

"This is Peter—"

"Jack's boss?"

"Yes," Peter answered enthusiastically, pleased to be recognized. "Is Jack around?"

"Actually," Sally responded, wondering how much Peter knew, "he just left."

"When do you expect him back?"

"I don't. He left me."

"So, he was serious," Peter said, he thought under his breath.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I guess if he left you, he doesn't care. He also quit his job."

"I'm not surprised," Sally remarked. "I guess that explains why he's on an 8:00 o'clock flight to Paris."

"Paris? Why the hell Paris?"

"Damned if I know."

"He told you he was going to Paris?" Peter asked incredulously.

"No, I happened to, uh," oh, what the hell, Sally thought. "I found his itinerary in is coat pocket."

"Oh," Peter chuckled. "Well, then, I guess there's no reason to attempt to talk him out of quitting."

"I don't think it would do any good. And, personally, I don't care."

"Don't blame you. Thanks."

* * *

Paris, Peter thought, hanging up the phone still smirking. He wouldn't have thought a man like Jack had it in him. He wondered who in the hell the accountant had met last night. There wasn't any woman at the party who could have had that kind of effect—except Joanne, the tall, incredibly attractive woman who had just left his office. It sure wasn't her.

Paris also caused Peter to think of his wife. He had neglected Catherine last night—Joanne had seen to that. His wife had even slept in a separate bedroom. She didn't even come out before he left for the office this morning. Perhaps he should go home early, even take her to dinner tonight.

* * *

The decision to leave her husband had not been difficult for Catherine; getting up the nerve to actually do it was another matter. But once she overcame that hurdle, things started to fall in place and each step in that direction underscored the fact that it was the right move to make. The addition of Jack in the mix was almost the icing on the cake. He was just an ordinary man with every day concerns. But that was one of the traits she loved most about him. He did not pretend to be any more than he was; in fact, he was actually much more than he purported to be. Of course, he was not the type of man she would normally have connected with. But it simply served to prove that one could not and should not judge a book by its cover.

Now, all she had to hope for was that he actually showed up on the airplane. Because he was the man he was, Catherine feared that the chance of him backing out was as good as not. A dozen times since last leaving him, she had wanted to phone him to make certain he was still coming with her, but she dared not call his office—her voice was too easily recognizable—and stupidly, she did not even get his cell phone number.

So, hope was now all she had.

As a result, Catherine had readied herself to depart for the airport early so she could watch out for him, and to avoid a confrontation with Peter. She had left a carefully worded letter on his dresser, but withheld her destination so he couldn't come after her.

Unfortunately, she hadn't planned on Peter arriving early. It occurred to her too late when she heard him enter the condo to sneak out the rear service exit, and now, she fretted having that encounter. Catherine wasn't always a quick thinker, so when he saw her dressed up and asked where she was off to, she had no answer.

"I . . . I'm going away," she mumbled. Then as an afterthought, added, "For a while." Maybe if she implied she was returning . . .

"For a while? What does that mean?"

And of course, that was what he picked up on. "I just need some time alone."

"Time alone? Why?"

Exasperated now, Catherine thought, the hell with it. "I'm leaving you, you idiot!" she shouted, "I'm going away never to return." She started carrying her luggage to the front door.

"Why? I don't understand."

"I've had enough of this farce of a marriage."

"But why? I've given you everything you've ever wanted," Peter argued helplessly.

"It isn't just about material things." Now, Catherine transferred her suitcases into the elevator. Peter got in with her. "I'm tired of you fooling around. You're not a one-woman man."

"But I can change."

He didn't even deny it, Catherine realized. "Well, I can't wait."

"Please can't we discuss it?" Peter pleaded. "You're going to throw away our marriage just like that?"

"I have nothing more to say."

Still, Peter persisted. "Please. Let's go to our little Italian place and talk."

Catherine frowned. "We don't have a little Italian place."

"Then, let's find one. Everyone needs a little Italian place at a time like this."

In the lobby now, she stepped quickly to the entrance, managing her luggage as best she could. Charles, the doorman rushed to assist her. "Need some help, Mam?"

"Yes, and a taxi."

A cab appeared instantly and Charles loaded her baggage as Peter continued pleading. He attempted to slide into the rear seat with her, but she pulled the door shut before he could.

"Can't I at least ride with you so we can discuss this some more?"

"No! There's nothing more to discuss."

"Where to Mam?" the cabbie asked.

"Just drive."

"Catherine, please?" Peter made one last attempt.

"I left you a letter on your dresser."

When he glanced upward to their condo, Catherine ordered the driver, "Go!" And it wasn't until they were several blocks away that she told him where.

* * *

Traffic was unusually heavy, and with each mile, Jack grew more frantic, fearing he would not arrive in time. As had Catherine, he stupidly had not gotten her cell phone number.

* * *

Peter immediately returned to their condo to read the letter. Nothing in it was a surprise, just a more verbose version of what she had said before leaving. He was hoping she would have mentioned where she was going, but she didn't.

The telephone rang, but he was too angry to answer it. However, he just as quickly realized it could be Catherine, so he scooped it up. Air France was calling to advise that the departure time for her flight to Paris was to be fifteen minutes earlier. Seven Forty-five instead of 8:00 p.m. It was a recorded message so Peter hung up.

Paris. Well, that really wasn't a surprise. After all, that was where she was from. Wasn't that the same flight Jack was on?

Why was everyone suddenly going to Paris?

It hit Peter like a ton of bricks. Jack was running away to Paris with a woman he had met at the party last night. And Catherine didn't sleep in the other bedroom. She didn't come home because she spent the night with him.

Peter was absolutely livid now as he tore out of the condo to go to the airport.

* * *

Jack had little experience driving into the city in the late afternoon/early evening, but he wouldn't have thought that traffic would be as heavy as it was. It did not even appear to be this heavy outbound of town, which with rush hour, it should be. He wondered if there was some event this evening that was bringing people in. The narrow cushion of time he had to arrive at the airport and still make the flight was quickly eroding, and with it his level of nervousness was gradually growing . . .

* * *

. . . as was Catherine's. She had checked her luggage and was now debating whether to go through security, or wait a while for Jack. However, the more she thought about it, as anxious as she was for Jack to come with her, if he did not show up, she would never know if it was because he backed out or simply missed the flight.

* * *

The advantage that Peter had was his own car and driver. And neither were strangers to quick trips to the airport. There had been many times when some business or a late-running meeting had prevented a timely departure by Peter to catch a flight, but Jesse had always gotten him there when he needed to be there. Tonight would be no different.

Peter used the drive to call ahead to the airport to find out what concourse Catherine's flight was departing from. He then found a cheap flight departing from that same concourse and purchased a ticket. That would get him through security—the rest was up to him.

* * *

Time was getting short. Catherine knew she had no choice now but to board the plane. She rose dejectedly and headed toward the jet way. Before handing the flight attendant her ticket, she glanced back down the concourse in hopes of seeing Jack making a mad dash to be with her. But sadly, at this late hour, there was hardly anyone walking in this direction let alone running.

She hesitated a second before releasing her boarding pass, a fleeting thought of waiting either until the last possible moment or even the next flight. But there was no guarantee that Jack was even coming. Another glimpse back before the long walk down the jet way and still no one. Oh, well, she was originally going alone anyway . . .

* * *

Even with the airport in sight now, it was a long shot that Jack would make the flight. By the time he parked his car, walked to the terminal, checked his luggage, went through security, it was highly unlikely the plane would still be there. Was it even worth trying at this point? What the hell was he doing anyway? Running off on a whim to Paris with a woman be barely knew . . . what was he thinking?

Then something caught his eye as he approached the terminal that gave him an ounce of hope. A sign. Valet Parking. That could easily cut ten or fifteen minutes off of his time. Yes! When he got to Paris he could mail the ticket to Wes to retrieve the car and get it to Sally.

Before he knew it, he was stuffing the parking ticket in his pocket and was inside the terminal. A check of his watch gave him renewed hope that he was going to make it. That is, until he pulled out his boarding pass to get the flight number, checked the departure screens and discovered that his flight had been rescheduled to depart fifteen minutes earlier than originally scheduled. Hell, it would take him those fifteen minutes just to check his luggage. He was further dismayed by the sight of the line to check baggage.

Jack halted, overwhelmed by the turn of events. He knew he was only wasting time, but he really didn't know what to do. Someone hurried past him, a bit too close, and rolled their suitcase over his foot. It wasn't that big a case—about the size of his own—and it really didn't hurt, but he continued to stare at the person heading quickly toward security check in.

Then it dawned on him. Carry-on. Without another thought, he hustled toward security.

The line there was long, but not insurmountable. Perhaps there were enough sympathetic travelers who would . . .

"Excuse me," Jack said, tapping the last man in line on the shoulder, "I only have a few minutes to catch my flight. Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

Moving ahead, Jack repeated the maneuver and the woman graciously stepped aside. He was on a roll now. Each person provided him encouragement that he was going to make it. "Excuse me, friend," Jack said confidently, again tapping the next man on the shoulder, I only have a few minutes to catch my flight." Jack started to go around under the assumption the man would let him through. But the man turned around slowly, blocking Jack's path, and the accountant found himself staring into the fiery eyes of his boss—former boss—Peter.

Although it was too much of a coincidence that Peter was in this line to catch a flight himself that just happened to be on the same concourse as his wife's flight, that was the position Jack took when he said, "Please, I'm really going to miss my flight if I don't get through here quickly."

"So, you can run off with my wife?" Peter shot back coldly.

Jack decided to play dumb. "What are you talking about? Please, I've got a flight to catch."

"Don't try to play that game with me," Peter growled angrily. "I didn't get where I am by being a fool."

"She doesn't want you any more, Peter. Let her go."

"Well, if I can't have her, neither will you. I'll hold up this line as long as I can."

"Hey, man, move up!" shouted a man further back in line.

Glancing forward, Peter inched ahead slowly. "You've already missed the flight. It was rescheduled for fifteen minutes earlier."

"I can still make it," Jack countered.

"Not if I can prevent it."

About this time, an overweight policeman appeared. "Keep the line moving, sir," he advised Peter.

"But this man is running off with my wife!" Peter nearly shouted.

"Not my problem," the cop said. "Do you even have a ticket to go through security?"

Peter pulled a boarding pass out of his coat and handed it to the officer.

Jack shook his head in pity. He had never realized what a sore loser Peter was: to buy a ticket to get through security just to attempt to stop his wife from leaving him. As the exchange between Peter and the cop continued, Jack glanced down at his watch, saw the seconds ticking away. He also caught sight of something else. The obese policeman's gun belt was sitting above his left rear pant pocket, held up by a leather wallet or notepad protruding way out of that pocket.

". . . now either go through security or get out of line," Jack heard the cop order Peter.

"We'll finish this on the other side," Peter said to Jack.

Even though he heard the statement, Jack's attention was still focused on the man's wallet, or whatever it was, because the top of it was pushing a bullet out of its loop on the officer's gun belt. Just as the cop started to move aside, he accidentally backed into Jack, who, without really thinking about what he was doing, snatched the bullet with his left hand and side-stepped the policeman. This calculated maneuver brought him closer to Peter where he was able to drop the bullet into his former boss's right side coat pocket.

Peter then emptied his pants pockets into a tray, removed and placed his shoes in the same tray, and a second later, the metal detector was going off.

The fat cop hadn't gotten very far, but he returned quickly when he saw who had set off the alarm. "Use the wand," he instructed the TSA agent.

While that was going on, Jack had cleared all of his pockets, placed everything on the conveyor belt and was signaled through the metal detector. He was cleared and as he replaced his items, he glanced back at Peter, who was glaring at him. As Jack walked off, he heard the cop ask Peter what an item was, to which Peter innocently said it looked like a bullet. The last words Jack heard were the officer advising Peter of his Miranda rights.

Jack couldn't help but chuckle at his own deviousness, but the elation did not last long, because he just as quickly realized that because of all those shenanigans his time had run out.

* * *

Those thoughts were mirrored by Catherine, who could tell by her front row, first class seat, that the activity in the front of the plane was the final preparation for the jet to pull back from the jet way. From her window seat, she could actually see the jet way being moved back followed by the sound of the hatch being closed and secured.

Although she had been preparing herself while the other passengers were boarding by telling herself her original plan was to go alone, and that it was too impulsive for a man like Jack to just drop everything and run away with her, and other similar things, she still believed that Jack—unlike all the other men she had known—would not let her down.

But he had. And now, all she could do was hang her head and weep, tuning out the flight attendant's spiel about the plane pulling back as soon as everyone was seated. She even ignored someone asking her about the seat next to her.

"Is this seat still for me?"

What an odd question, Catherine thought—

She whipped her head around rapidly, her entire demeanor changing in an instant at the sight of Jack's grinning face. She reached up and pulled him down into his seat, throwing her arms around him and nearly suffocating him in a tight hug. A moment later, she lifted the seat's center arm so could slide as close to him as possible. He reached around her and pulled her even closer, if that was possible.

As the plane raced down the runway and leaped into the air, suddenly everything was right with the world and this would forevermore be a night to remember.