In Passing

15 August

It should have registered the second I woke up that nothing was going to go as planned. Somehow that thought slipped under my radar. It was only four-thirty and the torrential rain pouring out of the sky in buckets, along with a drum line of thunder and a fireworks show of lightening, should have sent a signal but, it didn't. All it did was piss me off for waking me so early. My flight was at nine. I could leave at seven-thirty and be at Bergstrom more than an hour before boarding. But I was not going to get back to sleep now and I'd lose two hours of shut eye. The noise from all parts of the storm determined I'd have more than sufficient time with nothing to do. I only needed to shower and dress. I was all packed in one small carry on cause I was only going overnight. The dress would stay wrinkle free so what I'd packed would more than suffice.

After I crawled out from under my sheet and looked out the window I finally knew I was in some mild form of trouble. Getting up earlier didn't seem so unreasonable as I peered across the 'pond' that is normally a cul-de-sac and saw no signs of this storm clearing anytime soon. By the time I showered, dressed, dried my hair, started my third cup of tea and sat watching the weather radar, on channel forty-four, I decided leaving at six-thirty was my best option. It wasn't letting up. It was a fast moving storm, per my morning meteorologist but, it was also a huge system. He also informed that it was expected to be out of our area by ten.... great. With that and Austin traffic I had no choice now. I grabbed my suitcase and waded to the car.

Don't get me wrong, normally, bad signs hit me like a ton of bricks. Today I must have been ignoring them. After all, this was still a trip I'd rather not be taking. My plane would leave at nine, from here anyway. Out of Houston, where I'd barely have time to make my connecting flight, at ten-thirty. Three hours, approximately, to JFK. An hour to my hotel if traffic wasn't too snarled. It would be a piece of cake. No luggage to retrieve, no car to rent, no customs. I'd have three hours to shower, dress and get to the Angelika Film Center. Though I couldn't see it taking me all of those three hours to do so.

That was my outlook before we sat at the gate in Austin for thirty minutes until the storm passed enough to leave safely. I sat back praying the, now, fifteen minutes I would have between flights would be enough. Basically, I was certain I could make it from gate A16 to gate A18 in the allotted time. My concern was whether they'd allow my boarding so close to departure. I needn't have been anxious at all. The storm had rudely proceeded eastward to catch me in its full fury just after arrival.

It was daylight, well sort of, in Houston and that was when I got full appreciation of its potency that I'd not recognized in Austin. We weren't going anywhere, not yet. Every flight was grounded for the duration of it passing through. Shades of another trip, home that time, ran through my brain. I wasn't about to get stuck in this airport ever again. If I had to this time I could take a room. That time I was flat broke. But I didn't want to stay here, not now, not today. Even if it wasn't me and Colin, it was his. His movie, his Premiere, as Hilly had put it, 'it gives you a moment.' A look, a smile, perhaps a touch from his hand. Absolutely the recognition of my being there. It was something as opposed to nothing or looking back with regret for not having taken the chance.

When I and all the others going my way were settled into the lounge at our reassigned gate we were informed the storm was fast moving and they predicted the delay would possibly be an hour... no more, I was pessimistically optimistic. This was already cutting my time between airport and Premiere by some seventy-five minutes. We left the ground at 11:54 AM Central Standard Time. I know 'cause I checked my watch and winced. It was already going on one in New York. We had, with good weather, a three hour flight. That would be near four, right? Wrong. The weather was rough. We got close to JFK after four and...... If anything can go wrong, it will, set in.

For a Thursday in August there was an unacceptable number of flights trying to land at the same time. True our flight was late and 'The City' is a huge tourist draw, it was plausible to assume others were off schedule too, but I didn't care a smidge about any of them. This naturally backed up the air "alleys." We circled the eastern seaboard, oh I lost count. I do know it was nearly thirty minutes.

I was freed from my airborne iron horse and left the confines of Delta's jetliner at precisely five-sixteen and thirty-eight seconds. I knew that exact time because I was starting to have a mild panic attack.

Colin said they'd be arriving for the pre-requisite outdoor smiles, waves, handshakes and autographs at six-thirty. He'd told me where to stand, he'd look for me. I ran through the airport to catch a cab by five-thirty, fell into the back seat screaming inside, took a breath and leaned up to the driver.

"How long is it to the Helmsley Hotel?"

"It's miles."

"No, not how far, how long?"

"You in a hurry?"

"Yes, now can you can the attitude and answer me?"

"It's rush hour."

"No shit!"

"Not new to the city, are you?"

"No, I'm a Jersey girl."

"Figured something like that. So Jersey, which one?"

"Pardon?"

"Which Helmsley? Five of them here."

"Park Lane."

"Least an hour, could be more."

"Fuck!!!"

I fell back in my seat and peered out the window chomping, uselessly, on nails that wouldn't break if I tried.

"Do you want to go or not?"

"I have to be at the Angelika on Houston Street at six-thirty. How the hell am I going to check-in, shower and change in that time?"

"You can't."

"It was rhetorical."

"Sorry Jersey."

"Look, how far is it to the hotel? I mean miles?"

"Sixteen, give or take."

"The theater?"

"Maybe eighteen, maybe less."

I wasn't going to cry in the rear view mirror of a New York cabbie. Especially since I could see he was still looking at me.

"Did you want to just go to the theater from here?"

"No, it's a movie Premiere. I've tickets for it and after. I can't go like this after being on a plane all day."

"The hotel is it then."

"Sure, go for it."

I determined all I could do now was go there, be miserable all night and leave tomorrow as planned. It was a stupid idea to get an after party ticket anyway. Colin? I'd have to text him.... or something. It couldn't be helped, could it?

"Wait! Wait... go.. to the Angelika, would you?"

If nothing else, which was logical since I was in jeans and a tank top, I could get to the 'spot' and at least see him. The viewing of the film and the party were out but, I would be there. We would have our moment.

The cabbie turned around with a quizzical face.

"Are you sure this time? I can't be goin' to one and then spin around to the other."

"Yes...positive. Sorry. The Angelika."

Traffic was truly never more of a bitch than now. Eighteen miles could have been eight hundred for the time and the speed we had to go; which was almost a crawl once we got to Manhattan. While he concentrated on the other "lovely" drivers I tried to figure out what to do with my one piece of luggage. Was I going to make an attempt at having him wait for me or did I want to drag it along? Could I even convince this guy to hang around the floundering frenzy of female flesh that I was positive awaited my addition, or not? I decided, in the end, that it might be better for both our dispositions to not even approach the notion. It would have to be kicked and trampled through the masses the same as me. I figured I could hail another cabbie to get me to my hotel, even if I might be there a scant ten minutes, or less.

We had to pull over and let me out three blocks down. The center is on a corner and the way it was blocked left no other option. I got out, paid, grabbed my handle tight and took off running. That is until I had to shove my way to the other side, where I was zeroing in on the appointed destination. The crazed crowd had to be at least twenty deep and I was expected up front six minutes ago. But I knew he was there and I sensed he felt my presence. As I moved my way, ungraciously, forward I would see him peering into the crowd, turning his head as he did his 'star' thing. Then my progress stopped. I couldn't move another step. No one wanted to give way one more inch for me; especially some weird lady wanting an autograph that was dragging a suitcase around lower Manhattan. I had to admit I likely did look a bit odd and askew for the event unfolding around me. But I didn't dwell. I kept an eye out for any opening and it came in a spilt second as a woman, whom I heard chastising her daughter for keeping her out here for three hours for a scant smile and a two second pen mark across a photo, pulled her daughter back from the guard rail. I practically leapt forward into that spot and found Colin piercing my eyes with his. It was a different look and I knew he wanted to ask about ten questions that he couldn't. I answered as quietly as I could without others hearing or rousing any suspicion.

"Plane delays."

He looked me up and down, taking in my disheveled appearance and went on as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Did you want an autograph Miss?"

"What?"

He feigned signing with one hand onto the other and leaned forward speaking in a muffled whisper.

"One of your tablets?"

A light bulb went on as I tried to reach into the side zipper pocket and retrieve a notebook. Much to the consternation of ladies all around me. I bounced back up and handed it to him.

"Have you a pen or marker?"

I scrunched my face and whispered back "you're a lot of help," as I maneuvered my hand to my back pocket and thrust the thing into his hand. Now I don't know if anyone else saw that he slipped something in between the pages of that opened notebook as he, without skipping a beat, seemed to be writing his next short story. He also kept up his quiet repartee with me, all the while never losing contact with the pen and paper, nor lifting his eyes to give away.

"Are you not going in then?"

I shook my head negatively.

"No party?"

I repeated my gesture as he handed me my tablet, making sure our hands touched, he kissed my cheek, waved to the crowd, thanked everyone and went back to meet up with Livia to go inside. I was elated and defeated at the same time. And that was it. The crowd started to clear and there I stood, leaning against the theater wall, on Houston Street, at six forty-five, with my tablet pressed against my chest and nothing to do for the rest of the night; or so I thought. I closed my eyes and then felt something hit my foot. I looked down, then all around me for people that might be watching, no one was. I leaned down and snatched up what Colin had slipped between the pages in my tablet. It was obviously a credit card styled door key. I quickly shoved it into my pocket and finally read the tome he had written. It was no autograph. It was instructions.

Will leave after party as soon as possible. About eleven I imagine. Key to suite at Sheraton New York Hotel & Towers on 7th & 53rd - club level suite 3. No need to go to front desk. Meet me there.

Now my eyes darted in all directions to absolutely make sure no one was seeing what I was as I turned the notebook right side out, slapped it shut and shoved it back into my bag. I needed a cab and I needed it now. I needed my hotel, a shower and could at least make use of the dress I'd had so much trouble buying. I had four hours, it was more than enough time. This hotel was a spit and throw from my own. Meaning half a mile. Five easy blocks.

It took twenty-five minutes to get back to my hotel and a scant ninety minutes later I was dressed and ready to go. It was just before nine and now I wondered if I should stay in my room pacing and wringing my hands and trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach or go to his suite, which I was well aware was not the hotel he was staying at for the four days he was here, and wait it out there. At quarter past I couldn't take it any more and rang for a cab. It was warm and it wasn't far and it was still light out, but it was still New York City. I think my driver thought I was lazy or haughty when I told him my destination. I didn't care.

Without so much as anyone batting an eye or looking my way I got into and out of the elevator without fanfare, even if it took me three nervous tries to get inside his suite. I locked the door behind me and stared for a full two or three minutes before I could move my feet and make my way over to the sofa. I placed my purse on the coffee table as I took in the view from where I stood. That was before I saw the envelope on the table and ripped it open and walked back, as I did, to see how far I could see in each direction. It was a magnificent view.

Diane,

Have ordered up housekeeping and room service to arrive approximately at ten. Allow their entry for our meal and clean linens.

Colin.

What the F? Housekeeping? Room Service? While a meal or wine or something was not unexpected I couldn't fathom allowing these people to find me in here. What did he expect me to do while they were doing their things? Was I supposed to sit around and smile and pretend this was something not out of the ordinary? Let them see me all dolled up for and waiting for a man that wasn't my husband? Good grief. I made my way to the bedroom, maybe there was a closet I could shimmy into while I waited them out? No such luck. Then again, I was supposed to let them in? No way. I put the door hanger on the outside that alerted staff it was okay to enter and service the room and hid myself in the bathroom just before ten. True to the note I heard the door open at ten sharp. Fortunately the people got their jobs done and were gone in less than ten minutes, but I waited another five before making my way back to the suite proper and making myself a small drink. I found a stereo system and tuned into an oldies station as I swished and played with my drink to make it last as long as I could. Then I started pacing to each song that came and went and allowed that the clock was approaching eleven. Eleven, eleven-fifteen, eleven-thirty. Third drink by eleven forty-five and I put the glass in the sink after pouring most of it, and my hopes for tonight, down the drain. Who was I, better yet, who was he to think this could be pulled off here, tonight, at or after this event? How did I ever convince myself he'd be able to get away from it and her? How did he?

At quarter past midnight I grabbed my purse, shut the lights and left the suite behind me. I forgot it was New York City, I forgot it was after twelve, I forgot about a cab as I walked towards Central Park, past my hotel and found myself, dress, heels and all, sliding down the trunk of a tree, my head on my knees, holding back tears.