Too Close For Comfort. Colleen Collins
his right. A line of burly guys, with more hair than Jeffrey had seen since the rerelease of the movie Woodstock, lined the bar, swigging beer.
In the corner of the bar was a teenage boy, reading a book. A memory flashed through Jeffrey’s mind. He’d been sixteen, living with a foster family in Philadelphia. A local bartender had befriended him, letting him visit whenever Jeffrey needed an escape. He’d been underage, but nobody questioned his being there because he kept to himself, minded his own business. He’d spent hours in that bar, reading authors like Bradbury and Kerouac who helped him escape his world.
Something clunked at his feet.
Cyd stood before him, a gleam in her dark chocolate eyes. “Put those on.”
He looked down. A pair of scuffed, whiskey-colored boots lay on the floor. He looked back up into those chocolate eyes. She didn’t fool him for a millisecond with that brusque attitude. This lady might be tough on the outside, but he’d seen beyond her exterior back at the sled. Inside, Cyd was soft and vulnerable.
Or maybe he understood that about her because once upon a time he’d known what it felt like to wear a chip on your shoulder and an ache in your heart.
“Thanks.” He picked up the boots by their thick laces.
“Put them on while I radio Jordan back at Alpine. Need to file my report and tell him we didn’t make Arctic Luck, and we’re weathered in here.” She started walking away across the rough-hewn floor, ignoring one of the guy’s calling out “Hey, Juliet!” while another added, “Somebody protect the mirror and chairs!” Both comments were followed by raucous laughter.
“Wait.”
Cyd turned.
“What do you mean, we’re ‘weathered in’?”
A corner of her pert mouth turned upward. “I mean we ain’t goin’ nowhere soon.” She turned and continued walking.
With a shake of his head, Jeffrey followed. He had twenty-four hours to do research in Arctic Luck, not Kati-whatever.
He followed her into a small room that housed some bookshelves, a hot plate and a radio on a thick wooden table. The scent of coffee lingered in the air. Cyd was sitting on a metal folding chair at the table and fiddling dials on the radio.
“Operator, this is Mush Lodge calling YJ17546, True North Airlines on the Alpine Channel,” she said into the mike.
This woman impressed him at the damnedest moments. Just when she’d irritated him to the point of his wanting to throttle her, she took life by the reins in an admirable display of focus and determination. When other women stomped away, he usually found them pouting in some corner. Not Cyd. If she ended up in a corner, she’d be figuring out how to fight her way back out.
“This is Alpine YJ17546,” answered a man’s voice through the radio static.
“Hey, Jordan, Cyd here.”
“Everything okay?”
“It’s fine. Had to land in Katimuk due to the storm.”
“Roger, that. I’ll change your flight plan. You get lost?”
“Uh, not really.”
“How’d you end up in Katimuk?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess I did lose a few landmarks.”
Jeffrey felt his antennae waving. He’d heard the truth in her voice. She could have landed in Arctic Luck, but flew here instead.
“Who’re you talking to?” Jeffrey demanded.
She glanced over her shoulder, shooting him a “don’t butt in” look.
Which had the opposite effect on Jeffrey. Nobody told him what not to do. He crossed the room in two strides and picked up the microphone. “Who is this?”
“Jordan Adamson, True North Airlines,” a man responded. “Who’s this?”
“Jeffrey Bradshaw. This is a disaster. I’m the passenger who paid to be flown to Arctic Luck, but I was flown to Kati-Kati—”
“Katimuk,” said Cyd sweetly.
Jeffrey shot her a look.
There was a pause. “Sorry about that,” said Jordan. “Can’t fight the weather. But we’ll get you to Arctic Luck as soon as possible.”
“I need to get there immediately.”
“Afraid we can’t do that,” said Jordan.
“That’s impossible,” said Cyd at the same time.
“Nothing’s impossible,” said Jeffrey. “I’ll contact my office, have them call another airline.”
“You can call,” answered Jordan, “but nobody’s going to fly in this.”
“Why?” asked Jeffrey, eyeing Cyd while still talking into the microphone.
Cyd started to speak, but let Jordan answer. “Weathered in is weathered in,” he explained calmly. “Nobody will risk an aircraft, and I’m sure you don’t want to risk your life. Stick with Cyd. She knows what she’s doing. She’ll get you out as soon as possible.”
Jeffrey didn’t buy into her “so sorry” look. She was up to something.
“Let me get this straight,” said Jeffrey, sitting on the table and lifting the microphone to speak into it. “Your pilot could have landed me in Artic Luck, but she flew me to Katimuk instead?”
Cyd pursed her lips.
“She landed where she felt the plane and passengers would be safe,” Jordan said.
“Bull.” Jeffrey glared at Cyd. She’d pulled a fast one, although he was clueless as to why. He’d get Jordan to fix this.
“Again, I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” said Jordan. “True North Airlines will be happy to offer you a free round-trip passage to any city in the interior after the weather clears.”
“I only want to go to Artic Luck. When will the weather clear?”
“No way to predict that,” Jordan answered calmly. “My best guess is two days minimum, possibly a week.”
“Neither option is acceptable.” Jeffrey maintained eye contact with Cyd, who looked back at him with big eyes filled with concern and innocence. What a little actress. “I have a critical meeting in Los Angeles Monday morning which I must attend. My career depends on it. This ‘weathered in’ is not my problem, it’s yours, and I expect you to come up with a solution.”
There was a long silence in the room, broken only by the sounds of laughter and music from the tavern.
Jeffrey was accustomed to such situations in business. Person A created a problem and expected person B to solve it. Jeffrey never accepted such blame passing and always put the responsibility where it lay.
And at this moment, it lay with Jordan Adamson of True North Airlines.
“I’ll call you back in an hour,” said Jeffrey, “to hear how you’re going to fix this situation.” In New York or L.A., an hour was always plenty of time to get someone’s brain cells fired up with ideas.
“The situation will be the same in an hour,” said Jordan. “You’re right in the path of the storm front.”
Now it was Jeffrey’s turn to pause. Jordan, he had to admit, was a worthy opponent. Cool-headed, informed. He could use more managers like this back at Argonaut. “Then I’ll call you first thing in the morning, at which time we’ll discuss your solutions.”
He handed the microphone back to Cyd, wondering what the two of them would do for the rest of the night.
And wondering how to deal with this little dynamo who seemed determined to screw up his plans.
CYD