The 7th Tarot Card (8 page)

“
No. I don’t know. Maybe . . . He always uses the same password. I can’t believe this. This is crazy!” Her velvety voice trembled with distress.

“
Okay honey, hurry, go find out and call me right back!” I flipped the phone shut and continued my surveillance of Mark from afar.

The queue for check-in
grew longer by the minute, so I decided to get in line with the rest of the passengers and wait for Julie. As the line slowly progressed, I pulled out my cell phone again, this time speed-dialing Amanda. I reached her voicemail and left a message. “Amanda, it’s Vic. Just wanted you to know that Mark didn’t go camping. We tailed him to SeaTac Airport. Laini’s trying to find out where he’s going. We’ll let you know.”

Julie
came up next to me.

“
Oh good, there you are,” I said, feeling relief as I punched the button, ending the call. “I was afraid you might have a hard time finding me.”

“
Please—in that hat? Where’s Mark?” she asked, scanning the crowd on tiptoes.

“
He’s near the front of the line. It doesn’t look like he’s with anyone, but maybe they’re planning to meet at the gate. I called Laini and she’s going to try and find out where he’s headed.”

Moments later my phone rang, and it was Laini
with some vital information. “I don’t believe this. This can’t be happening,” she sniffled. “He’s actually booked on a flight to Las Vegas. Alaska Flight 606, seat 25-C. It leaves at noon.”

“
Good job—thanks, Lain. We’ll do some checking and call you back soon. Don’t worry, there could still be a perfectly good explanation for this,” I lied. “Hang in there. We’ll call you the minute we know anything.” I flipped the phone shut and told Julie what she’d said.

Julie
looked at her watch. “We need to go to the gate. If he’s meeting someone, we’ll see who it is, and you can shoot some photos with your tie.”

“
I hate to be a downer, Julie, but you do realize we can’t get to the gate without a ticket.”

“
Right, well . . . we can buy tickets, go to the gate, get incriminating pictures for Laini, then cancel our tickets. I think we can get a refund if we cancel before the flight departs.”

“
Umm, in that case, I guess that would work. I can’t afford a trip to Vegas right now.”

The line inched along painfully slowly
until we finally made our way to the ticket counter. Mark was long gone at that point. “Two tickets on Flight 606 to Vegas please,” Julie said smiling.

The agent, whose nametag said
‘Lupe,’ was a serious young Hispanic woman wearing gold, wire-rimmed eyeglasses, John Lennon style. Her long dark hair, brushed back from her face, was held in place by a black fabric headband. As she regarded us coolly, I got the feeling she’d seen more than her share of unique passengers. “Coach is sold out,” she said, still eyeing us unsmiling, “but first class has seats available.”

“
That’ll be fine,” Julie replied as she handed the agent her credit card.

First class to Vegas
—I gulped.

“
And when do you plan on returning?” Lupe asked, viewing us over the top of her glasses.

“
Tomorrow early evening,” Julie responded. “What flights do you have around that time?”

“
We have a non-stop leaving at six fifty-five P.M., arriving Seattle at nine thirty-five. Would you like that one?”

Julie
turned to me for a nod of approval. I stared at her blankly, so she answered, “That would be perfect; first class again please.”

I jabbed
Julie in the ribs with my elbow.

“
What?” she said under her breath. “If we’re going to take an imaginary trip to Vegas, we might as well take it in style.”

You can
’t argue with that.

Lupe
scrutinized us for a long moment, then asked, “Do you ladies have any luggage to check?”

“
No, this is just a quick, overnight trip,” I explained, moving closer to the counter and reducing my voice to a confidential level. “A friend of ours is having a little emergency. Sort of a last minute thing. You know how that goes.” I flashed a winning smile. The agent furrowed her eyebrows, said nothing, but continued to process our paperwork.

When
she handed us our boarding passes she warned, “You’d better hurry; they’ve already begun boarding.” We thanked her and dashed off in the direction of the gate. As we approached the security area, my heart sank. An extensive, winding line of passengers, awkwardly removing shoes and jackets in preparation for the metal detectors, stood between us and the gate, and we were rapidly running out of time. We had no other option but to get in line and wait. On the wall to the right of the metal detectors, a large digital clock displayed the time of eleven forty-five. In fifteen minutes the plane would be backing away from the terminal.

After a
lengthy delay we finally made it through with minutes to spare, and sprinted down the busy concourse towards the gate. “Who knew it would take so long to get through security,” I shouted as we ran side by side.

“
We could have made it through a lot quicker if you hadn’t argued with that officer about your hat. You just wouldn’t give up, would you? Even when he opened his jacket and started patting his gun.”

“
I can’t believe they made me take it off. How embarrassing. I didn’t even fix my hair this morning because it was going to be stuffed under this stupid hat. Jackets and shoes are bad enough. You watch, one of these days, some crazy terrorist woman will try to smuggle a bomb in her bra, and then we’ll be forced to go through lingerie inspections.”

We rounded a corner narrowly missing a cart
, lights flashing, carrying a young man with crutches and several bags. “Sorry!” We shouted in unison as we separated and raced around it.

“
At least your tie didn’t set off any alarms,” Julie yelled. That would have been a fun one to explain.”

I was
sweating like a racehorse when we finally reached the gate, but it was too late. The area was deserted—all passengers had boarded. The final departure announcement echoed over the loudspeakers.

Panting, I turned to Julie.
“Oh no—we missed them. All that rushing for nothing. I guess that’s it then.”

“
Not necessarily,” Julie said, craning her neck and looking down the jetway as the gate agent walked over to close the door. “We could go to Vegas.”

“
Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind? I can’t just run off to Vegas? Look at me. I look like a 1960’s FBI agent, and I have hat hair. I don’t have any makeup with me, or moisturizer.”

Julie shot me a
n annoyed look. “For crying out loud, you big baby, grow a pair. This is for Laini. Suck it up. I put the tickets on my card and you can pay me back slowly.”

“
But we have nothing to wear. What’ll we sleep in? I need my robe and slippers. I can’t travel without my robe and slippers.”

“
You really are a pain in the ass sometimes, Vic. We can buy a few things when we get there. We’ll just follow Mark, see who he’s meeting, then come back tomorrow. Think of it as an adventure. Think of it as the vacation you wanted to take.” Julie put her hands on her camo covered hips and continued, “You need to loosen up, chickee; you need to be more spontaneous. Life is not always the neat little buttoned-down world you live in. Sometimes it gets kind of messy, but that’s what makes it interesting. Now are you going to go home and spend another night alone on your couch in front of the television, or are you going to live a little?”

I
shrugged. “Well, since you put it that way, I do have the week off. What’s the worst that could happen? We would stay the night, eat four or five times. Now how bad can that be? I guess it wouldn’t hurt to be a little adventurous.”

“That’s the spirit, girlfriend!” She grinned and gave me a high-five.

From the small podium near the door, t
he gate agent called out a warning to us, “I’m getting ready to close the door, ladies. If you’re going to Las Vegas, you need to board this plane now.”

“
Viva Las Vegas,” I said as I handed off my boarding pass and hurriedly followed Julie across the threshold. The loud clank of the metal door slamming shut behind us as we trundled down the jetway had a strange air of finality to it, as if we had just passed the point of no return. A cold chill ran down my spine, but I shook it off and kept going.

“
I’m an idealist. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way.” —Carl Sandburg, Pulitzer Prize-winning American poet

*******

Heads bowed low, eyes darting in all directions under the opaque protection of our sunglasses, we skulked onto the plane, found our seats, C and D in row two, and quickly sat down. In the jetway, we’d decided that I’d get the window seat on the way to Vegas, and Julie would have it on the return flight.

“
I didn’t see him. Did you?” Julie asked in a whisper.

“
No. Maybe I should risk a walk to the back of the plane and pretend I’m looking for a magazine.”

“
Are you kidding?” Julie snorted. “You can’t walk back there in that outfit. You stand out like a sore thumb.”

“
Oh yeah? You should talk, camo girl.”

She stared at me
pensively for a moment. “You’re right. Let’s ask the stewardess to check for us.”

Lauren
, a willowy, honey-blonde flight attendant was slowly meandering through first class, greeting passengers and taking drink orders. From the looks of her deep golden tan, I guessed she was probably based in LA. Her shiny, long hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and large, gold hoop earrings dangled from her ears. Her beautifully manicured nails were painted a hot coral with a touch of shimmer, and several expensive-looking rings adorned her tanned fingers. I regarded my pathetic, raggedy nails then curled them under so they were no longer visible. What was wrong with me? I needed a pedicure
and
a manicure. Note to self: You never know when you might be on an emergency reconnaissance trip to Vegas. You should always be prepared.

Lauren
finally reached our row. “May I offer you ladies something to drink this afternoon?” She spoke to us, but smiled coquettishly at the person seated directly behind us. I craned my neck to sneak a peek through the slight gap between the seats.

“
Oh my gosh, Julie!” I whispered and elbowed her in the arm. “Prepare for a shock—you’re not going to believe who’s sitting right behind us.”

“
Who?” Her tone was skeptical as she tilted her head and eyed me.

“
I think it’s Andy Garcia.”

“
Andy Garcia? I seriously doubt that, Vic.” She turned back toward the flight attendant.

“
I’m sorry—did you ladies want to order something to drink?” Lauren asked a second time.

“
Yes, coffee, black for me please,” Julie responded.

“
And I would love a Mimosa, thank you so much,” I said, smiling cheerily. I could feel Julie’s eyes boring into me.

I looked at her.
“What? This is my vacation. Remember? You said to think of it as the vacation I wanted to take.”

Julie
shrugged and turned back to Lauren. “I was wondering if we could ask a favor of you. The seatbelt sign is on, or I’d check myself. One of our associates should be sitting in seat 25-C. He’s a good looking guy in his early forties with sandy-colored hair. We didn’t see him in the terminal, and wanted to make sure he made the flight okay. He might be with a woman. Would you mind checking for us?”

“
I wouldn’t mind at all. I need to run to the back anyway. Be right back,” the flight attendant responded as she disappeared into the coach cabin.

“
I’m telling you, Julie, it’s Andy Garcia,” I insisted once Lauren was out of earshot. Julie shook her head, then subtly inched up in her seat and took a quick gander over the top. Instantly she slammed back down, her eyes wide with shock.

“
Holy shit!” she cried. “It’s Andy freaking Garcia.”

“
I believe that’s what I said.”

“You don’t understand, Victoria, he’s my biggest fan.”

“
You mean you’re
his
biggest fan.”

“
That’s what I said. Andy Garcia is sitting right behind me. And he looks GOOD. Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about him? How many times I imagined I was with him instead of . . . never mind. And look at me. I look like I’m ready to deploy.” She put her head in her hands and gave out a low moan of despair.

The sound of my ringing cell phone interrupted
Colonel Julie’s angst. The ringtone was David Rose’s, “The Stripper,” which is the song I tagged to Amanda’s incoming calls. In the not too distant past, an ex-boyfriend of Amanda’s, for Valentine’s Day, gave her a three-month membership to a strippercise class; sort of a cardio striptease with a pole. Being the refined, elegant lady that she is, she was mortified. Needless to say, that was the last Valentine’s Day they spent together. On a positive note, it’s an endless source of amusement for me, so nothing is all bad. In retaliation, her ringtone for me is “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Some people have no sense of humor.

I
withdrew the phone from my purse and flipped it open.

“
Vic,” Amanda rushed in before I could speak, “I just got your message. Where are you?”

“
Get ready for some unbelievable news, Amanda. Mark is not going camping. He’s on a flight to Vegas.”

“
Las Vegas, Nevada? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“
I wish. Jules and I decided to follow him. We’re on Alaska Flight 606 getting ready to take off in a few minutes.”

“
What!? You’re on a flight to Vegas? Are you both crazy?”

“
It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I said as I looked over at Julie. She was carefully applying some lip gloss that she’d pulled out of a small zippered pocket on the side of her pants. It was probably crammed in there next to a compass and a first aid kit.

“
Oh no,” Amanda said firmly. ‘You guys aren’t going to Las Vegas without me. I’m leaving for the airport right now.”

“
Okay.” I knew better than to argue with Amanda when she used that tone. “Call us when you arrive.” I flipped my phone shut and turned to Julie. “Amanda’s coming too.”

Lauren
, the stunning flight attendant, returned and interrupted our conversation. “Good news, your friend is on board,” she said, then headed up to the galley to prepare for takeoff.

“
Thank you so much,” Julie and I called out to her in unison. We exchanged satisfied smiles. This detective thing was growing on me.

The plane slowly pushed back from the gate, and we
moved into line, taxiing to the runway. As we lumbered along across the tarmac, I gazed out of the window, surveying the airport environs. On the ground below, a short distance away, we rolled past a small, dark lump. Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was a duck and it was obviously dead.

“
Julie,” I said feeling a twinge of apprehension, “I just saw a dead duck. That’s not a good sign.”

“
Don’t be so negative, Vic, for crying out loud.”

Maybe I
was
being a little negative, but I believe in signs and omens. Late one night last year, I was lost in downtown Seattle, looking for Rainier Avenue. Stopped at an intersection with no street signs, and feeling panicky, I watched a Rainier beer truck cross my path. Instantly I knew it had to be a sign. I turned onto the street following the truck and, bingo, it turned out to be Rainier Avenue. Even a beer truck can be a guiding instrument of the universe. You shouldn’t discount beer trucks. When they say God works in mysterious ways, they aren’t kidding.

The loudspeaker crackled
, and the captain, in his calm, authoritative voice, announced that we were first in line for takeoff. This is my most favorite part of a flight. The plane begins to move—slowly at first, then faster and faster. As the pilot throttles up, the force of the acceleration pushes you back in your seat and you go roaring down the runway. You feel a couple of thumps, then the ground begins to disappear below you, and soon all the houses look like Monopoly game pieces. I wanted to squeal with delight, but Julie would have smacked me, so I squealed inwardly to myself.

So there we were,
Julie in her head-to-toe camo, and me in my Blues Brothers suit, hurtling through the stratosphere at five-hundred miles-per-hour towards Las Vegas, where the days are sunny and eighty-eight degrees, and the nights are cool and clear with star-splashed skies. There are worse things.