Neanderthal Seeks Human(89)
As if on cue the attendant appeared and told us all to buckle up. We were about to land. As I buckled my seat belt I noted that Quinn was taking a seat in one of the four-seat clusters at the back of the plane and hadn’t yet ended his call. His eyes briefly met mine and I thought I saw him smile- one of his whisper, barely there smiles. Then he looked away and frowned- one of his serious, fiercely irritated frowns.
The plane began its descent and I was still firmly seated on my dramacoaster of uncertainty.
Just… great.
~*~
As soon as I stepped off the plane and into the dry heat of the Las Vegas private airport I was immediately struck by how colorful and colorless the landscape was. The desert was rich hues of browns, reds and oranges but nothing else. It was heat and sand and fire and gasoline and cigarettes. I was abruptly thirsty.
Everyone else was already down the ramp as I had opted to hide in the bathroom until I was certain everyone was gone. A little apart from the airplane were two black limos. Steven, Carlos and Olivia handed off their bags to one driver and Quinn was standing next to the second limo, engaged in a conversation on his cell phone. I pulled my roller bag after me down the ramp and headed toward Steven and the first limo; however, before I could hand off my bag, I heard Quinn’s voice from behind me.
“Ms. Morris- you’ll be riding with me.”
I turned just my head toward him and hesitated, having some difficulty comprehending that I wasn’t going to be taking limo #2 with Steven and Carlos and Olivia; I would be taking limo #1 with Mr. Sullivan Boss McHotpants.
Steven reached forward, squeezing my hand and keeping me in place for a brief moment, his voice was low enough to ensure the comment was unheard by others, “Oh Janie, he’s going to subject you to the silent twenty minute car ride from hell. After the meeting this afternoon we’ll order room service and have a sleep over, we can commiserate and you cry on my shoulder.”
I lifted my eyebrows in alarm, remembering Steven’s story about riding alone with Quinn, wondering if, now that it was established he was my boss, Quinn would stop speaking to me. He seemed so different on the plane, distant and aloof. I imagined we would sit silently in the limo while his expression vacillated between stoic and apathetic.
My stomach suddenly hurt.
Driver #1 reached me to take my bag and I slowly followed. Quinn was still on his phone pacing back and forth behind the limo when I reached the open passenger door. I slipped into the dark car; it took my eyes several seconds to adjust. This was the second time I’d been in a limo; the first time was on my worst day ever. I wondered what Vincent, my driver, was up to at this moment.
This limo was significantly larger than the first one. Black leather clad benches stretched in long lines on either side of the car’s perimeter. What looked like a fully stocked bar sat just under the privacy window toward the front. The inside had that new car smell plus the thick earthy scent of fine leather.
In lieu of sitting in bench facing forward I opted for one of the side seats. I didn’t particularly want to sit next to Quinn. I felt distance in proximity might make the imminent car ride from hell a bit more bearable.
Abruptly Quinn entered the car on the same side I had. The door closed behind him and he glanced to his right, paused, then surveyed the rest of the interior. His eyes rested on me almost immediately; I did not return his gaze but rather felt his stare as I concentrated on the crystal decanters at the front of the cabin.
“Do you want something to drink?” He asked.
I shook my head; even though I was thirsty I was having difficulty swallowing. Instead I folded and refolded my hands on my lap then over my knees. The car engine started and the limo began to move. I glanced out the window directly in front of me but the glass was so dark it significantly dulled the landscape beyond.
Several long moments passed in silence and, for once, I welcomed my mind’s wanderlust. I counted the lights along the wood panel of the ceiling and tried to imagine the robot on the manufacturing assembly line responsible for such detail work. I liked the idea of robots and hoped I would live to see robots become assimilated into households like pets or companions. Rover would become Robo-rover and the elderly might own a Robo-panion.
Quinn’s voice was quiet as he interrupted my musings, “What are you thinking about?”
I cleared my throat and shrugged, answering honestly before I could think to stop myself, “Robots.”
“Robots.” He mimicked; I heard him shift on the bench then move to the seat directly across from me. Our knees and ankles touched. “What are you thinking about Robots?”
My heart skipped then galloped at his closeness. I shrugged again, focusing my attention on the blue silk of his tie. It looked dark purple in the dim cabin. Despite my best intentions and attempts at self-control, the physical contact of our legs made my stomach erupt in an angry wasp nest of nerves. I remained silent because I found my mouth no longer functioned.