I thought she was talking quite loudly, but when her voice raised a few octaves, it sounded like she was on a megaphone. "Help, kidnapper! She's kidnapping my father and stealing his bag," she said to no one in particular.
Before I knew it, four TSA agents were crowding us, beckoned by her panicked cries. I stood helplessly, silenced by her crazy accusations. The deranged woman explained to the TSA men that I had attempted to kidnap her senile father. I looked at Mr Randy, imploring him to help me, but he just smiled at both of us as if this was a normal occurrence.
I dropped Mr Randy's bag like it was a bomb-probably not the best way to discard a suitcase in the airport. "But … but … this is Mr Randy," I kept saying, to which crazy lady responded that I was insane. I'm the insane one?
I looked around and my face burned. I knew I was ten shades of red from the realisation of the horror surrounding me. Every hurried businessman had stopped their multi-tasking. Children had stopped their temper tantrums. Parents had stopped paying attention to their children. Even the boyfriends had stopped kissing their girlfriends. Everyone was gawking at us.
"Uh, excuse me, but I think I may be able to shed some light on this … ah … situation."
I didn't see him approach, but heard the deep cadence of his voice. It was Mr Lip-Biting-Perfect Hair-Charcoal Suit himself. He appeared amused by my distress. I gave him a ‘get out of my business' look and narrowed my eyes, but it only made him laugh. He asked the TSA agents to step away with him, while I was left with Mr Randy, the crazy lady and the one remaining agent.
"Mr Randy, I'm sorry about this," I apologised, placing my hand on the old man's shoulder.
Crazy lady batted my resting hand right off him. "What the hell is wrong with you? You should be ashamed of yourself for trying to kidnap a senile old man."
My mouth gaped open as I stared at the older gentleman in front of me, whose smile didn't falter. "He … uh … he … told me he's Mr Randy," I stammered.
"I am dear. I always thought you Americans were very friendly, but this is quite marvellous."
My brain felt like it was going to crack. I stared at all the TSA agents talking to Charcoal Suit. A tiny trickle of sweat rolled down my brow. Am I going to jail? Kidnapping was illegal, but was it more criminal if you did it at an airport, like how stealing mail from the post office was a federal offence?
Finally, Charcoal Suit and the rest of the TSA agents joined us. Everyone in the airport was still staring in our direction. It didn't help matters that Charcoal Suit and the TSA agents were laughing boisterously as if they were in a high school locker-room, sharing a private joke. Some of my fear dissipated, replaced with sudden irritation.
"This has been a misunderstanding," the oldest, balding TSA agent explained. "Everything's fine so we'll all go our separate ways."
"She kidnapped my father!" Crazy Lady barked at him. TSA man number one, who appeared to be in command, gave her an admonishing look.
"She didn't leave with him, ma'am, so all's well. And as for you, young lady"-TSA man couldn't even say it with a straight face. He started laughing, causing a rippling effect among all the men, including my fake Mr Randy-"don't let me see you in here again trying to abduct someone."
"But … but … he said he's Randy," I stuttered, resulting in a new chorus of rambunctious laughter. I glanced at Crazy Lady, wondering if we had some kinship since we were the only ones not laughing. These men were laughing at us … no, technically their laughter was aimed at me. Crazy lady was just too indignant to join them.
"I had thought Americans were more prudish than us, but you've proven that wrong, dear," the fake Mr Randy said, which ignited yet another round of rowdy laughter.
"I'm Randy … or Mr Randy … Mr Richard Randy," Charcoal Suit said, smiling widely. I wanted to wipe the smirk right off his face.
Everyone eventually dispersed after a few more crafty jokes that I didn't get, despite being the butt of them. Even the fellow airport travellers returned to their affairs, and I found myself left alone with the real Richard Randy. For some reason, The Real Slim Shady by Eminem popped into my head.
He tried to feign a serious expression, but was unable to freeze the curling at the corners of his sexy mouth.
"It's nice to meet you … Ms Carver?" He held out his large hand. I was embarrassed, confused, but most of all completely pissed off. I limply clasped his hand. He tightened the grip and pulled me a little. It felt like a challenge of sorts, so I tightened my grip in response. I narrowed my eyes at him and pasted a tight smile across my face.
"She couldn't come. I'm Marley Mason. Follow me. My car's in the parking structure." I walked with a hurried clip. I didn't offer to help him with his luggage or pull my car around for him. He was young, capable and most of all, pompous. He could deal with it.
"Hey, wait up. Come on, you have to admit that was funny. Surely, you're not mad at me, Marley Mason," he said, jogging slightly to catch up with me. A slight shiver had coursed through my body when he'd said my name with that masculine voice of his. I ignored it and let my Louboutins do the talking. Their clipped sounds conveyed my nonverbal message perfectly.
As we neared the car, it occurred to me how stupid I was being. Honestly, I had no business being hostile. Whatever happened wasn't his fault, it was mine. In reality, he probably helped me avoid arrest or at the very least, airport detention.
"I'm sorry. I'm not really sure what happened in there."
He smirked again, keeping stride with me. "You don't know? Really?"
"That's what I said, wasn't it? That man told me he was you. He was senile like his daughter said."
"Oh, I don't think he was that senile, Marley … or should I call you Ms Mason?"
I smiled curtly. I wanted to say Ms Mason because I was mad, but it would look stupid since we worked for such a casual company. "You can call me Marley."
"Please call me Rick," he replied congenially. "So, I take it you don't know the definition of ‘randy'."
We reached my car, and I opened the trunk for him. He assessed my mode of transportation, and I knew what he was thinking-small car, tall man, uncomfortable ride. Oh well, served him right. He was the cheapskate that couldn't get a rental car. He placed his bags in the trunk.
"What are you talking about?" I didn't attempt to hide the irritation in my voice. I wished Kathy were here with her SUV. It would have been better for everyone.
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. I wondered if he was text messaging someone. It seemed rude, so I tapped my heel impatiently.
"Here you go." He handed me the phone.
He'd done an Internet search for ‘randy'. The first item was a definition.
‘Randy-sexually excited or aroused, lustful, horny.'
I almost dropped his phone. Was he propositioning me? I shook my head at him, still confused.
Rick smiled impishly. It was a cute smile, almost boyish, especially with the appearance of the small dimple on his right cheek. He snatched the email I was still clutching out of my hand, and held it up to my face.
"Sweetheart, think about it. You were in an airport, holding up a sign in pink lipstick that read, ‘RU RANDY'. Granted, you have no question mark, but the interpretation is plain."
I gaped in shock, while Rick chortled again. "Oh my God, that old guy … thought I was propositioning him?"
"Yeah, well, I'm sure he was a little senile. Don't feel bad, it's not a commonly used term anymore. It's antiquated, kind of like the guy you just tried to pick up."
I tightened my smile and replied coolly, "Don't call me sweetheart."
I walked over to the driver's side, but he beat me to it. "This is my car. I'm driving."
"I was just getting your door for you, Marley." He let go of the door handle, holding his hands up in resignation.
I shook my head thinking of a response, but he caught me off guard by speaking first, "I don't know if I should get into the car with you. You're not going to kidnap me, are you?" He was mocking me, cocking one of his eyebrows, goading me with his sarcastic wit.
"Oh! Just get in the car already!" I grumbled.
He laughed again, but complied. Seriously, was it that funny? I didn't think so. I started heading out towards the expressway.
"You were very late. I mean, you had that whole misunderstanding, but I noticed you the second you walked into the airport, and you were late even then. I was worried."
I stiffened. We had those few minutes in the airport, staring at each other. He was nice to look at, but in reality, it wasn't a great sign. It was a matter of time before I lost my job, but this guy could probably get me fired today if he wanted.
"I got lost," I lied. I really didn't want to tell him about my sister's insistence that I looked like a slob or the car wash fiasco. That would just make me sound even more unintelligent. Although getting lost on the way to the airport in a city you've occupied your whole life probably wasn't much better.