Part 26 (2/2)

I leap into the pa.s.senger seat, twisting around to check the street name. 'Er, this is Vine so go left then down two blocks to Sunset.'

We screech into the street, only taking the wrong side of the road for a hair-raising thirty seconds.

'Yikes!' Zo hoots, yanking us back over to the right.

I try to laugh along but only manage a petrified wheeze.

As we power down Western Avenue I steal a glance at Zo. Were it not for the fact that she looks like some freaks how granny driver (hugging the wheel with her shoulders up to her ears, wig yanked back to her collar and a bank-robber stocking showing at the front of her head) I'd be impressed she's driving like a rally driver.

'Blimey! Girl racer!' I brace myself on the dashboard as we surge ahead of the traffic.

Zo smiles. 'My boss sent me on a defensive driving course last summer. He said I was such a bad driver I'd probably need to make a speedy getaway from an irate motorist at some point. Whoah!' She swerves to avoid an outrageously handsome man exiting a gas station in a silver convertible. I wait for Zo's lecherous comment but it doesn't come. Her eyes are trained on the road ahead.

'How come you've never driven when we've been places before?' I'm suddenly curious.

'I don't know it was always like you and Elliot were Mum and Dad and me and Sasha were the kids in the back,' she shrugs. 'I didn't think there was any point messing with the equilibrium.'

I smile. 'You're a good driver.'

Zo floors it.

'A little bit fast ...' I gulp as we gobble up the miles. 'Oh G.o.d!' I close my eyes as we swoop across three lanes in one go.

'Our exit!'

'Is it?' I look down at the map, desperately trying to locate us.

'It had a big airport sign, don't worry, we're going to do this.'

I make a silent pact - if I make this flight I'll take it as a sign that I have to tell Elliot how I really feel. What have I got to lose now?

'What airline is it?' Zo asks, already approaching the first terminal.

'Skywest.'

'Okay, when we get there, I'll pull up right outside and you just run in.'

'What about the car? I'm supposed to drop it back at Enterprise.'

'I'll do it.'

'But how will you get back into town?'

'I'm sure one of these nice gentlemen will give me a ride,' she says eyeing a fleet of prowling black limos.

'Skywest! Pull in!' I blurt, suddenly spotting the overhead sign.

Zo skims the curb and pops the trunk. The second my suitcase hits the pavement she hollers, 'Run!'

I obey but instead of an athlete's springing gait all I manage is a tic-tac shuffle.

'The dress!' I turn back in panic.

'I'll sort it with Boris!' she a.s.sures me.

'Aren't you running low on s.e.xual favors by now?' I hesitate, suddenly loath to leave her.

'Never!' she grins, waving me through the automatic door.

'Vegas?' the check-in girl enquires without looking up, seemingly unfazed to find her peripheral vision filled with sequins.

'Fresno,' I correct. 'I'm really late. Can I still get on?'

'Let's see what we can do.' Her fingernails do a frantic tap dance across the keyboard. My heart leaps as she nods for me to heave my suitcase on to the metal plate. There's hope!

'You can make it if you run but I can't guarantee your luggage will get on board.'

I roll my eyes. Surely it wouldn't happen twice?

'That's okay. I'll take my chances.'

She hands me my boarding pa.s.s like it's a relay race baton and says, 'Gate 17. You're gonna have to Flo-Jo it!'

There's only one thing for it, I hitch up my skirt, exposing my pink skin-socks for all the frequent flyers to see, and charge.

Heckles are surprisingly few. Far more common is: 'Hey look, Mom, they must be shooting a movie!' followed by gawping around the concourse for camera crews.

The departure lounge is deserted bar the ticket-taker cheering me on to the finis.h.i.+ng line. I'm ready to cry with relief as I stumble jelly-legged down the prefab corridor and on to the plane but it's not quite over as the last person on a full flight I have to play hide-and-seek with the one remaining seat. All eyes are on me as I slink my sequins down the aisle. You'd think someone would raise an arm and say, 'Coo-eee! There's a free one here!' but no apparently my fellow pa.s.sengers want me to suffer for delaying take-off. It's working: my already sweaty pink face now takes on the radioactive glow of embarra.s.sment.

Naturally the one remaining s.p.a.ce is a middle seat: a man with extra-long legs extending into the aisle has to unbuckle himself and step out in order to let the freak in the fancy dress in. Sliding past him with a salvo of 'Sorry's I get entwined in his headphones. It's an excruciating palaver and yet all of a sudden I don't care frankly I'd sit on his lap and sing Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend if I had to-all I can think is: I made it! I'm on a flight that is taking me to Elliot and for the first time in years I'm going to be truly alone with him.

After this farrago, telling him that's he's my one true love is going to be easy.

Chapter 21.

My luggage decided not to join me on my journey to Yosemite. No surprises there. What has thrown me, however, is the dramatic change in the weather. I left LA in streaky pink suns.h.i.+ne and now I'm convinced that our one-hour hop up the coast involved a diversion to Lapland.

It began with a noticeable drop in temperature when I stepped on to the airport concourse, but there was no real hint that a whirling snowstorm lay ahead. (I'm sure I wouldn't have been given a white rental car if they'd known I was about to become invisible on the roads.) Initially I drove quite happily, watching Days Inn and Dairy Queens give way to quaint establishments like the Elk Lodge and The Ol' Kettle cafe where the big news was that 'Wild Hare is Back' on the menu. I also pa.s.sed several outdoor outfitters but they were all closed. Who'd have thought I could look so covetously at a Puffa gilet? And what I wouldn't do for a pair of cashmere gloves! I can only endure occasional eyeball-drying blasts from the car heater any longer and it gets too 'can't breathe' claustrophobic. As a result my frozen fingers are hooked around the steering wheel like eagle claws. An eagle with highly manicured nails, I muse, admiring my glossy red talons.

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