Chapter 4: Anyone but Rod Stewart

Julia screeched to a halt.

Damn LA traffic - probably some gawkers staring at a shoe on the side of the road. It'll take me three days just to get out of LA.

As she sat there waiting for traffic to move, she smacked her forehead.

"What the hell am I thinking?" she asked herself. "I've flown enough times on business the damn airlines owe me a friggin' plane, let alone a free ticket."

Julia glanced up and saw a sign:

"Hmm, what are the odds?" she thought to herself.

Ignoring cries of, "I'm Spartacus! No, I'm Spartacus!" from the other cars, Julia drove to the shoulder and floored it. The Horizon screamed along the highway at 20 miles an hour.

Julia grabbed her cell phone and shouted, "Call Molly!" The voice activated dialing leapt into action and a voice was heard on the other end.

"Hello, and thank you for calling Wild Adventure Travels. This is Molly."

"Hey, it's Julia. I need you to book a flight to Chicago for me. Use my frequent flier miles and book me on a flight to Chicago."

"First class or coach?"

"First class, of course."

Just because my boss doesn't want me flying first doesn't mean I can't!

"Do you want the lobster dinner or filet mignon?"

"Lobster."

"Do you want an empty seat next to you, or the hot single male upgrade?"

"What does he do?"

"Let's see. You can choose from television programming executive, hotshot dotcom-er, horny has-been rock star, or Mystery."

"The dotcom-er probably has zits and lives in his parents' basement. Who's the rock star?"

Julia heard Molly's fingers pounding the keyboard.

"Umm...Rod Stewart."

"I'll take the Mystery guy."

"Excellent. Your flight leaves in two hours. I've also notified the airline lounge that you'll be arriving in 20 minutes. Do you want a chair massage while you're waiting?"

"Don't I always?"

"Gotcha."

Julia left the car in long-term parking, unlocked and with the keys in it. Hopefully someone will steal the damn thing, she prayed, knowing that no one would. If anything, the thieves would feel sympathetic and leave a better car waiting for her upon her return.

After some serious editing and removing of unnecessary narrative dreck, Julia settled back into her seat. The other seat was still empty. Julia hoped they weren't going to forget her Mystery Upgrade.

As she waited, she heard some commotion behind her. A man with a gravelly-voiced Scottish accent was arguing with a flight attendant. A man in a stylish Italian suit waited patiently behind them.

"No, I was supposed to get this gig! My agent called me. Please, it's the only work I've had for months. Come on - sing with me! 'If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy'!"

"I'm sorry Mr. Stewart, but the passenger specifically request the non-Has-Been section."

Another woman screamed somewhere in the first class cabin - "Oh my God, it's Rod Stewart!!!!!"

The scream started a small panic, and several passengers rushed to the nearest exits at the rear and front of the cabin, even though the flight attendants had not run through their pre-flight orientation.

"Uhhhhhhhhh, ladies and gentlemen, this is, uhhhhhhhh, your captain speaking. Please don't be, uhhhhhhhh, alarmed. We have hit a little mid-life turbulence, which we will remove immediately."

The man in the Italian suit squeezed by the commotion and sat down next to Julia. He smiled at her.

"It's always pathetic when musicians don't realize when they're washed up," he said.

"Tell me about it. Why, just the other day, three of The Lettermen followed me around the mall for an hour. I finally had to call security."

"Aaaaaaaaah!" went a gravelly-voiced Scottish accent, followed by a wet thud on the tarmac below. A flight attendant stopped and bent down to Julia and her companion, "Could you please fasten your seat belts? We're getting ready to take off."

Julia smiled sweetly. "We can't. You haven't shown us how yet."

The flight attendant looked puzzled and walked away while the two buckled up. The plane conveniently took off at that moment to avoid any additional awkward narrative breaks in the conversation

"I'm Julia," said Julia, playing nervously with her short, blond hair.

"I know," said the man. "I've been reading along. Also, this suit really isn't Italian. It's French."

Julia nodded knowingly, as the writer's face flushed at his fashion gaffe.

"I'm Paul," said the man who will now be referred to as Paul. He had a slight French accent, to match his French suit, which really did look Italian at first glance, so you can't blame anyone for thinking so, and besides you can't really expect anyone to recognize it since no one gives a damn about men's fashions to begin with, unless you're obsessed with that sort of thing, or having certain...feelings, not that there's anything wrong with that.

"So what do you do?" asked Paul.

"I'm in sales. We sell high-end catering and party services to the rich or famous. Sometimes to the rich AND famous, but not as much."

"Oh, you mean like Heidi Fleiss?"

"Those are more like "party favors," and you're supposed to wink and use quotes when you talk about it. No, we actually sell parties for stars to go to so they can be seen by the press."

"Sounds interesting. Have you worked with anyone famous?"

"Oh sure, lots of times. Just last month I worked on a party for Russell Crowe. Unfortunately we're not doing any more work for him. He slammed one of the waiters against the wall and threatened to beat the crap out of him for not giving him enough time to eat his soup. So what do you do?"

"Oh, you know, stuff. Lots of traveling, meeting with dangerous people, killing them -- I mean, killing time--I mean, I'm in the import-export business. And I'm licensed to kill-I mean, sell shoe inserts--I mean--damn, I'm not very good at this whole mystery-thing. I'm sorry. This is my first time as a Mystery Upgrade."

"No, no, you're doing great. You actually had me going for a while."

"Really?" Paul smiled a little.

"Sure. At least up to the shoe insert part." Julia smiled and patted Paul's hand. Her hand lingered for a moment, and she realized the airlines had been installing "relaxation swings" in the first class bathrooms, which were conveniently large enough to accommodate two people.

She pulled her hand back quickly. She couldn't. Not now. Not with that mysterious thing hanging over her head that was briefly alluded to in the previous chapter, and is now mentioned again only to annoy the reader and slough off the responsibility for creating it to the next writer. But it has nothing to do with Kenny G's new CD.

"...and that's where I hid the $10 million." Julia realized Paul had been talking to her.

"Really? You don't say." Julia didn't know what to say without being rude.

"So what brings you to Chicago?" Paul asked.

"I have to meet with a client," Julia said, showing Paul the file.

"Wow, that guy makes Chewbacca look like George Clooney."

Julia laughed. "I know. I actually thought Brad Pitt, but George Clooney works for me too."

"Who is he?"

"Robin Williams. He's throwing a 20-year Mork & Mindy reunion party, and we're trying to get the account."

The captain came on the intercom again. "Uhhhh, ladies and gentlemen, we are now preparing to land in, uhhhh, Chicago. Please return your tray tables to their upright locked position. And the couple in the forward first class bathroom needs to get out of the relaxation swing and return to your seats."

"Wow, that was a fast flight," remarked Paul.

"Tell me about it," said Julia.

"Well, thanks to today's aeronautics, planes can--"

"No, that was a rhetorical remark. Say, I don't have to meet with my client until Wednesday. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

"Sure, I'd love to. I have to fly to Pawtucket, Rhode Island tomorrow afternoon as a Mystery Upgrade for a 65-year-old spinster taking her dream vacation."

Dinner turned into drinks, which became several drinks, which blurred into a night of passion and romance for Julia and Paul. Sunlight crashed into the room the next morning and slapped Julia in the face with all the righteousness of your Uncle Elwood, you know, the one with the overdeveloped Protestant work ethic who insists that you're "wasting the day away" at 6:30 in the morning.

Julia's head still throbbed from last night's pounding. (Of drinks! What the hell did you think I meant?) She rolled over and nudged Paul.

"Hey lover, rise and shine." A double entendre caught on Julia's lips as she stared at Paul's cold, unmoving form, his unblinking eyes open, yet seeing nothing.

"Oh my God! He's dead!" she whispered frantically to herself. "Someone killed him, and I'm going to get blamed for it. Oh dear Lord, what do I do?" Julia looked frantically around the spacious hotel suite for her clothes. She had to get out of there fast. This trip, which was finally starting to look up for her, was fast becoming a nightmare. Julia knew she was going to have to run for her life. There was no one to turn to for help. She couldn't trust anyone. She could only rely on herself. She had to...

Paul stirred at her whispering and cleared his throat.

"Sorry about that. I should have warned you; I sleep with my eyes open. It's the craziest thing. It used to freak out my little brother when we were kids." Paul rubbed his hands on his arms to warm up. "Man it's cold in here. Did we leave the air conditioner on all night? Why don't you come back to bed and warm me up?"

Continue on to the next chapter, following Julia's plotline...
Continue on to the next chapter, following the original storyline...