Friday, February 3, 2017

Serial Fiction: Mistake 7

~*~
After saying goodbye to Norma Jean at the animal drop off area of Dulles International Airport, we headed into the terminal to the security line. I hate going through security, always afraid I’ll be singled out and embarrassed. Perry and Tammy snaked through a different queue than I, no doubt so they could scheme in private.
When my turn came, I removed my black kitten-heeled shoes, watch, pearls and matching earrings and placed them in one of the tan plastic boxes on the conveyer belt along with my black purse. I positioned it right behind my pink carry-on suitcase. When the exhausted looking Transportation Security Administration guy manning the x-ray equipment gave the go ahead, I thrust my items through. I stared at the no nonsense on my watch T.S.A. guy standing on the other side of the metal detector. Reminded me of Kent McCord from Adam-12. He instructed, “Remove your suit coat before you step through.”
I was wearing a black pin striped skirt and matching top. It sported an attached contrasting blue collar, which gave the appearance of a separate blouse. I said, “This isn’t a suit coat.” I focused on his brown hair, recently cut and deliberately disheveled. Chiseled classic features, compelling blue eyes and a touch of sexy stubble.
He said, “Remove your suit coat.”
“It isn’t a suit coat. This is one piece.” Why does he have to look so stern?
“Remove your suit coat,” he barked.
I took in the rustles and groans of the weary businessmen in line behind me.
“This is just one piece. I’m not wearing a blouse under it.”
“You’re not wearing anything under it?”
“No. This is one piece,” I whimpered. You’re an idiot Donna. Why did you pick this to wear today?
“Remove your suit coat.”
Standing tall, with shaking hands, I unbuttoned the three buttons and flashed him my pink lace demi bra.
“Step through the metal detector.”
I did.
As I handed him my boarding pass and Virginia driver’s license, he leaned down and whispered in an official tone, “I was not being difficult, Ms. Payne. I have procedures to follow.” He didn’t take his eyes off of my cleavage as I buttoned up.
Mr. Procedures was about a foot taller than my five foot-two inch frame. When he leaned down, all I could think about was tiptoeing up to kiss those dominating lips of his...
I said, “I was not being difficult either. What did you think I was hiding?”
“Exactly what you revealed. Thank you.” Those lips curled into a brief grin. He handed me my boarding pass and I.D.
My pulse reeled when I touched his large hand. Flushed, I pivoted and retrieved my belongings. Slipping my shoes on fast, I stumbled out of the way. Had that guy actually flirted with me? A guy like that? I momentarily envisioned him ordering me to remove my bra and almost experienced the sensational stubble of his whiskers on my breast as his hot breath tickled my nipple.
I glanced back at him. He kind of reminded me of another actor too. That guy Mike on Desperate Housewives. What a yummy blend.
When he pivoted and sized me up, I almost opened my mouth to say something foolish. But the metal detector beeped and his attention instantly averted from dumpy old me.
As I trekked toward gate thirty-two, I wondered how long it had been since any man had shown interest in me. Not since the Woodrow Wilson Bridge became stuck in the open position and I missed my entire wedding. What idiot erected a draw bridge on the capitol beltway? My groom concluded I had stood him up at the alter. Tammy and the best man kissed him and made him all better at the resort in the Poconos that I’d reserved and paid for. My God, that was ten years ago.

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