Mystery

The steward said that he knew a pretty drink, and poured a small amount of cassis into a flute glass, then filled the glass with champagne from a fresh bottle.

“This is certainly what pretty women drink,” Sarah said. “Thank you. Tom, I’m sure there are some lascars hidden in the rear of this plane. Let’s go consort with them.”

She strode down the length of the jet and looked into each of the compartments until she came to the last, opposite the baggage compartment. “Here they are.” She went inside and sat down on one of the long seats, sipped at her drink, and placed it on the table. Tom sat down opposite her. “The lascars are us,” she said. “Drink half of this.”

He sipped a little of the drink and put it back before her. Sarah’s eyes burned toward him. She picked up the glass and gulped. “I’m going to chop off my hair. I’m going to wear turtlenecks and jeans and have a silent brother named Bill. I’ll get my furniture from the dump. All the really tasteful stuff is there anyway.”

Captain Ted Mornay’s soothing voice came over a hidden speaker, advising them that they were flying at thirty thousand feet over South Carolina, that they were expected to land at Eagle Lake as scheduled, and that they should have a smooth flight.

Sarah took another swallow of the drink. “I could begin to see certain advantages in prettiness. Do you think it might be possible for you to go up to the bar and get another drink from that lovely man? I want to split these the way Nancy Vetiver splits beers.”

Tom went back to the bar and got a second Kir Royale. Neither of the Spences looked at him.

When he got back to the compartment, Sarah said, “Good. Now you’re a pretty woman too. Probably you’ll marry very well.”

He sat down beside her. The sweet, light drink fizzed on his tongue.

“Is it tacky to apologize for your parents even if they’re really horrible?”

“You don’t have to apologize. I liked talking to your father.”

“Did you especially like the interesting facts?”

They both sipped from their drinks.

“At least now I understand what you were saying about other people making you do things.”

“Well, that’s something,” Sarah said. “It’s not just my parents, who are so thrilled they can’t contain themselves, it’s his parents too. Ralph Redwing sends his carriage to pick me up after dancing class! I’m escorted home! Katinka Redwing wants to give me golfing lessons! Why do you think we’re in this plane?”

“They can’t make you marry Buddy,” Tom said.

“Ah, but it’s like being the Dalai Lama. They pick you out in childhood, and plan the whole rest of your life. They surround you with thoughtfulness and gifts and their wonderful conviction that you’re really special because you can be one of them, and then you are one of them. And your father gets a great new job, and your mother just assumes that—well, she just assumes, that’s all. All of a sudden she’s the Queen Mother.”

“You still don’t have to marry him,” Tom said.

“Drink some more of that,” she ordered.

He drank.

“More.”

He took two swallows, and Sarah pointed at his glass. He drank again. Sarah’s glass was empty.

Then her arms were around him, her face was a blur against his, and her mouth brushed his. Her tongue slid into his mouth. They kissed for a long time, and then she moved onto his lap, and they kissed even longer. Tom heard the Spences’ voices come to him from a great distance away. “What do you think these compartments are for?” Sarah whispered. “We can barely hear them, and they can’t hear us at all.”

“Won’t they come back here?”

“They wouldn’t dare.” Their faces were so close that Tom felt engulfed by Sarah Spence. “Do this,” she said, and licked his upper lip. “And do this.” She closed his right hand on her left breast.

It was as if a warm cloud had settled around him, infusing him with its warmth and softness. The Spences’ voices receded. Sarah’s face swam before him, ideally beautiful. Her shoulders, her small round breasts, her straight slim back and her round slender arms, all of these surrounded him. Sarah hitched herself up on her knees, straddling him, and quickly, smiling, undid his belt. “Get rid of those clothes,” she whispered. “I want to see you.”

“Here?”

“Why not? I can feel you.”

Her hand slipped under the waistband of his underwear, and she ran her fingers along the length of his erection. Her fingers wrapped around him. “You feel beautiful,” she breathed into his cheek.

“You are beautiful,” he said, uttering the truest thing he knew.