Socialite's Gamble

As soon as the out-of-breath stewardess had placed her manicured hand against her chest in a move redolent of Scarlett O’Hara, her posture giving the impression that she’d like nothing better than to plaster herself all over the front of the man Cara had nicknamed ‘the cretin jerk,’ she knew it was her cue to disappear. No doubt it was her phone number that she wanted to give him. Or maybe she was about to drag him off to the nearest broom cupboard and put those pearly whites to good use. Cara didn’t care, but she hoped he picked up a nasty disease in the process.

Rude, horrible, loathsome man!

Fuelled by angry frustration and nervous energy at the disappearing time, Cara did what she did best—she retreated from the situation and merged with the noise and bustle of those around her as she hobbled towards the terminal exit with as much dignity as she could muster, thankful that she would never have to see that man’s arrogant face again.

The airport was teeming with people and outside it was raining so hard she was sure it was a monsoon. How was it possible to be raining in LA and Vegas? Wasn’t California supposed to be always sunny? And Sin City was in the middle of the desert. It should be hot, she thought as she stepped through the automatic glass doors and into an icy cold wind that sawed the breath from her lungs. Holy moly, but tonight could freeze the ice off a penguin.

Rubbing her hands over her arms and trying to stop her knees from knocking together with cold she quickly scanned the long line of bedraggled commuters—also underdressed to withstand the arctic blast, and the non-existent taxis that should have been lining the kerb. Why was it that taxi cabs seemed to disappear in every country unused to inclement weather? She’d do anything for the reliability of the black cabs back home right now because she couldn’t be late. She just couldn’t.

Quelling another bout of panic she gritted her teeth and marched back inside, searching for the hire-car desks.

She stopped when she saw them. It seemed a couple of hundred other commuters had already had the same idea. Frustrated she headed back outside and saw the line surge forward as three taxis pulled alongside the kerb and just as swiftly departed with relieved customers inside.

A shiny silver limousine purred up to the sidewalk, water drops clinging to its polished windows and paintwork like tiny pearls and the crowd gazed at it longingly. Oh, what she’d give to have thought ahead and organised one of those. She watched the young driver alight from the car and scan the crowd. Glancing around, she waited to see who had won the lottery and then back at the chauffeur when no one came forward. He had a sign and Cara shifted a little to the right so she could read it.

Mr Kelly, it read in bold print.

‘Mr Kelly? Oh, Mr Kellllly?’ The stewardess’s high-pitched voice filled Cara’s head and she narrowed her gaze. Surely not. Could Mr Kelly be the cretin jerk from inside? And why did his name sound so familiar?

Not that she was truly interested. He was probably just an overinflated film star and the outrageous idea of taking off in his plush Mercedes jumped from outer space and straight into her mind. His warm, plush Mercedes.

Of course she wouldn’t do it, but boy, she’d like to. It would serve him right for his scathing put-down of her before.

Cara looked back through the terminal, half expecting him to swagger towards her with the ‘me Jane you Tarzan’ stewardess. Really, he didn’t deserve that car. Another gust of wind whipped an ice cap off the Arctic Circle and settled it over Vegas.

Even her bones shivered this time.

A nearby child sneezed and started whimpering.

‘It’s not supposed to rain in Vegas,’ a middle-aged woman with two young children huddled under her arms groused good-naturedly.

‘It’s not supposed to be cold, either,’ Cara said.

‘Oh, my, you’re Cara Chatsfield, aren’t you?’

‘Guilty.’ Cara smiled, expecting that the woman would either turn away now in disgust, or bubble over with excitement at having met her.

‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she gushed. ‘I’m sorry to say I read about that awful scandal last year and I just want you to know that you were right to sack that manager of yours.’

It had been her agent that she’d sacked but Cara was so shocked by the woman’s passionate support she was almost stupefied. ‘Well, thank you.’

‘I think it’s awful how people take advantage of others. And you copping all the flak for that video because you’re a woman. I noticed that man in it with you wasn’t mentioned and he wasn’t wearing much more than you.’

‘No.’

‘Sorry, I’m ranting.’ The woman blushed and fussed over one of the children’s hair.