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Shorts
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| Lucy in the Sky | |
| By mishmish | ||||||||||||||||||||
| 13 June 2006 | ||||||||||||||||||||
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Inspired by Leo's idea of making a story out of song. It's my second attempt. Comments always welcomed... Confidence rushed through Lucy, making her shudder. She couldn’t fail. She had it made. Sipping her Pina Colada, she stretched her svelte frame along the full length of the sun bed and smiled. The afternoon sun burned fiercely. Going out past mid-day in Dubai was just crazy. Everyone searched for shade. Even the tourists on holiday, desperate to maximise beach hours, and ‘get that tan’, headed for a sheltered enclosure. Sunlight viciously ate at shade and now her toes were in danger of scorching. She raised her hand to attract a nearby ‘beach helper’, to reposition the parasol. Shielded again from the penetrating rays, Lucy relaxed. It was all so very easy. She’d met the contact last night. The usual MO: exclusive night club, private location, quick drop, then vanish. Entering the club, the heavy thudding beat instantly synched with her own adrenalin-filled beat. Sashaying her way past the bar, adorned in the skimpiest, sparkling Dolce and Gabbana creation, Lucy surveyed the scene, laser eyes taking in everyone. Heads turned momentarily in her direction, but didn’t linger. Models, well-groomed socialites, and financially-favoured footballers’ wives were the staple clientele. A girl would have to be ‘stop the world’ gorgeous to create any impression on the hardened cognoscenti. And Lucy, although attractive, certainly wasn’t in that league. Finding a secluded seat, Lucy settled, ordered a Sambuca and waited. A swift glance at her Omega Constellation slipping down her slender wrist told Lucy he was late. The waitress, in hot pants tight enough to make Kylie blush, left the drink on the table. Raising the glass to her glossy lips, Lucy drank it down in one and scanned the room. Hot, sweaty bodies pawed each other; a tangle of touches and tongues. Normal night-breed activities. Lucy turned towards the door. Still no sign? Where was he? “Hi” Lucy followed the voice. Young and tanned, his coked-up, sea blue eyes stared at her expectantly. “Wanna dance?” Lucy shook her head: “No thanks, no offence, but I’m gay!” On hearing Lucy’s confession, the young man threw a cocky smile: “Bet I could convert you…” “Doubt it, “was Lucy’s disdainful retort, and she eyed up a beautiful brunette, just to reinforce the message. Catching the reaction, the young Casanova edged away, muttering ‘bloody dyke!’ under his breath. Of course, it was a deterrent. She could easily have spent a few meaningless hours with the owner of the tight buns disappearing into the throbbing throng. But she was working. No distractions permitted. A thread of light from the open door shot through the dimly lit club. Detecting the ambient change, Lucy looked up. Silhouetted in the doorway was the reason why she came. Dissecting the crowds with effortless precision, he arrived at his target. Few words were spoken. He snuggled up close, almost lover-like and slipped a small black, silk purse into the dark groove of her lap. Lucy calmly dropped her evening bag into her lap, and pushed the purse inside the bag. All the time, her eyes never left the scene. Checking everyone with scrutiny. No one noticed. Totally preoccupied in their own passions. The man brushed his lips against her cheek. A cold, perfunctory kiss. Then left. Soon after Lucy did the same. Her work was almost done. Heat continued to tickle her toes. Instinctively, Lucy pulled further up the bed. Maybe, time for another drink, then she would have to go. She couldn’t be late. On schedule, the car picked her up at 6 pm and sped her to the airport. Little luggage, just her LV Ribera overnighter and matching handbag, allowed Lucy to breeze through check-in a few moments before closing. Travelling first class as usual, she was greeted at check-in with a smile and champagne. Sinking deep into the luxurious leather sofa, Lucy swigged back the champagne and looked with her demurest expression at the airline check-in lady heading towards her. “Any luggage to check in Lady Chalforth?” “Just hand baggage.” The check-in lady turned and waved to the waiting trolley boy, her gesture of ‘get lost’ was immediately read. The boy dropped his head and stepped backwards away from the check-in staff. He dare not glance at the rich lady on the sofa. Moving the stylus across her hand held computer, the check-in lady, rolled through the usual security questions, but her enthusiasm was stinted. Lady Chalforth was hardly like the dodgy coach passengers that would do anything for money. She felt embarrassed even asking such questions. “Have your bags been with you all the time” “Yes” “Have you been asked to carry anything for anyone?” “No” Her response was immediate and unflinching. With ten trips behind her, she had it down to a fine art. Printing off the boarding pass from her hand held, the check-in lady smiled respectfully: “Thank you Lady Chalforth, enjoy your flight.” Lucy took the boarding pass, and sauntered casually along the chrome and neon corridor. Turning the corner, a long and meandering queue faced her. A burly, airport security man stared, intently examining her for a second, recognition flared in his eyes, and he beckoned her over. Lucy smiled sweetly. She knew it was all in the delivery. “Excuse me, madam you need to come this way.” The security man, seeing her first class baggage tag, directed her to the Fast Track line. Sneaking a supercilious glance sideways at the ever-growing queue of tired, restless economy travellers, she smiled, flicked her hair back and headed for the Fast Track channel. Security checks barely registered. None of the interrogative stares, the probing with the strange rod-like device that beeped in all the wrong places, and of course, none of the sour faced guards viewing you as if you were something that originated out of the backside of a camel. No, Lucy was raced through in a blur of smiling faces, and a barrage of ‘hello madam’ and ‘thank you madam’. Cloistered away with the other privileged travellers, in the First Class lounge, Lucy once again relaxed. It really was so easy. A young man in a silk business suit was at the self-service bar. Turning, Lucy could see it was the man she’d dissuaded so cruelly the night before. Determined to make amends, she stood up. “Hi” The young man whipped round, his eyes still sparkling. Lucy didn’t know whether it was the narcotics or his stunning appearance. “BA106 to London Heathrow, now closing at gate18.” That was her flight. “Sorry, got to go!” Grabbing her bag, Lucy headed towards Gate 18. Two security guards were just putting up the barrier to close the gate, but Lucy edged delicately through. Her boarding pass worked like a magic ticket, turning everyone who saw it in to fawning servants. Lucy slipped down into her massive, brown leather seat. No leg room problems there. She could happily stretch out with the true comfort afforded by paying a small mortgage for the pleasure. Around her neck was her MP3. It hadn’t left her side. Not since last night. “Hi again,” The young man from the club was sitting next to her. “What are you listening to?” “Nothing much.” “Come on, let’s hear…” said the young man, pushily, and grabbed at the ear phones, before Lucy could react. “Nothing’s playing. Maybe the battery’s dead,” and he pulled at the compartment with great zeal. “No, don’t touch that!” screamed Lucy, but it was too late, the compartment snapped open, and out flew, in all directions, the un-cut conflict diamonds she was smuggling. The young man reached down in his pocket and pulled out a pair of hand-cuffs. “Lady Lucy Chalforth, I’m arresting you for smuggling conflict diamonds.” Escorting her off the plane, the young man whispered maliciously: “Don’t worry darling, they like your sort in prison…”
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