Last Call for Cook’s Paradise!

The large neon signs hanging over the check-in counter’s framework of brushed metal and blue-tinted glass gave Leo no peace. “Bar,” they said. “Alcohol 24h”. Large, glowing invitations to consume copious amounts of intoxicating beverages. Just what he needed, but couldn’t have. Not right now anyway.

He examined a row of dull brown plastic chairs connected and held in place by a metal framework that looked like it had been welded together by someone who hadn’t been able to resist the neon’s promise. Having carefully selected a chair that seemed both clean and a comfortable distance away from every occupied one, he strolled over to it in measured, forcefully normal-looking steps and sat down. Leo placed his black leather briefcase between his feet, clenching it tightly between his two hundred dollar shoes.

Sweat poured down Leo’s face. The airport terminal was always unhealthily warm during the winter. He reached up to undo the top button on his shirt, but found that he was still holding the ticket. One adult to Cook’s Paradise, first class. His mind flashed back to the nice redheaded woman at the check-in who had handed him his ticket. The lack of a wedding ring on her finger had sent his mind searching for compliments, but all he had managed under the circumstances had been an awkward “Er, thanks.” He pocketed the ticket and opened the top button.

The place was buzzing with lazy Sunday afternoon excitement. Crowds of people were slowly wheeling around huge containers filled with bits and pieces of their lives. Families returning from and going to vacations, businessmen returning from and going to important meetings in important places. The motion reminded him of the changing, flowing patterns of cream in a coffee cup.

Leo closed his eyes and took in the ambient sound. A mindless drone of people with occasional lucid parts; bits of conversation that made no sense without context, a child crying in the distance, the laughter of a drunk middle-aged man, an announcer — the redhead? He couldn’t remember her voice — paging for someone named Smith, or something like that.

“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” Leo opened his eyes. A feminine figure in blue-white airport uniform was standing in front of him. His eyes adjusted and he recognized the woman as the redhead from the check-in. The neon of the 24 hour alcohol sign had framed her hair with an angelic halo.

“Perfect,” he muttered. “You look like an angel.”

“Well, thank you,” the woman said. She must have gotten used to such remarks from complete strangers, to the great comfort of the embarrassed Leo who was now looking at the floor.

“I didn’t mean anything. It’s the neon sign. It gave you an halo of sorts,” he said.

The woman glanced behind her at the large neon sign. “Oh,” she realised. “Well, I guess I can see how that might work.” She stepped to the side. Now the sign’s “H” was giving her a set of devilish horns. “Better?”

“Ohh… Oh, yeah. Much better,” said Leo. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

She looked at her watch, seeming to be pondering something for a moment, then sat down next to Leo. “Shoot,” she said. “I’m on my lunch break.”

“Why do you take your wedding ring off when you’re working?” It was something he had noticed when he was looking to hide his eyes in embarrassment earlier. Her hands were in her lap and the wedding ring was now in plain sight.

“You noticed!” She was genuinely surprised. “I guess it’s for the compliments,” she rationalised. “And for the much better attitude I get from male customers.”

“Ah, I see,” said Leo.

She hid the hand with the ring in her pocket, out of Leo’s sight. “Listen. Do you want to get lunch together? Your flight isn’t leaving any time soon. I remember you very well, mister first class to Cook’s Paradise.”

“Have you ever been to Cook’s Paradise?” asked Leo. He was very much enjoying the conversation.

“No, but I want to go there some day. My husband is a cheapskate. We never go anywhere together. It’s always work, work, work with him.” She was staring up into thin air. “You know, some days I wish…” She turned to the smiling Leo. “Oh, I’m boring you. I’m so sorry. I’m just gonna go now.”

“No, no, no,” began Leo as she got up. “No, it’s alright. You’re not boring me. Tell me more. I want to know more.”

“How about over lunch? I’m really, really hungry. I could kill for a nice salad right about now.”

“Ah. Well. I’m sorry,” said Leo. “I… No, I can’t come to lunch with you.”

“Oh. How about some day when you return from Cook’s Paradise? That is, if you’d still like to have lunch with me then and if I happen to be working on that day and…” She realised there wasn’t much hope of meeting him again, at least not this way. She started looking for something in her pockets.

“I don’t know. Perhaps some day we’ll meet again. Who knows the ways of the world?” He let out a nervous little laugh.

Her search through her pockets had produced a piece of paper and a pen. She wrote something on it and shoved it into Leo’s hand. “Here,” she said. “Call me. I’m gonna go get some salad now. Goodbye, mister first class to Cook’s Paradise.”

“It’s Leo. My name’s Leo.”

“Goodbye, Leo,” she said, already leaving.

Leo opened his hand and uncrumpled the piece of paper. It had her phone number on it, and her name. Fiona. The name of the beautiful married redhead had been Fiona.

Fiona, he thought. What a beautiful name, he thought. He turned the paper over; it was a cheque from the local tax free shop. One small bottle of water and a Mars bar. He turned it back to Fiona’s side.

Leo looked at the oh-so-beautiful handwriting once more before crumpling the note up and dropping it between the dull brown plastic chairs. It was for her own good. He closed his eyes again, trying to savour the noise of humanity.

On the insides of his eyelids he saw the magic redhead, and her sweet, sweet voice was ringing in his ears. The drone of humanity filtering in paled in comparison. Leo opened his eyes and looked around. This was completely unexpected, completely unplanned for.

He looked down at the shiny chrome of the briefcase. The promise it had held even less than five minutes ago seemed an empty one compared to what he felt towards Fiona. Even the shine of the chrome seemed duller, less lively than it had seemed before. The smudges and dirt on the black leather were suddenly clearly visible. He bent down and wiped a piece of hardened dirt off. It left a seemingly mocking light brown spot behind. He grabbed the briefcase and ran for the men’s room.

The cold water felt refreshing on his face. Leo looked down at the briefcase on the bright white men’s room floor. It was something he had promised to do, something he and his family had already been paid for. The redhead was not in that equation. A mere distraction and nothing more; but one that suddenly felt more important than anything or anyone else in his life. She had made him feel alive again.

When he found Fiona at the café, she was sitting alone at a table in the corner, finishing her Greek style salad. It was growing darker, the day’s last fleeting rays of sunlight blocked by large advertisements and slogans plastered all over the windows for the tourists outside to see and for the clients inside to guess the meaning of. The place was uncharacteristic for an airport terminal. The droning here was lower than outside and smoke hung in the air, largely undisturbed by the sporadic movements of the people huddled around the bar.

The bright wallpaper and soft chairs betrayed the place as somewhere intended for families rather than for its current clientele — middle-aged men arriving from business trips, needing a place to hazy their minds before going back to uninspiring lives and uninspiring wives. What a nice girl like Fiona was doing in a place like this remained a mystery.

Leo’s hair was still wet from the little refreshal. He sat down opposite to her, to her great surprise, and placed the briefcase between his feet, clenching it again with his shoes.

“I hope you don’t mind. It’s just that, to hell with waiting for the next time we happen to meet and to hell with the calling. Although I would like to call you, but then you’d have to give me your number again, because I sort of tossed it away before thinking. But, anyway, that’s not important right now. Fiona — and that’s a very nice name — would you like to go to Cook’s Paradise with me? Please say yes.”

Fiona was looking at him, frozen, her mouth hanging wide open and the fork halfway to her mouth, a piece of cheese stuck to it.

“I’ll pay for the trip,” continued Leo. “It’s no biggie. It’s just that, well, I really like you. I think you’re the nicest person I’ve met all day. All year! Let’s go on this trip together. You and me. Take the week off. What do you say?”

Fiona’s mouth closed slowly and the fork returned to the salad bowl. She looked down at it.

His enthusiasm died down as he realised what he was doing. She was a complete stranger. She’d just been a nice person, asking if he was alright. The conversation had been nothing but a bonus. And the phone number? She probably has many lovers on the side. He groped for the briefcase.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Leo’s hand stopped on the briefcase’s rugged plastic handle. He looked up. “What?”

“Yes, I’ll go with you,” she said, her gaze moving from her wedding ring to Leo’s surprised eyes. “We’ll go together. To Cook’s Paradise. Away from this place.”

* * *

They were holding hands, walking in the darkness and snow outside the terminal. In her left hand Fiona was holding the ticket that Leo had just purchased for her. Her friend at the check-in had been their priest. They were now Mr. and Mrs. first class to Cook’s Paradise, waiting for their honeymoon to begin.

“Are we doing the right thing?” Fiona’s high heels were dragging dashed lines into the snow. She had changed out of her blue-with-white-stripes airport uniform and into a dull red jacket and miniskirt with a matching dull red beret. The wedding ring was in her pocket.

“I know I am,” Leo said, still holding on to his black leather briefcase. His hair was full of fresh snow. “I know I’m doing the right thing.”

“Me too,” she replied, stopping to turn towards him. Behind her on the other side of the glass was the airport, still buzzing with people. It seemed like a different world now, the world of the ordinary. On Leo’s and Fiona’s side of the glass, fairytales seemed real. They were living one.

She leaned in and wrapped her hands around him. She said his name, over and over and over again. He said hers. When they opened their arms Leo saw a tear running down her cheek and gently wiped it away with his hand. The crisp snow had almost covered their footprints, and more of the same was in front of them.

“Before we go any further.” She put her hand in her pocket, pulled it out and opened it to reveal her wedding ring. “I want to get rid of it. I don’t want to see it anymore. I will never go back to him.”

“Are you sure? What if you change your mind later?”

“I know I will change my mind later. I’ve always changed my mind later. Always gone back to him.” A tear was rolling down from the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to go through that anymore. I want it to be final this time.”

Leo wiped away her tear and closed her hand around the wedding ring. “Then let’s make it final,” he said. “Throw it away. Far, far away, into the snow. Throw away the past.” He looked deep into her eyes. “We have the future to ourselves.”

She took a step back and Leo got out of her way. She looked at her clenched hand and then tossed the ring as far as she could. Far, far away into the darkness. The falling snow would soon cover all signs of its landing. Finding it, had either of them wished to do so, would be impossible. They both listened to the darkness into which the ring had flown, as if the sound of its landing would provide a confirmation of some kind. No such sound could be heard.

She turned to Leo and embraced him, pressing her warm lips against his. They kissed for the very first time, their bodies lit by the multitude of lights from the other side of the terminal’s glass. The lights cast them as many different shadows on the snow. Leo was still holding on to his briefcase, even with his hands wrapped around Fiona’s body.

“Mhhh.” She pulled her lips away. “Your briefcase is hurting me.”

“Sorry about that,” said Leo and lowered his hand with the briefcase to his side.

Fiona looked at it, curious. “What’s in it?” she asked. “It looks expensive.”

“It’s nothing,” lied Leo. “It’s in my past now.” For the first time that day, he realised he didn’t need the briefcase anymore. It was just dead weight from now on. “Let’s just put it down here,” he said, setting it down on the snow.

“What? You’re just gonna leave that expensive thing out here in the snow?” She was stunned. “Someone’s gonna steal it!”

“That’s their problem, not mine,” said Leo and smiled. “I don’t need it anymore. Not with you.”

She smiled back. “Then it’s going the same way as my wedding ring,” she grinned.

“What?” asked Leo, but before he could react, she had already grabbed the briefcase and by the time he could shout “Wait!” it was already spinning through the air.

She looked into his face, and her smile disappeared.

The world turned white.

Leo opened his eyes and blinked. He was inside the terminal again. Looking up. His back to the ground. There were no sounds, only what seemed like distant echoes. He propped himself up on his left elbow and looked down. A pool of blood was spreading below him. There was something in his throat forcing him to cough, but when he did, several small, white things flew out and scattered in the expanding pool of blood. They were his teeth.

He looked towards his feet and saw that his clothes had been ripped to shreds. There was a large gaping hole in the glass and steel wall of the terminal. That’s when the pain hit. Horrible, agonizing pain. He cried out, but not for help. “Fiona,” he cried. “Fiona!” Again and again through his broken teeth and through the blood that had filled his mouth. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Fiona!”

He saw her body. What was left of it. Ripped, torn into pieces, none big enough to hold her soul. “I’m so sorry, Fiona. I’m so sorry,” he cried.