Chapter 30: Confrontations. Resolution

A limousine whisked us south out of downtown Paris to Orly Field, the airport that Charles Lindbergh had landed at after his record-breaking thirty-three hour solo flight across the Atlantic in 1927. At the time, it was little more than a cow pasture; today it proved to be bustling international airport. We checked in at the general aviation terminal, found our pilots, and were airborne twenty minutes later heading to Luton, England – just north of London.

Margo held my hand through the takeoff and climb, not because she was scared of flying, but because, as she told me, she still enjoyed little orgasmic quakes from our session the night before. I chided her because she’d been sexually active in the living room as well after we ‘finished’.

At altitude, we barely had an hour flight to our landing at Luton. Margo bluntly asked, “Would you fuck me again?”

I thought she meant in the grand scheme of things; “Sure. I like you, and I enjoyed our time together last night.”

“No, I mean right now. I mean you can’t join the ‘Mile High’ club on a commercial plane, well without a lot of risk of getting caught and the inconvenience of small washrooms.”

I looked around. We were the only two on the plane besides the pilot and copilot. Our seats were plush leather on either side of a wide aisle. Behind them were two more, two more after that, and then a bench seat across the tapering rear of the jet.

“Yes. Let me make sure we’re not interrupted.”

I unbuckled and stuck my head through the curtain into the flight deck of the small jet. The pilot looked up at me expectantly, “Errr, Gentlemen, I have a small request. Could you give us some privacy back here until we need to prepare for landing?”

Apparently, this was not a unique request. They both grinned and nodded. The Captain said, “Don’t worry, we’ll be much too busy up here to worry about what’s going on back there. Also, we know how to keep a secret.” He winked at me.

I went back to Margo and pulled her to a standing position. I unbuttoned the silk blouse she wore, removed it, and carefully hung it over a middle seat. Her lacy brassiere came next, yielding her succulent breasts to my lips. Her skirt was next; revealing she wore thigh high dark stockings. The thong disappeared rapidly too. Margo went to work on me, and soon we were both naked.

She asked, “Do you want one of my patented blowjobs again?”

I smiled, “Just for a little bit, to ensure we’re both at the ready ... you know, for the club membership initiation. It’s a rigorous process, I believe.” Margo laughed and inhaled my rapidly rising shaft.

Margo worked on me for a few minutes as I stood with my head stooped because of the small jet’s lack of headroom. That was all right, because I wanted to lean down and fondle Margo’s pert breasts as she worked on me with her unique and talented mouth and throat. After a few minutes, I nudged her to stop, I maneuvered Margo onto the bench seat in the rear, had her sit, and spread her legs to me so I could eat her pussy. Despite showers and care, she still had the subtle odor of last night’s romp. I didn’t care.

After reaffirming my cunnilingus skills, I had Margo straddle me in one of the luxurious tan leather seats so that her knees were protected and cushioned. The seat also put her at just the right height for me to tease her breasts with my mouth. We made love for about twenty minutes, she enjoyed a couple of orgasms, and then we shared one last orgasm.

Beside us the entire time we were fucking the French landscape and then the English Channel rolled by seven miles beneath the plane. I had to admire the scenery both inside and outside the plane.

After we’d enjoyed our afterglow for a few minutes and amidst laughter, we parted, but not without realizing the mess I’d made of Margo’s pussy or how my crotch probably smelled from all our sexual emissions. I found us some paper towels in the miniature galley, as well as a bar of soap only slightly larger than a silver dollar. We used about thirty paper towels each to clean ourselves before we dressed. We gave each other a careful once over to be sure we were presentable to the general public – all buttons buttoned evenly, all zippers zipped, and so forth. Margo then spent ten minutes in front of a microscopic mirror reapplying her makeup and trying to restore her hair to some semblance of order. Guys do have it easier in that regard.

I watched Margo blush to a bright scarlet hue when the pilot helped her down the small gangway to the tarmac at Luton Airport. He winked at me, and we were gone. I wondered if I’d have the same flight crew for the return trip.

I slouched down in the left-side passenger’s seat of Margo’s Mini-Cooper. There was little place to hide. Every fifteen minutes she’d conduct a radio check with her two colleagues on our stake out: one an equal distance down the street from the upscale apartment on Hamilton Terrace in St. Johns Wood, and the other staking out a more modest apartment in Swiss Cottage about three miles away.

Just after noon, the radio came alive. “I’ve got her. Caroline. She’s headed for her apartment.”

Margo and I slowly exited her car, and started to walk towards the girl. We could see her approaching from the area near Lord’s Cricket Ground. We timed our arrival to interconnect with her just before she reached her doorstep.

As we came together, I spoke in a voice joyful in recognition, “Caroline Reynolds Huff, why, how are you?” The girl stopped and searched for recognition, and then suddenly recognition set in.

“Oh, shit, you’re Jim Mellon aren’t you. You and I...” She hesitated and looked at Margo.

I said, “It’s all right; she knows what happened in Oklahoma. Everything. This is my good friend Margo.” I skipped the last name; she wouldn’t remember anyway.

Caroline relaxed slightly, probably because we kept our voices upbeat. Margo said a few friendly, nice to meet you things.

I said, “Caroline, we need to talk to you about something serious. I confess, we’ve been waiting for you to return home.”

She panicked a little, “Is everything all right – my parents, my sister?”

“Yes. Yes, they’re all OK as far as we know. This is not about them. It’s about me ... and maybe you ... or maybe someone you can help us locate.”

She stammered, “I don’t know ... I’ll try to help.” She shifted her backpack in front of her and held it to her chest in an unknown display of protective body language.

“Let’s sit on your front steps for a minute.” I led her to her steps. She expressed slight surprise that I knew exactly where she lived. I think this fact intimidated her a bit; I had hoped it would.

“Caroline, about a week ago I was part of a concert at Wembley Stadium.”

She nodded, “Yes, I saw the advertisements. I wanted to go too, but my friend ... she cancelled out on me.”

I continued, “An envelope got delivered to me ... a blackmail note that could only have come from someone at the ... party at the Hilton Hotel after the debutante’s ball that you were part of.”

Margo and I both studied Caroline intently, but while she looked concerned she didn’t seem rattled that we’d found the culprit.

After only a slight pause, I put my last card on the table, “You didn’t happen to have that threatening note delivered to me, did you?” I reached in my pocket for a copy of the note.

Caroline thought for a minute, realized what I’d said, and then jumped up; “Oh, NO. NOT ME. I didn’t do anything like that. I wouldn’t think ... I didn’t ... I had nothing to do with any note like that, whatever it was about.” She paused, “I let myself get talked into going to that sex party at the Hilton only because it seemed expected of all of us debs – for years prior, all the debs had done it. I fucked every guy there, and after that, I had a reputation as a slut that persists to this day; I’ll never get rid of it. I never had sex again after that day ... well, except to please myself. That party and my reputation are why I came to school over in Europe, so I didn’t have to go home so often.”

She stopped and looked me in the eye; her voice softened, “The most exciting part of that evening was you – you being with me a couple of times when we were all being crazy ... fucking just for the sheer fun of fucking. I liked that. I liked you ... and what you did to me. I can still remember every second of it. You made it memorable, and you kissed me over and over again; many guys there didn’t kiss. I felt you cared about me despite the lust we obviously felt for each other. I could actually tell I meant more to you than just a piece of meat to jerk off into.” I nodded in agreement. Even I had felt a little remorse after the Oklahoma orgy. I guess the double standard was still alive: I could get away with what happened, but Caroline got labeled as a slut.

Margo gave me a nod that signaled to me that she thought Caroline was telling the truth and was innocent – either that, or we had just found the greatest actress besides Judy Dench.

I unfolded the copy of the note and passed it to her. “Who would send this to me?”

Caroline studied the note, taking time to read the words several times. She studied the picture, even holding the paper up close and then far away.

“I sort of know the girl in the picture, although the picture’s been tampered with – like with Photoshop so her features are a little off. It’s Maddy Gable; I’m pretty sure. She lives not too far from here; we see each other...”

Caroline’s voice trailed off. From under her breath, we heard, “Holy shit. The night of your concert, we were supposed to go out, but she called me at the last minute and told me some hot guy had asked her out, and she didn’t want to turn him down. I let her off the hook. I caught up with some of my friends, and we went downtown to hang out at a pub near Picadilly Circus.” As an afterthought she said, “I could even give you their names and put you in touch with them; they’d vouch for me.”

Margo asked in a confirming manner, “Yes, we’d like that; would you mind giving me a list of your friends so we can check out your alibi.” Margo opened her wallet and showed her a badge. I studied it at the same time Caroline did; in large bold letters it said, ‘Private Investigator.’ Margo folded away the badge quickly, but followed it up with a business card she thrust into Caroline’s hand.

Caroline blanched as Margo pulled out a small notebook and a pen. Caroline rattled off three names and phone numbers off the top of her head. I felt that she was being cooperative in an awkward situation. The only time I’d met her before this, we’d both been naked and taking turns fucking members of the opposite sex. She was right, I did try to make it special for each of the girls that night despite the impersonal spirit of the evening.

Caroline turned to me, “I don’t know Maddy that well. I don’t know whether she’d do this or not. She’s ... she’s not all together; as though she’s got a screw loose or something. Odd things make her laugh or react in funny ways, as if she were sometimes on some bad drug.”

Margo asked, “Do you know where she lives or what her schedule is like?”

Caroline volunteered, “Yes, she lives not too far from here in Swiss Cottage, just up from the town center on some busy street. I know how to get there but not the street name. Her classes are usually over at noon; after that I have no idea what she’s apt to do. I could take you there; do you have a car?”

Margo pointed to her Mini. She said, “If we go now, we’ll buy you lunch.”

The three of us sat on a bench by a bus stop in Swiss Cottage eating takeout sandwiches. The bench formed a triangle between the bus stop that Maddy was likely to use to get home, and her apartment door across the street from us. A half block away in either direction, Margo had positioned her two colleagues; everyone had pictures of the girl. Caroline had made no attempt to contact her friend.

Margo’s thumbs twirled over her iPhone as she did various emails. I made polite conversation with Caroline who turned out to have a thousand questions about my being a celebrity.