Chapter 36

Lt. Cmdr Powrie dropped me off behind National Jets. The F4 ... not at all the normal Blue Angels mode of transportation ... made a quick spin and was off into the blue beyond. I watched. His take-off met my stringent expectations.

Walking in through the backdoor and through the offices looking for a phone, I was eventually stopped by a teen.

“Who are you and how did you get here?”

“Karen Post. I was just dropped off by that F-4.”

“Powrie dropped you off?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“Carl Boy the third ... and don’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“I am not related to John Boy Walton ... they are fictitious. I am real.”

“I never considered ... not for a single moment,” I giggled “ ... I did, didn’t I.” I giggled ... again. I never giggle. Chuckle now and then, but ... giggle? No.

“What can National Jets do for you?”

“I need a phone so I can call home. Mel should be picking me up ... if she knew where I was.”

“Who is Mel?”

“My driver. I wonder how far away from home I am?”

“You don’t know?”

“Nope ... landed at that other airport this morning. Stu didn’t ask which port.”

“That other place doesn’t do commercial.”

“I know, I flew ... I just dropped off my aircraft at Jacksonville NAS. They’re displaying it for a month.”

As he ... John boy ... was obvious in his attempt at getting his ducks in a row for the next question, a quite pretty teen girl stepped around the corner and spied us. Hey relationship to my guide was written all over her face. Older sister ... by about fifteen minutes.

“John boy ... you found her. You must be Karen Post.” She sorta hip checked Carl off my side, took me by the arm and began navigating in the general direction of the front. “ ... is that the helmet the Angels give away to riders, isn’t Stu dreamy? I checked, Mel is on her way, are you ready for spring break? I saw your picture on the band board at the Mist. You actually play lead?”

She kept on for five or so minutes more ... I never got to answer a single question ... I couldn’t find a starting place. No opportunity ... she didn’t stop.

Even over the roar of an engine being tested I heard the Cobra arrive.

“That’ll be your ride.” she said as we found ourselves at a side door. Out we went, the three of us, as Mel powered around the drive to the lot.

The girl ... I still didn’t know who she was ... shut up ... ceased talking, anyway. She didn’t shut her mouth. Carl drooled. Mel slid to a stop, turned off the engine, flipped her Ray Bans up to the top of her head and said, “About time you got home, missy.”

The last time I had seen Mel, she was wearing a French maid outfit. Now she was in a pair of very tight, very short, very ragged cutoff jean shorts and an unbuttoned white mens shirt tied under her rather full breasts. She had laced up high heeled sandals on her tiny feet, a slash of red across her pouty lips and eyes that would make an Arab jealous. She looked fabulous in her lace collar.

The chatty Kathy at my side finally closed her mouth only to say, “You said you had a new Mistress, Melody ... is this her?”

“Hi Carol. Yep ... the new wielder of the whip,” said Mel. “How are you?”

“Good ... sore but good.”

“Rode hard and put away wet?”

Carol ... as I assumed her name was, shuddered delightfully, “Yup. It was very good.”

“You’re so lucky ... someday I’ll find a guy like that.”

Mel dismounted ... over the door. She whipped off the white towel covering my seat and opened the passenger door. I seated myself. The leather didn’t set my ass on fire.

Mel assaulted her seat and started the full bore 260 cubic inch Shelby American Sebring Ford, jerked her Ray Bans off her forehead and over her eyes and said, “Seat belts.” She waited until I was belted in, opened the unoriginal center console ... a cardboard box ... and handed me a pair of Ray Ban Aviator sunglasses.