Chapter 6: Arriving at Gate 216

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy:

After the meeting that launched the real estate group, Mom and Dad drove to Newark to pick up aunt Jo. On the face of it, they were worlds apart. Mom is artistic and athletic. Aunt Jo is an ivory tower bookworm. Middle class vs. old money. High school education vs. PhD from Yale. Skirts vs. slacks. Tea vs. coffee. They do not even like the same music. Naturally, they became inseparable.

First they had to bring a gaggle of college kids home from the airport. I get a headache thinking about it.

Sheila:

On the trip to Newark, the one saving grace was that George was driving. Sean and I could at least sit together and practice kissing. I discovered that little nibbles along the jaw line drove me crazy. Sean seemed to like having his lower lips sucked. Eventually, Sean had to call a halt before clothes starting coming off, not that I would have stopped. Still, it was good that one of us had some control.

At the airport, Sean told George to stay with the car. I was not sure if that was to save time after we picked up luggage, or to save George's bad knee. What ever the reason, I also took it to mean that Siobhan did not travel with a mass of luggage. Since I knew she had a room at the Residence, she may have kept a change or two there. That said, some people always pack for a long ocean voyage. My guess was that Siobhan was not "some people."

We arrived at the gate just as the plane was pulling up. I had time to check my messages, but not much else. Jason and Christine were in Reading, PA. I suspect it was to meet Roxanne. Jason said she was the winner of the blow job competition. Christine took her duties very seriously, which meant that she would want to learn from the best.

That train of thought was interrupted by a voice I knew. Siobhan was calling to Sean. I turned to introduce myself and stopped cold. I must have been expecting a female version of Sean. Wrong. Siobhan was at least as tall and outweighed Sean by thirty pounds. She was wearing cut up jeans and a torn Theatre of Tragedy concert shirt, with no bra. Her boots did not even match.

She also sized me up and I saw the family resemblance. Sean stood aside, grinning widely. Siobhan's first word was "Spiffy." Presently, she went on, "I bet your workplace is immaculate, though maybe not your apartment. Good taste. Impeccable. Clean. God you move well. Sean said you danced, but he understated it. Not intimidated by the Bitch of the North. No nervous talking. And something else." She looked at Sean. "You too. What did you two just pull off? The cream is showing on your whiskers."

Sean laughed and pulled her into a hug. Siobhan lifted him off the floor. Together they said, "I've missed you. Why don't you ever..." Then they both laughed again. I smiled and relaxed a bit. Siobhan noticed immediately. "God Lord, Sean, she's relaxing. I give her the third degree, and she doesn't flinch. I drop her to get friendly with her fiancée, and she relaxes. Where did you get her? I want one, too. Sheila, I know you can talk. I heard you on the phone. Say something."

I had to say something, so I asked the first thing that came to mind, "Luggage?"

Siobhan stared at me for a long moment, then howled with laughter. It was no act. She was soon clutching her sides. When she finally managed to control herself, Siobhan said, "OK. You got me. I was going over the top, and not just a little. Sure. Two bags. You're good. I can make most people react."

I must admit, Siobhan's front was difficult to ignore. However, she was working at a disadvantage. I had theater training and Francine as a role model, so I could see the tormented geek inside. Siobhan was not fat so much as generally large. For a young girl, particularly one lacking social graces, it would have been torture. I had a twinge of sympathy. I hated my breasts. Siobhan hated her whole body.

I said, "Sean, after we meet with Julian tomorrow, Siobhan, Francine and I will be going into the City to shop. Make sure she has some money to spend. Siobhan, you are going to love my assistant, Christine. You have already used up her allotment of words for this month. George is waiting."

Siobhan did not stare at me with a slack mouth. Her jaw was clenched to prevent it. Odd as it may seem, my heart reached out to her for that. Go girl. Don't give an inch. I could see that Sean was doing his best not to laugh, much.

Once Siobhan had her face under control, she turned to Sean. "Is it always this bad?" Sean nodded and said, "You know Gerald, our head of security." It was not a question, but Siobhan nodded understanding. "Gerald worships the ground Sheila walks on. He uses words like "professional" and "precise" when he refers to her." I was not sure exactly how to take that, but this time Siobhan's mouth did fall open. What sort of reputation did Gerald wield?

On that note, we reached the escalators to Baggage. Several minutes later Siobhan's bags appeared. One was a well made backpack and the other was a military duffel. Bags indeed. Sean gave George a call and we lugged the bags to the curb. George pulled up and popped the trunk. Siobhan calmly tossed in both bags, as if they did not weight fifty pounds each. Then we drove to Avis, where Sean rented a van, almost a small bus.

George took the van, while Sean drove the car. He quickly maneuvered us out of the airport and into a residential neighborhood. We stopped at restaurant called Casa de Espana. Checking his watch, Sean said, "We are a bit late. I hope it is not overcooked." No more explanation was forthcoming, so I followed him in. Annoyingly, Siobhan seemed to know what to expect. She looked pleased, so that was one point.

At the door we were greeted by the usual request for name and number in the party. However, before the door attendant finished asking, a man hurried up. "Senor Sean, welcome. Senorita Jo, welcome." When he came to me, he paused. Sean said, "Eduardo, may I present my finacée, Sheila. Sheila, this is the owner, Eduardo Garcia y Ortiz." Eduardo looked surprised. He bowed deeply, took my hand and kissed it, then he led us to our table. Already laid out were three places, a basket of bread and a carafe of rose wine. Sean poured wine for himself and Siobhan.

I handed Sean my glass, showing an inch with my other thumb and forefinger. He obliged with a splash of wine. Siobhan raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. I held up the glass. "A toast, to the first sister I have ever had." Siobhan looked surprised, the held up her glass, saying, "My first as well." We drank and settled back with warm bread and honey butter. Siobhan asked me, "Are you being careful already?"

I smiled. "I wish, but it is not possible yet. Give us a week or two. I am certainly ready. I felt like having Sean up against the wall, after our meeting this afternoon." Siobhan snorted and Sean sprayed water all over the table. I was glad he had not taken a drink of wine. As Sean leaned over, coughing, Siobhan said, "I am glad someone can shock him like that. Sean has become a bit jaded. Against the wall? Seriously?" This time I was the one blushing, while Sean looked like the cat with the parakeet in his mouth. He said, "Sheila is very limber." I did my best to die of embarrassment.

Before Sean could pile on more heat, our food arrived. Sean's remark now made sense. It was a huge pan of paella, with shellfish, snails and something that looked sort of like chicken, but turned out to be rabbit. Sean picked up the serving spoon, paddle really, and held out a hand for our plates.

If you have never had well made paella, find someone that knows how to do it. It was my first experience, but it would not be my last. The crunchy rice is to die for. I ate entirely too much.

Siobhan:

I flew into Liberty International in Newark. The reason was that my big brother was getting married and I was going to help do the wedding. I hope it worked. Sean had been burned before and he deserved some happiness. My brief conversation with Sheila was encouraging. She was quick and bright. Sean can be domineering, but Sheila did not come across as anyone's pushover. Still, she was talking about corsets and vintage dresses. I could envision a stiff, proper lady, with her nose high in the air. My choice of attire reflected my conflict.

Normally, I like to dress comfortably. Jeans and T-shirt are standard garb for a TA, except when teaching. I chose the ratty jeans I use for ratty clubs and a Theatre of Tragedy concert shirt. I went light on the jewelry, just a chain and a couple earrings, but wore the combat boots and a headband. The point was to jar her, not scare her.

Luck was with me. I was exiting behind a short Hispanic woman, so I could see over her head. When I spotted Sean, I looked for Sheila, then my heart sank. The beautiful woman next to Sean was straight as an arrow, and I do not mean her sexual orientation. Her posture was like an illustration in an etiquette manual. Her makeup was immaculate and her hair was artistically disheveled. She wore a cream suit over a dark green shirt. The close tailoring displayed her trim, athletic lines. In short, she could have been sent from Central Casting, as a trophy wife.

I went to hug Sean, which was only natural, but it allowed me to size her up. Most women flinch when I do that. She did not. So, I made the inspection more obvious. I commented on her likely habits, something I have a noted skill at doing. It did not faze her. Finally, I asked her to say something. She asked about my bags. It was too much. I cracked up.

Once I had let the tension out, I acknowledged the hit and told them that I had two bags. Sheila gave back my whole scene, with topspin. Instead of addressing me, she told Sean. "Sean, after we meet with Julian tomorrow, Siobhan, Francine and I will be going into the City to shop. Make sure she has some money to spend." I swear to God, she acted like I was his ward and needed pocket money. Then she addressed me. "Siobhan, you are going to love my assistant, Christine. You have already used up her quota of words for this month." Before either of us could say a word, she changed the subject, saying, "George is waiting."

I asked Sean if performances like this were unusual. When I did, I almost added a punch, because he was laughing so hard. Instead of answering directly, he referred to Gerald, our oh-so-exacting head of security. Gerald and I get on each other's nerves. If Sheila got along with Gerald, I was prepared to be impressed. It was worse than that. Sean said, "Gerald worships the ground Sheila walks on. He uses words like "professional" and "precise" when he refers to her." My mouth fell open. Gerald using the word "professional" was bad enough, but "precise"? About another individual? It boggled the mind, yet, it rang true. Sheila had just cut me to bleeding shreds and used only four or five sentences—short sentences with lots of one syllable words.

Fortunately, Sheila did not gloat. That was almost as impressive as her performance. Instead, we went down to camp in baggage. Eventually, my flight came up on the board. Sean alerted George and we met him out front. George knew me well enough to stay behind the wheel and let me get my own bags. However, Sheila looked surprised. Interesting.

The next part of the routine was new. Since I had a small zoo coming down, we needed transportation. Avis did for that. Then we went out into Newark. Within moments, I knew where we were headed, but Sheila was at a loss. I have a Yale PhD. It is not often that I loose a bout of verbal fencing. It stung. It may be petty, but I took some pleasure in seeing Sheila off balance. That was a funny metaphor, because thinking of her physically off balance did not compute. Sheila did not walk, she glided.

Casa de Espana is something of a family tradition. I forget who discovered it, but some of my favorite memories from adolescence revolve around a table full of paella. Senor Eduardo has just the right touch, so that the rice is crunchy, without being hard or dry. It was almost worth leaving my car behind, just to get a meal there.

We had an amusing moment when we entered. The girl at the door, who could not have been more than seventeen, did not recognize us. Senor Eduardo came rushing up, before things could get awkward. Sean introduced Sheila as his fiancée. Eduardo gushed and kissed her hand. I would say it was nauseating, but it really was not. I needed to restock my cute repellent. Points to Sheila, again, for not lapping it up.

Our table was ready, as usual. Sean poured for me and himself, but not for Sheila. That struck me. How long had they been dating? Sean had never mentioned her before last week. In any event, Sheila asked for a small amount of the wine. It was to toast me, as the sister she had never had. As corny as that sounds, it was delivered with full sincerity and I was genuinely touched. It was so strange. She was treating me like a girl, and I was responding. What was worse, I had to ask, "Are you being careful already?"

Again, Sheila refused the usual path. Most women either proclaim their pregnancy or take offense at any mention of the possibility. Sheila simply smiled a little sadly. "I wish, but it is not possible yet. Give us a week or two. I am certainly ready. I felt like having Sean up against the wall, after our meeting this afternoon." Woh. Not a sheltered rose after all. Sean was more than ready to add his part. He sprayed the table with his drink. That made me feel better. Sean is no slouch in the verbal cut throat.

While he recovered from coughing, I said, "I'm glad someone can shock him like that. Sean has become a bit jaded. Against the wall? Seriously?" Finally, a point for me. Sheila turned vivid red, while Sean looked insufferably smug. "Sheila is very limber." I thought Sheila might pass out from blood loss. I was beginning to understand what they had going, which was a huge relief. The kind of women that Sean used to date would never stoop to doing it dirty. That was yet another point on Sheila's tally. Somewhere along there I quit counting.

The food came and we gave it the reverence it deserved. Sean had ordered the traditional Valencian paella. Originally, the dish was done with game and snails. Fresh water mussels were a bit of a stretch, but I was not going to be picky. Sheila had clearly never eaten paella before, but still ate only a small portion. If she had not looked genuinely stuffed, I would have felt slighted. She must eat like a bird.

After dinner, Sean had them box the leftovers. The flight was not for another hour, so we had a chance to sit and talk. The obvious subject was the wedding, but it never came up. Instead, we talked politics and Ebay. On one hand, it was appalling to find how disinterested Sheila was about national political events. On the other, it was shocking how plugged in she was to the local scene. In Sheila's world, politics was about the influence of individuals, not organizations and corporations. That was background.

Ebay was another story. I knew a fellow junky when I met one. It started with my "look." I told her that the T-shirt was from the band's Last Curtain Call tour. Sheila found that interesting. When I said it had come from an online auction, she became avid. We discussed goth and metal influences on urban fashion. As an anthropologist, studies of fashion is part of my toolbox. It was surreal having the focus turned on my own college life.

That led to Sheila's own outfit. For a woman that clearly devoted time, money and effort to her appearance, Sheila was shockingly dismissive of her linen suit. She blew it off with, "I had it made in Hong Kong", as if that was uninteresting. Even online tailoring is made to order. Then, I discovered that she had purchased it five years earlier—and it still fit. Sean showed a knowing smirk, then he flipped his head toward the restrooms. For the first time in my life, I was invited to powder my nose.