"You mean the secret to keep bouncing?" He leaned toward me. "Do what you have to do, but let someone else do the worrying," he replied and then he laughed again. "It's all up here." He pointed to his temple. "Mind over matter. So, are you in college?"
"Not yet," I said and told him a little about myself. He had a hearing aid, which I thought had to work very well. He seemed to hear everything I said.
I didn't realize how long I had been talking until the pilot announced we were the next plane to be approved for takeoff. I sat back, holding my breath.
"Is this your first time in an airplane?"
"Yes sir, it is," I said.
"Remember what I told you," my elderly friend said with that twinkle in his eyes. "Let someone else do the worrying."
He closed his eyes and sat back, looking very relaxed. I was lucky to be sitting next to him because he had a calming effect on me. How could I be nervous when a man in his nineties was so brave?
Once we were airborne, he told me all about his life. He could remember the Spanish-American War, as well as the First and Second World Wars, of course. It was mind-boggling thinking about all the changes he had seen. He and his brother had worked with their father in the garment industry when they were only ten and twelve years old. He had had many different jobs in his life and finally had become an insurance salesman, married and moved to California where, he said, he made some money in real estate. His wife had died nearly fourteen years ago. I heard about his children and his grandchildren. He talked so much I didn't realize how much time had passed. We had our lunch and then he took a nap and I read a magazine. I fell asleep for a while myself and when I woke up, I heard the pilot say we were close- tO Los Angeles.
"Remember," my elderly friend said, his hand over mine, "stress and worry, that's what puts age in you. Now, time, time's just a reminder that we ain't here forever."
"Thank you," I said.
After that, it all happened so fast, the plane landing, getting my things together, saying good-bye to my new friend and leaving the airplane. My heart was thumping so hard and quickly, I was afraid I'd faint before I set eyes on Holly's sister. I didn't have to look long. She was right there at the gate doorway, unmistakable, an elegant beauty in a wide-brim white hat, a lace coat over her milk-white silk dress. She wore matching silk gloves and large diamond earrings. Her hair was a sleek cap of pale shining gold, pulled back from her face to show a sculptured profile and unlined face.
Holly had warned me that her sister Dorothy was supporting a number of plastic surgeons in Beverly Hills. Holly called it Dorothy's Wrinkle Panic. The mere sight of a line would send her into a frenzy and put her on the phone with her cosmetic surgeon. Her nose had been trimmed, her eyelids and skin tightened so often, her face resembled a mask, but she did have Holly's youthful hazel eyes. Her lips were fuller. Later, I would learn that, too, was because of something else her plastic surgeon had done.
Beside her stood her uniformed chauffeur, a handsome young man with turquoise eyes and hair the color of fresh straw, trimmed close at the sides with a sweeping wave over the top. He had a cleft chin, and a sharp, strong-looking jawbone and high cheekbones. At the moment, his firm mouth was curled up slightly in the right corner, a laugh in his eyes as he
contemplated me, wide-eyed and terrified walking into the terminal.
Dorothy was a tall woman, at least four or five inches taller than Holly. Her chauffeur was easily six feet two or three, I thought. He was trim, movie star sleek with that perfect Hollywood tan I saw on the faces of stars in fan magazines. The caramel tint emphasized his aqua eyes.
Dorothy waved. Beside them stood two uniformed policemen studying everyone who came from the plane. I waved back and hurried along.
"Melody?"
"Yes," I said.
"I just knew it was you. Didn't I, Spike?" she said as I approached.
"You had a good description," he said, widening his handsome smile.
"Oh dear me, look at you. You're so sweet," she said. "Isn't she just the freshest little thing you've ever seen, Spike?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said gawking at me, a silent laugh on his lips.
"Welcome to Los Angeles," Dorothy declared. "My sister has told me all about you, but of course, I want to get to know you for myself. I'm sure half the things she told me are either exaggerations or figments of that wild imagination of hers. Spike, take her briefcase. Briefcase?" she asked herself, raising her eyebrows as soon as she said it. "Why would you be carrying something so . . . ugly? Couldn't my sister provide you with a suitable bag? Something more feminine?"
"It's not mine. I'm doing someone a favor," I said and gazed past them, looking for the man with the sign.
"Favor?" Dorothy looked at Spike. He shrugged.
"I met someone at the airport in New York, a banker. He was on his way here when he had an emergency and had to go back to the city. He asked me to take this to Los Angeles and give it to a man who held up a sign with his name, Fonsworth," I said still looking past them. "But I don't see him."
"What nerve," Dorothy said. "Especially to burden a young girl coming here for the first time." She looked at Spike again, whose smile had evaporated and been replaced with a frown that put furrows in his forehead. His eyes went to the policemen behind me and then he reached quickly for the briefcase, practically pulling it out of my hands. I thought he was being rather rude and I was about to protest. After all, it was my responsibility. He stepped away quickly.
"Did you have a nice flight, dear? Sometimes it's bumpy and they always manage to serve you your food just when it's bumpy. I don't fly unless I can fly first class anymore, not that it's less bumpy, but at least you know you'll be a little more comfortable. So, you must tell me all about yourself and your adventure and of course, tell me all about my sister. I hope you don't believe half the things she claims to be able to do. We'll have lunch," she added before I could utter a syllable. "After Spike gets your luggage."
She took a deep breath. Spike remained a few steps in front of us.
"I really want to get that briefcase to the man," I said. "I promised and I feel responsible."