“Um, Harry, am I going to hear the punch line today or tomorrow?” Marco asked.
“Uncle Marco, no worries. I’m almost finished. They show up at the airport and argue with security, and finally, the airline company allows them to purchase a ticket for the girl and re-book their flights to come a day early. But she has no passport, which could be a big problem.”
“That’s always a problem, Harry.”
“Don’t you know it. She’s never had one. Again, accommodations must be made. Both my father and I are calling all the officials we can think of for favors. We get it all worked out, which does delay the plane by nearly an hour. Khalil says the passengers want to lynch them for making them late for their connections, but now they are all set. Just as they board the plane and it begins to take off, the Provincial Director drives out on the tarmac with his cruiser, lights flashing, very dramatic, and tries to shoot the pilots with his pistol.”
“Oh God. I hope—”
“No, no. They were fine. The Director was so upset he was shooting all over the place, and airport crews were running for cover. But the plane couldn’t stop. I saw it on the news, and it was hilarious. If he hadn’t jumped out of the way, they would have run him over.”
“Jeez, Harry. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
“You have no idea what you’re in for, Marco. You have to teach them everything.”
“I knew that. But no common sense. Is this true?”
“Oh, yes. They are royal people, and royal people don’t have to do what the common folk do. Rules are made for the little people, they’ll tell you. You better get ready to babysit them twenty-four seven.”
“Just what I need.” Marco could see he would have to speak to the sultan, who was also coming over in two weeks, or these boys would be totally out of control.
“In hindsight, we should have brought an escort for them. They’re like six-year-old children, Marco.”
“What about this girl? We’ve got to send her back,” Marco stressed.
“Good luck with that. I’m calling you to ask you to get someone to intercede for them when they get to New York. She won’t be able to get through customs because of her passport status. Any irregularities, especially now, they’ll deport her back to Delhi.”
“So she goes back. Simple as that,” Marco said.
“But Absalom can’t escort her there, which is what he’ll demand, because the Provincial Director will see to it he’s locked up. He may never be able to fly into Delhi again. Or out of it, for that matter.”
“That’s just great. Okay, I better get on the phone with one of my senators. Can you text me the flight number and the arrival time, please?”
“Yes, yes, I will. No problem.”
“How long is their layover?”
“This is another problem, Marco. The transfer time is very short, so they may miss their connection. That means getting them a hotel for the night.”
“There’s one in the airport.”
“Yes, I’ll set something up just in case. Other than that, things are pretty smooth.”
“Uh huh. I better call Senator Campbell to see if we can head off this impending disaster. They have passports, right?”
“Yes, they do.”
“How’s the Westside Story coming along?”
“Did you tell my father about that? Man was he pissed at me.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t go there. It didn’t come from me.”
“He was screaming on the phone. My mother was crying in the background. I couldn’t hear a thing, thank goodness. I just handed the phone to her, and they talked it out. I’m never to tell anyone I wrote a gay Westside Story. She had to promise him that she’d burn the manuscript.”
“I admit, your family dynamics are a bit out there, Harry. I’d love to talk, but I better get the senator on this.”
“Yes, I understand. I’ll let you know if they aren’t going to make their next connection, Marco.”
It took the rest of the way to the office to reach Senator Campbell’s aide, and as he arrived in the parking lot, he was still finalizing the details. But at last, he could relax, knowing that even if the girl wouldn’t be admitted to the U.S., the princes would be allowed to continue to Tampa. He hoped the senator had his magic gloves on today and wasn’t out golfing with the president.
Just in case, he had his pilot ready his jet in Tampa and hold on stand-by.
Chapter 9
Shannon did a short follow-up to the red tide story from yesterday, and this time, Sylvia was with her on the podium, without a live reporter.
“Thank you, Shannon,” Sylvia said, with her wide smile, bright white teeth, and blood red lipstick. In the short time she’d been with the station, she’d been very popular, especially with the Cuban population in the greater Tampa area.
“I take it you did not go out for fish last night?” The anchor tilted her head, her eyes flashing, waiting for an answer.
Shannon’s first instinct was to blush. The question was unexpected.
“Why no,” she stuttered, looking down at her script that would be of no use to her now. “I prepared a nice dinner at home. We had steak.” She felt her chest go blotchy, her heart racing and her stomach gurgling. Her friend Judie would know exactly what she was thinking about. It was impossible to look at the cameraman.
“Come on, Shannon. Look up so we can see that pretty face,” the assistant director whispered in her earpiece. His growly voice turned buttery and sexy, which made everything worse. He had a fantastic voice but was not fit for the camera due to his three-hundred-pound size and his pink puffy cheeks.
She obeyed, giving direction to the right, and then noticing the light was on the camera left side, so switched, turning on her stool to give an over-the-shoulder view. She felt ridiculous, but it was what was required of her.
“Atta girl. Perfect. Sylvia? Go top that one.”
Sylvia leaned forward with her chin in her hand, something they were repeatedly told not to do, but in this instance, the gesture gave an air of mystery to the set.
“Gee, inquiring minds want to know. What did you and that handsome soon-to-be-husband of yours have for dessert?”
“Back to you, Shannon. Make it sexy.”
Caught between the assistant director and her competition, or what was to have been her competition at one time, she flatly refused to play along.
“Custard. Homemade.” She stared right into the camera and then gave a slight smirk.
The camera light went out, and Sylvia went on to other news. There was a new art gallery opening in Tampa, and auditions for the children’s ballet company production of Nutcracker were starting next week. Several outdoor concerts were sponsored by various banks and investment firms, most of them Grammy-winning performers who would play a weekend spot and then move on to another town. There were hatchling turtle sightings at the beaches, and volunteers were out combing the low tides to help protect their journey into the ocean and keep the children of locals and tourists from helping themselves to a baby turtle for the drive back home. Residents were asked to keep their patio lights out so as not to confuse them or their mothers who, once they laid their eggs, went back out to sea to welcome them to the family.