Ariana smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "Yes, I'm sure I'll be fine. Don ya go a-worryin."
There was a clearing of an official and rushed throat, and the women looked up to see a security officer eyeing them impatiently. Ariana slipped the book into her carry-on, hugged everyone, and stepped over the security line. With an exchange of enthusiastic waves, Ariana wended her way through the security obstacle course and headed to her gate for her flight.
When Ariana traveled alone she was seldom recognized, and preferred it that way. As she sat down and buckled up, she started worrying about connecting with Nathan. She had started out the flight worried that they had just left it as 'meeting in the terminal,' and hoping they wouldn't have to arrange some meeting via e-mail as they both wandered around the terminal. She chided herself for not getting his cell phone number, though he did have hers, come to think of it. Well, she could reply to one of his old e-mails; that would probably be sufficient. As the plane taxied out for take-off she shifted to wondering if Marie had been right and she had made a major error. She was going to race around the world on international television with a man she really barely knew. She wondered if she would embarrass herself by not recognizing him, since she had only met him at two 'Meet & Greets' and a Celtic Music Convention, and then only for a few minutes each time.
She ruefully admitted to herself that they would probably be eliminated after a few legs and spend a week or two at wherever the Finish Line Resort was, where she could catch up on her reading, work on a tan - with extreme care, given her fair skin - and relax before the resumption of the tour. Though she doubted she would ever hear the end of it if she were eliminated in the first leg. When Kelly Manor, the publicist for the Madri-Gals, had approached her about the Celebrity Fantastic Race, bubbling over with enthusiasm, she had reluctantly agreed. It was obvious why she had been chosen; the other performers would be spending break with family and friends. Ariana was about as estranged from her family as it was possible to get, barring infrequent and surreptitious e-mails exchanges with her younger sister; and nearly all of her good friends were members of the group. On breaks she hung out with one of her co-stars when she could, or drifted off sightseeing anywhere and everywhere it was safe for an unescorted woman to do so. The celebrity race was supposed to consist of teams where one member was a celebrity and the other member was a fan, friend or family member. Well, family was out of the question, and all of her friends were fans of the Fantastic Race and had goggled at her and asked if she were crazy agreeing to go. Since she had only ever heard of the show before, and never seen a single episode, she was a little perplexed and more than a little apprehensive. She gathered she would be expected to run occasionally, solve puzzles, which she was extremely good at, and eat a few unpleasant things ... which actually sounded a lot like being on tour. So that had left fans - none of whom she felt she knew well enough to ask to be a teammate.
She had resolved to go to Kelly and back out as gracefully as she could, but Kelly hadn't been in her office, and while she had been waiting she had gotten the weekly text message from the president and web administrator of her on-line fan forum. He quite religiously sent her an update on what the fans were planning for the next week and which fans were going to be at which upcoming 'Meet and Greets'. Completely spontaneously and entirely without thought she had texted back her dilemma and, jokingly, asked if he wanted to be her teammate. The answer, from halfway around the world, had been back seconds later - "If you are serious, I'm in." In her consternation she had almost, almost, texted that she wasn't serious, but at that very moment Kelly had walked around the corner, given her a beaming smile, and asked if she had found a teammate yet. Looking desperately for an out, she had texted Nathan with the dates, travel conditions, legal documents and the need for a valid passport, hoping this would scare him off, or not fit his plans, or ... . His reply had been back in seconds; "No problem. Just send me the details." And that had been that; quick enough to near cause whiplash, she had been swept away by events.
The flight was uneventful, but despite the enticing book in her hands, she had been unable to read. Her mental wrestling match had been of Olympic proportions; not the modern games, but the ancient gods grappling madly atop a storm-wracked mountain. And the whirlwind of assorted worries were like a tornado in a kaleidoscope factory in her mind. Spending weeks in the close company of someone she barely knew seemed crazier by the minute as the flight soared on toward Washington, DC. She dozed fitfully, ate and drank sparingly, and was, at best, edgy, when the airplane's wheels slapped the concrete of the runway, making a rude ending to a smooth flight.
She disembarked, endured the official scrutiny of all her paperwork, had her well-stamped passport duly stamped yet again, and followed the herds of humanity to the automated baggage claims. She waited patiently, blending in with the crowds, until her bags came around. She dragged them off and started toward the doors to the taxis. Nathan would probably ... she shivered slightly, strangely not a cold chill, but a warm one; almost like opening a warm oven with a savory pie in it. Someone fell in step beside her, and a half familiar voice said, "May I help you with your bags?" She hesitated and looked up, then stopped.
He loomed over her; taller and with broader shoulders than she remembered. His head was shaved and it gleamed in the banks of lights. Sea grey eyes sparkled behind the gold wire rimmed glasses and the smile was beaming. He was wearing dress jeans, a green polo shirt which fit exceptionally well, and a sleek, serious-looking backpack.
"Thank you," she responded automatically, passing him the heavier suitcase. "I'm surprised ya recognized me. I don usually hae problems no bein recognized."
"You have a very distinctive walk, you are exactly the height I remembered, and you haven't changed your hair color, though the style is much different than you wear on stage."
She thought about it and gave him points for being observant. "How long do ya think it will take ta get a taxi?" she wondered out loud, looking at the line of people outside the windows at the taxi stand, many waving their arms in the air..
"No time at all. It's already waiting." Nathan angled to the left and headed to the VIP door. Ariana followed, puzzled. The letter had been specific that the network didn't have any responsibility until a contestant checked in at the designated hotel. She looked around curiously as Nathan flashed a card to a scanner and the doors whooshed open importantly. On the other side were three limousines. Nathan immediately went to largest one, where the driver was leaning against the side of the car, reading a newspaper. The impeccably attired driver noticed their approach and whisked the paper out of sight like a magician vanishing a volunteer's watch. Nathan flashed the card and said, "Ariana and Nathan." The man nodded and opened the door for them. The inside of the car was spacious and luxurious. They left their luggage on the curb and climbed in. The trunk shut with a muffled thud and with the slightest rocking of the vehicle the driver entered the car, "Welcome to Washington, D.C." he said over the intercom speaker. "Next stop is the Regency Hotel." The limo pulled out of the underground garage, entered a long, well-lit tunnel, and after a few minutes slid smoothly into boisterous morning traffic, incidentally bypassing several vehicular knots around the airport entrance.
Nathan turned to her and smiled. "I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate the chance to do this. I have done some international travelling for work, but never anything like this. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Ariana responded automatically, toying with the idea of telling him about her scavenger hunt for a team mate, but that seemed a poor way to start, so she nursed the residual headache from the flight and watched the scenery flow by. "I hope yea did no have ta wait long. When did yer plane get in?"
Nathan grinned quite engagingly. "Yesterday. I wanted to do a little shopping and a little sightseeing. I stayed at the airport hotel last night, and got a page when your plane landed, so no wait at all."
She smiled back distractedly, and then looked back out of the window. Nathan cleared his throat and she glanced at him, hesitating when she saw the small bottle and the large glass he was holding. "Large glass of spring water with a twist of lemon, room temperature, and two ibuprofen, also room temperature." He chuckled ruefully. "I know you probably have your own ways of dealing with jet lag, but I find this works quite well."
Ariana paused, warning visions of being drugged dancing in her head. But she mumbled her thanks, tried to check the innocuous little tablets without being too obvious, and downed them. The sharp, fresh citrus tang in the water was surprisingly refreshing, and she finished a second one by the time the limo slid smoothly to a stop at the hotel.
Her headache was gone.
Nathan carried her bags through the revolving door and they were immediately intercepted by a young woman in a smart, perfectly tailored grey suit, who practically reeked of excited efficiency, and touched the screen of her iPad. "Ariana Collins and Nathan Moore?"
They had nodded and she had touched the screen again and then beckoned them to an open place at the busy service counter. As she turned, Ariana caught a glimpse of the screen. There were pairs of pictures on the screen. Theirs was now surrounded by a green line. All the other pairs were surrounded by heavy red lines. "So are we the first in?" she asked.
"Yes. And I'm Zoe. If you need anything before dinner, my number is 818-575-1435. And just a reminder that at dinner tonight I will be collecting all cell phones, smart phones, and any other electronic devices. As of six tonight you will be officially 'incommunicado.' I will be travelling with Tom, and your agent has my number and we will pass on to you any emergency communications. If you have any urgent communications allowed by the Fantastic Race rules, I will send them on myself at the next pit stop." She turned to the receptionist behind the counter, an attractive brunette of indeterminate age and warm, waxy, professional smile, who sported a nametag introducing her as Wilma. "Team number eleven to check in."
The receptionist beamed. "Welcome to the Regency. You are all pre-registered. Here are your brochures and two card keys to your room."
Ariana froze, hoping she had not heard properly. Her agent was supposed to ensure there were two... .
"Rooms," she heard Nathan respond, instantly. She glanced at him, gratified to see his consternation mirrored her own.
The receptionist's smile wavered, and her fingers danced briefly on the keyboard in front of her, and she glanced at the iPad-toting assistant for confirmation.
Zoe was also tapping her screen.
"Me agent was specific on the point that we hae separate accommodations," Ariana said, flatly.
"The studio booked a block of rooms last month. There were eleven for the teams, and I have eleven teams listed." The receptionist gave the assistant an edgy glance, her tone indicating that her supervisor was going to be consulted post haste; in fact a tall man in an obviously tailor-fit uniform with a far more elaborate nametag was now making his way importantly toward them.
"I'm sorry," the assistant said, her face coloring slightly. "I had no note about separate rooms."
"That's not a problem," Nathan broke in. "Do you have an open room near Ms. Collins?"
The staccato finger-tapping dance on the keyboard brought a relieved smile to the receptionist's face. "Yes, there is one on the opposite side of the hall three doors down."
"I'll take it." He turned to the assistant. "Amend my contract to specify separate accommodations. If the studio balks at the cost, I'll pick it up. Have it ready for me to initial when you collect our phones at dinner."
"Yes, Mr. Moore. I will take care of it." Zoe's tone was professionally contrite and obviously well-practiced at soothing ruffled celebrities.
"You are in early," the receptionist commented. "The card keys aren't active until noon. I can check with housekeeping to see if they are ready. If not, I will put them on VIP Priority and they will be ready in 20 minutes."
Zoe looked flustered and started to speak, but Nathan spoke first. Turning to Ariana he raised an eyebrow and said, "Do you trust me?"
Ariana looked up into the simple sincerity of those grey eyes and replied, somewhat hesitantly, "Yes."
Nathan stepped back, spoke urgently and quietly into his phone, and then smiled. "Two minutes."
"What's in two minutes?"
"We get picked up." He swept Zoe, Wilma and the bemused supervisor with a beaming smile. "We have an errand or two to run in the city anyway; we'll be back in a little while." He turned bright attention on the assistant. "Zoe, will you please have our bags sent up as soon as the rooms are ready? Thank you." With a gesture, he indicated a quick exit, stage left, to Ariana.
Once outside, Ariana boiled over. "I kin onla hope tha rest o tha race isna as well organized as this." She pulled out her phone. "I am callin me agent ta check she was definite aboot separate rooms." She looked at Nathan. He was shrugging apologetically. "I hope tha they havna lost anythin else important in those little electronic thingys o theirs."
In less than two minutes, the limousine pulled up to the curb, and Nathan held the door for her. They climbed in and Nathan gave the driver an address. While the driver deftly wended his way through the abominable traffic, Nathan kept up a cheerful, running commentary on historic buildings as they maneuvered through the congested city. Finally they pulled up to a large building and got out. The sign over the impressive brass and glass doors read, "National Geographic Store."
