The impromptu television room below the stage had a 72-inch LCD television at one end, a massive buffet along one wall, fifty-one chairs in the center and one stool in the back. Daniel, the Director, fearing too much rowdiness, had made sure that the refreshments were light on alcohol. As Ian had escorted her to her preferred perch at the back of the room, he said, "Ya know, Jimmy is giving ten to one odds in favor o ye actually winning the race. Would ya care ta place any bets wit him?"
She had looked at his grinning face sourly and shot back primly, "Ian, ya noo I never place bets on anything; be off wit ye noo."
"Canna blame a mon fer tryin."
All of the remaining teams were on the same flight. And the flight from Kazakhstan to Israel was going to be long, and, in utter exhaustion, she was asleep within minutes of takeoff. Somewhere over the middle Asia she had roused into a drowsing state, vaguely luxuriating in the warm, safe, contented feeling. How long she had hovered there it was impossible to say, but when she realized her head was resting on Nathan's shoulder, and his cheek was pressed into her hair, her eyes had flown open. His hands were folded on his lap, he wasn't obviously reading or watching the screen on the back of the seat in front of them, and his slow, measured breaths assured her that he was deeply asleep. She wondered for several minutes if she could move without waking him. This debate evolved quickly into thinking about him.
For almost three years, Nathan had been a nearly faceless cyber-acquaintance who had always been enthusiastic, cheerful, and supportive, and always had sensible, intelligent, and constructive suggestions or advice whenever she had asked anything. While he had never been a confidant, and she had never shared or discussed anything very personal with him, he had always, always respected her privacy, asked her permission for passing anything along to the fan forum, and never put out anything she asked him not to.
Thinking about it, over the years she had trusted him with her personal e-mail address, her personal cell phone number, and even the address of what she tended to think of as her high security apartment hideout in Dublin - and he had never abused her confidence or questioned why he couldn't put her name on the labels of the packages he had forwarded to her.
She had just never thought of him as an actual physical shoulder to nap on.
Moving her eyes, she hadn't seen any of the videography teams documenting the trip; they were probably all asleep too. She glanced at her watch, confirming there were still hours left on the flight. Deciding she was still tired, and quite comfortable, she leaned a fraction closer, put her hand on his arm, and fell quickly back to sleep, lulled by the soporific drone of the engines.
By the time they had gotten to Jerusalem, it was the wee hours of the morning. They were going to spend the day helping pilgrims at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Al-Aqsa Mosque, and the Wailing Wall. At each one, successful completion of their task would get them part of the clue for the four tasks ahead. They all arrived at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher four hours before it opened. The teams spread out -- not too far from the gate, but enough for privacy -- and rested fitfully. Ariana noticed that the videography teams also dropped off to sleep; the rest on the airplane being none to restful for anybody.
Feeling less under a microscope, and not being too tired, she had looked at Nathan and said, "I actually don't know tha much aboot ye."
"Ah, don ya now?" he responded, teasing her with a halfway decent imitation of an Irish accent. "Mine tis no a long nor interestin story."
"Try me."
He sighed theatrically. "If the Lady insists." He made a show of giving his response carefully considered thought, as well as discreetly inspecting the slumbering racers not too far away. He pitched his voice low and replied. "Well, I was born in Hawaii to non-native parents, so I always felt a little isolated. My father was an environmental construction engineer who did a lot of contracting to the military, and my mother was a linguist at an Asian trading company. I learned how to manage a complex project on the fly from my dad, and mom managed to teach me four of the nine languages she knew. I was an electronics and computer geek from the time I saw my first television show." He heaved another deep sigh. "But I had an awfully hard time sitting still. Nowadays I would probably have been labeled ADHD and prescribed drugs. Back then my parents enrolled me in martial arts classes, which taught me physical fitness, concentration and discipline. Seventeen years, kindergarten to grad school. I have black belts in Tae Kwon Do, Judo, and Krav Maga." He grinned broadly. "Of course, living in Hawaii I also hit the beach often and swam, surfed, did kayaking, oh, any number of sports. I met Carolyn, my wife, in college, fell hard and fast in love, and got her to marry me before she could have second thoughts. Nellie came along shortly thereafter, followed a couple of years later by Lance. So we were married grad students with small children in a tiny apartment in just-off-campus housing. Fortunately with two sets of doting grandparents very nearby. Carolyn got her masters in economics and went into real estate. I stayed for my doctorate in computer science."
For some reason, that hadn't surprised her. "So I should be a callin ya 'Doctor Nathan' then?"
He winced comically. "Please don't. It's awkward being a non-medical doctor. If anyone hears 'doctor' they automatically change the conversation to their bunions, or kidney stones, or overactive bladder." She had laughed softly. "Anyway, Carolyn spent a lot of time running around on her various real estate projects and was always coming home with aching feet. A took a couple of classes to learn how to do professional grade foot rubs; so I've had a lot practice."
"Tell me about your children."
"Well, Nellie has her master's degree in Information Science and is an archivist and historian for the State of Hawaii. Lance is finishing up his doctorate in marine biology and now works for the Navy's Marine Mammal Program, working with the dolphins and seals in Point Loma, California, but travels widely - and doesn't talk much about it. They both have steady significant others, despite my prodding to get married, but no grandchildren - yet. That would make me feel a little old." Nathan chuckled at Ariana's fascinated look. He took a deep breath, started to speak, and then looked away. His voice was a little strained as he continued. "Carolyn died in a car accident about three years ago. The trucking company kept a driver with a known substance abuse problem and numerous accidents; sister-in-law of one of the owners, or something. Carolyn was brain dead but I wouldn't let them 'pull the plug' for a week. I gave in when even her mother told me I should let go." The deep breath was just a tiny bit shaky. "The kids were out of the house. The light had gone out of my life. I became a major league workaholic." He glanced at her again, the pain obvious in his eyes. "Two months later a friend of mine practically dragged me out of my office and to the Madri-Gals first concert in Honolulu. You came out and sang, 'My Heart Will Go On,' and - and - all the flood gates opened and I cried. For months I had been in such a state of shock that I couldn't even start grieving. Your singing threw me an emotional lifeline I badly needed. I bought tickets for the second and third performances. Center section, three rows back, and I was the first one on my feet for every standing ovation." He looked at her, his wry smile incredibly shaded with shyness. "After that, the Madri-Gals went on to Tokyo and I went back to martial arts and beach bumming, and I turned out to be even more productive at work than when I tried to hide in it 18 or 20 hours a day." He chuckled. "And I immediately registered domain www.arianacollins.com and started your on-line fan forum."
Ariana had been thinking about crazy fans. "That surprised me. Marie encouraged me to go on-line ta expand me fan base, or some such, and then I found the obvious name already taken."
"When I got your e-mail, I couldn't believe it was really from you." He grinned at her; a boyish, winning, devil-may-care grin that could steal fire from the gods, and then sell it back at a profit. "I wish I had recorded my expression when you SKYPE'd with me and I saw it WAS you. I think I felt somewhere between a little kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and a mountain-climber getting hit by lightning. I did offer to turn the domain over to you."
"You had done such a wonderful job on the site, I was quite flattered. And that meant I didn't have to worry about administering anything." She chuckled. "I am not really that comfortable with computers. I rely a lot on Marie fer anthin other than e-mail."
"Well, I try not to be one of those stereotype computer geeks -- overweight, under-exercised and unaware of the 'real' world. I even competed in the last Hawaiian Iron Man competition, after listening to you sing, of course."
"Really? Did ya win?"
His eyes twinkled most mischievously. "No, but I wasn't that far back in the pack."
They had gotten all of the clues, which turned out to be puzzle pieces, solved the puzzle, which had turned out to be a series of riddles, and gotten through the Air, Earth, Water and Fire challenges, using their Express Pass to get them through an exceptionally difficult Fire challenge. They had been Team Number One by only a hundred meters. The troupe had cheered and made the obligatory congratulations about nine of nine times, and then they had headed off to the buses.
Linnae roused her, and she woke with a start to find a nearly full cup of cold tea still cradled in her hands. She glanced around the bus's living room. Lavender was asleep on the couch, with a quilt made by her grandmother wrapped around her. Marie was turning off the television. And Cassie was coming out of the bathroom, and slipping into her privacy bunk. As she stood up, Ariana felt a sudden need, and hurried to the temporarily vacant bathroom.
As she stepped through the door she heard Marie's voice; "Well, weren't the two of you cozy on tha flight?"
She spun around. "Wha do you mean?"
"All cuddled up on the flight together; twas such a peaceful sight." If she hadn't known Marie for years, she might have mistaken it for a casual remark. But before she could respond, Marie had clicked shut her own privacy door.
Once safe inside her bunk, Ariana checked her e-mail. There was an e-mail from Nathan with attachment; undoubtedly the next chapter. She felt a twinge of guilt that she hadn't responded at all when he had so obviously put in so much effort on the project. And he was a fine writer. She told herself that she had no time, and certainly not enough skill, to write matching chapters of the quality Nathan's deserved. She opened the e-mail - to find the usual bland, chatty fan forum news and nothing else. She resolutely archived the missive and then opened an e-mail from her agent: *Call me. Time doesn't matter.*
She called, and didn't even have a chance to talking before the voice poured out like water from a bursting dam. "Ariana, the other shoe has dropped. The producers are willing to NOT air the slap after the kiss, not release the recording in any way, and inform all concerned that it falls under the non-disclosure portion of their contracts. In exchange, they want your release of some scene recorded at the airport as you were leaving which occurred after the time period covered by the regular release. They said that the narration will indicate that the race ran long and that you had to rush to catch your flight before you could say goodbye to Nathan, so the crew raced across Alexandria to get to the airport. Oh, by the way, what did happen at the airport?"
