CHAPTER
ONE
“If you want to be a better photographer, stand in front of more interesting stuff.”
– Jim Richardson
“Relax, ma’am, or we’ll have to put you in restraints.”
Not exactly the first words I imagined I’d hear when I stepped off the plane in Honolulu. I was hoping for an Aloha. Maybe a lei draped around my neck. At the very least a thanks for flying with us.
“Don’t touch me!” I shrug off the TSA officer’s sausage fingers. “You should be going after that guy who stole my bag!”
The steward who started this whole mess, a thin, pretty man with flawless skin and perfect brows, rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over this, Ms. Parks,” he says, sounding exhausted by the conversation. “I didn’t steal your bag.”
My stomach is in knots. I’ve been preparing for this trip for months…maybe even my whole life. I finally made it and the most important bag in my luggage is just gone. Upon further thought, if this Barbie doll of a man had greeted me with an Aloha after stealing my bag, I’d tell him to shove it up his ass.
He rubs his temples as if attempting to collect himself and keep his cool.
Join the club, mister!
“If you’d just calm down…”
I tilt my chin way up to glare at the TSA officer. He’s gigantic with the shoulder width of three normal sized men. I wonder if he turns sideways to walk through standard doorways. This is not the kind of man I should be losing my absolute shit with.
But…did he just tell me to calm down?
I suck in a breath that shakes with fury. “Mr….” I spot his nametag. Momentarily sidetracked, my chest deflates along with a little of my fight. “Officer Bigeye? That’s your real name?”
Boredom cracks his otherwise indifferent mask. A here we go again kind of tedium revealing I’m not the first to point out his on-brand name.
“We had no room in the overhead bins,” the pretty steward explains. He slashes this hand through the air motioning to the plane where passengers continue to deboard. “It was supposed to be stored with the strollers.”
“And it wasn’t.” I add the story’s conclusion. “Which makes you a liar!” I lunge for him again only to have Bigeye scoop me around the middle as if I’m an onery toddler.
Barbie man reels back to avoid my swinging arms and legs. “I didn’t lie. It was probably left behind on the jetway.”
“You are thieving son of a—”
“Excuse me.” Quinn, my best friend, says in a sing-song voice as she intercepts with a lollipop shoved into her cheek. Her shocking cherry red hair and big blue eyes draw both men’s attention. She’s bright, the kind of person that gets noticed when she walks into a room. Opposite of me in every way. “How long is this going to take? I seriously need to pee.” She pops the sucker from her lips and cups her mouth to whisper toward Bigeye. “Too many Mai Tais on the plane.”
“Would you please put me down,” I say in my calmest voice hoping the officer mistakes the tremor of rage for near tears. Nothing scares a man like a crying woman.
“You gonna stop making a scene?” he says.
My jaw drops open. Make a scene. As if my life’s purpose being stolen should be no big deal?
Quinn pleads with the man. “This is her first time on a plane. She doesn’t understand how it works. Her whole life is in that bag. You can see why she’d be a little distraught.”
Distraught? I’m not distraught. I’m justifiably pissed.
She must sense me working myself back into a tizzy because she widens her eyes on me as if telling me to play along.
“Please.” She gives him her best pout and puts her hand on Bigeye’s bicep. “Whoa, do you work out?”
His brows slant angrily.
She drops the flirty smile. “Look, if you let her go, I’ll get her out of here, and you can have the bag sent to our hotel when it shows up. Cool?”
The big man seems to mull that over. He clears his throat. “She threatened an airline employee.”
“Oh, come on!” I glare at the steward, who does his best to appear victimized with his pouty lips, and…seriously, if I didn’t hate him, I’d ask about his skin regimen. “I did not threaten you.”
“You told me you’d kill me if I didn’t produce your bag. And you said I had my head up my ass.”
“I said ‘I’d kill to find someone who doesn’t have their head up their ass’!”
The steward throws his arms out. “Same thing!”
I look to Quinn for support.
She frowns. “The implication is there.”
The steward smirks proudly.
“Whatever, Slim Jim.”
“All right, let’s quit with the name calling.” Officer Bigeye releases me to Quinn. He runs a hand over his cropped hair. “Get her out of here peacefully, and we’ll let this one slide.”
“What the fuc—”
Quinn’s hand covers my mouth. “Thank you.”
He pulls out a little notepad and a pen. I thought those were only used in detective shows. “What hotel are you staying at?”
“The Surf Supreme in—”
He grimaces. “I know where it is.”
Okay, rude. Not everyone can afford five-star accommodations. And it’s not as if the Surf Supreme is the cheapest in Waikiki. There were a few hostels that were more affordable. Although the Yelp reviews of black mold and bed bugs were enough to turn me away. Where we’re staying is quite a step up.
“There’s a tag on it with my name, Elsie Parks. My cell phone number too.” I nod to his notepad. “Write it down.” I rattle off my number and a very detailed description of my bag. “Black, about this big.” I show him with my hands. “It has a sticker on the side. Photographers like it raw.”
His gaze darts from his notepad to me, eyebrows sinched.
“If I have to explain it, it’s not funny,” I say.
He shakes his head and goes back to his note pad.
“Promise me someone will bring it to the hotel if it shows up?” If I don’t have my bag, this entire trip is pointless. Oh God, the panic makes its way to my chest. I rub my sternum. Can a person die from worry? “And if it doesn’t show up, you know who to go after.” I point my fingers to my eyes then swing them around to point at the steward.
The pretty man stomps a loafered foot. “I didn’t steal it.”
“It’ll show up,” Quinn says, casually pulling me away from the two men. “Now we need to go claim our suitcases before we lose those too.”
The steward looks reluctant to let me go, as if not getting his way is a bigger pain than my fit throwing.
Bigeye tucks his notepad into his shirt pocket. “Aloha. And welcome to Hawaii.”
“Oh, now I get the greeting,” I mumble and readjust my Pinkie’s BBQ trucker hat, the one I always wear for good luck. I pop it on backwards to keep my natural curls, that are currently rearing their ugly side in this humidity, out of my face. Like those toy animals that grow when you soak them in water, add a bit of moisture and my hair expands.