In Crimson

Chapter One Twenty Miles Up “This is Captain Wright, your pilot speaking, if this is your first trip on one of our brand-new SSLs then all I can say is that there is a great trip to look forward to. We will be travelling at Mach two point five as soon as we clear altitude.” The chatter of the passengers became a whisper as the unseen captain of the plane paused a moment and then continued his announcement. “…Air Traffic Control have warned us that there is a jet-stream disturbance over the central sss and advised that we reroute west of the Andes over the Pacific coast so we have had to wait for another air traffic control slot. Our rescheduled route has now been approved and we should have a take off slot in a few minutes.” The pilot paused for a moment and then coughed before adding a last few details for the passengers. “We will be cruising at a height of eighty-five to one-hundred thousand feet and passing over Cuba in just half an hour. The detour will add around an extra hour to the flight to Lima, we here in the cabin will keep you updated on the flight as it continues. Can I just say that American Airlines welcomes the whole of the Orlando Crocs team on board on their way to their high-altitude training? We at American Airlines are proud that the team that got to the Super-Bowl last year has chosen this American Airlines SSL as their carrier of choice… More details when we are up and cruising…” There was a little applause the length of the plane before a slight lurch as it started to move. With no windows, the attention of almost all of the passengers were on the screens as the aircraft moved and then a rumble of the engines filled the cabin, and all were pressed back in their seats as the SSL catapulted into the air and began its steep climb. There were a few gasps as the ground receded as if falling away from the plane, and they cut through the low cloud cover. Chatter soon resumed as the cabin leveled out and a few of the passengers unclipped their seat belts and the cabin staff passed through the cabin. “Make mine a Champagne,” said Carrie to the passing waiter, “Dom Perignon…” The waiter poured the glass full and watched as Carrie settled back into her seat, nestling into her huge boyfriend. He put his arm around her protectively and downed his beer in one slug before proffering the empty glass for more. “Two weeks,” said Carrie. “I can’t believe that we have to spend two weeks in f*****g Peru,” she continued. “What the f**k am I going to do in that s**t hole?” “You wanted to come,” said the quarterback to his girlfriend with a shrug. “You could have stayed in Miami…” “I don’t think so,” she replied. “Leave you to f**k all the groupies? No f*****g way!” Her eyes roved across the seating where the other twenty of the team slumped in their seats, most paired with wives and girlfriends who were dressed as if in a fashion parade. Prada, Gucci, Le-Boursier and all the rest. A million dollars just in clothes and shoes, even the bags and sunglasses had cost more than a norm earned in a year. These were her real competitors and not the local bitches in the training camp, should there actually be any. She smiled and kicked off her shoes and stretched out her legs and sipped at the glass and enjoyed the jealous looks of the other female passengers at her perfect figure. This is what it’s all about, she thought. At the top of the world, literally and figuratively, paired to the finest quarterback on the East Coast, Carrie was at the top of the food-chain, the perfect accessory for the man that had offers of millions in advertising just to sell their burgers, fashion-gear and other s**t for them. Of course, there was a down side, like this trip for instance! The importance of being by his side all the time to make sure that some skank didn’t steal her man was one of them. The pause from the endless nightlife and paparazzi meant that she would not be on the front pages for a while. Carrie drained the champagne and dropped the glass to roll across the floor, a waiter obligingly picking it up from by her feet a statement of the power that she represented. Famous, flawless and fuckable… Untouchable and reserved for a man who could run with a ball faster than any other… She watched the others on the flight and felt an instinctive disdain for all that were not part of the team. Sitting chatting and marveling at the scrolling indicators that showed the plane’s speed and height, like kids on a Disney ride, while she was the center of the whole f*****g universe. Mike Fallon on her arm, a man that all women dreamed of f*****g was hers alone… As Carrie picked from the menu, carefully choosing by price alone, the woman to one side of her dozed and moved a little. Being ignored felt insulting and Carrie slipped a sly look at the middle-aged women who sat to her right. Thirty years ago, perhaps, she had been a looker, though in no way matching Carrie’s perfection, of course! Carrie felt more and more irritated by the woman’s insouciance. By the time that the lobster and wild rice arrived with another bottle of Dom Perignon, Carrie was exasperated and allowed a little of the champagne to spill fortuitously on the woman’s arm and it awoke her with a start. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Carrie as the woman’s eyes opened and she looked up at the seemingly apologetic young woman with the glass in her hand. “Be careful, not sorry,” said the woman in a New York drawl and brushed away the drops on her arm. For a moment, Carrie was taken aback by the antagonistic tone. “It was an accident…” The woman raised an eyebrow and looked Carrie up and down with a look of condescension and then caught the attention of a passing waitress and requested a serviette. “With the Crocs?” asked the woman. “Carrie Rudd,” she replied. She expected the women to show instant recognition, but she just smiled shrugged. “Oh, should I know you?” Novelty! Here was a woman who did not know the face that had launched a thousand lipsticks and fitness training plans and did not immediately gush with false friendship. “Mike Fallon’s girlfriend…” “Veronica,” said the woman without offering a surname. “I doubt that you would know me…” Carrie bit her lip. Was this some sort of game, she wondered? She allowed her eyes to take in Veronica, noted the cheap tight jeans, the high heels, the loose T shirt and casual bargain-basement leather bolero jacket and decided that some one-upmanship was in order. “Mike Fallon, quarterback for the Crocs…” “That’s so nice for you,” said Veronica with a small smile. Now Carrie was at a loss and decided to go on the attack… “So, what do you do?” she asked Veronica. “Well, normally I usually sleep on these flights,” came the reply. “When undisturbed by idle chatter…” “I meant, what do you do for a living?” persisted Carrie. “Oh, that?” said Veronica. “I suppose that you could say that I’m a sort of talent-scout!” “Sports?” asked Carrie, despite not wanting to allow the other woman to show off. “Occasionally,” said Veronica. “It’s a little complex really, not something that most people would understand…” Veronica shrugged and settled herself in her seat as if indicating that the conversation was at an end, but Carrie remained irritated by her disinterest. “I have my own range of cosmetics and fragrances,” she said. “The fourth top-selling brand in the States…” Veronica looked Carrie in the eye with a glance that made Carrie look down instinctively. There was something worrisome about Veronica’s stare, now focused on her breasts. “I don’t need to buy any perfume,” said Veronica. “It’s the sexiest…” said Carrie. Veronica just stared at Carrie’s breasts and smiled. “Amazing what can be done by a skillful surgeon,” she said. “I’m not just some f*****g bimbo,” hissed Carrie. “I could buy and sell you…” Veronica turned her eyes back to the reddening face of the young woman that sat next to her and closed her eyes. Veronica uttered a few last words, almost at a whisper. “I doubt it very much,” she said. “In fact, I think that I could buy and sell you and that boyfriend of yours…”