"Excuse me, pardon me."
I'd dummied my way into the Priority Pass TSA line. Still, I wait. The line's certainly the shorter of the two, but it's still a line, and still, I'm waiting.
"Pardon me."
The guy in front of me was an actor on Lost once upon a time. Now he's just a guy in the Priority Pass line. He smiles at me when he turns and we eye contact.
"Coming through."
It's a TSA agent. She's cutting through the line with her hand raised, sounding off. It's a second before I realize there's people following her, two people: a short woman, and before her a bewitching minx of a girl, almost my height. She looks like maybe she's tired behind her sunglasses, or maybe she's just bored; long uncrushed strides, she breezes by silently.
"Excuse me."
I don't even hear her shoes. There's not much of a rise in them. She's naturally tall and her leather jacket stops way short of her waist so I see the tight lines of her back after she slides past. Not a sound from her. She seems quite pleased with herself.
Just before the metal detectors, she half-turns back in an elegant way in which her whole body swings, and in profile I see her eyes and the rise of her nose and I can't help but blow her a kiss. Lips puckered, and the ends of hers curl. I guess she was expecting only staring faces.
That's right, it's Paris fashion week. I'll see you there, darling.
***
"I've never seen you nervous. Do you know how to look nervous?"
There.
