Bali High

By Christy S Sebastian

Business partners and best friends, Cydney Peyton and Lannie Last, are offered a free vacation to Bali and all they have to do in return is escort a mysterious fiancé, man servant and thousands of dollars of Balinese handicrafts to London. It all sounds easy enough, but Cydney and Lannie soon find their dream beach vacation comes at a chi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christy S Sebastian
• Release date: Jun 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9780578925486

Book preview

Cydney Peyton, buried in a down coat and wool cap, stepped out of her station wagon and scowled at the dull light of the January sky. I hate winter, she murmured, pulling a canvas bag from the back of the car. Why hadn’t she moved west after college? She could be in a pair of shorts drinking a date milkshake right now. Shouldering her handbag, she repositioned the heavy canvas sack on her opposite arm and walked across the icy parking lot to the industrial building that housed her business, Peyton/Kast Design. The building, stark as a stand of winter elms, was mostly empty, a developer’s dream that hadn’t quite come true. The new building plans included trendy restaurants, housing and retail. Admittedly, Cydney and Lannie Kast, her partner, had fallen for the whole gentrification pitch and signed on. Now, three years later, they were still waiting for the urban redevelopment to begin. With renewed despair, Cydney clutched her package and clomped down the metal stairs to the entrance of their tiny basement offices.

When she opened the door, the hobo bag on her shoulder slipped, pitching her forward into the room. She stumbled and dropped the ungainly bundle clutched to her chest. The package, an overripe pod of fabric color swatches, hit with a thump and burst open, sending the little squares flying like seed pods.

Shit! Cydney cried, grabbing the back of a chair. God damn it!

She threw her handbag into the room and stomped on the fabric samples like she was putting out a fire. Take that, you little fuckers!

Cydney! Lannie hissed, covering the phone. Can you tone it down?

Cydney put her hand over her mouth and closed the door behind her, wondering if the party on the other end was a client. She tiptoed back into the room, sat down at her desk and waited for Lannie to finish her conversation. Lannie looked unusually distressed, which meant she was probably talking to her ex-husband, Charlie Kast. Her right leg, crossed over the left, was shaking violently, making her curly blond hair bob like seaweed.

No, Charlie, you’re not listening. I am not interested, Lannie said, covering her free ear. I mean, I’m not that broke. Are you kidding? Ira Beck? Seriously? Well, sure, it would be nice to go to Bali, but not like this. Yeah? Well, maybe if you paid me the child support you owed me, I wouldn’t need the money. Uh huh. You think all these stupid ideas are great. I gotta get off. Sure, I’ll let you know if I change my mind. Bye. Lannie hung up the phone and rested her head in her hands.

What was that about? Cydney asked, pulling her cap off.

Charlie, Lannie groaned. Just Charlie.

Cydney had known both Charlie and Lannie since college. Even then, Charlie Kast had been charming but untrustworthy, a guy with a thousand big ideas. Having talked most of his friends into lending him money for various schemes, he went on to pursue a shadowy life in the restaurant business in Philadelphia. There, Charlie and Lannie, now married, had become the center of a chic group of young entrepreneurs whose every move was covered in the social column of the Philadelphia newspapers. If you believed the papers, it was all good; until Lannie showed up on Cydney’s doorstep ten years later with a two-year-old and no money.

Ah, yes, Charlie. Cydney leaned back in her chair. No doubt offering you all of your back child support and a trip to Disneyland, yes?

Yeah, right. Lannie turned in her swivel chair and faced Cydney with a grim expression. Do you remember me telling you about Ira Beck? One of Charlie’s so-called business partners in Park City?

Cydney nodded, searching her brain for the information. There were so many Charlie stories, it was hard to keep track. Sort of. Mafia type?

No, not exactly. More east-coast-trust-fund-pot-smoking-Jewish-ski-bum type. Anyway, Ira needs someone to go to Asia and escort his new Balinese fiancée to London. I believe this is wife number three or four. It’s a good thing he lives in Utah. Charlie said Ira would pay all of my expenses and a fee if I would do it. Oh, and stay in his house in Ubud for as long as I wanted. Can you believe it? Lannie swiveled back toward her desk and refocused on the computer screen. Have you ordered the drapery fabric for the Conley job?

Cydney rubbed her arms, stood and slowly took off her coat. The smell of damp wool radiated off her body. Crazy. A free trip to Bali. Wow, that is weird.

I know, Lannie agreed. Oh, and there’s a manservant or something too. A pair of refugees to bring back.

The heater made a noise like a car backfiring, reminding Cydney she needed to call the landlord. The office never really warmed up this time of year and Cydney was tired of wearing mittens at work. January in Minneapolis in an under-heated basement office made her feel like a trapped mole. Bali sounded like the perfect getaway.

Is it any more complicated than that? Cydney asked, picturing palm trees on the beach. I mean, Bali. I’ve always dreamed about going to Bali.

You don’t know Ira Beck, Lannie responded without looking up. It can’t be a legitimate ask.

No, I don’t know him, yet he’s offered to pay your way around the world. It’s worth a ponder. Cydney rubbed her mittened hands together. When Lannie looked up at her, Cydney smiled sheepishly.

Cyd, the man is a creep. He pays Asian women to be his consorts. What don’t you get? This requires no pondering.

Okay! Okay! Cydney pushed the fallen fabric samples into a pile with the toe of her boot. But, hell, Lannie, we’re talking about an exotic island here. Palm trees, cold beer, soft evening breezes. She paused, wondering if her Pucci sundress still fit. Shit. I’d do it in a minute.

Cydney was surprised by her sudden intensity about the Bali trip. Maybe it was the dregs of winter that had her down, but wasn’t Lannie sick of winter too? Cydney was sick of everything right now — clients, the weather, friends, her children, even her dog, Putz, who was normally the love of her life. Here I am, Cydney thought, forty-two years old, stuck in a basement in the Midwest with my college roommate, trying to sell sofas to suburbanites. How sad is that? Bali sounded like the perfect antidote to a predictable and pathetic midlife crisis. It was 1992. Cydney would turn fifty when the century passed and the thought terrified her. She would be fifty and never have gone to Bali. The minute the word had been uttered, it rang in her tired ears like a siren’s song: Bali, Bali, Bali. She saw a beach with coconut palms and sailors in white uniforms, herself in a red bathing suit, sipping a drink with a little umbrella.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to see Bali too, Cyd, but not under these circumstances. Okay, so did you order the fabric for the Conley job or not?

Of course, Cydney replied. Who always orders the fabric for all these pathetic jobs? I did it two weeks ago. Listen, what if you told Charlie you’d do it if I could come too? If Ira’s so rich, he could pay for both of us and then it would be a …

Stop! I’m not going on some lamebrain trip to pick up somebody’s sleazy girlfriend, Cydney. That’s insane. What’s wrong with you? Lannie dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand.

Look, Lannie, our clients have dwindled to a few crabby housewives wanting pillow makeovers. Maybe if we left for a couple of weeks, we could change our luck. Cydney perched on Lannie’s desk. She felt desperate. Come on. We won’t hear about the hotel project until the end of March. Why sit here and stare at the phone?

Lannie gave Cydney a pained sideways glance from under a shelf of hair, tapping the eraser end of the pencil on her desk in a nervous staccato. This is Charlie, Cydney, remember? Charlie, the man you told me not to marry, proposing some harebrained idea from one of his druggie ski buddies.

Cydney flashed on Charlie’s last great investment idea, a chicken take-out restaurant in the least desirable neighborhood of Park City. Charlie insisted that with a dearth of affordable eateries, the proposed restaurant would attract underfunded skiers looking for chicken wings and cheap beer. A gold mine, he promised. That was what he told Cydney when he pitched it to her. Problem was, of course, that Charlie could not get a liquor license (or a loan, for that matter) so he had partnered with some trust-fund kid from Vermont. That guy disappeared when Charlie’s supply of Hindu Kush ran out. The chicken wings never materialized.

Undaunted, Cydney continued. Lannie, we haven’t had an adventure in years. We used to be all about the adventures. Remember Barbados? Bermuda? All the other B’s? It’s twenty degrees below zero in this miserable town and we’re freezing to death in our underground offices. This is the gulag, for chrissakes. Look at my hands! I have chilblains. Cydney held up her hands for Lannie’s inspection.

You’re wearing mittens, Cydney, but I’ll take your word for it. Go skiing or something. You’re bored. Lannie shooed her off the desk and returned to the computer screen.

The heater clanged and coughed out a stream of hot air. Cydney’s mind raced. The claustrophobia of the tiny office combined with the damp heat made her feel faint, as the vision of Bali receded with her unheard pleas. She would have to change strategies before Lannie closed the door altogether.

Okay, if you don’t want to do it, call Charlie and tell him I’ll do it. Never mind. I’ll call him. What’s his number?

Whoa! You will not call Charlie! Lannie wheeled around in her chair, almost knocking Cydney down. Cydney, get a grip. I can’t just get up and leave. Brianna has school. I have bills. I have no money. My crazy ex-husband always has some scam going. Don’t you think it’s odd that Ira Beck can’t go and fetch his own bride? And what about the Conley job?

The Conley job? Cydney sputtered. We’re talking curtains versus Bali? We’ll buy hand-printed batik fabric in Bali for the fucking Conley job! When did you get so focused on work?

It had always been Lannie who suggested spontaneous trips in the past. Lannie had been the carefree college co-ed who saw attending class as an unattractive option to fun. Cydney realized that ten years of marriage to Charlie and single parenting may have tempered Lannie’s former fun-loving behavior, but she refused to believe that she would bypass an all-expense paid adventure to the most beautiful spot in the world. Lannie hadn’t changed that much.

I care about work as much as you do, Lannie said evenly.

Cydney bit her tongue. Like hell, she thought. In reality, it was Cydney who did the lion’s share of work at Peyton/Kast Design. There was always a perfectly good reason why Lannie couldn’t meet with a client or finish a design scheme: Brianna was sick; the car broke down; or she had to wait for the plumber. It wasn’t that Lannie couldn’t do the work, she was a talented designer. It was just easier to let Cydney do it. And, since Cydney was a little bit of a control freak, they both let the system stand as is.

Of course you care, so you must be as exhausted as I am, Cydney said, hoping bonding in misery would be the key to success. You have a twelve-year-old and a full-time job. I have a thirteen-year-old and a ten-year-old. If I have to make another tuna casserole, I might kill myself. Even Dan, the nicest husband in the world, is trying my patience. And this job? Don’t get me started. People calling us about chintz fabric and sconces and then trying to get us to do work for free, like design isn’t a real profession. I’ll strangle the next person who haggles with me about money.

Lannie leaned back in her chair and chewed on her pencil. I’m not disagreeing with you, Cydney. I’m tired of all of this as well, but you have Dan to watch your children. I have Charlie.

Cydney started to pace the room, occasionally pointing a finger at Lannie for emphasis.

Charlie will take excellent care of Brianna and you know it. What happened to that girl who drove around in the yellow Porsche and snatched me from class to go drinking in trucker bars? What happened to the three a.m. greasy spoon breakfasts? What happened to spontaneously going to New York for no reason? Huh? I almost flunked out of college because of you. Now you have responsibilities? Now you’re a committed adult? Come on, Lannie! What’s the worst that can happen?

Lannie’s eyes widened and Cydney could tell she was mentally listing all of the things that could go terribly wrong.

Okay. I’m starving, Cydney said. Let’s go get lunch while we’re thinking it over. Pulling her wool cap over her head, she smiled at Lannie. I’ll buy.

Cydney and Lannie, huddled closely together against the cold, pushed open the door of the over-heated restaurant, and breathed a communal sigh of relief. The Lotus Blossom Café was a seedy, but predictable, hole-in-the-wall, serving what passed for Asian food in a bad neighborhood in downtown Minneapolis. It offered an eclectic mix of Chinese and Japanese dishes, all pretty standard issue in Asian-American restaurants.

But what the restaurant lacked in excellence it made up for in proximity, and the partners of Peyton/Kast Design ate there almost daily. The restaurant was the place they worked through their business plans, discussed their lives and families and complained about aging. The formidable Madame Chang, hostess and owner of the Lotus Blossom, greeted them warmly as the two women headed toward their usual table at the back of the restaurant.

Ah, nice to see you again, Madame Chang sang. Very, very cold. Here, here. You sit.

Madame Chang did not wait for a reply to her greeting, but bustled back to the kitchen to give some direction to the staff in rapid Chinese. Actually, Cydney wasn’t clear if she was speaking Chinese or Taiwanese or Korean. Madame Chang could be a pseudonym. Her real name could be Betty Smith for all they knew. It never ceased to amaze Cydney that Chinese food could be found in any town in any country in the world no matter how remote. Chinese food was the world’s great migratory cuisine.

Two years ago, Cydney, Dan and the kids had taken a driving trip through Costa Rica, a country Cydney basically remembered for its bad food and equally bad roads. One day, lost, they found themselves in search of a meal in a tiny town somewhere in the middle of the country. The town could not have been bigger than a few hundred people and offered almost nothing in the way of anything, including restaurants. But just as they were about to leave on the two-lane road that brought them there, resigned to another meal of packaged cookies, Dan spotted a sign for the Dragon Café located about 200 feet from the single petrol pump that passed for a gas station. Starving, they parked, leapt from the car and pushed single file through the heavy curtain that was the entrance to the café. Much to everyone’s surprise, the Dragon Café turned out to be a cheery, if cheesy, little eatery, festooned with standard issue Chinese lanterns, white tablecloths and framed pictures of various Chinese ancestors. They could have been in downtown Minneapolis or Singapore — all sense of place homogenized. The bigger surprise was the food, which they attacked like savages. It was one of the rare occasions that neither of the children complained about the meal.

What are you thinking about? Lannie asked.

Chinese food, Cydney said.

Well, think Japanese. I’m starving. Are you getting the usual? Lannie shoved her menu to the side and leaned on the table.

The usual, Cydney knew, was Nabeyaki Udon, the only Japanese dish either of them ever ate at the Lotus Blossom Café. There were probably other, equally good dishes on the menu, but when they discovered the Nabeyaki Udon on their first visit, they never changed direction again. What’s more, the wait staff at the restaurant no longer bothered to ask them.

I like being a regular here, Cydney said. It’s very comforting.

Yes, Lannie agreed. But one day we will have to make them remove the Mexican oilcloth table covers. Not only are they jarring with the red paper lanterns, they haven’t been cleaned in years.

Well you’re the one leaning on it, Cydney observed. Besides, this is Minneapolis. No one will notice the cultural mix-up with the Mexicans.

That’s the first thing we did notice when we came here. Lannie ran a fingernail across the surface of the oilcloth as a waiter appeared with two bottles of Sapporo beer.

Thanks, Gaku, Lannie said as the waiter left. She studied her nail. That’s disgusting.

Yes it is, Cydney agreed. Now let’s talk about Bali.

No. Lannie squinted at Cydney and took a swig of her beer. Let’s not.

Oh, come on. I’m going crazy here, Lannie. This is an amazing opportunity. No, I do not know Ira Beck, but I do know Charlie. He wouldn’t set you up in something that would be truly dangerous. We might even have fun.

Charlie would do almost anything to help me make money so I’d quit asking him for child support. By the way, there’s more I didn’t tell you about. This little jaunt to Bali would also be a buying trip for Ira’s boutique in Park City. For my $1,000 fee, Ira wants me to pick up the bride, the manservant and all the Balinese crap for his shop.

Ira Beck owns a Balinese boutique in Park City? Wow. You didn’t tell me that. Seriously? Is there a bustling puppet trade on the ski slopes that I don’t know about? Cydney sat back as Gaku set the bowls of steaming soup in front of them. That’s by far the weirdest thing I’ve heard so far.

Hmmm, Lannie sighed, inhaling the warm scent of the broth. Ira Beck is definitely a weirdo, which is why I’m not taking him up on his offer.

Uh huh. So think about how much fun we would have shopping with someone else’s money! We love shopping! Cydney set her spoon down. That’s like winning the lottery. How much?

I can see we’re going to talk about this more, aren’t we? $10,000, Lannie replied.

That’s it? Cydney’s face fell. $10,000? That seems a little stingy.

We’re not talking about buying couture here, Cyd, Lannie said. We’re talking about poorly made batik t-shirts and tin ankle bracelets. You can buy a lot of crap for $10,000 in Bali apparently.

The two women ate silently for a few minutes, each lost in their separate thoughts. Cydney watched as Lannie swirled the egg in her noodle dish with practiced skill, making sure the yolk did not break as the egg white hardened. For someone who had lived a rather messy personal life, Lannie was meticulous about certain personal habits like eating, something that had been instilled in her by her Dutch parents.

Plus, I can’t really see leaving my daughter with her father for two weeks. I mean that might constitute child endangerment, Lannie said, taking her first sip of soup.

Oh nonsense, replied Cydney. She’d be treated like a princess. Charlie adores her. Why don’t you tell Ira Beck that you’ll bring back the bride and do his shopping for $2,000 and the inclusion of your business partner as another non-negotiable expense and see if he goes for it?

Lannie sipped her soup in silence, her face revealing nothing.

I mean, Cydney continued, seeing the pause as a good sign, if he goes for that it would be a free, full round-the-world ride for both of us and a tidy fee for you. I also think we need the break from our business to get some perspective because Peyton/Kast Design needs an infusion of new ideas if we’re going to make it work.

Lannie stopped eating and placed her spoon carefully on the saucer. Are you suggesting that if we don’t go to Bali, we’re risking the business? That’s ridiculous. We’re just having a slow period. I don’t know why you are so intent on following through with this Bali folly. If you’re so unhappy, why don’t you just take a beach vacation? Leave Dan with the kids and get out of town for a few days?

The question took Cydney by surprise. Why not just take a beach vacation by herself? Why did this proposal appeal to her so deeply? Because. Because her life looked all the same color of brown right now — monochromatic as a Minnesota winter. Bleak. Barren. Brown. There was something more compelling about this offer that had nothing to do with weather. She wanted to feel something again that she hadn’t felt in years — the inexplicable joy of having a new experience that was free, unencumbered and reckless. She wanted to feel young again for a couple of weeks.

It isn’t about the beach, Lannie. And it isn’t about being alone. I want to do this with you, Cydney said. It’s the adventure I want, like the ones we used to have. My life, our lives, are running out of juice. We need to shake up our complacency before we grow old. We are growing old! We’ve lost our edge and our excitement about what we do. Don’t you just feel tired from the boredom? Aren’t you just stiff with boredom?

Lannie didn’t respond, but continued to sip her soup, occasionally slurping up an udon noodle. Cydney could tell she had opened a chink in Lannie’s armor.

Okay. Let’s say I am bored, Lannie said. All businesses have boring parts to them. It’s why it’s called work.

"Really? Interesting observation from someone who manages to avoid most of the parts that are called work, Cydney replied. I don’t see you involved in the tedious tasks of billing, taxes or ordering."

Hey, that’s not fair. Who deals with the stupid clients’ complaints and change orders and design reviews? You make it sound like I don’t do anything.

Cydney eyed her partner and decided to change direction. The debate about workloads would not end well.

No, of course you do a lot of the boring shit. Let’s face it, most of it isn’t all that exciting. It sure didn’t turn out the way we’d planned. Cydney broke the egg yolk in her bowl and watched the yellow strands thread their way through the broth. We thought we’d be rock stars. I should have gone to architecture school.

Oh, come on. Don’t go over that old ground again, Cyd. Architects have the same problems. They think they can create something beautiful for their clients, something visionary. Instead they fulfill other people’s bad ideas of good design. You’d be just as frustrated. Lannie stared out in space. Anyways, according to my father, there are no exciting careers. It’s just about working hard and doing a good job.

Cydney laughed, remembering Lannie’s dour Dutch father, an engineer by trade. I can just hear your dad’s lecture at the dinner table. All the more reason to take a break. Work will still be here when we get back, right?

You’re wearing me down, Cyd, Lannie said. She wiped her mouth then neatly folded her napkin. I guarantee you, Ira’s too cheap to send both of us to Bali, so this discussion won’t make any difference, but if you promise to stop talking about it, I’ll call Charlie and tell him our counter proposal, okay? What was it? My fee doubles and you get to come on his nickel? Right? Oh, and we go first class.

Cydney felt her eyes water. She nodded and stirred her soup with renewed vigor.

Thanks, Lannie. I know how persuasive you can be when you want something. Cydney couldn’t hide her excitement. Try really hard, okay? I promise we will have a whole new lease on life when we get back.

Lannie ducked her head to hide her grin. When you want to be irresistible you do an amazing job. I’m telling you, he’ll never go for it. Come on, eat your soup, we have work to do.

Cydney, settled in her seat, closed her eyes and savored the pleasures of first-class on Singapore Airlines. Everything about her seat, even the faint antiseptic odor of air freshener, made her happy. As she ran her hands down the soft leather of the armrests, she peered over at Lannie, who was deep in thought and busily chewing her right thumbnail.

"Lannie, have you figured out all the buttons on your console yet? I might need an instruction manual. And I read that they’re showing Silence of the Lambs on our own little TV monitors. Aren’t they adorable? And look! The footrest comes all the way up! Cydney buzzed her seat into the full recline position and lay back, assuming the pose of a corpse. Why haven’t I been flying first-class all along? Oh, that’s right, I couldn’t afford it. She laughed and buzzed herself back up to sitting. Hello. Earth to Lannie. Are you with us?"

Huh? Sorry. I’m just worried about Brianna. And I think I should have made copies of all this shit Ira gave me. If we lose this envelope with all his instructions, we’re screwed. Lannie resumed biting her thumbnail while gripping the 8 x 10" manila envelope to her chest.

So we won’t lose it, Cydney said.

Your name isn’t on any of the documents, Lannie said. And I’m the one who will have to deal with Ira if anything goes wrong.

Okay, okay, already. I know my name isn’t on any of the documents. Cydney gave Lannie a withering look. But let’s at least try to have fun. This trip could actually all work out. Cydney wondered if pushing Lannie into this trip was a terrible mistake. After all, Lannie was finally making it as a single parent, supporting herself and her daughter, stabilizing her life after the dismantling of her marriage. Well, this was no time to have regrets. Anyway, the documents are just a bunch of instructions and passport pictures. It’s losing the Traveler’s Checks that would be a tragedy. Do you want me to be responsible for those?

No, but let’s go over this stuff one more time so we both know what’s in here. Lannie pulled out the contents of the envelope and handed it to Cydney.

Alright, if it will help you relax a little. Let’s see here. We have two copies of passport photos, one of Shingta, the girlfriend-slash-bride-to-be, looking stiff and uncomfortable, and ditto for Naman, Ira’s driver-chauffer-houseboy. Man, these two could be out of central casting for a Kung Fu movie, but don’t these photos make them look like 19th century immigrants passing through Ellis Island? Cydney’s attempt at levity was completely lost on Lannie, who continued to stare at the papers as if they held some secret code.

Cydney, in fact, did not like thinking about the two Balinese they were delivering for Ira Beck. Her focus was on a vacation on a tropical island and any distraction from that fantasy was unwelcome. Even putting names to these faces made her uncomfortable. She quickly moved on to the next page in the stack. Okay, these are documents for the British Consulate and some more stuff for the British Consulate. We have all of Naman’s and Shingta’s visa information. It looks pretty clean to me. They probably need to sign these at some point. Here’s a letter to Ira’s household staff and some more instructions on what to buy for the store. Here’s an envelope with all the travel documents and, let’s see, yep, two copies of our itinerary. Plane tickets for the two Balinese, and, oh, a list of some people we might look up in Bali should we need company.

Yeah. Right. I can imagine what kind of friends Ira made in Bali, Lannie said. Okay, give it back. I’m going to say this one more time: something is not kosher here. I know Ira and I am one hundred percent certain that something is either illegal or shady about this whole deal.

Lannie. Cydney leaned forward in her seat. Ira is Charlie’s friend and Charlie would not put the mother of his only child in jeopardy. He may be an asshole, but he’s not that big of an asshole.

Lannie shot Cydney a withering look. Really?

Oops, sorry, Lan, Cydney said, grimacing.

Actually, Charlie had put the mother of his only child in jeopardy and almost in jail. Cydney flashed back on the night six years ago when Lannie had called her, hysterical, after the feds had handcuffed Charlie at the bar of their restaurant, the Stargazer Bistro. Apparently, Charlie was in the process of selling several ounces of cocaine to an undercover agent when the cops closed in. What struck Cydney most that night was not Charlie’s arrest, but Lannie’s surprise that he had been funding the restaurant through a vigorous drug trade. How could she not have known? Charlie Kast was Lannie’s blind spot, always had been. That year the Stargazer Restaurant went bankrupt and Charlie Kast went to jail, leaving Lannie and Brianna broke and homeless. That’s when Lannie packed up her daughter and moved in with Cydney and Dan in Minneapolis.

Okay. Charlie is that big of an asshole, but he wouldn’t do it twice. Oh look! The stewardess is passing out champagne! Cydney signaled to the attendant, hoping a drink might spark her former good mood. She watched enviously as the lovely young hostess sashayed toward them. Dressed in crop tops and sarongs, midriffs in full view, the flight attendants were all perfectly formed creatures, small, delicate and totally female. I could never get a job with this airline, Cydney mused, unless I was a baggage handler. She thought about her last airline trip, to the unglamorous city of Detroit. The flight attendants on that plane had been angry, postmenopausal women who appeared to be trained at Riker’s Island and who would cheerfully put your eyes out if you so much as asked for glass of water.

Cydney plucked two glasses of champagne off the tray and smiled sweetly at the stewardess, who bowed and left. She passed a glass to Lannie, who had sunk low in her seat and appeared to be working on another fingernail.

Aren’t you worried about Nicky and Beth? You’re leaving them for over two weeks? You’ve never left your kids that long. Lannie drank the contents of her glass in one pass and stared at Cydney.

Are we going to do this the whole trip? Cydney asked, annoyed. "Yes, I will worry about my children, but I’m hoping not all day every day. Dan is perfectly capable of handling this and his mother will be there every day after school. Are they completely fine with this arrangement? No, of course not, but I get a life too, damn it. No, we get a life. And Brianna will be fine too. Charlie will throw guilt gifts at her the whole time. They’ll all survive, Lannie."

Lannie leaned forward and stared past Cydney into the aisle. Where’s the stewardess? she asked. I need more champagne.

Cydney downed her glass of champagne, momentarily unnerved at the mention of her children. Beth and Nicky were her second skin, the daily heartbeat of her life. On the one hand, Cydney couldn’t imagine not being home with them; on the other hand, one more grilled cheese sandwich or soccer match might institutionalize her. Nicky was still good-humored and adorable, if a little awkward. He had yet to turn the corner on adolescence and Cydney savored this time with him. The day would soon come when Nicky found cuddling on the sofa with her unacceptable. Beth was far savvier than her little brother, knew all the latest on teen culture and found childhood a drudge. Cydney loved her daughter’s spunk and creative spirit, but often found her exhausting. In fact, Beth reminded Cydney of herself at the same age and she knew the next few years would be explosive.

The flight attendant glided down the aisle and Cydney pointed to her empty glass.

Lannie? If anything goes wrong, will you promise to marry Dan? I mean, he will need to remarry, and left to his own devices he’ll screw it up. Beth would eviscerate any other woman who dared join the family, except you, of course.

"That would never work. Dan’s not nearly damaged enough for me, Cyd, you know