Sending up Shoots - Part VIII

Elizabeth hadn't slept more than a couple of hours for weeks. She just couldn't get her brain to give it a rest. Hour after hour she would lie there, feeling the pillow get warmer and warmer, until she had to turn it over to get some relief. New York City summers, especially those without air conditioning, were sometimes very brutal.

Like an unwelcome neighbor, the memories of the last six months were a constant visitor to her conscience. She could still smell his aftershave, could still feel the way he caressed her hand, and the sick, weak feeling she had when she answered his question. She would regret saying that one word for the rest of her life.

When they arrived at the gate, Jax was already there, looking at his watch and pacing. He saw them when they were still halfway down the terminal. Grabbing his small bag and running toward them, he shouted, "Where have you been?"

Smiling, he grabbed Jax's hand and squeezed.

"How've you been, you old so and so?" he said.

Jax pulled his hand away and pointed at the clock across the terminal. "We got here a half hour ago," he exclaimed. "They think I'm talking in fifteen! What took you?"

"Nice to see you, too, Jaxxy!" he said, pulling Elizabeth closer. "I'd like you to meet someone very special to me, Jax. This is Elizabeth."

Elizabeth extended her hand and said, "Nice to meet you, Jax."

Jax shook her hand, but kept his eyes on him. "I've got to get over to the college, and I mean right now! Come on, we gotta get my bag!"

"What do you mean?" he asked. "I thought it was all starting tomorrow."

Jax shook his head. "No, no, no. I have to talk in fifteen! If I'm not there, we could come up short on a pantload of money from our client!!"

Jax wrung his hands and walked as fast as he could toward Customs and the baggage claim area. "I'm never going to make it! I'm going to get fired!"

"Jax, calm down!" he exclaimed, trying to keep up. "Customs won't take that long. Your clients will understand if you're just a couple of minutes late."

Jax stopped and stared at him directly in the eyes, lightly grabbing his collar in his right hand. "No, they won't!" he demanded. "You don't know them! If I'm not there, they'll go to another company! I'll be fired!"

"Wait, Jax," he said. "Elizabeth is a Custom's agent." Turning toward her he asked, "Isn't there something you can do, some way to get him through more quickly?"

Elizabeth loved him more than she'd ever loved anyone. She would have walked across fire. But all of her training screamed in her head. "No!" it exclaimed. "There's nothing you can do!"

She felt the anxiety deep in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to help Jax, desperately, but she'd been trained for just this sort of experience. Feeling her hands start to shake and her knees buckle, she heard herself say the word she never thought she'd utter in this situation.

"Sure."

A couple of weeks later he asked her to return to the airport again, and then another time three days later. Both times Jax had large bags that needed to skirt around the hovering Customs agents. Both times she helped, flashing her badge at the appropriate time. She trusted him, loved him, she wanted to be with him forever.

Until she found out what she'd been doing.

Sighing heavily and rolling back over onto her cooler side, Elizabeth remembered the distinct ring of her phone, now wishing she'd never answered the call. Late on a Thursday afternoon, six months before, he'd called her again and asked her to return to the airport with him. Elizabeth knew what she'd done was illegal, so she balked at the invitation. That's when he confronted her with the truth.

"What you don't realize, sweet Elizabeth, is that you've now helped us three times," he said. "Three times you've helped get illegal drugs into the United States. Three times you've become an accessory to a crime. Three times you've betrayed your training, your country and your agent friends. If you don't help us again, you WILL be turned in to the authorities with an anonymous phone call."

She shook her head and closed her eyes as she recalled how she'd packed her bags, bid farewell to her mom and dad, gone to the airport and bought a ticket for New York City...one way. Hopefully, he'd never be able to find her in such a big town.

Elizabeth raised her hand to her face and consciously swept away those distant memories, choosing instead to concentrate on the new ones she'd made since moving into her Brownstone on the upper West side. She'd found a good job, made a few new friends, and even met a handsome man in the Park who made it almost impossible to sleep.

The first time she saw him he was sitting on a small knoll just off one of the myriad jogging trails near the Lasker Ice Rink. She'd only been in town for a couple of weeks and was still too shy to talk to much of anyone, so she kept on her way.

Several days later she saw him again, this time making his way north toward Central Park West at Columbus Circle. He was going her way, so she followed him, about a block behind, until he turned down West 75th Street. She hurried to the corner so as not to lose him, but when she looked down the street all she saw was the requisite 60 cars parked along both sides and a large pile of gravel and dirt surrounded by traffic cones. He was gone.

She finally met him two weeks later, on a cool Autumn day when the wind was blowing and the leaves were starting to turn. Standing on the corner just outside her Brownstone, she lifted her hand to hail a cab.

After five minutes of unsuccessful attempts, a yellow taxi stopped in front of her. Stepping toward the cab she gripped the door's handle and pulled. Sticking her head inside she looked up and he was there. Sitting next to her.

"I..I..I'm sorry," she said nervously, quickly. "I didn't know this was your cab."

She was starting to back out when he reached out and touched her hand.

"Please," he said. "Share it with me."

Elizabeth breathed deeply, feeling her heart quiver like it had done only one other time. "Thank you," she replied. "That's very thoughtful of you."

She could barely contain her excitement. Her hands trembled as she gripped the handle and closed the door.

"My name is Elizabeth," she said, again feeling no more than twelve years old.

"Nice to meet you, Elizabeth," he replied. He stuck out his hand and shook hers firmly, smiling intently.

"My name is John."

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Coming soon - The Conclusion