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Duchess
I’ll remember that.
Luke
What are you doing tomorrow night?
Duchess
I don’t kiss and tell.
For the rest of the week, this was our exchange. Every night around midnight, she’d text me as if she knew I’d be awake. We’d talk about nothing in particular, yet it still meant something. That Friday morning, it took three rings for her to answer her cell phone.
“So we’re advancing to talking on the phone versus text messaging? Our friendship is getting a little serious, Jameson. I don’t know if I’m ready for all that.”
I smiled, asking, “Want to go to New Orleans?”
“New Orleans? When?”
“Now.”
“Right now? For what?”
“To play… meet me in two hours at my private hangar.”
“You’re insane. I have to work.”
“Your boss just gave you the time off.”
“That’s convenient.”
“I have everything taken care of. I’ll text you the address.”
“Luke—”
“That’s an order from your boss.”
“I think that qualifies as harassment.”
“Great, you can take it up with me in New Orleans.” I hung up and texted her the address.
When eleven rolled around, I was half surprised she actually showed up. I saw her pull up in a 1961 black Lincoln Continental and almost fell on my ass.
Stepping out of the plane and down the stairs, I hollered, “And the Duchess shows up as a queen.”
She smiled, closing the suicide door. “Yeah, I take her out for a spin sometimes.”
“I can’t say I’ve seen a lot of women driving around in a pristine classic car before. You may be the first.”
“I like to keep people on their toes.”
“I see that. How long have you owned this baby?”
“A few years. I don’t drive her often other than to car shows or around the beach, but I figured you’d appreciate it.”
“Any man would.”
She threw her huge bag over her shoulder and made her way over to me.
