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scanned the crowd of people waiting for their turn to board
his flight. She ran up and down the rows of chairs in a
panic. She had to find him. He had to be here.
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The Not-So-Perfect Man
Knowing she couldn t get to the gate without a ticket,
Ilene had ordered hers by cell phone on the way to the air-
port. Once she got to Kennedy, she used her credit card at
the e-tickets machine, got a paper boarding pass, and hur-
ried to security. She had to relinquish her prized pair of
manicure scissors ($25), her tortoise-shell handled nail file
($15), and her Swiss army knife ($100). She could redeem
the items on her return, or try the airport lost and found.
She was in too much of a rush to listen to all the details, so
she mentally kissed her grooming tools goodbye.
She beelined to the gate. Ilene hadn t run like that since
the sixth grade, when she swore off moving at a pace that
would make her glow. She was glowing with a cause now,
and not ashamed of it.
SAM HILL! she shouted again, as loudly as she could.
Raising her voice higher than she had since the seventh
grade, when she swore off calling undue attention to her-
self in an unseemly fashion. WHERE ARE YOU??!!
A fat, bald, pockmarked man came up to her. He said,
You re looking for Sam Hill?
She said, You know him?
The man said, I m Lars Altuna. The artistic director for
No Sudden Movement Players.
Where s Sam? she demanded, grabbing his ugly poly-
ester jacket lapels and pulling him toward her.
I m right here, said Sam, coming up alongside Lars Al-
tuna.
Ilene exhaled. You have to stop Frieda from marrying
David. She checked her watch. In one hour.
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alerie Frankel
Sam blanched. She s going to marry him?
Not if we get there first, said Ilene.
He said, Now you like me?
Who I like doesn t matter.
Is this because of the post office?
Yes, it is, she said. And now we go. She tugged his
sleeve.
Lars Altuna tugged on the other. Not so fast, Sam, he
said. We have a show tomorrow night in London. You re
contracted to do it. If you don t get on the plane, you re
fired. You ll never work in this town again.
Sam said, I barely work in this town now. Let s go, Ilene.
Ilene said, You re not fired. She dug in her purse and
pulled out a plane ticket. She said, This a Virgin Airlines
ticket in Sam s name, leaving New York tomorrow morn-
ing at six, arriving in London at noon. He can be at the the-
ater by two. He ll do the show tomorrow, and he ll get
tonight with Frieda before he disappears for two weeks and
makes her crazy again. She drew breath. Sam, give me
your ticket for today s flight.
They exchanged tickets. She found the luggage claim
check stapled to it and shoved it into Lars Altuna s hand.
She said, Lars, pick up Sam s bags in London and take
them to the hotel for him. She pulled a couple of twenties
out of her wallet. For any inconvenience.
Sam and Lars stood motionless and watched Ilene work.
She was the queen of planning. Too bad she was giving it
all up. Or maybe she could simply stop evil plotting and use
her powers for the greater good.
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The Not-So-Perfect Man
Lars said, Works for me.
This is a first-class ticket, Sam said of his seat for to-
morrow s flight.
They didn t have any seats in coach, she said.
How much was it? asked Sam.
Never mind, she said. Two thousand dollars.
You spent two thousand dollars to reunite me and
Frieda?
Plus the five hundred for my Virgin ticket to get to the
gate, and another two hundred for miscellaneous expenses.
Sam whistled. Almost three thousand dollars? That s
one-seventh of my annual income.
Ack! bleated Ilene. Don t say that out loud. It hurts
my ears. I never want to hear it again.
They exited the airport and got a taxi. In the backseat,
Sam said, The night we broke up, I said something terri-
ble to Frieda. She might not forgive me. She might marry
David anyway.
Ilene said, You take direction? He nodded. We show
up. You look at her with your eyes. Say as little as possible.
She really gets off on the pensive, laconic Maine treatment.
And kiss her. She also gets off on your lips. Although they
seem a bit thin to me. It might be best not to make a big
speech. You two did most of your communicating without
words anyway.
It s a plan, he said.
She cringed. Don t say that word.
333
Chapter 41
Friday, September 26
Noon
Betty called in sick. She didn t have any personal days left.
She d used them up in Earl s hotel room. She d been lying
in bed for hours. The thought of this marriage made her
tired. How did Frieda do it? David was, inarguably, a catch.
What was it about her sister that drew men? Betty couldn t
draw a man with a pencil. She hated herself for the jeal-
ousy, but it had crept into her head and wouldn t leave.
Things had become strained with Peter, too. In the week
since their Braveheart screening, he d been remote. He d
been looking at apartments one bedrooms and studios.
She told him that he should just go home, back to Ilene,
where he belonged. But he insisted on getting his own
place, determined to leave yet another Schast sister to her
own devices.
Earl, meanwhile, had dropped off the face of the Earth.
Betty s steely resolve had lasted only one day before she
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alerie Frankel
called his hotel. She tried his cell. She paged him. No re-
sponse. Maybe he d been killed by a mugger. Or eaten by a
pack of feral dogs. Or been bound, gagged, and manacled
at an S & M club. Hit by a bus, run over by a subway, or
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