Last night I had the unenviable task of preventing Mr. Klienveldt from leaving Boston. Mr. K had just lost his job as campaign manager for the candidate and in a huff was planning to go to Washington (D.C.). Somebody had let the ball drop. Things should never have reached this far. I should have never been called in. Of course, certain parties wanted to ease his passage to D.C.
Mr. K of course did not want to alarm his wife and so conveniently did not mention the loss of income to her. Well it wouldn't have mattered if Mrs. K had stayed in Wyoming as she originally planned to. But when Google flights suggests that you return a week earlier and save $300 (yes, you read that right) you do not just ignore it. So she came back. Just in time to conveniently run into Mr. K and Ben, their 1 year old son, at the waiting area.
Mr. K was reclining on the uncomfortable airport chair with his son slung over the arm of said chair, contemplating on his near future. This is when he heard the familiar sharp intake of breath which meant that, forget his near future, his immediate future was in imminent danger. He looked up startled, almost toppling his precious son. As I looked on from behind a useless newspaper, I congratulated myself on another job well done and rustled about, ready to up and leave. But my job is never that easy. It turned out I did not know Mr. K as well as I thought I did. He came clean about his job scenario and did not invent the convenient lie of having come there to receive his wife. Surprise! Now Mrs. K wanted to join him on his journey to D.C. What's more as they moved their discussion to the airport coffee house, lo and behold, a woman was loudly proclaiming her disinterest in traveling to D.C. in the very same flight as Mr. K. Mrs. K could not believe her good fortune and neither could I. As she fell into conversation with the non-traveling woman who wanted to surprise her sailor boyfriend by staying, I decided it was time I stepped in.
The exchange of pleasantries had happened and so had the ticket for money exchange. And to my dismay I recognized the sailor's good girlfriend for one of my former. This was not good news. I thought my chameleon days were over. They all ordered coffee and the girlfriend excused herself to presumably go to the restroom (probably to contact Control). I occupied the now vacant seat. Klienveldt was busy on the phone, so it was his missus who first noticed me. Naturally, she asked who the blonde gentleman might be. I replied that I was a former employee of her husband's and owed everything I was to him. She was so overcome by my sincerity that she responded with her first smile of the day. Her timing could not have been worse as Mr. K returned to profess no knowledge of knowing me. I laughed it off, holding her hand, spreading warmth through her, saying I was her kind hearted friend's sailor boyfriend and wanted to surprise her. Much relieved, the K family joined me in my laughter, Ben included (he probably knew better than his parents, my source of mirth). The coffees arrived and I took my former girlfriend's and excused myself, saying I will go find her. As I stood up, my Navy whites momentarily blinded them as the sun peeked out spreading crimson throughout the Boston sky.
I met my supposed girlfriend at the next table, and handed her, her coffee. The chameleon that I am she did not recognize me and accepted the coffee thinking that I was merely transferring it. I left them happy, my job once more done. The familiar scream, the instant panic followed by the crowding. Then I made the mistake of turning to look, to find Mrs. K's accusing eyes burning into mine. She shouted to alert the incoming security of my presence. I turned and ran in a most obvious fashion..
As I walked out of the airport in my tweed jacket, with the wind rustling through my dark receding hair, I silently appreciated my own foresight in paying the five Navy men to run through the airport corridor exactly at 6 am. I looked up to see the crimson dawn turning into day. Hopefully my days as the chameleon were at an end...
