Transport to Destiny

The hot July sun glinted in the windshield of Carol Stiver's Ford Escort, and shot a blinding-white hood reflection, in her eyes. She lowered both the sun visor and the bill of her red mesh baseball cap, and squinted through scratched Ray Bans.

Ordinarily, the busy streets of Satin Sands were of no concern to Carol. As a model she was used to zipping from one place to another in short order, but the press of traffic was unusually heavy today because of the all-star game ten miles away. Now, rushed for an appointment, she must hurry to make up lost time and still make fifteenth street by two o'clock.

Brunette tendrils at the base of her neck, escaped their mesh cover and buffeted her snug tee shirt as she sped along. She glanced at her side mirrors, then executed a lane change onto Coast Freeway, before she found herself deeper in the concourse.

The black hands of her Seiko read one-fifteen as she slipped into a space in the adjacent lane and edged up one spot nearer the ramp.

Why did Adella always schedule her so tightly? She glanced at the shoe box and zippered garment bag, lying on the red bucket seat beside her. She'd have to hurry.

She thought back over the ten years she'd been a model for Glamour Girls and remembered that she'd maintained this pace for most of that time. Her heart was never in it anyway and now at thirty-one it wasn't any wonder that she was burning out. She'd had her fill of continuous diets, pompous photographers, ill tempered clients, not to mention hectic schedules and the self sacrifice.

More than once lately, she'd imagined herself in a suburban life, with a parcel of kids and a husband that helped share her family's business at the diner. There would be love, and a regular life. Not this frazzled dual-career mess that kept her hopping, and her Escort in the shop. But these dreams; previously discarded under the sacrificial heading of her career, now emerged from a recent realization that her self-sacrifice had been in vain. Abdicating the modeling forefront to others, through the natural evolution of age, was just an unconscious eventuality; a fact she suppressed in the recesses of her mind. Now with younger blood emerging in the company, stealing the covers and the glitzy jobs, Carol's back seat was becoming less appealing.

Downtown, a client awaited her arrival. Markum Grant would be all smiles at his newly renovated shopping plaza. The opening would be officiated by the city council, the mayor, local dignitaries and company stock holders. Her official duty was to look pretty and hand a giant pair of scissors to Mr. Grant for the ribbon cutting ceremony. It was such an embarrassing cut below her usual work, but she accepted the assignment as a favor to Adella Parker, the head of her agency.

Now if luck was on her side, she'd arrive just in time to duck into a rest room, fluff out her hair, and change from her white cut-offs and tee shirt into the red gown Adella had furnished.

Downtown, the iridescent smile of a lanky blonde waitress, prompted the conclusion of a late business lunch.

"Would any of you gentlemen like a refill?"

"None for me."

"No thanks."

"How about you Mr. Reynolds?" she asked, casting the senior member a coquettish smile.

"No thanks. I have a meeting at two o'clock and its getting late."

The waitress vamped a hungry look. "See you tomorrow, Jack."

"Yeah", his associates echoed. "Catch you later, Reynolds."

Briefcase in hand, he straightened his tie, and left the Flamingo Room of the Robinson Building. He smiled as he remembered the skeletal layout of this beauty. He had labored over the plans for two years, before they were accepted by the Satin Sands Building Commission.

Now, on the second floor, he passed specialty shops and a restaurant, before descending the escalator to his favorite spot; the atrium entrance. How he loved this building. Coming here for lunch everyday was like therapy, for this baby had epitomized his architectural dreams since college. And to have it so close—right in the hub of his home town—was very gratifying. Everything sparkled with color. Sunlight cascaded in beams to the shiny leaves of fiscus trees, and the long pendulous arms of twelve-foot Norfolk Island Pines. Below them, tropical crotons brightened planters, in mottled shades of red, yellow and orange. And as he descended, he took this time to think of Nadra—just like he did every day. He couldn't forget her. And someday she'd want to remember him too.

As Jack stepped onto the black marble floor that based the three-story, glassed atrium, he shrugged it off. Then he left the climate controlled building and stepped into the, noisy heat.

A Latin driver pulled up in a city cab seconds later, and flashed a wide grin from under a cap of black curls. "Where to?"

"Creiton Towers."

"Got it."

Jack snapped open his leather briefcase as they zoomed out into the traffic. He read his secretary's emphatic reminders and focused on the client. Hoshikama Corporation... 2:00... Client flying from Japan... 'He will not reschedule again, Jack'.

The driver knew by experience, that 'three piece suits' were good tippers, and in such cases; a little conversation never hurt. "Sure is hot out there."

Jack was absorbed in his notes. "It usually is in June," he mumbled.

The driver glanced in the rear view mirror. "How about those All-Stars?"

Silence was his passenger's response as they slowed for a light.

"Its gonna be a hot game, huh."

"So I've read."

"Say, you look familiar. Aren't you uh..."

"Jack Reynolds. Future Span World Developers."

"I thought you looked familiar."

Jack glanced at his watch impatiently. "I need to be at Creiton Towers as soon as possible."

The cabby smiled, accelerated and knew his tip was assured.