Temptation by Douglas Kennedy

She might interpret the call as either clingy, needy, or paternalistic (in a
why aren’t you home?
sort of way). So I simply went to bed.
    When the alarm went off at seven the next morning, I found another note on the pillow beside me.
    ‘Crazy time. Got home at one last night, and I’m nowrunning out to a six-thirty breakfast with some of the Fox legal people. Call me at eight on my cell. Oh . . . and get a suntan for me.’
    This time she did scrawl
Love, S.
at the end of the note. That cheered me up. But when I rang her an hour later (as requested), she was brisk.
    ‘This isn’t a good time,’ she said. ‘Will you be taking your cell with you?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘I’ll get back to you then.’
    And she hung up. I forced myself not to be troubled by her brusqueness. Sally was a player. And this was how players behaved when things went to the mat.
    A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. I found a liveried chauffeur waiting outside next to a shiny new Lincoln Town Car.
    ‘And how are you today, sir?’
    ‘Ready for some fun in the sun,’ I said.

Four
    BOBBY AND I were the only passengers on the Gulfstream. However, there were four crew: two pilots and two hostesses. The hostesses were both blonde, both in their twenties, and both looked as if they were one-time drum majorettes. They were named Cheryl and Nancy, and they both worked exclusively for ‘Air Fleck,’ as Bobby referred to the gentleman’s fleet of planes. Before we took off, Bobby was already on the make with Cheryl:
    ‘Do you think I might be able to get a massage en route?’
    ‘Sure,’ Cheryl said. ‘I’m studying osteopathy part time.’
    Bobby flashed her a sly smile. ‘And say I wanted a very
localized
massage?’
    Cheryl’s smile tightened. Then she turned to me and said, ‘Sir, would you like a drink before take-off?’
    ‘That would be nice. Do you have any sparkling water?’
    ‘Come on, Dave,’ Bobby said, ‘you’ve got to toast a trip like this with a little French fizz. Air Fleck only serves Cristal . . . isn’t that right, dear?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Cheryl said. ‘Cristal is the champagne on board.’
    ‘Two glasses of Cristal then, dear,’ Bobby said. ‘And please . . . make them king-size.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘And should I ask Nancy to take your breakfast order before take-off?’
    ‘That would work,’ Bobby said.
    As soon as Cheryl disappeared into the galley, Bobby turned to me and said, ‘Cute ass, if you like the pert cheerleader type.’
    ‘You’re a total class act, Bobby.’
    ‘Hey, I was just flirting.’
    ‘You call asking for hand relief a form of flirting?’
    ‘I didn’t ask
directly
. I was being subtle.’
    ‘You’re about as subtle as a car crash. And who asks for a king-sized Cristal? This isn’t Burger King, you know. Rule Number One of being a good guest, Bobby: don’t try to sleep with the help.’
    ‘Hey, Mr Hoity-Toity, you’re the guest here.’
    ‘And what does that make you, Bobby?’
    ‘The
habitué
.’
    Cheryl showed up with the two glasses of champagne. Accompanying them were small triangles of toast, dappled with black fish eggs.
    ‘Beluga?’ Bobby asked.
    ‘It’s
Iranian
Beluga, sir,’ Cheryl said.
    The pilot came on the tannoy, asking us to buckle up for take-off. We were seated in thick overstuffed leather armchairs, bolted to the floor, but fully swivelable. According to Bobby, this was the small Gulfstream – a mere eight seats in the forward cabin, with a small double bed, a work station, and a sofa adorning the rear cabin. The plane was being flown this morning solely for our benefit. But I wasn’t complaining. I sipped my Cristal. The plane finished its taxi and came to a halt. Then it gathered up momentum and charged down the runway. Within seconds we were airborne, the San Fernando Valley disappearing beneath us.
    ‘So what’s it going to be?’ Bobby asked. ‘A movie or two? A little high-stakes poker? A Chauteaubriand for