30. Mission: Implausible

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My fingers ticked against my thighs to the rhythm of the music I had softly pumping into my ears. I was listening to my movie soundtrack playlist, the best I could come up with to salve my quickly developing claustrophobia. The "Pink Panther Theme" had played three times already in the shuffle. But it fit so nicely with my current situation, I had to hear it again when it came around the fourth time.

I had my head almost stuck between my stiffening knees by this point. I shifted my legs with what space I had. And it wasn't much. The trunk smelled of dust, leather, and old book paper. The air inside it was indescribably hot and stuffy, the little holes in the top I had cut for myself doing little to fix that. My shoulders ached from hunching over so long. I paused the music a moment, peered at the time.

I groaned. I'd only spent an hour in this godforsaken box? Lies! I'd been in this trunk for ages! I was born in here!

It was getting harder and harder not to beat against the side and call for help, but I didn't know if the muffled voices I heard just above the lid were friendly. A lot of good a panic attack would do me in the middle of a customs line.

Okay, I feel an existential crisis coming on, I said to myself. Who am I? I'm Julia Samuels. Not Eve Dubroc, Julia Samuels. Remember that. I'm a psych student from 2017. Where am I? I'm in an elevator stuck between heaven and hell, though right now I feel a little closer to the lower levels. It's the year 1977 where I am at present. And the guy I'm living with seems hell-bent on stealing my sanity from me even though that's almost all I have left. How did I get here again? Why am I in this dumb box about to get shipped to Las Vegas? Oh, yeah. Because, Freddie. Of course. How could I forget.

The trunk fell from some ledge, couldn't have been five feet off the ground. But with the one-hundred-fifteen pound female bulk it held, it toppled over and plunged heavily to the ground. I hit my head against the side of the trunk, barely stifling an "Oof."

"Careful!" I heard Freddie's voice, laced with nerves, a short distance away. "I've got some very delicate stuff in there."

Two men took either end of the trunk and with a grunt lifted me up. They started hauling me up a stairway; I felt myself lean forward into my legs, brutalizing my back further. Eight hours more of this. I want to die.

"Just put it up in there with us. Yes, that's nice. Perfect." Freddie sounded anything but calm. Maybe he'd give us away even before I had the chance to. Oh, the NFOs I was racking up. Hopefully I'd remember all of them for later official recording.

A few minutes later, I was set heavily down, and one of the two men asked, "What's all packed in there? Cinder blocks?"

"Something more precious than diamonds, my dear," Freddie cooed.

"A lot heavier, too," the other fellow remarked. "I do believe I strained a muscle."

I snorted. Wimps. Freddie slung me over his shoulder that one time and didn't even bat an eyelash.

They started pushing the trunk across the floor. Someone opened a sliding door and the two movers shoved me in. With a couple more gripes each, Tweedledee and Tweedledum walked out. I noticed several other voices as I was pushed along- all English, but none I automatically recognized. Not that I expected to know anyone on a public airplane, I just blandly wondered.

But it was odd, the way I was being taken to the luggage area of the plane. It seemed like they were carrying me down the aisle right in front of all the passengers. Weird plane. Was this how they worked way back in the 70's? Somehow I didn't quite believe that.

A fist tapped lightly against the trunk top. "How's it going in there?" Freddie whispered.

"Freddie! What are you doing back here?"

"Checking on you," he replied. "How do you feel?"

"Is there a chiropractor in the house?" I joked weakly.

Freddie snickered. "Just a few more minutes, darling. I promise."

"Who do you think you're fooling? I'm stuck in here another eight hours at least!"

That was how long it took to reach the JFK International from London's Heathrow Airport, where I assumed we were sitting now. According to Freddie, we would fly across the Atlantic, stop briefly in New York City for fuel, then make the rest of the trip nonstop to Las Vegas. I hoped I could sneak one little break in between time to stretch. I didn't want to go through the rest of my life as a deformed human pretzel just because Freddie had a funny idea.

"What makes you think that?"

"That's what you told me. Shoo! You shouldn't be back here anyway!"

"Oh," Freddie said, "I know what you mean now. Ooo, won't you be surprised."

"Freddie, I'm too achy for surprises, tell me what's goi-"

"Sh!" The clip-clop of platform soles was approaching us. Without realizing it Freddie put his hand over my air holes.

A few seconds of silence, when a deeper, less refined voice said something and Freddie collapsed into relieved laughter. "Sharon, my dear, you scared the shit out of me!"

"Sharon" made a clever comeback I couldn't quite make out, but Freddie's rejoinder was "Oh, but you know better than that, you've certainly seen it enough," and he said it in such a way that I honestly had no problem not catching what the first part was.

"Are those two muppets off the plane yet, darling?" Freddie asked. "Oh, good. Can you distract the ladies for me a m- oh, well, I suppose Straker's ahead of you there. Never mind. Give me a second, be right out."

Wait, wait, wait. Peter Straker's coming too? What is this?

I heard Freddie fiddle with a door, then he tiptoed back over to me. "Alright, Evie, let's get you out of there."

"But you didn't pay for a ticket for two, did you?"

"I didn't pay for any tickets."

"What? But how-"

"Do you want out?"

"Yes."

"Then enough with the questions. God, I can scarcely hear myself think."

But I squeezed in one more. "What about my papers and stuff?"

"Darling, just trust me, okay?"

Trust YOU. That's a laugh, I grumbled. "Sure, now would you please let me out if you're really offering?"

"Actually, no. I'm just here to get your hopes up. Gotcha." He got up off his knees and moved away.

"Where are you-"

"You said I should shoo, so, I'm shooing. See you in eight hours."

I was locked in a hot, cramped trunk, and Freddie the carefree cavalier was playing head games- and I still hadn't entirely recovered from stringing out the night before. I abruptly no longer cared about getting caught. I was just angry now.

"Let me out of here, damn you!" I shouted.

"That's better," Freddie quipped, walking back.

Did he just want to hear me swear? What's so great about that?

From within my imperfect darkness I heard a little rattling on the side as he worked at the lock. All of a sudden the trunk was flooded with light. Slowly I put my hands on either side of the open trunk. I stood on shaky, weak knees that buckled a little. Freddie caught my elbows before I dropped down again, leading me over to the bed. I fell back against the white shag bedspread, stretching my limbs luxuriously and cracking my neck.

"Prettiest girl I've ever seen come in a box," Freddie sang.

"Thanks," I said as I rolled over on my stomach.

He leaned down and rubbed my shoulders. "Wasn't so bad, was it?"

"You try folding yourself in there for an hour, and then we'll talk," I whispered, forgetting to be indignant at his touch. I went face down into the covers. What wonderful hands he had. They knew exactly where the soreness collected-

I lifted my head and frowned. A bed in the luggage area? Such a nice one too, a queen sized mattress with a lit lamp and nightstand on either side. And the elaborate psychedelic wallpaper it was pushed against didn't seem like a standard plane commodity. I sat up.

"Is this the plane?" I asked.

"No," Freddie said, pleasure warming his voice. "This is the bedroom on the plane."

Before I could say anything, he sauntered around to the door and opened it. My jaw dropped.

Freddie grinned. "That's the plane."

I slid off the bed and wobbled out, unable to believe my eyes. I was staring down a carpeted corridor that looked like the inside of the Enterprise. Plush couches lined one wall of the plane, broken only by what looked like an electric piano and a full bar. On the other side, comfy chairs that belonged in a bachelor pad stood, one of which occupied by none other than Peter Straker, who was naughtily chatting up a young woman dressed like a flight attendant. In the air I detected the faint but ever-lingering odor of marijuana, mingling with a fresher one of cigarettes, one of which was resting in the hand of the one and only Paul Prenter, who appeared from behind the divider.

In spite of Mr. Little Black Rain Cloud leering at me once more, I felt myself get a little excited. Freddie put his hand on my shoulder and whispered, "Surprise."

I turned to him with a widening smile. "How did you get a hold of this thing?"

"Very easily, in fact. It was just sitting here, looking rather lonely, in need of a party to shuttle somewhere. And since we're quite the party, I decided we couldn't possibly spring for anything less."

"We're taking this plane all the way to Vegas?" My suddenly high-pitched voice (thank God, my laryngitis was finally leaving my throat) gave away my mounting energy.

"We've got her for about sixty hours starting now, in case we should be, um, delayed, of course," Freddie winked.

Straker looked at me, wide-eyed. "Freddie, is she what you've snuck on here in that case?"

"She?" "Sharon" exclaimed from one of the chairs, which had its back to me. An oddly clad man with shaggy hair sticking out of his newsboy cap rose from it and turned. And I wanted to faint.

"Bad luck," Peter drawled. "I thought maybe it was something a little less scandalous, like champagne or blow." He laughed at his own joke.

"Don't you worry about that, love," "Sharon" said. "There's plenty of both."

"Are-" I swallowed, trying to keep myself under control. "Are all you guys coming along?"

"Us and a few others, they should be along in a moment," Freddie said. "Should have told you, dear, sorry. But I did say it was a party. You don't just charter the Starship and fly solo."

The Starship. That was Led Zeppelin's tour plane in the early to mid-70's, a notorious orgy hub. I made a mental note not to touch any of the doors or walls without sanitizing my hands immediately afterward.

"So which of Freddie's little dears might you be?" Sharon lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and came closer.

"This is Eve," Freddie crooned. "Eve, this is Sharon, also known as Elton."

With a blank face, I put out my hand, let him pump it up and down. "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road guy," I said slowly, to myself saying, Don't fangirl. Don't fangirl. No autographs, don't be impressed, I know you're tired, but don't lose it.

Elton John smiled, giving me a fine view of the gap in his front teeth. "That's me."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Oh, right, you recognize him."

"That's the only album I know!" I lied.

"That's good enough," Elton chuckled. "Are you here to keep us entertained, Miss Eve?"

I balked. "Entertained? Uh-"

"I'm about to explain all that," Freddie cut in quickly, "I just need everybody to pay attention, are those friends of yours on board yet, Straker?"

As he spoke, two strangers stepped on board with a carry-on suitcase each, which they put up onto the overhead shelves. "Everyone's here now," Peter announced, standing.

"Splendid," Freddie said. He took my hand and led me to the middle of the plane, where everyone could see.

"Alright, dear ladies, have a look this way, thank you," Freddie stated. All the heads, even those of the two stewardesses, turned toward us.

"I've told you where we're going, but I haven't told you why," Freddie began.

"It's Vegas, there's no need for why," Peter murmured slyly.

"Oh, but there is. Ours is a mission."

Elton walked toward the bar. "I'm still listening."

Freddie continued, "Here, we have Miss Eve Dubroc, a damsel in distress, and we good knights of the Round Table are here to help her. Her fiance, Mark Zuckerberg, awaits her in Las Vegas, and it's up to us to get her there."

I bit my lip when he said my "fiance's" name, trying not to laugh. That so far was indeed the most surreal part of this developing fiasco. Deep down I knew things would only get more surreal once we lifted off.

He went on, "I don't have to tell you it's Vegas, and that we're also going for a good time. Still, Eve is not our entertainment, she is our guest of honor. Treat her like one. There's plenty of fun what's here and waiting for us."

"You got it, Freddie," Peter laughed. "As long as I get to be Sir Galahad."

"F---, Straker, that's what I was going to say," Elton joked.

Don't worry, Sir Elton, you'll be a real knight before long. Patience.

Everyone agreed in one form or another, trading jokes about taking knight names. I couldn't help feeling a little grateful to Freddie for clearing the air on that. True, I was on a plane full of guys who were much more attracted to the Y-chromosome, but on a private party plane, anything goes. I dub thee Sir Lancelot, Freddie.

"Then I suppose we're ready, eh, girls?" Freddie turned to the stewardesses.

They grinned flirtatiously and winked. "Whenever you are," the more rubenesque one crowed. We all gave the thumbs up, and they sauntered toward the front to notify the pilot.

"Hey, wait. Where's Rudy?" I asked.

It was then the intercom crackled to life, and a familiar gruff voice spoke. Speak of the devil. "Hello, this is your pilot Rudy Barnes speaking, strap yourselves down. Liftoff in five."

"Rudy's flying this thing?" I gasped.

"Quite the jack of all trades, isn't he? We're lucky to have him. Got the funniest looks when I said I wanted this one. They tried talking me out of it. Silly things."

The engines roared to life, then. A few seconds later the wheels began turning under us as the Starship rolled toward the takeoff lane. We all moved to the front of the plane, where a few airplane seats still remained, and buckled ourselves in. Freddie sat down next to me, planting a kiss on my cheek as he did so.

Suddenly a really bad joke hit me. I had to. I mused aloud, "Such a shame Mary couldn't come."

Freddie's brows shot up. "Why's that?"

"Because then we could honestly say that among others, Peter, Paul, and Mary left on a jet plane."

Freddie closed his eyes and hung his head, chortling. "Oh, that was putrid."

"I know." My face turned bright red and I laughed into my hand. I was getting so excited. "Our mission, should we choose to accept it-"

"I think we're committed now, darling," Freddie said.

But I went on, "-Is to illegally get a girl across the Atlantic into Sin City and come back with a fake marriage license."

One of the strange men sitting in front of us, the one I would come to know as John (Yet another John! Too many English Johns!) Holmes, smiled. "What could possibly go wrong?"

I had an idea. I whipped out the Magic Mirror one more time, and noodled around the movie playlist for THE song.

"What are you doing?" Freddie asked.

"It's not official yet. We need this." I looked behind me to see Elton John loftily sipping a cocktail, and Paul and Peter across the aisle snickering about something. It wasn't time yet. We needed to start the liftoff before I could play this. Only then.

A couple more minutes, and the plane started rocketing across the runway. It was time.

Everyone began to laugh, the only one thinking to ask where the music was coming from being Paul. "What the f--- is that?" he cried.

But I was staring out the window as Heathrow whirled past, not listening to anything but the music. I gave a loud whoop, so completely jazzed and completely unprepared for what lay ahead of us. Before too long, the Starship lifted off the ground, and we began to tilt into the air.

"Let's do this!" I shouted. A couple of people whooped back in response.

"Are you ever going to show me how that thing works?" Freddie hissed into my ear.

"Not yet," I sang. "I've got sixty hours to think it over."

"Of course you do," Freddie muttered, but with a smile at the corners of his mouth.

The airport grew smaller and smaller as we soared into the atmosphere. So began another life-changing adventure.

So began Mission: Implausible.


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