"Why Vegas, though?"
"Isn't that what it's there for?" She took a swift hit from a plastic PAM puffer. This could be the reason why she was so talkative. He pretended not to have noticed. "It's nice to be in among a lot of people who appear to make a profession out of being lucky."
"They run out of luck and they move on."
"So what? I'm only going for the weekend. I can pretend." The woman looked around for the cabin attendent to give her another martini. The carts had all returned to the galley. Vickers swallowed the last of his scotch. "Maybe I should go and get us two more."
The woman shook her head. "No, no, I'll go. I'm on the outside."
As she slid out of the seat, the slit in her tapered skirt allowed Vickers a fast glimpse of an expanse of thigh topped with black lace. He doubted that it was an accident. While the woman was gone, he did some swift thinking. In the normal run of things, he would have rebuffed her. A lady TV exec on a desperate spree was the kind of relationship that could end, if not in disaster, at least in a mess of resentment well before her weekend was out. Not that he wasn't tempted; there was a part of him that could think of nothing better than spending seventy-two hours wallowing in bed and booze. It was just that he'd been down this same road too many times before. On the other hand, though, his brain had started ticking. Nobody looked twice at a guy flying into Las Vegas with a good looking woman. They also had a ready made excuse for why he didn't use a credit card or produce major ID. Husband and bimbo on a classic weekend. She might well be the best cover he could come up with on the spur of the moment.
She returned, juggling a couple of miniature scotches for him, two readymixed martinis in those plastic bulb containers, disposable glasses and some ice. She deftly slid into her seat without using her hands, which, on reflection, Vickers decided was quite a feat. She put Vickers' scotch in front of him, cracked the neck on the first readymix, poured it and raised her plastic cocktail glass in semi-toast. "Viva Las Vegas!"
Vickers hadn't opened his scotch yet. The old fashioned metal cap was fighting back. He swirled his ice. "Yeah right."
"My name's Lavern Brisk."
It was that moment. He extended a hand. "Mort Mort Vickers."
She squeezed it.
"Well, hi, Mort."
"Hi Lavern."
It wasn't as crazy as it seemed at first. He had no choice but to go into Las Vegas and wait for someone to contact him. If he had to be a sitting duck, he might as well use his own name. It would at least hasten the process. He finally wrestled the cap off the scotch. He sipped it and smiled. The TV screen had given up on the Russians. Stanley Frog was doing something offensive in a polkadot suit. Lavern again pointed at the screen.
"You mind if I shut this off?"
"Not one bit."
He was fascinated by the dragon decals. He'd made a decision
and he might as well get into the spirit of it. Lavern seemed to be doing the same. She cracked her second readymix, eased over into the corner of her seat, kicked her shoes off and tucked her feet up under her.
"I can't handle Stanley Frog. He's got to be an all-time slime."
Vickers began to ponder on just how soft and pink she might be beneath the suit. He found that, despite himself, he was actually starting to relax. The scotch helped, easing his imagination as far as wondering just how shockable she might be, in just how much experimentation she'd be happy to engage.
"I travel a lot. I manage to avoid him."
"I didn't think there was anywhere on the planet that didn't get Stanley Frog. He's on every fucking satellite."
Her propensity to talk might prove to be a problem.
"Or do you work off-planet?"
Vickers blinked. He'd known that he would have to concoct some story sooner or later. He'd been so busy speculating about Lavern that he'd been hoping it would be later. The question was sufficiently close to home to prevent anything coming trippingly to his tongue. The best he could do was mysterious.
"Not quite."
There was something watchful in Lavern's eyes. This woman might be horny but she wasn't stupid.
"What's that supposed to mean? You work in midair?"
"That's where I am now."
The language of her body became a good deal less inviting.
"You can be pretty oblique when you want to."
"I'm sorry. There are times when I tend to fall into it. What I was going to say is that I did once make the jump up to one of the donuts."
Once again the truth was as good as anything else. Certainly Lavern's eyebrows shot up. She even clutched at his arm.
"You really went into space? Oh, I'd love to do that. It must have been so exciting."
"Actually, I hated every minute. I was sick as a dog from liftoff to touchdown. I sincerely hope I never have to do it again."
The clutch relaxed. Lavern drew her hand away, she was no longer impressed. Vickers smiled and attempted to regain ground.
"A lot of things aren't as wonderful as they appear."
"That's not a very romantic view of the world."
"It's not a very romantic world. The best we can do is take our pleasures where we find them."