The agent checked her computer again. She said that she had a flight leaving for Paris in ten minutes, and the doors weren’t closed yet, but she said that Blaise’s bags were on the direct flight, and they couldn’t put her on the Paris flight until they got her bags off the one she had already checked into.
“Which means I can’t make the Paris flight. Okay, let’s get my bags off now. What can you get me onto after you do?”
“I have a flight leaving for Paris in an hour.”
“Perfect.” She was reminding herself to breathe and not lose control.
“But it’s full, except for one coach seat in the back row. Will you take it?” she asked with an evil grin, delighted to be punishing Blaise for the trouble she was causing.
“I’ll take it,” Blaise said without hesitation. The woman punched something into the computer, and then shook her head, while Blaise tried to resist the overwhelming urge to strangle her.
“Sorry. There was an error in the computer. There’s an infant in that seat. The flight is completely booked.”
“When can you get me to Paris, and from there to New York?”
“We have a three o’clock,” she said primly. “You can connect with our five-forty flight to Kennedy.”
“What time does it land?” Blaise asked through clenched teeth.
“It lands at seven fifty-five P.M. local time.” Eight o’clock. Blaise did a rapid calculation. If she landed at eight, she’d get her bags and be out of customs by nine, and in the city at ten, completely missing the recital.
“That won’t work,” Blaise said with a deep sigh of exasperation. “What other city can you get me out of? London, Zurich, Frankfurt. Anything you’ve got. I have to be in New York City by six P.M., which means I can land no later than four.” It was one P.M. in Nice by then, and the direct flight was going nowhere. They weren’t even boarding the plane. “I still need to get my bags off this plane.”
“We have a baggage handler strike here today, just a partial one. One out of three baggage handlers didn’t come to work.” Welcome to France.
“Terrific.” She was ready to kill somebody and would have gladly left her bags in France if she could just get to New York, with or without them. She didn’t care. But even that wasn’t possible because of security.
And with that, they announced that her original nine A.M. flight was leaving at three P.M. from Nice, and would be boarding at two ten. Blaise did another rapid calculation. The flight would arrive at five P.M. local time. She could be in the city at seven. But she couldn’t get Salima ready and take her to the concert. She’d have to meet her there, and it would be close. If there were any further delays, she would be screwed, and despite the best of intentions, she would miss the recital Salima had prepared for months.
“It sounds like the three o’clock from here is going to be my best bet,” Blaise said to the agent.
“I always thought so, madam,” she said with pursed lips.
“No, you thought so when it was leaving at noon, and before that at nine A.M. It hasn’t done either. And if the damn plane isn’t here from Paris now, so we can board at two ten, I’m going to have hysterics in the airport,” Blaise said, beginning to seriously lose her cool. “I have to get to New York.”
“I’m sure you will, madam. Try to be patient.”
“Look,” Blaise said, willing to lie through her teeth if it would impress them, “my name is Blaise McCarthy, I am a journalist in network news, and I have a meeting in New York to interview the president of the United States tonight. And I need you to get me there.” Blaise was willing to do anything to get on a plane to New York. Even lie. She couldn’t disappoint Salima again.
“Very well, we’ll preboard you,” she said, as though pre boarded seats would leave sooner than the others. It made no difference, Blaise knew, except that you got a jump start on the champagne, and she couldn’t drink now anyway, which might have helped. She hadn’t had this frustrating a day in years. And all that mattered to her was Salima and being there for her recital. She would have paid double for the seat on the plane if they could guarantee getting her there on time.
“Shall I still take your bags off, Miss McCarthy?” she said with a vacant smile.
“Of course not. We just agreed that I’m taking this flight to New York. Why would you take my bags off now, especially when you didn’t before, when I did want them taken off and you said you had a strike.”
“We do.”