Page 49 of All That Glitters

Chapter thirty-six

And Yet Another Not-So-Bright Idea

BAM!

The truck backfired like a gunshot, that jerked the entire vehicle. A bouquet of cheap, hopeful gas station flowers slid off the passenger seat and onto the floor, immediately crushed by the backpack that tumbled on top of them.

“Crap,” Tony muttered, reaching over to give the dashboard a desperate, placating pat. “Come on, boy. Not today. Please, not today.”

On the San Diego freeway, the city had ground to a halt. A vast multilane parking lot shimmered in the afternoon heat. An Uber sat idling, boxed in between a cement mixer and a minivan, the meter ticking upwards with agonizing slowness.

“Which terminal did you say we’re going to?” the Uber driver’s voice grumbled from the front.

In the back seat, Debbie stared out the window at the endless river of stationary cars, her heart a dull, heavy weight in her chest. A new life in Europe awaited. An adventure. Freedom. It all felt like a punishment.

“TWA,” she said, her voice flat.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The pounding on the door of Debbie’s apartment was loud enough to rattle the cheap particleboard. Veronica hurried over.

“Coming…”

She opened it to find Tony standing there, looking wild-eyed and desperate, holding a bouquet of flowers that looked like they’d been in a fistfight.

“Hey,” he said breathlessly. “Is Debbie here?”

Veronica’s face softened with a look of profound, sympathetic pity. “Oh, Tony. You just missed her,” she said gently. “She already left for the airport.”

The news hit him like a physical blow. His shoulders slumped. The flowers in his hand seemed to wilt further. “Did she say which airlines?”

“I think it was TWA.”

“Thanks,” he said, his voice hollow. He turned to leave, his grand gesture already a failure.

“Tony?”

He looked back. Veronica was smiling, a real, encouraging smile.

“I hope you catch her,” she said.

He managed a weak, grateful nod and raced back to his truck. He climbed in, jammed the key into the ignition, and turned it.

Click.

Nothing. Not a rumble, not a cough, not even the tired groan of an engine trying to turn over. Just a single, final, metallic click. The sound of absolute defeat.

He slammed his hands on the steering wheel, a guttural yell of pure frustration ripping from his throat. “DAMMIT! I said not today!”

On the freeway, the horns had started. A symphony of angry honks and shouted curses filled the air. Debbie’s Uber driver was now engaged in a full-throated, deeply personal argument with the driver of a landscaping truck.

“Oh, yeah? Well, your mother looks like my dog’s behind!”

Debbie sank lower in the back seat, wishing she could just disappear. She looked out the side window, her gaze listless, and then she saw it. A small, sputtering object was weaving through the idle cars. A bright red scooter. On it was a man with a look of lunatic determination on his face.

The world seemed to slow down.

“No friggin’ way…” she whispered.

It was Tony, weaving through the gridlock on Veronica’s scooter. He was a hundred yards ahead, a tiny, ridiculous knight on a sputtering steed. Without a second thought, Debbie shoved the Uber door open and hopped out into the traffic.

“TONY!” she shouted, waving her arms frantically.

But he was too far away to hear her over the honking and the pathetic puttering of the scooter’s tiny engine.

He disappeared between a semi-truck and a bus.

With a surge of adrenaline, Debbie took off running, dodging angry drivers and side-view mirrors as she chased after him down the clogged freeway.

Tony’s scooter sputtered up to the curb outside the TWA terminal. He leaped off, leaving it propped against a trash can without a second thought, and raced inside.

On the runway just outside, a large jet, its engines screaming a deafening whine, was slowly pulling away from the boarding ramp.

Inside the terminal, Tony sprinted through the crowds, his eyes scanning the glowing signs until he found it: Gate 6, Paris. He raced up to the check-in counter. Behind it, a ticketing agent was calmly sorting through boarding passes.

“Is this the flight that’s going to Paris?” Tony gasped, out of breath.

“It is,” the agent replied calmly. “But they’ve already boarded. The jetway is closed.”

“I’ll just be a second,” Tony said, and before the agent could react, he vaulted over the counter and dashed down the long, empty boarding ramp.

The agent stared after him for a second, his mouth agape, then snatched up the phone. “We need security at Gate Six. Immediately.”

Debbie burst through the terminal doors, huffing and puffing, her lungs on fire.

She took off down the main concourse, darting between slow-moving passengers.

A man towing a bulky suitcase stepped into her path.

She plowed right into him, sending him and his luggage toppling to the floor in a clatter of wheels and polyester.

“Oops. Sorry!” she gasped, hopping to her feet and continuing her frantic sprint without looking back.

At the end of the boarding ramp, Tony stared out the open door in horror.

The plane was already twenty feet away, its massive engines whining as it taxied further down the tarmac.

It was leaving. She was leaving. Below him, it was a twelve-foot drop to the hard pavement.

He didn’t hesitate. He swung his legs over the edge of the ramp, lowered himself as far as he could, then let go, his sneakers hitting the ground with a painful thud that shot up his legs.

The plane was still moving, a giant metal bird leaving him behind.

Frantically, he looked around and saw it — one of those small service trucks with a boarding ladder attached to the back.

He ran over to it, yanked open the driver’s side door, and climbed in.

The keys were in the ignition. It was a miracle.

As he turned the key, he saw a fleet of airport police cars and a SWAT van barrel onto the runway from a service road, their lights flashing, sirens wailing.

They were heading straight towards him. He slammed the truck into gear and sped across the runway, a tiny, ridiculous vehicle on a collision course with a 747.

Debbie reached the check-in counter at Gate 6, breathless and frantic.

“Did a guy,” she panted, leaning on the counter, “come by here… and do something completely stupid?”

The ticketing agent just pointed a trembling finger down the boarding ramp. “There was this one guy,” he said, his voice shaking. “He ran out onto the runway.”

“That’s him,” she said. “Thanks.” She raced past the agent and down the ramp.

“Wait! You can’t—”

Tony’s boarding truck sped past the plane’s cockpit, swerving in front of it with a squeal of tires.

The 747’s massive engines roared as it ground to a screeching halt just feet from the tiny truck.

Tony whipped the truck around to the side of the plane, backing the boarding ladder up to the side exit door.

Inside the plane, passengers were mumbling, peering out the windows at the commotion.

“Is there a reason we’ve stopped?” one man asked a flight attendant.

“I’m checking on it right now, sir,” she said, trying to remain calm.

As she headed towards the pilot’s cabin, a sharp, insistent knocking came from the side exit door. She froze. More knocking.

“Hello?” she called out tentatively.

She unlatched the heavy door and pulled it open. Tony was standing there on the boarding ladder, his hair a mess, his face flushed with adrenaline and a wild, desperate hope.

“Hey,” he gasped. “I just need to talk to one of your passengers real quickly.”

The flight attendant stared at him, dumbfounded. “You hijacked us so you can talk to someone?”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” he said quickly. “You see, there’s this girl I like, and she’s supposed to be on this plane.” He paused. “Only knowing her, she probably got on the wrong plane.”

“Is she a hijacker too?” the flight attendant asked, her voice dangerously quiet.

“Just an airhead,” Tony said, and squeezed past her into the aisle.

He looked around at the sea of terrified, confused faces.

“Debbie?” he called out, his voice echoing in the stunned silence.

“Any of you guys see a short brunette? Probably has a smudge of something on her cheek? Probably knocked something over on her way to her seat?”

A little girl nudged her mom and whispered loudly, “Look, mommy. Is that man a hijacker?”

“No, sweetie,” her mom whispered back. “He’s just very sick.”

On the runway below, the police cars and the SWAT van screeched to a halt. Cops poured out, racing up the boarding ladder. The flight attendant stepped aside as they stormed the plane.

“You! Freeze!” a cop yelled, aiming his weapon down the aisle.

Passengers screamed and ducked in their seats. Tony looked back, saw the cops heading for him, and bolted to the back exit. He yanked open the door, grabbed the handle for the emergency chute, and pulled.

The yellow slide popped out and inflated with a loud whoosh. Without a second thought, Tony plunged down it.

“TONY!”

He looked over. A figure was racing across the runway towards him. It was Debbie. He stumbled to his feet and ran to meet her, grabbing her in a hug that was both desperate and triumphant.

“Have you totally lost your mind?” she cried into his chest.

He smiled, a wide, goofy, relieved smile. “Probably,” he admitted. He pulled back, holding her by the shoulders. “Look, Deb. I’ve done some stupid things. Hijacking a plane is definitely one of them. But I think losing you would be the stupidest thing I ever did.”

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “I actually wrote all this down so I wouldn’t miss anything.” His eyes scanned the paper. “I can’t imagine not having you in my life. And those things you said in the wine cellar… I feel them too.”

Behind him, the cops were plunging down the chute, fanning out, their weapons raised.

“Freeze!”

Debbie looked past Tony at the approaching SWAT team. She held up a hand. “Wait!” she yelled. “You guys can’t shoot him yet! I’ve been waiting way too long to hear this!” She turned back to Tony, her eyes shining with tears of laughter and disbelief. “Keep going.”

He shoved the paper back in his pocket and looked her straight in the eye, his heart in his throat, pouring out fifteen years of unspoken truth.

“I love you, Deb,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “All the clumsiness, the breaking things, the way you’re looking at me right now like you want to kill me… I never want to be without any of it.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “Will you marry me?”

KA-CHUNK! The sound of a dozen machine guns being cocked echoed across the tarmac.