Sonny and Hicks had won the committee over when they’d agreed to take on the bulk of the cost for Cameron to attend, their hope being that the publicity and word of mouth that came from being amajor sponsor of the Pop Culture Festival, as well as the anchor vendor, would give their store some much-needed exposure and they could recoup the cost of the event from comic pulls and increased traffic.
However, none of that publicity was going to be good if the guy didn’t show up. As the hours had slipped by, I couldn’t help but think that the committee might have been right to question the move.
The slam of the phone against the desk was loud enough to be heard even above the white noise of the box fans. It brought me out of my reverie and had me heading to the back of the building.
“You okay, H?” I called, peeking in through the office doorway.
Hicks and Sonny both had blond hair they kept around shoulder length, but that was as similar as their styles went. Hicks usually kept his hair pulled back in a kind of ponytail while Sonny kept his blond hair loose. He’d been teased for years that he looked like the quintessential surfer dude. Their hair was about as wavy as mine would be, if I didn’t get a cut soon to maintain the high and tight I normally sported. Even though my military days were over, some habits died hard.
Hicks leaned tiredly against the desk, a wisp of hair escaping the confines of the elastic that held it back from his face. That, more than just about anything else, told me how frustrated he was: Hicks was fastidious about his hair. For him to have even one loose strand meant he had to be near the end of his rope.
“Lizzie’s phone keeps going to voicemail, and Everett’s out of the country until next week,” he sighed, banging his head gently against the wall. Ironically enough, he hit the wall about two feet to the left of a printed bullseye sign that had been taped to the break room wall with the words “Bang Head Here” in the center. The twins never did like to follow directions.
A friend of a friend of the twins (Everett, apparently) knew this Cameron guy, who was touted as the hottest comic writer and artist combo since Jack Kirby. They had reached out to Cameron’s agent, and for reasons known only to God and the saints, Cameron hadagreed to headline the con as well as come out for the Grand Opening.
“The airport confirmed his flight has landed, but they don’t know what happened to him after that,” Hicks said. We both looked up hopefully as we heard footsteps outside the door, only to see Sonny rearranging a miniature display for about the twentieth time.
In the comic book business, customer service and reputation were critical. Margins were slim and the failure to produce the much-promoted star would be a major failure for the store and would cost them real money out of their own pockets. (Not even counting Sonny’s Magic card.) The boys had held a “soft” opening a few months earlier, as they had finished the renovations on the new building, but this was supposed to be the official grand opening event.
Sonny and Hicks had sunk every nickel they had into the store. They’d scrimped and saved since they were ten years old to gather the capital they would need to do it properly. Every birthday present, every lawn they’d cut, every newspaper they had delivered,everythinghad gone into the store fund. They’d refused any help from our moms or from anyone else in the family. Being the youngest of six, the twins were remarkably independent. If the Grand Opening failed, it could ruin them before they even really got started.
Hicks angrily scrubbed at his face. I pretended I couldn’t see the bright shine to his eyes, or the light sheen of moisture under them that he rubbed away with his knuckles. Just like Sonny, he wasn’t fooling anyone. I knew how much this store meant to him.
He looked… defeated, as he leaned against the desk, head down. I hated seeing my baby brother looking that way. He deserved to be successful, to be happy. They both did. They didn’t deserve the shit the world liked to heap on people.
“How about I head to the airport and see if I can track him down,” I offered. “Who knows? Maybe someone will have seen him or remember him.”
Hicks brightened slightly at the offer.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
I walked up behind him and gripped his shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay, C.B.,” I whispered, harkening back to a childhood nickname. He looked up to me and a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He chuckled slightly. “It’s been a while since you called me that,” he said. C.B. stood for “Chest Burster” – after the rather dramatic way we were all introduced to the titular characters in “Alien”. The movie just happened to be our parents’ favorite movie, and when Sonny and Hicks had been born by cesarean section, we’d started affectionately calling them “our little Chest Bursters”. My family was weird like that.
I grinned at him.
“Hang in there. I’ll go find your super star,” I said. He flashed a small grin at me, and I grabbed my keys.
I made the drive to the airport in record time. The air conditioning hadn’t even had a chance to dry the sweat from my clothes by the time I parked my Jeep in the short-term parking lot and headed inside the Akron-Canton airport.
The airport was on the small side compared to many I’d seen in my travels. It was more expensive to use than the Cleveland airport, but the convenience factor more than made up for it.
I scanned the flight information boards, but didn’t find the flight listing. Not surprising since the flight was about three hours old now. I checked in with the airline desk, fortunate to find a single attendant locking up.
Her name tag said her name was Daisy, and she was a very… um… “well-endowed” woman, her breasts barely held in check by the straining buttons of her airline uniform.
Daisy seemed to take a personal interest in my plight, as she kept smiling dazzlingly at me and brushing her hand over my arm. She seemed to be trying to touch me any chance she got, at one point even leaning forward, unnecessarily, I might add, to give me a startling view of her chest, but nothing about her stirred me.
I finally got Daisy to provide the information that Cameron’s flight had deplaned, and the luggage had been sent to luggage claim D. With a mumbled, “Thanks,” I hightailed it out of there and headedover to the baggage claim area. If nothing else, my moms had raised me to be polite.
A small crowd of people were standing around at the next claim area over, waiting for luggage to come out on the carousel, but no one seemed to be around luggage claim D. Certainly no one seemed to be waiting for anyone or seemed to be looking for their ride. I was kind of wishing I had one of those signs that people held up in movies that had the name of the person they were picking up. I looked at my watch. It was getting late. Aw, fuck it.
“Cameron!” I yelled, cupping my hands to my mouth to amplify my voice. Using my best drill sergeant voice, I shouted, “Mason Cameron! Front and center!”
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