They knew?! Bloody hell.
Okay, calm down, Arabella. The fact that they already know about the problem is a good thing. It presumably means it won't take long for them to get it fixed.
I tug at the collar of my coat, suddenly realizing I feel like I’m being toasted like a marshmallow. Glancing up, I see the ceiling is basically made of air vents blowing hot air on me.
Bellford and the security guard lower their voices and have a long conversation, then Bellford looks at me with an expression that no woman wearing edible undies wants to see. He moves his face close to the glass and says, "So, Your Highness, as it turns out, the gentleman who repairs these doors has gone home for the night. But they’re already phoning him to get you out of there."
"Gone home for the night? You mean there’s only one person in this entire bloody airport that knows how to fix the doors if something goes wrong? What if a baby got stuck in here? Or…or an old person who is having a heart attack?" Or a princess wearing nothing but a coat and food shaped like knickers?
The security guard leans in from behind Bellford. "You'll just have to hold tight, Your Highness. We’ll have you out of there in a jiffy. Well, maybe not all that fast, to be honest. As it turns out, Roger’s not home, he’s at the pub and he took their only car so his wife’s got to take a bus to go get him. She’s just checking the schedule now."
Oh, is she? Fabo. I give him a tight smile and a nod. "Thank you."
It'll be fine. Arabella, it’ll be just fine.The box guaranteed that these knickers won’t melt at room temperature.
Does anybody actually know what temperature room temperature is? I mean, what do the people at the factory consider room temperature? Maybe, if I'm really lucky, they’re made in some sort of factory in a very hot climate where room temperature could be, let's say, 40 degrees Celsius. Although technically I suppose that's called a sweatshop and I really shouldn't be wishing that I'm wearing edible undies that were made in a sweatshop. I mean, honestly, exploiting workers so I can get my jollies — despicable, Arabella. Not to mention what type of safety standards they have as far as the ingredients go. I mean, what if these edible undies are full of lead and I end up poisoning Will accidentally? Oh God, why did I think this was a good idea?
And why did I have to use the stupid revolving door? What am I—a six-year-old?Oh, it’s like Disneyland. There is no fucking way this is anything like any ride at Disneyland! It’s not even as good as a ride at a sketchy travelling fair manned by parolees.
I dig around my jacket pockets to see if I've got any tissues or anything else that might be of use in case I have a literal meltdown, but the only thing I've got is my mobile phone which isn't exactly absorbent. I take it out and consider googlingedible undies emergencies, but then realize that the likelihood of someone having come up with a solution for melting knickers while stuck in a glass box in a public place is probably slim to none.
I dial Nikki's number, hoping she’ll have some wisdom to impart upon me in my hour of need. She is, after all, an edible undie expert. Her phone rings several times before she picks up and, by the time she does, I'm in a full panic in that way in which one gets when they're utterly desperate and reaching out for a lifeline.
"That was fast. Don't tell me you guys are done already?" she asks. "What'd you do, go for it in the loo or something?"
"No," I whisper yell. "I'm in a worst-case scenario situation and I need your help."
"Oh, are you allergic to one of the ingredients or something? Are your lady bits swelling up, burning, and/or itching?"
"No. That’s a thing?"
"I've only heard of it once."
"You might've mentioned it."
"But then you probably wouldn’t have done it and you just seemed so excited. Also, it's really good for you to step outside your box once in a while."
"Well, stepping outside this particular box landed me in another one," I say.
I turn away from Bellford and the helpful security guard, my face flush with shame. “I'm at the airport but the bloody revolving door broke and now I'm stuck with a crowd of people gathering while we wait for the maintenance guy. Only they can’t find him because he’s gone to the pub so his wife has gone searching for him, only she has to take the bus because he’s got their car.”
Nikki makes a strangled sound as though she's trying to choke back a laugh. "Did Will’s flight land yet?"
"I think so, but he hasn't come out of the gate. Wait. How is that going to help me?"
"I don't know. I just have no idea what you should do. Oh, but definitely leave your coat on."
“Uh, yeah,” I snap. “But there is another issue. They’re piping a ton of heat into here. I'm starting to sweat like…like some animal that sweats profusely. I need you to look at the box to see if there are any numbers attached to the room temperature thing."
"Why?" she asks. "Is there a thermostat or something?"
"No, there’s no thermostat," I bark. “I just want to know how hot you have to be before these bloody things melt."
"Okay," she says, even though clearly what I'm asking for is utterly insane and useless. "I'll check the box. Just a sec. I have to get out of the bath.”
I wait, taking long, slow breaths to stop myself from panic crying, and finally, she starts to talk again. "Nothing. It just says room temperature. How hot does it feel in there? Like Starbucks or the facial room at Lotus Flower?”
“Hot. More like a sauna.”
