High C

5. Flies With Honey

At the arrivals terminal, the car was directed by a valet several feet along the platform to the VIP exit doors. An airport concierge approached the driver's window before Natasha lowered her own to call his attention.

"I'm here for Ms. Adler. It's Natasha Loy."

With his neck twisted over his shoulder Bob caught the look of relief on the concierge's face and remembered it well. He watched the man disappear into the airport for a good ten minutes and return pushing a luggage cart, followed by the diva herself. She was dressed in a silk cream coloured suit with the largest sunglasses he'd ever seen outside of an opthamologist's office. The driver popped the trunk and got out to see if he could be of any assistance only to return in short order muttering curse words.

Natasha slid across the back seat away from the curb side door as the car sank with the weight of the Maya's stowed belongings. Finally, the concierge opened the door, and the famous soprano entered the car by backing in bottom first. In the process, she hit her head on the top of the door and her sunglasses fell to the ground. Natasha let out a useless little, "Oh no," as Bob, through the rearview mirror, watched the diva's eyes swing like sharp pendulums in a slicing motion between her seatmate and the open door. The concierge picked up the sunglasses and handed them to her wordlessly. He did not wait for a gratuity before slamming the back door shut, at which point Natasha added a likewise unhelpful, "Geez!" to kick off introductions.

"Maya," she said with a friendly, not too sycophantic tone, "it's so good to finally meet you. I'm Natasha Loy with Loy Rewards. I've been on the phone with Barry for weeks. So glad we could arrange this."

Maya's smile pushed against tight apple cheeks conveying both curiosity and aloofness. "What's the temperature in this car?" she asked.

"A perfect 20 degrees," the driver answered.

She shook her head like she was refusing to eat her broccoli. "It needs to be warmer for my vocal chords," she complained. "Do we have some water or anything back here, or should I have taken an Uber?"

"Chilled or room temp? " Natasha offered.

"I think room temp should be the obvious answer," Maya said, eyes flashing. She made a face like her tongue could not unglue from the roof of her mouth for an uncomfortably long time.

Natasha handed her a bottle from a pocket lining the car door. Maya lowered her sunglasses dramatically as though she were about to perform a spacewalk, then lowered her window and dumped at least half of the water onto the street. Window and glasses rose again. She produced a rather large squeeze bottle of honey from her purse and began to laboriously pressure its reluctant contents into the bottle of leftover water. Once done, she pulled a long case containing a metal drinking straw from her purse and placed the straw in the bottle's neck.

"Have you turned the heat up?" she asked the driver.

"Yes, ma'am, but if you're worried about your vocal chords it'll get dry in here."

"That's what the honey's for," she said through another forced smile, then just above her straw whispered, "Smartass."

"Where to?" the driver asked nonplussed.

"Globus theatre," Natasha said.

"You mean Nimbus, the opera hall?"

"Yes, but Nimbus and The Globe playhouse merged, so it's going to be Globus theatre once it re-opens. Probably not in the GPS yet."

"We have to make a stop first," Maya said. "I need to check in on Mama."

There was a moment of fascinated silence as Bob and Natasha watched Maya's face contort trying to suck thick honey up the straw. Bob guessed she'd poured out too much water or added too much honey but was not the type to admit she'd messed up.