Tempo (3 page)

Walking to the door, I grab my purse to pay for the pizza and tip the delivery driver. I can smell the pizza even before I open the door making my mouth water and my tummy grumble.  Once the transactions are complete, I head to the dining table to dig in. Opening the box, the aromatic smell of garlic rises. The gooey cheese covers the pepperoni like a blanket. I grab the first slice and bring it to my mouth; the cheese threatens to slide off the slice. I bend it in half bringing the topping under control; raising the triangle to my mouth I gently slide it in and take the first bite. As the cheese and pepperoni touch my tongue all of my senses come alive. My eyes roll back in my head and a moan escapes my lips. Who knew that eating a pizza could be so satisfying? The experience almost seems erotic. Walking back to my desk I grab my laptop and the dossier on Mr. Scarpetti and return to the dining table.  After looking through the minimal information gathered on Vincent Scarpetti, I open the computer to do my research. I grab a fresh slice of pizza and enter the name Vincent Scarpetti II into to the search engine. I click the first link that mentions his name. It appears to be some sort of gossip column. Intrigued, I read on.

“Vincent Scarpetti II, son of infamous gangster Vincent Scarpetti is setting out to make good on the family name. As a recent transplant to Las Vegas, young Vincent has decided to follow in daddy’s footsteps. After purchasing a Las Vegas Strip property nearly ten years ago, the younger Scarpetti plans to open a luxury hotel and casino he is calling Tempo. Hey Vincent, drug smuggling, money laundering and murder are still illegal in Nevada. However there is a murky area surrounding prostitution.  All kidding aside, we wish the twenty-eight year-old Scarpetti luck in his new endeavor. It should be an exciting year as Vinnie Sr. is eligible for parole in late December.  Will father and son reconcile? If I were a betting person I would put my money on the younger Scarpetti steering clear of good ole dad. Look for Tempo to open around the first of the year.” Below the article there is a grainy picture of what appears to be a man wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. I type in his name again and click on images to discover that few photos of the man are posted and all of them are with glasses and a hat. I hate my photo being taken, so I understand his reticence to climb in front of the camera. Holy smokes, the son of a gangster! I sit here wondering if I should be worried. I don’t know this person
, but the very idea of mingling with the mob makes a shiver run down my spine. Maybe the less information I know the better.

Finished with my pizza, I clean up my mess and head back to my desk for a long night of planning and design. Settling into my seat, the chime of the door rings again. Looking toward the door I realize that my travel documents have just arrived. I greet the delivery person and sign for the package. Heading back to my desk I tear into the envelope in anticipation. Finding my airline ticket I see that my flight leaves tomorrow at twelve-twenty. Having done my travel “homework”, the internet said I have to be at the airport two hours early. It’s a thirty-minute drive so I need to call and reserve a cab for nine forty-five. Looking at my ticket I see that I am flying first class. Jumping up and down I can’t believe I am flying to Las Vegas and in style! As I tuck the ticket into my purse I find a sticky note from Anna asking me to please check in once I am settled into the hotel. Back at my desk, I attack the design boards like a kid attacking an ice cream eating contest. Working for nearly ten hours straight, I crawl to my bed to catch a short nap before my flight. Setting my alarm for eight-thirty I pull up the covers and fall asleep immediately. In the blink of an eye, I am awake, my sleep interrupted by the consistent beeping of my alarm. I slowly drag my tired body out of bed and head to the bathroom to ready myself for Vegas. Showered and refreshed I attempt to coax myself to get ready. Hair pulled back into my standard long ponytail, I go through my daily routine. I have been blessed with nice skin so I only apply the slightest amount of blush to rosy-up my pale cheeks. I use mascara, liner and lipstick and I’m usually set to go. This morning I can see that the lack of sleep has settled under my tired eyes. The dark shadow created by sleep deprivation is obvious. Digging through my cosmetics drawer I locate the concealer I use when I have a blemish to cover.  Dabbing it lightly under my eyes, I camouflage the evidence of the
all-nighter I pulled. Dressed in black leggings, an off the shoulder pink tunic, and flat sandals I search the room for my various collection of gold chains. Finding them slung over the mirror I grab them and slip them over my head. They are the perfect accent to my simple outfit. I grab a pair of gold earrings, my watch and head out to catch my cab.

The thirty-minute drive to the airport goes smoothly, pulling up to the departure terminal for the first time, I can finally see what people have been talking about for years. The unique design of the airport was supposed to be suggestive of the snow-capped Rocky Mountains
, but many people describe it as looking like a circus tent. I can see both perspectives, but I applaud the architect for his bold vision.

Dropped by the curb, I find my way to the first class check in and I am directed to my gate. I make it through security with the exception of having to be reminded to remove my necklaces, my shoes and open my laptop and power it up. Walking barefoot across a laminate floor where so many other shoeless people have traversed gives me the willies. My first stop will be the bathroom to scrub the bottoms of my feet.

My feet freshly scrubbed and my sandals back on, I head to the newsstand to pick up the latest additions of any décor or design magazines I can find. I love looking through the magazines and seeing how another designer interprets a project. Loading my red leather  with my newfound treasures its time to head to the gate and await my flight.

Hanging around an airport is an interesting study of human nature. To my right sits a family of four, mom and dad are completely transfixed with their phones while boy one picks his nose and boy two plays some type of handheld game. The older woman sitting across from me spared no expense on her outfit, hair and nails. She is perfectly put together. A young couple sits together holding hands so cute and content with one another. A pang of jealousy stabs my heart. Redirecting my thoughts, four men standing to my left create a commotion. It appears they may be celebrating early. One partier shouts “Las Vegas baby!” the rest chest bump and high five each other. I can do nothing but shake my head and laugh. Sitting back I take out Elle Décor and thumb through the pages.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be boarding flight 1497 to Las Vegas in just a few minutes. We will be starting with our premiere and first class passengers first, followed by the group number listed on your boarding documents.”

As I enter the plane I am directed to the left, moving to the forward cabin I see two rows of seats on each side of the aisle. The seats are leather and so very large. Finding seat number 3B, I place my carry-on full of magazines and my laptop under the seat in front of me. I store my remaining bag in the overhead bin. Sitting comfortably in my large leather chair, I am approached by the flight attendant carrying a tray of cocktails. “Hello, my name is John. Welcome aboard. Would you care for a drink before we taxi and take off?” I reach up and grasp the champagne flute from the tray. Smiling at the attendant, I take a sip and settle into my seat. The bubbles tickle my throat as I drink. Taking a large swallow I enjoy the burning sensation as it makes its way to my stomach. John walks by and grabs my almost drained glass, winking at me and handing me a fresh drink. Lifting my glass I give him a silent salute. I grab a magazine from my open carry-on and settle in for the flight ahead. A tap on my shoulder interrupts my reading. I look to my left to see a nicely filled pair of jeans. As my eyes travel north I see narrow hips and a snug fitting black t-shirt. The perfect fit of the shirt hugs a well-defined chest. Ripples of muscles stretch the soft cotton. The “smart girl” whistles in my head
.
Continuing my upward perusal I am greeted with broad shoulders and the most beautiful face I have ever seen. Bronze skin, smoky dark eyes and raven black hair complete the most perfect specimen I have ever laid eyes on. The man is not merely good looking. He is a god. My eyes lock with his and I am hypnotized. Clearing his throat my Adonis points to the seat next to me. The spell is broken. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts I look up and apologize “So sorry, I have no idea what came over me.” Pulling my knees up to my chest I create enough room for him to slide past me. As he inches over, I am given the perfect view of the most glorious butt ever. If I could just reach out and touch it, I know it would be round and firm.
You go girl!

What is wrong with me, I haven’t lusted after a man in years. In fact I have banned men from my existence. Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe the excitement of the flight or the trip to Las Vegas has unlocked something within me. When I look at him my core tightens and heat spreads between my legs. I can feel the moisture beginning to develop. My body shivers. What the hell is wrong with me?

“They can get you a blanket if you are cold.” My head turns quickly at the sound of his voice. The deep timbre coming from him is exactly how I would expect his voice to be, deep and manly. It’s a voice that commands attention. He certainly has mine. What is it about this man who has my heart racing and my body quivering just being near him? I have to avert my eyes so I can speak. “Thanks, I will keep that in mind.”

I can hear the start of the engines and I feel the gentle rocking of the plane as it slides out of the gate. While I was gawking I missed the entire safety spiel. Feeling the plane accelerate down the runway, I grab the handles of my chair and hold on for dear life.

“Are you okay?”

Looking over at the man beside me, I see that he has noticed my death grip on the armrest. My knuckles are white. I look into his eyes and nod. I try to speak
, but the voice that escapes is not something I recognize as my own. Soft and high pitched I squeak: “Yes, thank you for asking. The take-off always gets to me.” I attempt to relax my arms. Noticing my discomfort the man places his warm left hand on top of my frigid right hand. There is a crackle of awareness that spreads through me. I can feel my breath catch and wonder if he noticed. The plane gains speed and before I know it we have lift off. Feeling the tension leave my body, I begin to relax and Adonis releases my hand. Smiling I look over at the beautiful man sitting next to me. I offer my right hand to him and introduce myself. “Hi, my name is Karlie.” Raising his right brow he takes my hand and shakes it. “My name is Michael, it’s a pleasure to meet you Karlie.” Trying to escape his smoldering gaze, I look down at the floor and realize that during takeoff my open carry-on has spilled its contents. “Oh my, that was quite a take off!” I look at the seatbelt indicator and see that it is illuminated. It could be a while before I am able to pick up my stuff. As if reading my mind Michael loosens his belt and uses his long muscular arms to retrieve my collection. Looking through the magazines, a sly smile spreads across his face. Unsure of what is behind the smile I reach over to grab the books. Just before I can make contact, he pulls them out of my reach.

“Hey, are you going to give those back or what?”

“I think I will choose the ‘or what’ for now,” he replies. “There are no less than eight design magazines in this pile, plus some type of portfolio that contains more pictures. Should I set up an intervention?” Laughing he hands me back my stack of magazines.

“Very funny! You don’t even know me, who would you call?”

            “I am sure I could come up with a whole list of attendees. I can be a very resourceful man, Karlie.”

His voice sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
I would like to use up some of those resources.
Trying to forget the voice in my head, I proceed to explain my magazine obsession. “I am an interior designer. I love to look at different perspectives as it pertains to design. Looking through these books is like an art lover going to the Louvre. I can get lost in the pages. You should be able to feel good design. It has its own rhythm.”

“I would assume that your designs are original.”

“Realistically, nothing I do is original. I use paint produced by companies. I purchase preprinted fabrics by the bolt. Carpets are weaved by artists or mass produced. Nothing is mine; it’s the way I mix and blend these items that makes the space unique. People pay for my unique perspective. Would I steal a design from a book and sell it to a client as if it were my own? Absolutely not! Can I get inspiration from looking at the pages? You bet!”

Pondering my explanation, he tilts his head and nods. “What’s the separate portfolio about?”

Pulling out the red folder, I set it on top of the stack. “Now this folder is my book of dreams, each page is the perfect design for me.” Opening it to the first page, I smile. “I love the clean lines of contemporary design; and this kitchen is the perfect example. The stainless steel appliances and quartz counters are sleek and sophisticated. The blues, greens and ocher in these hand-painted glass mosaic tiles makes for a beautiful backsplash. The dark bamboo floors are rich and are easy to maintain. As a bonus they are a renewable resource. The cabinetry is simple yet stylish and hides frequently used appliances. This keeps the counters free of clutter.  I don’t like clutter.”

John wheels his cart towards us and offers us a drink. I am having such a nice time that I hardly notice the glass of champagne he places in my hand.

Going from page to page I share my dreams with a complete stranger.