Smells Like Teen Angst: Cindy #3_a

Cindy Number Three flipped through a magazine at the last candy stand before Gate 42 and her flight back to Tampa. A black auto-caddie carry-on followed her like a puppy as she slotted the teen rag and headed toward the gate; she’d be the last to board.

“You almost missed your flight, young lady.” A blue-suited coiffured male with surgically placed dimples looked her up and down. “The flight is full, we gave away your seat, but there is one in the way back. If you hurry…”

Cindy-three gave Dimples an indifferent smile. “You’re cute. When’s the next flight out?”

“If you skedaddle your little paddle you can make this one.”

“But, if I really wanted to catch the next one, and hang with a fine-looking airport official, when might the next flight be?”

Dimples straightened and re-scanned the girl before him. “Are you twenty-one?”

“Of course,” Cindy-three tilted her head and with a smooth motion, traced a blood-red nail down the man’s cheek ending with one finger on his chin. “Plenty old for anything and everything.”

The man glanced about. The concourse was empty but for an overweight people-courier lounging on his shuttle, snacking from a bag of chips and the Pakistani merchant behind the news-counter, his furtive spying on every person who walked by gave Dimples the willies.

“Not for three hours, miss. But you’ll need to get re-ticketed.”

“I don’t suppose you could handle that here, could you?” Cindy-three bent at the middle, her turquoise capris gapping at her back, she unlatched her caddie and handed the man her passport and boarding pass.  

The flight agent followed Cindy-three’s every move. Shuttle man watched Dimples watch the girl bend over, the pale fuzz at the small of her back shimmering in the afternoon light.

Dimples licked his dry lips. “Oh, absolutely. I’m senior agent here at the Delta counter, you know.”

Cindy-three embraced Dimples’ hands with her own. “You seem like such a good person. I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.”

“Trouble?” The man returned the extended touch. “I can’t imagine what kind of trouble you’re talking about.”

She leaned over the ticket counter, casually flipping her hair down to nearly touch the keyboard. Dimples’ eyes flickered between the screen and the shadow beneath her chin.

Eventually, he reprocessed her ticket and placed an arm on her shoulder as he handed her a new boarding pass. “It’s time for my break. I have keys to the first-class lounge; would you care for a drink?”

Cindy-three’s black auto-caddie followed the pair to a placard-bound door: “Guest Lounge.”  

“Is it supposed to be empty?” Three asked as she flopped herself into the blue-leather booth.

“It’s early. A slow day. Why? You feeling wary now?” From the bar, Dimples filled two tumblers with ice, coke and rum and returned to stand before Cindy-three’s reclined posture, the leather’s coolness no doubt seeping into her sweating body.

“On the contrary, a cozy, dark room, a cold drink with a fine looking fellow like yourself is just how I’d like to spend my layover.”

Terry, Dimples’ real name, hesitated.  

Cindy-three let him mull the situation for a bit. She sipped her drink, and arched her back, her Wonderbra allowing the swell of her chest to bulge over the lip of her skin tight blouse. “What’s wrong…”


“Come sit next to me, Terry. I don’t bite… hard.”