CHAPTER ONE
As Frances readied herself for flight AA2 to Los Angeles
on Friday night, "fifteenth August 1997, she tried vainly.
to brush aside the humiliation and psychological abuse she
had been subjected to by the company she had worked for.
recently.
The Daphne-patterned drapes nestled next to the opened.
ranch slider door of the dining room. A wooden wrap-around
deck outside the door looked serenely over vacant land. On the
other side of the dining room was the lounge with a light green.
corner lounge suite and two Rimu China cabinets set in one.
corner. A television sat on a cream two-door cabinet that held.
dozens of videotapes, most of them Harold’s; he was avid.
movie buff.
Seated at the dining table, Frances was a small, slim.
woman in her late "fifties. She flicked through her documents.
quickly, checking and rechecking. Her green eyes glanced at
the TV. She sighed. She was only allowed to watch when the
TV was free. It was too uncomfortable to watch the small TV in
the bedroom. Nervously she chewed her fingernails and
smoked one last cigarette.
“I intend to enjoy this trip,” she whispered, completely.
unaware that her nightmare was about to begin, one far
beyond the realms of reality that would last six whole years.
“Frances!” Harold yelled from the garage. “It’s time to
leave.”
“Won’t be long,” she replied as she stubbed the butt into
the ashtray and rushed down the hall which led from the
dining room to the bedroom for her luggage. She dragged it to
the garage and rushed back to the dining room.
He never helps me.
Harold was five foot ten, stood with a slight bend at his
waist, and walked with a limp. Three and a half years after
they married Harold had a stroke and was left partially.
paralyzed.
His bushy grey hair half covered his ears and his sharp eyes.
pierced right through you. He had a long-hooked nose and
above these cruel thin lips, he had a bushy moustache.
In the privacy of his home, he was impatient, distant, aloof,
and self-destructive. Frances sometimes thought he had two.
personalities -; lots like his father, a Jekyll and Hyde. He never
wanted to socialize with France and at times was a loner.
Harold’s appearance was all too deceiving.
He was popular, self-confident, and a plausible person. He
delighted in humiliating Frances in public whenever he could.
He was unfeeling to her sensitive nature despite her
persistent complaints. She had learned to cope with his
hurtful, sharp cutting barbs and sarcastic remarks. She loved.
him so much.
Harold entered the dining room from the hallway and closed.
the ranch slider. He picked up the "flowers Frances’ colleagues.
had given her yesterday, her last day at work.
“I will put these on the bookshop counter,” he said as he
limped off.
They drove in almost silence to Auckland Airport in
Harold’s 1996 Toyota Hi Ace van, and she mused to herself that.
at least she would have a well-earned break.
Away from grumpy. He never wants to do anything or go.
anywhere.
Harold drew into the curb outside the terminal. The wide
glass doors opened immediately as she stepped on the rubber.
pads and struggled inside with her luggage. Queues of
impatient people waited at airline booths which lined the back.
wall.
Harold went and parked the van while Frances joined the
queue to book in. Then Harold returned to the terminal to meet
Frances.
Do not help me. Frances thought.
Harold leaned against a pillar as she joined him, her.
boarding pass gripped tightly in her hand. With a meagre peck
on her right cheek, he left.
“Rather unusual, but at least I get a break from your
sarcasm,” she whispered.
With time to fill, she entered the departure lounge and
browsed the duty-free shops where merchandise was.
displayed on neat and tidy shelves. Liquor, perfumes,
toiletries, films, and cameras.
“Ma’am, can I help?” enquired the young male assistant.
who approached her.
“I’ll have a bottle of JB Gold, Black Heart Rum, and a bottle.
of Drambuie. Thank you.” Frances said.
“Also, a carton of mild cigarettes.” She added.
“These I’ll collect on arrival, take a carton with me.”
“Arrival date, please.” The assistant asked her.
“Tuesday, second September”
The young man completed the documents and handed her.
a receipt.
“I’ve put thirty first August, ma’am. The date does not
matter. You never know what can happen,” he said.
Strange remark, she thought as she cringed inside while she
tucked the receipt into her wallet and headed towards the
departure gate. She quickly brushed aside the remark and
climbed the steep stairs of the aircraft up to the cabin with its
pink and green interior and settled herself in the economy seat.
she had been allocated.
“All passengers, fasten your seat belts. We will depart soon.
for Los Angeles for a twelve-hour "flight” the captain said over
the intercom as she relaxed in her seat.
Frances sat idly gazing out the window as the plane.
ascended into the dark cloudy sky.
Frances was meeting her friend Rita in a few days’ time in
Los Angeles. Rita had "own from Auckland to Memphis for the
twentieth anniversary of Elvis Presley’s death, now Rita was.
"Flying back to Los Angeles to meet Francis.
Frances hoped to visit Catalina Island a one-hour boat trip.
from Los Angeles and walk Hollywood Boulevard, and visit the
Yosemite Valley nestled in the Sierra Nevada near Yosemite
National Park. From there they were traveling to San Francisco
and then Las Vegas to see the shows.
Houses and buildings below grew smaller. Their lights
twinkled in the dark beneath her as the 747 glided into the
clouds for the twelve-hour "flight.
When she woke with a start, she stretched and yawned.
Her cares and worries of the last few months were no longer on
her mind. The breakfast trolley rattled past. The crew, dressed.
in smart, fresh uniforms that matched the interior of the plane,
stopped, and served passengers as they moved along the aisle.
Frances became concerned when the hostess bypassed her but
consoled herself, she would be served soon.
“Pancakes or eggs and bacon, ma’am?” the hostess
inquired.
“Pancakes, thank you,” Frances replied as she lowered the
tray table from the seat in front of her.
“Enjoy,” the hostess said as she placed the tray down in
front of Frances.
Frances was astonished when she lifted the aluminium.
warming cover off and peered at her breakfast. Pancakes
inedible hard brown burnt offerings and a dirty orange juice
container sat on her tray. Not one to complain, she bypassed.
her breakfast and rested until arrival at LAX,
Visibility was poor due to fog and the descent slow, but at
last they landed. The customs arrival hall was a big barn that.
had to cope daily with large volumes of passengers. She found.
her wait in the alien queue long and arduous.
Hot and muggy weather greeted Frances as she stepped.
outside the terminal pushing her trolley. The courtesy van for
her hotel, Halswell Inn LAX, was parked at the curb and she
climbed aboard.
Twenty minutes later, the door of the Inn swung open.
automatically and she was propelled into a smart tidy.
reception area, the lobby desk on the far side in front of her.
Nervously she handed her voucher over and waited while a
woman with a pin that said her name was Jean tapped on the
keyboard to confirm her reservation.
It didn’t take long to find her room. She swiped her card in
the slot in the door and pushed it open. A double bed, bedside
cabinet, small table, and chair greeted her as she walked into
the pleasant room. A kettle, sachets of coffee, tea, milk and
sugar sat on the table beside the cups.
She heaved her luggage onto the rack set into the wall near the
open wardrobe and unzipped one. She pulled out a few clothes and
hung them on hangers. Then she slipped off her shoes, reached for
some brochures on the table and lay down on the soft bed.
Deep blue water with the sun shining on the ripples as the
ferry cruised over huge waves formed in her mind as she read.
about Catalina Island. Frances was agitated so she jumped off.
the bed, slipped on her shoes, and left her room, quickly.
turning back to make sure her door was locked before rushing.
towards the lift.
The doors swung open she stepped inside the lift and
pushed the button to take her to the lobby.
“How do you get to Catalina?” Frances asked the lobby.
clerk.
“You can use our courtesy van to LAX,” the clerk said,
pointing towards the entrance. “The coach to the ferry is from
Long Beach.”
Back in her room she lay down exhausted and fell into a
deep sleep.
When she woke suddenly and glanced at her watch, she
reached for the compendium and perused the meal service.
menu and decided on a light meal in the Blue Room Bar.
Wandering into the bathroom, she eyed herself in the mirror,
applied fresh lipstick, and quickly combed her hair. Then she
grabbed her handbag and closed the door behind her. The
handle rattled as she checked the door, then she walked along.
the hallway to the lift. She entered the lift after a couple.
stepped out, then pressed the button for the Blue Room Bar.
The doorway to the Blue Room Bar was straight ahead.
when she stepped out of the lift. She strolled into the room.
Bright blue walls dazzled her as she seated herself in a booth. It
was a pleasant room. Booths with seating for six lined the
walls. After studying the menu, she decided on a steak.
sandwich on rye, with chocolate fudge cake for dessert.
A pleasant blonde waitress dressed smartly in cream and
blue approached with her notebook ready.
“Are you ready to order?” she asked in a soft, twangy voice.
“Yes, thank you,” Frances replied and placed her order. “I’d
like a glass of dry white wine, too,” she added.
“Your wine, ma’am,” the waitress said as she set the glass.
on the table a few minutes later. Ten minutes after that, her
meal arrived.
After she had finished, she sat and watched other guests as she
sipped the last of her wine. Then she signalled to the waitress
for the bill.
She felt relaxed and calm and couldn’t wait to get to her.
bed and relax on the soft mattress. Before she went to bed, she
rang the cafeteria and ordered her breakfast for room service.
the next morning.
