Free Greta Again! by Marya Stones Page B

best side – it was Indian summer and they basked in the sunshine, the warmth, and the beautiful colors in and around Central Park. Mike made an effort to stay close and spoiled her verbally with his text messages. He wanted to try to take her to the airport and to say good-bye in person. The hours flew by too fast and suddenly it was time to get ready to return to Munich. Mike knew the departure time and wanted to meet Greta at the airport. She had almost packed everything when the doorbell rang. The bag that she had brought along for her short trip was bursting at the seams because of all the things she had bought; Mona had left her a suitcase that she would drop off on her next stopover in New York.
                The door . . .
                Mona had gone to work and Greta didn’t expect anyone. She didn’t want to open the door because it would take too much time, and she didn’t have any to spare.
                The doorbell rang again.
                Maybe Mona had ordered something. The least she could do is open the door for the delivery man. Greta pushed the buzzer: “Yes, hello?”
                “This is the car service to the airport, Miss Mayfield.”
                “Oh, who are you? I didn’t order a car.”
                “I’m George, Mr. Sloan’s driver. He wanted to spare you the trouble of public transportation to the airport. May I carry your bags down?”
                Greta hardly knew what to say.
                “That’s very nice. Yes, I have a suitcase; I appreciate your help.”
                She was dumbfounded. Was Mike’s father in the car downstairs waiting, too?
                Oh, man, I hope not. I’m not ready for that. Please!
                And then, I’m really not properly dressed, Greta thought. She looked at herself: comfortable jeans, the cowboy boots from Mike, a T-shirt and a cashmere pullover, sort of a casual, sloppy look.
                It looks okay, but if such a high-powered, influential man wants to drive me to the airport . . .
                I can’t change now, and it won’t get any better, Greta reassured herself. George was apparently already at her entry, and the doorbell rang again. Greta opened the door. George looked like a chauffeur sent by central casting – just as one would imagine: not too tall, with a little belly, closely shaved, black shoes polished to a high shine, and, of course, a dark suit and cap with a rim. He tipped his cap and bowed slightly in Greta’s direction.
                “Is Mr. Sloan here, too?” Greta burst out.
                “No, Miss Mayfield, I’m sorry to disappoint you. You’ll be making the trip alone. I hope my company will be satisfactory.”
                Greta breathed a sigh of relief, and gave him the suitcase. Still completely surprised by the luxurious service, she followed George with her hand baggage.
                Be satisfactory?
                Hey, the guy obviously didn’t know that Greta didn’t travel in such circles. It was super cool to get to the airport so easily. What luxury! I could get used to this, she thought. It was hard to suppress a broad smile. Thank God George couldn’t see her – it would have been too embarrassing.
                Greta closed the door to the apartment. She had left a little thank-you note for Mona with a gift certificate for her favorite spa. Mr. Popcorn and Curly Bob had gotten some honey in their milk-bowls. Greta knew already that she would miss those two. Hopefully her flight plans included a trip back to New York soon. She was already looking forward to it. This city would never lose its fascination for her.
                As Greta stepped out the door, a black ultra-elegant limousine with tinted windows stood at the curb . George had already stored the