Chapter 30

Max wasn’t sure how long his hands had been asleep from the grip he continued to maintain on the armrest, but as he moved his fingers voices drifted up of the attendants down below wishing those departing an enjoyable stay in New York.  He suddenly realized he was the only remaining passenger in the upper first class deck.  As the voices faded from below, he heard the cockpit crew depart and the Steward ask the attendants to take a final check of the plane.  He stood and took a moment to gather himself.  His knees were still shaky, his mind a muddle, his head with need of aspirin, his heart…

“Oh, Mr. Quinlan,” the attendant said with surprise.  “Are you alright?”

Max pondered a moment, then said, “Yes.  I’m alright.  Thank you for asking.  I guess everyone else is off the plane.”

“Yes,” she said.  Can I help you with anything?”

“No, Miss.  I’m quite alright.  Thank you.”  He gathered his coat and briefcase and made his way down the spiral staircase.

The walk to baggage claim seemed torturously long for Max.  Several customs agents guided the passengers to the luggage turnstile.  Max arrived last and picked up his bag.  He turned hesitantly toward the customs check stands.  His mind was still reeling with confusion.  Right now he didn’t want to see Sam again… especially with another man.  What is happening to me, he thought.  I’m beyond this.  I’m a trained professional who can distance himself from any emotion confronting him. Yes, he thought… that is Max Quinlan the doctor.  That is Max Quinlan the Director.  That is even the Max Quinlan, husband. 

As he made his way to the customs table, he wished to just be Max… the simple human being who was really feeling threatened by loss, by jealousy, by disappointment.  “Yes,” he muttered as he stepped up to the customs agent, “I’ve earned it.”

“Beg your pardon, Sir.” Said the agent, taken aback by Max’s comment.

“What?” said Max, startled.

The agent looked at Max, glanced over his shoulder and realized this man was the last passenger, and glanced at Max’s suitcase.  “Passport, please.”

Max handed him his passport and glared toward the double doors marked EXIT.

“Do you have anything to declare, Mr. Quinlan?”

“What?  Oh… no.  Nothing.”

The customs agent gave another look at the passport and said, “Been doing some traveling, haven’t you?”

Max, feeling anxious to get out there quipped, “Always.  Always traveling.  My business takes me around the world a lot.”

“Uh, huh.”  The agent glanced at the visas and the occupation line.  “Film Director, eh?”

“Yes,” said Max.  Being the master of reverse psychology, he continued, “Is it necessary to see in my bag?  It’s perfectly alright with me.”

The agent took a moment and gazed at Max, then motioned him on.  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Quinlan.  I’m a big fan of yours.”

“Thank you.  Thank you very much.”

As Max proceeded through the double doors, another customs agent leaned from his booth to the agent who had just passed Max through.  “Nice guy?”

The agent smiled, “Yeah.  A bit more nervous than I would have thought a man like him, but… yeah.  Nice guy.”

“Probably nervous over a fight with his wife.”

The agent turned.  “Wife?  He came through alone.”

The other agent smirked, “But Samantha didn’t.”

***

Max entered the terminal and scanned the arrivals and departure monitors for United.  Seeing his flight, he proceeded to gate 23.  As he walked old thoughts rushed through his mind once again.  He was feeling more and more insecure.  He was about to board a plane that would take him home.  He would then have to confront Sam or Samantha and deal with what he knew… that she didn’t know he knew.  Would she deny being with another man?  Would she deny the computer screen with its images of both of them?  Who would he find when he arrived?

As he came up on the gate check-in, he was again shocked to almost run into Sam at the gate, speaking to the young man.  They were holding hands, but not like… he didn’t want to think lovers.  He wanted to think anything but that, but there they were.  They were holding hands, even though at arms’ length.  She nodding, him doing the talking.  Without any embrace or gesture of anything but… acquaintance?   Friendship?   They parted, she going onto the plane, the young man leaving the area, still carrying his suitcase.  Max started to step up to the check-in counter, then without hesitation, found himself turning and following the young man.

***

Once in a cab, maintaining a safe but secure distance from Ari’s cab, Max picked up his phone and dialed his partner.

“Jerry, just for once do what I ask without questions.  Go to the house.  Put two dozen red roses on Sam’s bedside table… a card saying, ‘Sorry, am delayed in getting home.  Will be there shortly.  All my love, Max.’

“Not even one question, Max?”

“Not even one, Jerry.”

“Done, Max.  Done.”

***

As the first signs of daylight began to outline the bustling Lower Manhattan streets, the muscular doorman rose from his wooden stool and peered out as Ari paid the cab and stepped up to the entrance to the unique loft building.  The doorman wasn’t dressed in the normal New York green or black doorman’s uniform.  For this part of lower Manhattan, the look of a long shore man in a Dutch fisherman’s cap was more in keeping with the surroundings of undeveloped warehouses just a couple of blocks from the Staten Island Ferry.   As Michael raised the lacquered, wood-slat elevator door, he flashed his Irish smile once again and said, “My God, Laddie, you have been away a long one.”

“Hi, Michael”.  Yes, too long, I’m afraid.  It’s good to be back.” 

Max watched from a short distance away as the dimly lit freight elevator rose out of sight toward the fifth floor.  He reached up to the cabby and gave him a fifty-dollar bill.  “You’re damn good at following a cab.  Thanks.   Buy your wife some flowers on me.”

“Much obliged, Mr.  Ain’t got no wife.”

“Well then, buy yourself a bottle of champagne and celebrate your good fortune.” 

“You bet.  Have a nice day.”

Max smiled cynically, “Yeah.  I’ll do that.”

He stepped out onto the sidewalk and stood a few moments with his suitcase as the cab sped away.  He closed his eyes and took in the familiar smells and sounds of the city he knew so well.  The air was warmer than usual for a November bringing a smile to his face.  He slowly opened his eyes and focused on the five-story building.  Most of the amber leaves of the small oak trees before him were still clinging to their branches.  Time seemed to be on hold.  His smile disappeared as he stepped up to the entranceway and took a deep breath.  A shiver rippled up his backside.  It was as if he were about to take a medical exam… an exam that might determine his competency as a professional, a man and more likely, a husband.  He felt strangely foreign, as if he too, like the air and trees, had become part of a holding pattern.  He needed closure.  He wanted to leave the old time period behind and move on.  He just wasn’t sure how.  He wasn’t sure of anything right now, other than the feeling of adolescent anger.