Chapter 3: Plus Awesome

Dylan Duke was a humble guy.  Despite his success, he realized he had a lot to learn. He just hadn’t expected one of those lessons to be that supervising nurses don’t budge. If Jill wanted to take the week off, she was going to have to work another shift. So, after grabbing just a few hours of sleep, Jill returned to the pediatric ward at Ho Ho Hospital while Dylan waited, which isn’t to say he stood around twiddling his thumbs. He spent the morning in a meeting with his team orchestrating the launch of Ball Baby, his game that was set to drop soon. He hadn’t decided on the day yet because he was toying with the idea of a soft release. Just put it out there and let word of mouth sell it. His team wasn’t crazy about that approach. They wanted something like a movie premiere--a screening in Vegas with a red carpet, celebrities, the works. Their idea didn’t thrill him, but he told his team he’d give it some thought, which meant they all flashed him tense smiles as he said goodbye. He didn’t like keeping them in suspense, but he needed to mull it over, and get ready for his week with Jill Caruthers. He’d spent hours talking with Jameson about Jill’s multimillionaire week, going over details.

“I think she’s a size six, Jameson. I’d like clothing waiting for her when we get to the Ritz Carlton.”

“Very well, Sir.”

“I’ve checked her social media and she likes Willow and Twig. So, get what you can from their store, and use any of the Paris fashion houses for formal wear. She doesn’t follow any of them, so maybe you pick or Rubio could pick a dress.”

“Perhaps I’ll let Rubio tell Marjorie and leave the selection of formalwear to the designers,” said Jameson, his tone sending the message, Come on, man! Use your head!

“Good idea!” cried Dylan, too hyped to catch the criticism. “Oh! And make sure her suite has snacks. I remember she likes carrot sticks, so get a couple of bags.”

“She will assume you think she’s a rabbit.”

“Okay, then just good snacks, all the stuff she needs, and stuff she doesn’t need but would love to have. Every girl I’ve ever dated has a Louis bag. Get her one. No! Two. No! She’ll think I’m trying too hard to impress her.  Just one.”

“One Louis bag filled with carrots. Anything else, Sir?”

“Wish me luck, Jameson. She’s special.”

“The lilt of your voice tells me as much. Good luck, Sir, and coming from an Irishman, you can expect it to count.”

 

Shortly after seven the next morning, Jill walked outside Ho Ho Hospital’s entrance, a small duffle bag slung over her shoulder, and saw Dylan waiting for her beside a Rolls Royce Phantom. She took one look at the luxury car and bowed to the security guard; a silver-haired man named Fred. “Farewell loyal subject. I am off to live the life of the uber rich,” she said, trying for a British accent, but sounding like she had marbles in her mouth.

“Let us know how it goes,” said Fred.

“I will fair Sir.”

Dylan opened the car door. “I forgot that she sometimes gets loopy when she’s tired,” said Dylan to Fred, thinking back to a few hilarious late-night study sessions he had done with her.

“True story,” said Jill, tapping Dylan’s chest. “I ate stale nachos during my break.”

Fred nodded at Dylan. “She walks out of here sometimes like she’s just closed down The Tipsy Elf, which is when we call her a cab.”

“You’re a noble sentry,” said Jill, patting her own cheek as she climbed into the back of the Rolls.

“Thank you, my lady,” said Fred before taking a moment to size up Dylan. “For a guy in a Rolls Royce, you look nervous.”

“Do I?” asked Dylan, straightening his tie.

“Here’s my advice, and it’s worked since Nam. Tattoo her name on your thigh. The ladies love it.”

Dylan’s eyes bulged a little at the suggestion. “Sir, I will definitely give it some thought,” he said as Jill began opening and closing the window.

“She’s a good egg. Treat her nice,” said Fred.

Dylan figured tipping the hospital security guard wasn’t required, but he handed Fred a crisp hundred-dollar bill. “I promise I will,” he said, and now it was Fred whose eyes were bulging. Dylan jumped in the Rolls and, as Jill continued to play with the window controls, the driver pulled the luxury car away from the hospital and toward Rudolph Regional Airport where Dylan’s jet waited to take them to Atlanta.

“What a pretty plane,” said Jill as the driver parked the Rolls in front of Dylan’s jet. “Did you buy it because it was pretty?”

Dylan watched as the blinking of her eyes slowed almost to the point that she was napping a little. “Pretty had something to do with it,” he said, helping her out of the car as the driver grabbed their bags, “but I bought it because it’s fast, and cool.”

‘Uh huh,” said Jill, her head lolling to one side as Dylan helped her up the short flight of stairs and into the jet. Sometime between the flight attendant’s safety speech and take off, she fell asleep curled up in one of the oversized recliners, her jaw slack and snoring softly.

Dylan sat across from her, relishing her being there. It didn’t matter that she was essentially comatose. He drew comfort from her presence just like he always had. His world felt brighter and lighter with her in it. Each time he looked up from his work to check on her he smiled.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you smile like that before,” said Gayle, the flight attendant, as she refilled his coffee. Working for Dylan, Gayle had become friends with Dylan’s mother, Nancy after they had joined the same online knitting circle, and both were equally quick to share their opinion about his love life, which was fine. They meant well.

Gayle gave him a wink before returning to the galley.

She’s right, thought Dylan. His smile sometimes felt forced, but right now it was coming from his heart, and it was all because of Jill. He wondered if she knew how she changed things for the better. He had a feeling she was clueless about the overwhelming cuteness of her laugh. He loved making her laugh and made note in his phone to look up some jokes to tell her.  She was also probably unaware of the gracefulness of her neck, the playful bounce of her hair, the pleasantness of her smile, and the almost hypnotic quality of her voice. Even after the misery of his grand gesture, he would play on a loop a message she’d left on his phone. Dylan, are you alright? Give me a call. I’m a lucky duck to have a friend like you. How many times had he played that message? Each time the word friend pricked, but he listened to it all the same, because he loved to hear her voice.

Watching her lower lip suck in and out as she lightly snored, Dylan thought back, and decided people (including himself) were right to call what he’d done a grand gesture. He had put himself out on a limb . . . and then the limb had, more or less, snapped in half. It had not ended the way he had hoped. Maybe the problem had been the gesture hadn’t been grand enough? No, the look on Jill’s face had been enough to let him know not grand enough hadn’t been the issue. He definitely should have passed on the camel. Dylan groaned softly and forced his mind to change the subject. Raising the window screen just a touch, he saw that they were nearing Atlanta. A look from Gayle told him it was time to prepare to land.  He nudged Jill softly. “Hey there,” he said.

Jill wiped the drool from her chin as her eyes took their time to blink open. “Are we there?”

“We will be soon. They want us to prepare for landing.”

Jill attached her seatbelt then stretched out long and luxuriously. “Wow, I needed that.”

“You can sleep more when we get to the hotel, if you like.”

“Are you kidding me?” she said, pulling her hair into a band she’d been wearing around her wrist. “I have just one week to experience your life, I’m not going to sleep my way through it. I am going to live it up.” She patted her duffel bag. “But I still brought some things from home.”

“You didn’t need to. Jameson is taking care of everything.”

“I’m not having your butler buy me panties. That’s weird. I’m fine with him getting me a new wardrobe because I mostly wear scrubs, shorts and tanks, but I draw the line on panties,” said Jill just as the planes’ wheels touched down.  She looked out the window, taking in what looked to be a beautiful fall Atlanta day, but after a while of admiring the trees and puffy clouds, she noticed a guy on the tarmac with chin length curly blonde hair wearing a safety vest and motioning wildly with orange batons. Jill pointed. “Isn’t that Mahalo?”

“No,” said Dylan with a tinge of worry. “I mean, I told him he didn’t need to come.”  Dylan looked out the window and watched his friend toss a crew member a vest and two orange batons. “I think I made a mistake telling him you were coming. I should have known he wouldn’t be able to stay away.”

The wind picked up as Dylan and Jill stepped onto the tarmac.  The noise and the constant whipping of their hair meant that all three quickly piled into a waiting limousine. As they headed to Ritz Carlton Atlanta, Mahalo slapped his thigh. “Bienvenidos, Jilly! The gang is back! Go bloodhounds!” he said, then bayed like a bloodhound.

“Hey, Mahalo,” said Jill, her tone somewhere between bemusement and annoyance.

Mahalo shook his head, making his sun-kissed locks bounce. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen this chica.”

“It has,” said Jill. “Why are you using random Spanish words?”

“Because Ball Baby’s about to drop, and as Director of Pizazz it would be helpful to know.”

“You’re learning Spanish,” she said, her voice laced with wonder.

Mahalo leaned back straightening his pant legs. “Yes, but at the moment, that really only means I’ve doubled my Taco Bell intake.” Mahalo looked from Jill to Dylan and back to Jill. “Isn’t this great!” he cried.

“Dude,” said Dylan, “why’d you come?” his voice soft, as if to keep the question between the two of them.

“You texted me that Jill was coming,” said Mahalo.

“Which meant you didn’t need to come. Jill’s my plus one now.”

“Cool. I’ll be your Plus Awesome.”

“There’s no such thing as a Plus Awesome,” said Dylan, still speaking softer than normal.

“Until now!” said Mahalo. “But no worries. I already dropped my bags at the suite and it is freakin’ huge. East wing, west wing, second floor. It’s got it all. You’ll hardly know I’m there, unless it’s time to party. Because you know I’m always DTP. Down to party.” Mahalo bit his lower lip.

“But Mahalo we’re attending a wedding,” said Dylan.

“Already spoke with Krisha and she’s fine with a plus awesome.”

What if I’m not down? Asked Dylan, giving his friend a look.

Jill put her hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Why wouldn’t you be? This is going to be fun. Besides we’ll hardly notice him unless we’re DTP.”

Mahalo knocked the roof in agreement. “And I make things look above board. If a pic of you and Jill at a wedding hits social media, Rika might freak the freak.”

“Why would she do that? We broke up.”

“No!”

“Two months ago.”

“Where was I?”

“Maybe immersed in Spanish?” asked Jill.

Mahalo snapped like Jill was on to something.

“Dude, you gave me advice on how to do it, the whole it’s not you it’s me speech.”

He snapped again. “Now I remember. But in my defense, you’ve dated quite a string of super models.”

Dylan felt his face begin to burn.

“You’re right, Mahalo. Stay and keep things legit. You’re not just Dylan’s plus awesome, you’re my chaperone” said Jill.

Mahalo rubbed his hands together. “Excellent!” He pulled out his phone. Just to give you an update, there’s a cocktail party tonight at a downtown night club called, Not Forgotten. Dress is formal, so you’re going to want to ditch those scrubs.”

“Consider it done,” said Jill.

Mahalo looked out at the window, checking the skyscrapers. “But before I go any further into wedding details, I thought I’d probably address the elefante in the room.”

Dylan felt ice trickling down his spine. “What do you…mean?” he asked, shooting Mahalo a look that said, Don’t go there!

Mahalo rolled his wrist. “Dylan’s grand gesture.”

“It’s not an elephant,” said Dylan with a nervous laugh.

“Maybe a monkey? One you can’t get off your back?” asked Mahalo, moving around like he was trying to fling off a clingy primate.

“We’re fine, Mahalo,” said Jill, causing a relief to settle over Dylan, at least for the moment.

Mahalo smacked his lips. “If you say so. But I can see how it could be crazy weird, especially because of when Dylan--”

Dylan who was sitting across from Mahalo took an apple from a nearby basket of fruit and threw at him, hitting him in the face. “Think fast!”

“Ouch!” cried Mahalo. “Dude, what was that for?”

“I think he wanted you to change the subject,” said Jill, a smile playing on her mouth.

“Next time just say, quit talking about that time I made a fool of myself. You don’t need to throw a manzana.”

“Okay,” said Dylan.

“So, Jilly, you’re going to get a taste of the Duke life.”

“That’s right,” said Jill. She turned to Dylan. “We haven’t talked about it, but can I do anything I want?”

Dylan shrugged. “Most anything. If you want to buy an island, I’d have to call in my financial advisors.”

“Then I’ll steer clear of island shopping this week. But to get the ball rolling, I’m wondering if we could swing by Seven-Eleven for a Slurpee.”

“Not exactly a clutch multimillionaire move, but it’s a start,” said Mahalo who then informed the driver they would be going for Slurpees before heading to the Ritz Carlton.

  

“This is what I’m talking about,” said Jill, sitting next to Dylan in the limo with a Blue Cherry Blast in her hand.

“Just like old times,” said Dylan.

“The three of us did get more than a few Slurpees during high school. I’ve got the fillings to prove it,” said Jill.

“You look way more tired now than you did then, but I have a feeling you’re going to clean up real nice for the party.”

“We’ll see what I can do,” said Jill.

“What you can do?” cried Mahalo. “Jilly, you get to sit back, relax, and let the pros do their job. Jameson hired a team to take care of you for the entire week.”

Jill leaned back in her seat, enjoying her Slurpee. “I could get used to that,” she said. “I could definitely get used to that.”