Runner-up 4

The automatic glass doors of the Santa Monica airport lobby opened with a swish as Charlie made a beeline to the NetJet counter. A gorgeous brunet with a dazzling smile greeted him. Charlie figured her veneers probably cost as much as the private jet they were about to board.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Bonner,” the brunet purred as Charlie slapped his American Express card down on the counter. “It’s been a while,” she said, tapping on her keyboard, glancing up to meet Charlie’s eyes. He struggled to remember if they had a past together during what he fondly referred to as ‘those lost years.’

“WHOA!” Genie was catapulted into the lobby after tripping on the mat just inside the doors. All eyes were on her. So much for keeping a low profile, Charlie thought.

Her oversized Jackie-O sunglasses had come off and slid on the polished marble floor all the way to where Charlie stood. He knelt quietly and retrieved them. Noticing the Armani name on the side, Charlie instinctively knew they were fake. Dumb kid.

After a grand entrance like that, Charlie didn’t stand a chance. No one in that lobby was going to forget Genie that easily. She was, by anyone’s standards, a knockout.

Charlie handed her the sunglasses, which she promptly put on, despite the darkness of the lobby. The brunet looked inquisitively at Charlie and said, “And this would be?”

“Mrs. Bonner,” Genie replied. Charlie glanced at the brunet, momentarily stricken.

A handsome young man suddenly appeared at her side. Boy scout clean down to the manicured fingernails. Spray-on tan. Probably an actor, Charlie thought. A pilot waiting to be discovered by one of his passengers. Hey, in Los Angeles, anything is possible. Perfect posture, crisp white uniform, Captain’s bars on his shoulders and hat. Charlie wondered if there was a full head of hair under that hat.

Charlie and Genie followed Captain Donovan to the rear door that led outside to the waiting Learjet It was the same model as Travolta’s, Charlie knew. He requested this jet every time. It fit him, in image and comfort.

Just as they reached the plane, Charlie’s cellphone rang. Damn! He let it ring while he decided whether or not to answer. The caller ID said only “Incoming Call.”

“Answer it!” Genie said. “I told my mother to use your cellphone if she needed to reach me.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. Just what he needed. A hounding mother-in-law with his cellphone number. Note to self, he thought: Trash the phone in Mexico.

“Please!” Genie said, attempting to grab it away from Charlie.

Flipping the phone open, Charlie put it to his ear without saying a word.

What he heard on the other end drained all the color out of his professionally tanned face. One word, spoken by Falco, in a tone of terror no one could fake.

“Help.”

Lisa A. Landres is a native Angeleno who likes La Brea Bakery’s olive bread and thinks Steve Lopez should run for president.