In flagrante delicto

We rarely fly first class. We simply don’t have the funds to splurge on such luxuries. My husband flies so much for work though, that he ends up with lots of miles so occasionally we get bumped up because of his status or miles.

That’s not what happened last July.

We were in Paris for a trade show – my husband designs the most beautiful, hand-woven carpets you’ve ever seen (not just a wife’s bias, he’s actually won the equivalent of the Academy Award of Carpet designing at least 10 times over the last 12 years) and his new line was on display for a week for designers, rug and furniture store owners…and some individuals with money to burn. One such individual was Jeffrey Epstein.

We had no idea who he was at the time. He was just a guy who clearly had money to spend. He was apparently buying rugs for a chalet he had bought in Andorra. (Note: I discovered later that Andorra has no extradition treaty with the US. Can’t help but wonder if he was planning…and if he’s really dead or holed up in a chalet in Andorra.)

While he was discussing possibilities with my husband, my cell phone rang. It was my mother’s neighbor, Cindy. Never good when someone who never calls you, calls. My blood pressure immediately skyrocketed as I answered.

“Cindy! What a surprise! How are you?”

“Hey, Danny girl. Bad news. Your mom was out mowing the lawn this morning and keeled over. I happened to be coming home from the night shift. I was just waving hello when I saw her go down.”

“Oh my God!”

“Don’t worry. I called 911 and I went to the hospital with her. She’s in the ICU for now, but she’ll be fine.”

“Oh my God.”

“She’s fine, baby girl. When can you get here?”

“I’m in Paris!”

“Texas?”

“France!”

“Oh. Well…”

“I will get on the next flight out of here. Oh my God. Please kiss Mommy for me. Tell her I love her and I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Call me when you know what time you’re going to land. I’ll have Max pick you up.”

“Thank you so much, Cindy. Oh my God. Thank you! I’ll call you as soon as I know.”

I disconnected and immediately started looking for flights out of Paris for that day.

Nothing. Not one damn flight. None for the next day either.

I ran to my husband in tears and mildly frantic.

“HoneyMommyhadaheartattackshesinthehospitalIhavetogohomeandalltheflightsarebookedtodayandtommorow.”

“Say that more slowly, my love. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I’m sorry. Excuse me,” I said, to the potential customer. Turning to my husband, “Mommy had a heart attack. I have to go home and every flight is booked today and tomorrow.”

“Oh no! Is she okay?”

“She’s in the ICU but Cindy thinks she’ll be fine. She’s a nurse. She would know. Unless she’s trying to be nice in which case I don’t know.” I burst into tears again.

“I’m sorry to eavesdrop,” said the gentleman with whom my husband had been speaking.

“Perhaps I can help. I was leaving for New York this afternoon anyway. I have a private jet. I would be happy to give you a lift. With the time difference, you’ll be at your mother’s bedside this evening.

“Really? Really?? Oh I cannot thank you enough!” I said hugging the stranger. He stiffened slightly and I jumped back. “I’m sorry. My name is Danny. And you are?”

“Call me Jeff.”

“Thank you so much, Jeff! What time do we leave?”

“As soon as I finish up with your husband? Can you leave with me from here or do you need to go back to your hotel?”

“I’m ready.”

By 5 pm, we were taking off.

Unfortunately, I was a little too upset to appreciate the luxurious surroundings. Though being in what amounts to a living room in the sky made being worried less miserable than if I had been squished in coach with my knees in my chin and someone else’s knees in my back.

“Jeff” was seated next to me on his computer. His staff had fed us as soon as we hit altitude. We had chatted a bit about politics, world affairs and some of the philanthropic work he did. He also gushed about my husband’s rugs and how he couldn’t wait to see them in his new home. He even suggested we might visit him to see them on display. He threw in that we should bring my husband’s partner and her daughters, too. (They, along with our son, were working the show with us in Paris. Eighteen and nineteen, though, because of their very slight builds, they appeared younger. Beautiful, innocent-looking…you get the picture.) Ignorant to the man’s predilections, I smiled and said that would be lovely, thinking who would have thought we’d be invited to chalet in Andorra by someone with their own private jet?

I’d had a glass of wine to calm my nerves with dinner and was feeling drowsy despite my nerves. I was dozing though not asleep. “Jeff” apparently thought I was sleeping because what he pulled up on his computer made me jolt awake, but then continue a fake sleep.

I was suddenly terrified of this stranger that had offered me a ride home on his private jet.

And then I was just disgusted because it was clear from what he was scrolling through, that I was not his type in any way shape or form. But Bella and Brianna, the eighteen and nineteen year olds? They were a red cape to this bull. I was sick.

I made some noise and stretched so he would turn off the crap before I could catch him in flagrante. My head was exploding and I am not sure I would not have stabbed him with my dinner knife if I had known what kind of sick bastard was dining with me.

“Can’t sleep?” he said, having closed the computer when I stretched.

“No. I always find it difficult to sleep on planes. Now, worrying about my mom. Impossible.”

“I understand. I rarely sleep, either. I’m usually working, preparing for the next deal or the next trip.”

“Mhmm,” I responded.

“I rarely travel alone, though,” he said.

“Really?” I said.

“People have party buses? I usually have a party plane,” he smiled with a dirty old man grin (It may have been a normal, every day grin. At this point, my opinion was definitely colored by what he had been perusing just minutes before.)

“Not today, though,” I said.

“No,” he said, looking out the window, “not today.”

“Did I throw a wrench in your plans?” I asked hopeful that I had saved some girls from being sullied by his touch.

“No,” he said, still looking out the window. “The trip was last minute. I have some business to take care of in the states before I set up house in Andorra.”

“Oh,” I said. “Staying long?”

“Not if I can help it,” he said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes for the rest of the trip.

I was met at Teterboro by Max. Jeff was met by the FBI. I have never been so happy in my life…except when I got to the hospital and my mom was already out of the ICU, sitting up in bed.

“Danny girl!” she said, smiling. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Paris for another week? What happened?”

“Have I got a story to tell you,” I said, hugging her tightly.