Jane had time to study the woman she assumed was little Phyllis all grown up and rich. The Phyllis she remembered had mousy brown hair and an air of perpetual disarray just short of sloppiness. This woman was exquisite;expensively frosted hair swirled around a face that could have graced a magazine cover. This was the sort of beautiful, mature woman who was shown in the high fashion fur ads in magazines Jane flipped through at the bookstore but couldn't afford to buy. Tanned. Gorgeous teeth. Gorgeous teeth? Phyllis had disgraceful teeth back in the old Chicago apartment days. It was the one real drawback to her appearance.

As Jane watched, the woman turned to a young man standing slightly behind her. She said something and pointed to Jane. The young man, blond, tanned, smashingly handsome, and unquestionably the most sulky individual in the whole airport, glared.

“Who is that with her?" Shelley asked.

“Dear God! I hope it's somebody she met on the plane," Jane said. She could feel her plaster smile crumbling.

“He couldn't be one of her husband's sons, could he?" Shelley asked.

“Too young. They'd be in their late twenties. That one's not more than eighteen or nineteen. He's probably some flunky of Chet's who was sent along to see her on and off planes.”

The woman who might be Phyllis had shifted her carry-on case and several lumpy plastic bags to her left arm and slipped her right arm around the boy in a clearly intimate gesture. He looked like he was straining to get away.

Shelley asked, "You don't suppose he's her lover, do you?"

“Bite your tongue! I've got underwear older than that boy!"

“Well, he's not somebody she picked up on the plane. Look, their hand luggage matches."

“Oh, shit!" Jane said, hissing. "Am I going to have a middle-aged woman cavorting around my house with her gigolo? Oh, Shelley—what will I do? How could she? He's just a kid. How mortifying. How will I explain it to my kids?"