After a short but intense conversation he passed the phone to one of the cops who listened in silence and then returned it. I got a nod, Mohammed got a salute, and Monsieur Crocodile Shoes got dragged away in handcuffs. That left the sunglassed, impossibly long and improbably tanned limbed woman and her adorable child standing alone, shaking visibly. I surprised myself. ‘Hello, I am Rupert. This is my friend Mohammed. We both work for the airport. Are you alright?’ I asked. Somehow she smiled and it was the most beautiful thing I have seen in the World. ‘Céleste. And this is my daughter Charise’. And then she started to cry. ‘Phillipe — my husband — he has our tickets, all our money, our cards, our passports . . . my God, where will we stay tonight?’ I sensed Mohammed opening his mouth to speak, but thought that if there was one moment in my life when I needed to butt in, it was now. I astonished myself this time. ‘I have an apartment’ I blurted, then, seeing her face, added quickly. I could see her face as she walked. As they touched her she would close her eyes and her mouth was open breathing a little heavily through it. She was on her way and they could sense it too. I was glad no one knew me so I could move around freely watching. She was oblivious of who was around her and the one guy had caught on as the other showed up with another drink.He sat beside her, steadying her but with the back of his hand slowly rubbing the outside of her breast in slow strokes as she drank and then breathed harder and harder. They let her drink till a small group of maybe 10 guys remained, all seeming to know each other. Her boss was standing in the corner by one of the bars barely keeping from drooling as he watched. I walked up to the other guy who had guided her over to the couch and mentioned the guy on the right was rubbing her breast and she was getting turned on. I told him I'd seen her before at another convention. That she was a party girl, and that if he ever got.
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