In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

third degree anyway.
Like a flock of magpies, the inspectors stooped and stared,
hypnotized by the embossed gold hairbrush, razor, gold handled badger
shaving brush, and a tiny comb and brush set for whiskers or sideburns.
Some of the slots in the velvet lined case were empty where he must
have gotten rid of any sharp gold objects, or the customs people had
confiscated them.
Otherwise the guy packed as light as she did, with
monogrammed white handkerchiefs on top a pile of silky undershirts
and flimsy briefs in different colors. No, wait a sec, they were thongs.
The guy actually wore thong underwear.
The long narrow plane's tubularity was instantly oppressive in
spite of the off white interior and the upscale department store aroma
that wafted from the air recycling nozzles. Fully boarded, it seemed
they were last passengers, as the steward ushered them to their seats.
So, this was Concorde - worlds away from Penny's usual steerage with
its screaming babies and clogged up toilets. Why hadn't he said
anything? Probably to get that split second look on her face at the ticket
counter.
After stashing their bags in the slim overhead container,
Alessandro gallantly offered her the window seat, then slid into the
leather seat beside her with an exaggerated sigh, as if he were just
another über-businessman coming home after a hard day's wheelerdealering.
On take-off, the plane shook wildly, then jerked them back into
their seats in the moment before it punched the sound barrier and
sailed up into the stratosphere. The mach numbers climbed on the
readout, engine's roar got louder. Penny wished she could be capturing
it all on her minidisc, but it was forbidden.
A steward distributed a fancy snack-meal with individual salt
and pepper grinders, a little pot of caviar and another of sour cream,
fresh squeezed juice, and a rubbery pastry. Some people already had a
glass of Scotch or bubbly next to their Wall Street Journals, real twenty
four seven high rollers. Others were asleep under satin eye masks. A
group of white haired Germans were chatting away in loud voices.
Alessandro got himself a whiskey, asking Penny if she wanted
something, as if she weren't just seventeen and it wasn't eight in the
morning. She said no thanks, sipping her juice from the fluted crystal
glass, and ripped open her package of plane goodies. First she pulled
out a satin and fleece eye shade, mm, soft, but for a two hour ride?
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