Navy With Brown Leather Trim

By Robert Churchwell Staff Writer

s Katherine stumbled away from the United Airlines ticket counter, readjusting the strap on her new navy Eddie Bauer garment bag, she decided that she truly hated Pittsburgh International Airport. Upon further reflection, she decided that she hated Pittsburgh itself.

I hate the Steelers, I hate the Penguins, and I hate the Pirates. I hate all the teams that were more important than me every weekend. It's not like I'm selfish. I gave him two years, dammit. I deserve a little attention.

The right rear wheel on her suitcase locked, ramming the baggage into her shin for the twentieth time. The matching navy-with-brown-leather-trim luggage that Mike had given her squirmed against her efforts to drag them to Gate A15. Katherine couldn't get over the fact that the last gift he'd given her was what she used to carry her life away from his. Let him stew in the irony, sitting on his tatty plaid couch surrounded in dirty laundry and watching the tape of last night's game.

A tape! A fucking tape! It wasn't enough to see it once. He had to record it so he could ignore her at his convenience. The strap of her navy-with-brown-leather-trim bag caught on the escalator handrail and sent her suitcase tumbling down through the unsuspecting travelers. And bowling! Every two weeks he had to take me through that medieval torture so he could tell me how much better I was getting.

She bent down and gathered her scattered clothing. To her left she felt the furtive gaze of a filthy little man in an ugly brown suit. How exquisite. Now some airport pervert is staring at my underwear. She attempted to force the now bent clasp on the bag closed, meeting with little success.

Kneeling down over her recovered suitcase, Katherine looked through her tangled hair at the brilliant neon light of the airport bar. My God, he's finally gotten me to drink. She kicked her bags over to the bar and pulled up a stool.

One martini and two olives later Katherine sighed and looked at her navy-with brown-leather-trim bags and snorted. They had Mike's dopey grin all over them. She leaned back and looked down the long, busy corridor. She had a long way to go. But Los Angeles calls. She dropped a crumpled five-dollar bill on the bar and stood up, straightening her suit.

She stepped forward and stubbed her toe on her suitcase. I am not going to cry. He is not going to win. He is going nowhere. I am going to California. And she did, with her black-leather-with-no-trim purse and a bag of roasted peanuts.