Mrs Hansen || A Lloyd Hansen Story

Prosecco Rebecca, Meet Airport Rebecca.

Rebecca couldn't believe that she made it through security without a hitch. She had insisted in giving Alan his denim jacket back, no matter how much he protested, keeping it was just another attachment to Lloyd.
People stared, of course they did, why wouldn't they?
She looked like she has escaped some sort of institution; eyes puffy rimmed in smudged mascara, her blouse was tied into a knot at the front like a sexy cowgirl Halloween costume, not to mention she was still barefoot, and limping.

Once she made it into the main departure lounge, she decided that an alcoholic beverage was the only thing that would put things right. Well, maybe just a little.  Hobbling directly to the nearest bar she settled down on one of the high stools.
"Prosecco, scotch and a vodka please." She asks the bartender politely.
"In the same glass?" He replies whimsically, grabbing a small bottle of prosecco from the fridge behind him.
"Don't temp me." Rebecca runs her hands over her face.
"Do you want a tray?"
"No need, they are all for me." She groans bluntly.
Reading his name tag through the small spaces between her fingers.  Troy.  He had sun kissed blonde ruffled surfer boy hair, and a million-dollar smile.  He couldn't have been older than 25.  She chuckled to herself, the girls would most definitely fall at his feet.

Troy placed the three drinks in front of Rebecca, wondering where she would start.  He could see the sadness reflected in her eyes.  Understanding that this beautiful woman was about to attempt to drink away her pain.
"That'll be thirty-six fifty, please." He offered her a sympathetic smile.
Rebecca sighed reaching into her purse, pulling out her wallet.  She pulled out both credit cards, she ran her hand over the embossed writing on the silver one, Miss R Gunn.
She had a list of things she had to change when she got home from her honeymoon; passport, drivers license, credit cards, bank cards.
She didn't even get the chance.  He didn't give her a chance.

"Ma'am?" Troy prompted Rebecca as she stared at the other card in her hand, Lloyds black limitless one.  One that she had never used, always having insisted on paying her way.  Old Rebecca would never give in, but this wasn't old Rebecca.  This was emotionally battered and bruised Rebecca. 
This was airport Rebecca.
She handed Troy the card and downed all three drinks.
Troy glanced down at the three empty glasses, "Anything else?"
"Two dry martinis with extra olives." Staring ahead catatonically.

After inhaling the last two drinks, Rebecca slides off the bar stool. The cold tiles delicately nip her feet, reminding her that she is still barefoot.
"Farewell, Troy!" She salutes, slapping down the only cash she had in her wallet.

Rebecca staggers to the mall part of the airport, armed with Lloyds black card she heads into the beauty department.
She begins lifting bottles of perfume, spraying herself before shoving the tester bottle into the basket.
"Miss? I'm sorry, but those are the samples." An older dark haired cashier with over lined lips  swaps the bottles for the corresponding boxes.
"Oh." Rebecca looks up, watery eyed.
"Miss, are you alright?" She asks.
"I've had a bad day." Rebecca sobs out, the cashier whisks a couple of tissues from a box next to the cosmetics, handing them to her with an empathetic shift cornering her mouth.
Wiping away her snot and tears, Rebecca lifts a pair of sunglasses, "how much are these?"
She didn't even wait for an answer shoving them in beside the perfume.
"Bag it all up. I want one of each of those Chanel lipsticks." She waves her hand to the cosmetics counter.
"I uh...do you have enough...this is several thousands of dollars wor-" Before the cashier could finish her sentence, Rebecca held up Lloyds black elitist card.
"Are we going to have a problem?" Rebecca reaches on her tiptoes for a bronze tipped bottle of champagne that decorates the middle of a perfume display, "is this for sale?"
"Sure." The cashier exchanges worried glances with one of her colleagues.
Gasping as Rebecca pops the cork, and takes a swig.
"Ma'am that's two thousand dollars.  It's Cristal Vinotheque Rose...it's not something you drink in the middle of the airport, or out of the bottle...it's meant to be for a celebration. A wedding perhaps."