Like Mario Andretti passing Al Unser, I passed gate numbers 20 and 19 and still no Quinton. Then finally, in the distance I saw him. He was in full stride, walking at a brisk pace. My only hope was to race past him, pop in the restroom, and almost immediately walk back out like I was headed back to the gate.

Vrrroooooooommmm!The rpm’s were tipping in the red as I covered my face, passing him. About one hundred feet ahead, I dismounted the cart like a jockey from a horse, hoisted my overstuffed rolling bag from the rear, snuck inside the restroom, and exhaled.

Quickly, having only seconds to spare, I adjusted the do, which had actually taken the shape of a helmet from the wind, lined up the lips, freshened the face, and walked out of the restroom, and in seconds I was standing right smack almost two feet from Quinton.

“Montana?” he spoke, looking rather shocked. But to my relief, pleasingly shocked. “Montana! What are you doing in Los Angeles?”

Grabbing me close, hugging me tight, I was holding my breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice the rapidly pumping, violently raging, out-of-breath beating of my heart. He smelled good. Just like I remembered. He released me.

“You look amazing. What did you do to your hair? And you look like you’ve lost weight. Either that or gained it in all the right places. Either way, I’m not complaining.” His eyes were sparkling as he glanced at my whole body from head to toe, never once blinking an eye. He was hooked.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Not bad for an old man, huh?” He laughed ever so smoothly. Quinton can downplay it as much as he wants, but the truth is he not only looked better, but was stronger, both mentally and physically, than most men barely half of his age. At any rate, I was more than willing to play along.

“I would’ve thought by now somebody would be wheeling you around,” I said, shooting a smile.

“For a moment they were. After we lost touch, I lost the strength to walk. But sensing a chance reunion, I rehabilitated myself.”

“Are you saying that losing touch with me made you weak?”

“Not at all. I’m saying that hoping I would one day see you again made me strong.” His words were like silk, dressing my soul, gliding gently across my heart. Quinton obviously hadn’t lost his way with words.

“What are you doing today?” he said. “If you’re not busy, maybe we could spend it together.” Just as I was about to answer with a resounding yes, his name came booming over the airport’s loudspeaker.

“Quinton Jamison, you have an emergency phone call. Please pick up the nearest white courtesy telephone. Quinton Jamison, please pick up the nearest white courtesy telephone.”