I usually find flying anything but pleasant. While I’m not afraid to fly, I do have a touch of claustrophobia that is exacerbated when I’m crammed next to a million people in a tight space. My European friends always mock what they call my American need for a “bubble,” but in my case, it’s absolutely true. Jammed in next to some gigantic man or, God help me, next to a chatty old lady that won’t let me read and needs the bathroom every five minutes, flying anywhere always makes the thought of walking there more appealing most of the time. Further, forced to look for the best bargain anytime I went anywhere, I usually had to book flights with connections through someplace that simply extended the unpleasantness for more time than necessary.
It hadn’t
occurred to me that we wouldn’t
be flying in a commercial airplane. I’d
anticipated, with great excitement, stretching out in first class and drinking
as much free champagne as I could guzzle, but, as we approached Louis Armstrong
International, we took a strange turn, away from the main concourses and
terminal.
I glanced over at Amelia to see if she noticed, but she was engrossed in her
tablet, trying to cram information one last time before the
trip. The Rolls drove up to a locked gate that opened electronically after a
brief pause. We drove to a parking area near a separate runway that held
several smaller airplanes, and my stomach dropped when I saw the Winters
Corporation logo on the tail of a beautiful small jet.
“Ah,” said Amelia, glancing up. “Here we are.” She put her tablet away in her purse and waited as George came around to open her door.
Too stunned to say anything, after I got out of the car, I stood there dumbly and watched as several men appeared to carry our luggage to the plane for us, bustling around with great efficiency. Another group of men and women were inspecting the plane and moving around it out on the tarmac, taking notes and adjusting things as they went.
Amelia was now looking at her phone, tapping out texts. Mirrored sunglasses covered her eyes, and her hair was uncharacteristically down, falling in dark, loose curls around her shoulders. While we would have the evening in New York to get adjusted and relax before starting work tomorrow, she was dressed, as usual, as if she were going to be in a fashion shoot later. Her makeup was expertly applied, highlighting her high cheekbones and lips. Her cool beauty coupled with her clothes and sunglasses made her look very much the celebrity. I glanced around, expecting to spot the paparazzi she’d obviously dressed up for. Clad in my oldest yoga pants and a ratty, paint-spattered T-shirt, I felt like a bum she’d picked up on the side of the road.
“Ready?” she finally asked, looking up at me.
“I’m sorry I didn’t dress up.” I glanced down at myself and gestured at my clothes.
“Don’t be silly. I told you that you had the day off today. You’re allowed to dress as you want on your own time.”
“Maybe I can change on the plane. I didn’t think about it.” I was still embarrassed. “Of course people might see us when we get there. I’m sorry. I always dress like this to fly. I didn’t expect…”
She touched my arm lightly. “Really, it’s fine. I’ll have our driver in New York drop you off at your friend’s house. No one will even see you.”
She was probably just being nice. While I’d be staying in the same hotel as she was for the rest of the trip, I’d arranged to meet up with Lana, an old graduate-school friend of mine, and was staying with her and her partner tonight. We rarely got to see each other, and when I’d made plans with her, I hadn’t thought it might not be appropriate to disappear on a business trip for an evening. At best, I was being rude leaving Amelia alone. At worst, I was being unprofessional. More than likely, I was being both rude and unprofessional. Still, it would be too awkward to cancel now and, as I hadn’t seen Lana in months, disappointing for both Lana and me. Further, I couldn’t tell if Amelia’s breezy attitude about my night away was genuine or if she was disappointed in me. Her absorption in her phone was making her opinion about it hard to read.
The pilot approached us then and invited us to board the plane. I grabbed my little overnight bag and followed Amelia across the tarmac and up the walkway, still feeling like a grubby little sister next to her.
The inside of the plane was more spacious than I’d anticipated. The seats were all a creamy white leather, wide and inviting. There was a small eating nook in one area of the plane and, I noted, a miniscule bedroom next to the surprising large toilet and shower room. Already seated, tablet on her lap, Amelia looked up at me after I’d taken the tour.
“Do you like it?”
“My God! It’s going to spoil me for regular flying for the rest of my life.”
The pilot reappeared. “Please be seated and buckle in. We’ll be departing in a couple of minutes.”
Amelia was in a set of chairs that faced each other, and I took the one across from her. She continued to look at her tablet, and I took that as a sign to start working myself. I pulled out my new laptop and opened it, reviewing once again the various art shows that were happening this week. While I’d firmly decided on at least three shows to visit, I had room in my schedule for one more. I’d narrowed down my choices to about ten more shows that had potential, and after I logged onto the plane’s wireless, I scrolled through the websites for the thousandth time that week. I was so engrossed in my search, I hardly noticed us taxiing and becoming airborne until the pilot announced that we were free to move about the cabin. I looked up, surprised to see Amelia watching me. She saw me see her stare and didn’t look away. Not able to control the tumult of feelings her directness caused, I blushed under her gaze.
“You’re a very focused person, Doctor,” she said finally.
“It’s a habit from grad school. If I get locked into what I’m doing, I’m not tempted to stop. Now I do it with almost everything.”
“I wish I had that kind of discipline. I get distracted very easily. Especially by things I’d rather look at.”
I felt my entire body flush and start sweating.
Seeing my face, she laughed. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t exactly embarrass me…”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” Her expression was serious. “You likely saw the society spread featuring us at the dinner a few weeks ago.”
I nodded.
“And all of that talk at dinner with Brent when we were there also seemed to embarrass you a great deal. I hope it doesn’t bother you to be…associated with me in that way. The gossip-mongers always seem to want to hook me up with any woman I’m seen with. My sister Emma was once the subject of their dirty talk about me until my lawyer sent the newspaper a clear statement about us. There will likely be more of the same during this trip. If it bothers you, please say so, and I can do the same thing as I did with Emma for you.”
I hesitated, weighing my words carefully. “It doesn’t really bother me, Miss Winters. I’m surprised by it, I guess, and a little embarrassed, but I wouldn’t say it bothers me.”
“I imagined you would be embarrassed,” she said, looking a little defeated.
“What do you mean?” Her reaction surprised me.
She made eye contact with me. “To think that anyone would believe you would be with me in that way. I should be so lucky.”
I looked away, not sure how to respond. I was quiet long enough that she apparently took my silence as assent, and when I looked back at her, she was staring out the window, her expression somewhat melancholy.
Before I could chicken out, I said, “Anyone would be lucky to be with you, Amelia.” It was the first time I’d called her by her first name, and my heart raced with my daring.
She looked back at me, obviously completely surprised, and then laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m being a petulant child. I wanted to hear you say something nice about me, and I basically forced you to. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Before I could retort, the co-pilot opened the door to the cockpit and walked back toward us. “Is there anything I can get for you ladies? Wine? A cocktail? We should be arriving at Teterboro in about two hours.”
“Let’s start this trip out right, James,” Amelia said. “A bottle of the 2004 Belle Epoque, please.”
He disappeared into the small galley kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two glasses and a bucket of ice. He set them down and returned a moment later with the champagne. He showed the label to Amelia and she gave her approval, flashing me a quick look to show her amusement with his formality. He popped the cork expertly, poured us two glasses, and excused himself.
“To a successful trip,” Amelia said, holding up her glass. We clinked glasses, and I drank some of the very best champagne money can buy.