Chapter Forty Seven

 

Six months later

Jordan stepped out the front door of Gail’s apartment to retrieve the morning paper. He was glad it had landed only a few feet from the door, as he was wearing Gail’s bathrobe. Although he was spending most of his nights at her place now, he hadn’t officially moved in, so the only personal item he had there was a toothbrush.

She was still asleep. He awoke and wandered into the kitchen in his boxer shorts to make a pot of coffee. While the coffee was brewing, he parted the family room curtains and saw the paper lying on the porch outside the front door. He impulsively wrapped himself in her robe which lay on the floor at the end of the couch. She had been wearing it as they cuddled in each other’s arms watching a movie the night before. One thing led to another, and her robe eventually was tossed onto the floor as the cuddling became more passionate.

“Good morning,” seventy-eight year old Hilda Stanford greeted him.

He could feel his face flush with embarrassment as he looked up to see Gail’s neighbor standing behind him. She was a retired widow, and her only companion in life was a small white Pekinese dog, Poopsi.

“Don’t you just love that pale pink robe, Poopsi? Mommy has one in that same color. I got mine at T.J. Maxx,” she continued. “Where did you get yours?”

Jordan picked up the paper and slowly turned to face Mrs. Stanford. Unable to think of an appropriate response to both her questions and the ridiculous situation he found himself in, “I can’t recall,” was all he could say.

“I think it is very flattering on you. What do you think, Poopsi?”

“Thank you.” Jordan made a hasty retreat into Gail’s apartment.

The coffee had brewed. He tossed the paper on the table, retrieved a bagel from the refrigerator, and placed it in the toaster. He poured a cup of coffee, opened the paper to the front page, and sat down.

“Former Consolidated Airlines President Sentenced to Ten Years Imprisonment for the Crash of Flight 243,” emblazoned the headline of the newspaper. Jordan spilled his coffee as his hand trembled with excitement.

“William Wilcox, the President of Consolidated Airlines,” the story began, “was sentenced to ten years of confinement in a federal penitentiary for his culpability in the crash of Consolidated Airlines Flight 243.”

“Want a bite of this?” Gail seductively reached around and placed a bagel in front of his mouth.

“I love your robe,” she teased him. Jordan could tell that she wasn’t wearing one as her bare breasts softly rested on his neck and shoulders.

“Gail, we did it. Listen to this.” Jordan read aloud:

“In a landmark case that will have repercussions throughout the airline industry, William Wilcox became the first executive in the history of the U.S. airline industry to be convicted and imprisoned for negligence in the training of a pilot employed by his airline. Attorney for the plaintiffs Wayne Bankhead convinced a judge and jury that Mr. Wilcox could be held directly responsible for the deaths and injuries suffered by the passengers on the aircraft. On an even more unprecedented note, the prosecution sought no monetary damages, and requested that the jury be instructed by the judge not to grant any.

“After the conclusion of the trial, Mr. Bankhead commented to the media that it was his client’s desire to punish the individual responsible for the accident, not the hard- working employees of Consolidated Airlines. The stock price of the company dropped dramatically after the indictment was handed down in anticipation of a large monetary penalty being levied.

“Industry analyst Holly Beckley stated that although the conviction of Mr. Wilcox represented a major setback for the airline, she felt strongly that the new management team headed by acting President Jordan Scott would be more than capable of keeping the airline functioning as a going concern. Beckley went on to state that the new board of directors recently installed at Consolidated Airlines, which included noted aeromedical expert Dr. Konstantine Kowalski, was receiving positive reactions from both the investment community and airline industry leaders as well. The most pressing task for the newly assembled board was to select a new Chief Executive Officer, a position that had remained unfilled since the retirement for personal reasons of G. Forest Clarke six months earlier.

In a previous article published shortly after his retirement announcement, Beckley commented on the suspect timing of his retirement announcement and the indictment of Mr. Wilcox, who had only days before been promoted from Manager of Flight Operations to the position of President.

Realizing that she was unable to distract Jordan from his newspaper, Gail moved around his right shoulder and sat in is lap. Her naked body obstructed his view. “Was there any doubt that he was going to jail?” She pressed her forehead to his, and her long hair fell upon his chest and shoulders enshrouding their faces. Jordan dropped the paper on the floor, and embraced her.

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Speaking of getting one’s hopes up, unless I’m mistaken, you are rather enjoying where I’m sitting right now.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he feigned. He then lifted her up and began to walk toward the bedroom.

“Jordan, stop this,” she scolded him.

“What?”

“I don’t know what type of woman you think I am,” she replied tersely. “But if you think I would let a man wearing a pink bathrobe take me into that bedroom, you’d better just think again, mister.”

“What the hell was I thinking?” he laughed. “Help me out here.”

Gail placed both of her arms around his neck, thereby freeing up his left arm which he shook several times to partially remove the robe. Holding onto his neck, she made a rather acrobatic move with her legs to free up his right arm. He repeated the shaking action, and the robe fell to the floor. She slowly lowered her legs back into his right arm. It would have been much simpler to set her down throughout this process, but that thought never occurred to either of them.

This same sort of improvisational gymnastic activity had been typical of their intimate activities with one another from the beginning of their relationship. This spontaneity and unpredictability had provided both of them with a sense of joy in each other’s company that neither of them had ever experienced before. Nothing about their relationship was forced or laborious. They were as much very close friends and confidants as they were lovers. Jordan kicked Gail’s robe aside to prevent tripping over it as he proceeded toward her bedroom. As he passed through the doorway, he lifted his right leg and closed the door with his foot.

“The paper referred to you as the ‘acting president’ . . . How does a president act in bed?”

As they fell onto the bed, the kitchen phone rang.

“Let the machine get it,” Gail said.

“If you insist,” Jordan joked as he pulled the covers over them.

“Oh, Mr. President,” she teased as they caressed.

After the fourth ring, the answering machine played Gail’s greeting. There was a beep and Wayne’s voice could be heard on the phone.

“Jordan, I tried the phone at your place, but got no answer. It occurred to me that you might be celebrating the news in this morning’s paper with Gail. You two better rest up today, because starting tomorrow you’ve got an airline to run. I’ve decided to accept the board’s offer to assume the position Chief Legal Counsel for the airline. Keeping you out of trouble will probably be a full-time job. Oh, by the way, I spoke to Hobson in Central America...Costa Rica I think. He loves the missionary flying down there. He said it’s got all the fun of jungle flying like back in Vietnam, but no one is shooting at him. He also said to tell you that he and Vicky are engaged. She and her son have really taken to the lifestyle down there. I’m in Charlotte today to go with Warren to pick up Katerina at the hospital. She’s still got a few months of therapy ahead of her, but Marvella says she will make a full recovery, whether she wants to or not. You know Marvella. By the way, the stock is up fifteen percent today on the news of Willie’s sentencing. I think we did the right thing by not going for cash damages in this thing. That would have killed the airline. I think once the street sees what this airline can do with dedicated employees and a talented management team, the price should go up well past where it was before the trial began. Tell Gail hello. See ya, bye.”

 

Outside in the parking lot of Gail’s apartment, a man seated on a stool in the back of a white windowless panel van filled with electronic surveillance equipment, heard the dial tone in his listening device as Wayne ended his call. He dialed a number on his cell phone. When Wakefield Trotter answered, he simply stated, “Hobson, the girl, and the kid are all in Costa Rica.”

“Anything else?” Trotter replied.

“I couldn’t get inside for audio or video bugs. She’s got this pain in the ass neighbor with a little white dog that barks like a damn wounded pig every time I go near the place. All I could get were some still shots of him from the van.”

“Send the pictures.” Trotter hung up the phone.

The man plugged his digital camera into his laptop, made a few quick keyboard entries, and the pictures of Jordan in a pink bathrobe were on their way.