Gate C44
Jake
Dallas (DAL) -- > Barcelona (BCN) --> Chicago (ORD)
Rome (FCO) --> New York (JFK)
The news media was like a flock of thirsty seagulls. Desperate and deprived, they waited at their desks every morning for something worth devouring and they fought over it until there was something new.
Unfortunately, Turbulence was still running its course through the news cycle, and “Taylor G.” was everywhere I looked. The airport bookshops were stuffing that book on every possible shelf, late night talk show hosts had started a “How Many Days Until Pilot’s Identity Is Revealed” contest, and even passengers on my planes were still carrying their freshly bought copies, asking, “Hey…Since you work for Elite, do you know who she was talking about?” with annoying curiosity.
I’d flown every international trip I could manage—running my body off pure anger. I changed my phone number, got a new email address, and made sure that Jeff now knew that anyone whose name started with a ‘T’ or a ‘G’ was on my “I Don’t Fuck with You” list. Along with the rest of my family.
I made new casual sex contacts abroad, but I could never seal the deal with any of them. “Dinner” always ended with just dinner. “Drinks” never escalated to anything more than a drunken evening alone. My promises of “more” always remained broken, and an unwelcome feeling of guilt lodged in my chest whenever I even attempted to call someone new.
It didn’t stop me from trying, though.
My date tonight was with a woman I’d met after landing at JFK this morning. She’d purposely brushed by me in the terminal and she didn’t waste any time letting me know what was on her mind.
“How long are you in town for, Captain?” she asked.
“Until tomorrow.”
“So, that means you’re free tonight for some company?”
“I don’t do company.”
“Do you do fucking?”
“I do.” That was what brought me to the Marriott Le Grande, at a small café outside of Bergman’s. Since her room was being serviced, she’d suggested that we have lunch.
I was glad she wasn’t the talkative type. She didn’t even pretend like she wanted to have a conversation.
“They should be done with my room in twenty minutes,” she said, putting her phone away.
“Good.” I took a short sip of coffee and looked out the window, hoping tonight would finally be the day I would end my sexless cycle.
As the waiter offered us more bagels, I heard the sound of a familiar light and raspy voice behind me.
Gillian.
I turned around in my seat and looked around the room, trying to place where she was, but then I saw that she wasn’t really here. She was on the television, on the news.
Dressed in a fitted beige dress and red heels, she was sitting across from one of the most popular morning anchors in America, Katie Seleck, a pretty blonde woman with a penchant for being completely over the top.
Without thinking, I stood up and moved closer to the screen.
“Can you turn that up a bit, please?” I asked the barista.
“Sure thing.” He smiled and lifted the remote.
“Today we’re here with Taylor G.” Katie said. “She’s a former Elite Airways flight attendant and author of the book that is causing quite a bit of a buzz, Turbulence.”
The camera panned to Gillian, and she looked as if it was killing her to smile.
“It made its debut on shelves last month and it’s apparently going to have to go through a second printing fairly soon.” She looked at Gillian. “How do feel right now about living your dream?”
“I’m still in a bit of shock, honestly.”
“I can imagine.” Katie laughed. “So, let’s just get down to the question that everyone wants to know. Outside of the name and city changes, is your book mostly true?”
She hesitated to answer. “Yes.”
“Interesting!” She pulled out a sheet of paper. “Are you aware of the press releases that Elite Airways has sent out this week? How they’re now framing you as a disgruntled employee?”
“Yes, and I think they’re doing a very good job to discredit me.” Gillian folded her hands in her lap. “A very good job, but facts are facts.”
Katie smiled again, seemingly overjoyed to have an exclusive. “You told me right before the interview that you wouldn’t divulge the name or anything specific about the pilot you were involved with, but does he know about the book? Is he aware that he’s the main subject?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “Let’s focus on you. So, you got a small book deal fresh out of college and your debut book was supposed to be about…”
I tuned out the reporter’s voice, tuned out Gillian’s obviously-rehearsed answers. I kept my focus on Gillian’s lips and her eyes, the way she blushed every few seconds when she was uncomfortable.
I couldn’t deny that she was still fucking beautiful, or that seeing her for these few minutes was having an effect on me and making me sense the very feeling I’d been attempting to avoid for the past few months. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I had yet to curb my habit of waking up in the middle of the night and reaching for her.
I’d found images of us in my desk drawer, more secret pictures she took of us, and ones she continued to snap of me when I was asleep. And I still looked at the naked images she once sent to my phone via our FaceTime chats. I couldn’t bring myself to delete those.
“One last question before we take a quick commercial break.” Katie’s shrill voice cut through my thoughts. “If there’s anything you’d like to say to the other subject in Turbulence, anything at all, what would you say?”
A look of hurt crossed Gillian’s face, but she recovered quickly and forced a smile. “I would say, two word phrase, seven letters. Something I always wanted you to say, but now I’m saying it to you and I mean it.”
I’m sorry…
“Okay, then…We’ll be right back with—”
“I’d also say that I miss you.” She looked directly into the camera. “I miss you a lot more than words can explain.” Then she mouthed, “And I love you.”
Someone off camera handed her a box of Kleenex and Katie winked at the audience. She patted Gillian’s knee and whispered, “We’ll be right back, America” with a smile. And after the camera got one last shot of the tears falling down Gillian’s face, the screen cut to a laundry commercial.
“You ready?” The Marriott woman whispered into my ear. “I just received the text from housekeeping. We’re good to go.”
I turned around to face her, unable to see her true features. All I could see was Gillian.
“Is that a yes?” she asked.
“It’s a no.” I moved past her and walked out of the bistro and into the evening air of the city. I headed down 38th street, toward the financial district where I was less likely to run into too many people.