Chapter 18

In the downstairs galley, I bob around compartments—opening, shutting, rummaging. Jitters zip and buzz beneath my skin.

Selina’s putting away dishes, Amanda’s nowhere to be found. I have to know what she thinks she saw. Maybe she’s done this sort of thing herself… just because she doesn’t wear Val’s heart pin doesn’t mean she hasn’t been involved in some horseplay.

As Selina’s in mid-stretch with one arm over her head toward a compartment, I touch her arm. She pulls an earbud from her ear.

“Is Amanda still on her rest period?” I ask.

Selina nods. “She should be about finished.”

She goes back to what she was doing. I can’t tell if she’s brushing me off or preoccupied with her work. If Amanda blabs, my job is toast, with or without Flight Club.

I missed the first part of my rest period, which doesn’t matter now since there’s no way I can relax.

On impulse, I trot through the lower first-class cabin, my best game-face on, and scan the rows for Chandler. He sits beside Derek in the third row, left side of the aircraft, near the window. Relaxed. Unaffected. Seats reclined, feet elevated beneath blankets, heads sunken back into fluffy Aether pillows.

Well, la-di-da. Must be nice kicking back stress-free.

Part of me wants to flip him off in a blaze of obscene hand movements for being so stress free, while the other part wants to stop and revel in all the amazing things he did to my body without asking for anything in return. Ew, it’s like I’m getting all… sentimental.

He’s focused on his device, his lids heavy. Derek has his mask over his eyes.

I squeeze between the rows and lean over him. “Excuse me, Mr. Graves. I hate to bother you, but could I see you real quick…”

His brows arch over sleepy eyes. Dang, he’s even more sexy to look at now. How is that possible?

After a few seconds, he tosses his blanket aside, raises his seat, and follows me toward the galley. I motion toward the staircase for privacy. We step part of the way up.

“What happened?” I ask. “Amanda?”

His gaze drowsy, Chandler cocks a lazy smile. “Yeah, it’s cool, no worries.”

“She didn’t say anything?” I wring my hands together.

“Told her I’d appreciate her discretion, that it was a misunderstanding, and that I’d have Derek give her a nice review. Your job revolves around reviews, right? That’s what Derek says.”

I nod. “Would you mind rating her now, like right now? That way she can be sure. I know I’m asking a lot, but it’s really important—”

Chandler puts his hand on my shoulder. “Say no more. I don’t want you to get into trouble. I’ll do it soon as I get back to my seat, ‘kay?” He drops his hand, leans in a little closer. “To be honest, I don’t think she even cares about…what she saw. I see you’re all twisted up about it, but try to stay chill. People can be more open-minded than you think.”

Sure, coming from Mr. Champion Surfer slash TV Star slash World Traveler, I bet people are plenty open-minded when it comes to excusing his actions. But this job is all I’ve got.

I blow out a gust of air. “I can deal with it. I’m just—”

Movement on the stairs. Amanda. She steps past us and plays it off like she’s not paying attention. I see the scowl on her face though, before she disappears.

“Great,” I mutter, and turn to follow her. “More damage control.”

“I’ll do my part,” Chandler says. “Oh, and hey, Zanne, if I don’t get a chance to talk to you later, ‘cause, you know, life and work and all… you should know that I’m good.”

“What?” Frazzled nerves cloud my brain. He’s good at one-flight-stands? That’s what I’m good at, not him.

“At keeping secrets,” he says, still dreamy with those bedroom blue eyes. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

Except it’s not really a secret anymore, is it. I climb a few more steps.

“I was serious about the show idea,” he calls. “We can talk more about it—”

“Yeah…” Sure you are.

I rush off to follow after Amanda, my pumps moving quick and determined over the carpet. Was Chandler Graves worth losing my job over if she rats? It’s a risk. Consenting adults shouldn’t have to answer for their carnal pleasure, yet having it broadcasted to my superiors makes me cringe. Sex as a compromise or consolation reduces its value, and I don’t want to think of Chandler that way. But sex as a stepping-stone has probably been done for centuries. That explanation should go over well when I’m summoned to my manager’s office.

Amanda’s leaning on the bar when I see her on the upper deck. She chats with Rosalind, glancing at the flight path monitor every so often. I approach them and her body visibly tenses, her jaw stiffening.

“Amanda?” I force a swallow. “Got a minute?”

Reluctantly, she pushes herself away from the glossy white bar top and joins me over at one end of the emptied lounge. Her arms are folded firm over her chest, her brows arched all defiant-like beneath long wispy brown bangs.

“I just wanted to clear the air,” I start, “about earlier.”

She stares, tight-lipped. She’s probably ten years older than me. Maybe she’s too mature to be spiteful. The way her gaze narrows in on me makes me think otherwise.

I shift my weight from one pump to the other. I don’t see a wedding ring on her left hand. If she’s single, wouldn’t she understand the temptation? I mean, it is Chandler Graves after all.

“Would you mind keeping things between us?” I ask “Nothing was going on, but… I know it looked—”

“You’ve been with this company almost three months, right?” she asks. “Recently off probation?”

“Um, yeah.”

“I looked up your page on Crew Review.” She leans into the wall with her shoulder, her arms still crossed. “You’ve got some exceptional reviews for such a short time employed with us. Matter of fact, I’d say your score looks manufactured. Five stars from a congressman, another five stars from an Olympic athlete… I don’t know enough about you to make accusations, but I work hard and care about this company. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

“That’s a really… offensive thing to say.”

If I don’t defend myself, she’ll believe the worst. Obviously, she knows nothing of Flight Club.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Amanda says. “I’m simply telling you to check yourself. You’re probably not as sly as you think. What you do on your own time is your business, but you’re on the clock now. People are paying attention. People who value their job.”

“I do value my job. More than you know—”

“If you’ll excuse me.” Her lip curls. “I was having a conversation with Rosalind.”

She leaves me in her self-righteous dust and returns to the bar. I knew a lot of girls like her, back on the bayou. Girls who pretended someone made them judge and jury over everyone else. Maybe she’s only trying to scare me. Maybe once she sees Chandler Grave’s producer’s five stars on her review page, she’ll sing a different tune.

Let’s hope so.

* * *

I step off into SFO (San Francisco Airport) in street clothes. Wide-legged linen pants, pale yellow tank top, and pull-over taupe vest. My head’s groggy, my eyes watery, and even though I slept on the commuter over from Seattle, my hands and legs object to movement. My stride through the terminal is lopsided and clumsy.

But it’s a brand-new day in San Francisco—the golden city, as Pam calls it. I used to dream of visiting when I was a girl. This here is Val LaSalle’s stomping grounds. She said she’d pick me up from baggage and take me into the city. A few months ago I’d have slapped my knees and snorted if you told me I’d be spending the day with Aether Airways top flight attendant in San Fran. I have no idea what to expect from her conversation-wise. She dissed me for Dana without even a head’s up. And somehow I’ve got to bring up Amanda and the possibility Flight Club has been compromised. But now that I think of it, maybe all this is like providence. If she doesn’t want me on her team, it’s a good time to quit Flight Club. May sound crazy, but how could I ever top my evening with Chandler Graves? Sex has always been an itch to scratch, a hunger to feed. Not a gift of the soul that has me seeing stars.

Ew, I sound like a sappy rom-com. I hardly even know the guy. We didn’t get to say goodbye to each other. But our secret smolders like embers inside my belly and I wish I could’ve given him more.

I push the thought from my head and wait at the curb for Val. She’s twenty minutes late. Just as I’m about to shoot her a reminder text, she emerges from a crowd of people, crossing the walkway like a fashion icon. Wide round sunglasses over her eyes, her hands hidden inside the pockets of a belted slate-gray maxi coat.

She stops in front of me, straight-faced. Her tawny hair hangs long and loose at her shoulders, and shines in the sunlight with what looks like new copper highlights. “Now, don’t you look like a tourist.”

“I guess I kinda am,” I say.

“In time you’ll learn to blend.” Val glances at my roller suitcase. “Just the one?”

Blend? What’s that supposed to mean?

“I’m only here for a few hours.” I grab my suitcase handle. “I need to catch the red-eye back to DC.”

Val heads back in the direction she came from, her hands still in her pockets, her expression, unchanged.

I follow her across the busy pick-up lanes, weaving around people, cars, and luggage. A brisk breeze rolls in and I wish I’d put on my sweater. Being in all these big cities, and around Val, reminds me I need to freshen up my wardrobe. Maybe that’s what she meant by blending.

A late model black minivan sits in the corner of the lot with the motor running. Val motions to the driver, whose arm is resting on the open window. The door opens for us and we climb into the back captain seats.

“Where are we going?” I ask. “Remember I have to be back at the airport by midnight.”

“Relax, Cinderella,” Val says. “I know all the back roads. Ever seen the Golden Gate Bridge?”

“No.”

“Thought you may like the scenic route. We’ll be crossing it, and San Francisco Bay to a little restaurant in Sausalito. Trendy, but delicious. The outside patio offers plenty of private tables.”

I feign a bored shrug. “Sure, whatever.”

Val’s smirks beneath her dark glasses.

“How was Tahiti?” I ask.

“Breathtaking, as usual. One of the route regulars has a third home in Bora Bora. He invited me to his annual island retreat next year, all expenses paid. I just need to find the time off.”

The life. That’s why Flight Club means something to her. Why she makes high demands of her team to bring in high ratings. She reaps all the benefits from everyone else’s risks.

We keep up small talk through the hilly streets and Val points out places she thinks I should know. By the time we reach the fog-veiled Golden Gate Bridge, I’ve decided San Francisco is by far the most sophisticated city I’ve ever visited.

Sausalito is dreamy too. Reminds me of the pictures I’ve seen of European cities, with buildings sprouting out from hillsides like boxy garden flowers. Our driver drops us at a gorgeous restaurant built from slabs of stone that sits halfway up a hill. We climb a flat stone staircase to the entrance, Val in her crimson heels, and me in my faux Birkenstocks, and when we step inside, a host in a vest, button-down, and bow-tie greets Val with air-kisses to each cheek. He must be an old friend because he leads us to a primo table out back that overlooks the water, and snaps to a waiter, who brings beverages and a basket of bread.

I can’t get over the view: a stretch of water, with sailboats galore against an azure sky. If ever there was posh patio dining, this is it. Aromas of fresh breads and Mediterranean spices makes my mouth water. I can’t help but think of Mama. She’d be in patio heaven.

“What do you think of the venue?” Val asks, removing her coat to reveal a brick-red blouse with a high collar and petite bell-shaped sleeves.

I can’t hide my giggle. “It’s amazing.”

Val sips seltzer water from a glass the waiter just poured into. “This is only the beginning. A whole world of spectacular is out there.”

The waiter fills my glass from a cobalt blue bottle, and I pretend to do this kind of thing all the time—leaning back, sliding my sunglasses over my hair, Pam-style.

“Don’t worry,” Val says. “I’ll have you back at SFO in time for your red-eye.”

“Do I seem worried?” She’s on to me. Truth is, I’ve been so distracted with new sights I forgot I’m supposed to be pissed at her. I ain’t sure if she knows I’m aware of Dana.

“A little anxious, maybe.” Val orders us both white wine from the waiter and he leaves.

“This is really nice.” I try to change the subject. Fading sunlight falls over the water in a glade of glimmers and sailboats drift over it. Mesmerizing. “Hard to believe I’m really here.”

Did I just say that out loud?

“You’re getting out and about in the world now,” Val says, helping herself to a breadstick.

“You have family here, right?”

She nods. “My parents live in the city.”

“What was it like growing up here?”

“Probably not as wonderful as you think.”

“It’s nothing like where I grew up.”

“We had a nice house, if that’s what you mean.” Val lifts her head so the breeze pushes her hair away from her slender neck. She looks like she should be on a hair product commercial. “We had plenty of money, vacations, all of it.”

She sounds almost bored.

“Must be nice,” I say. “But you sound like it wasn’t enough.”

“Oh, it was enough for me,” she says. “But I was never enough for them.”

“Who?”

“Mr. and Mrs. LaSalle. My parents.”

The server drops off our wine and asks if we’d like to order. Perfect timing. I can’t tell if Val wants her can of worms opened or sealed. We’re silent as we sip our wine.

Too silent. I’m not sure why she brought me here, or how to bring up what I need to say.

“So… are your parents still married?” I ask. Maybe more small talk will let me ease into it.

Val finishes her bite, a breadstick still in her hand. “Happily, or so they like everyone to believe.”

“I can’t even imagine having my parents still together. My mama says relationships rarely go anywhere unless one partner loves the other more. Think that’s true?”

“Possibly?” Val’s tone holds amusement. “Your mother’s independent then?”

“Tries to be. But her relationships never go where she wants them to. I think she’s still lookin’ for the one who’ll love her more.”

“Where’s your father?”

“Who knows. Not in my life that’s for sure. Used to daydream what it’d be like growing up with two parents.”

“Well, maybe if I’d been the first born, I’d have witnessed some of that parental doting everyone thinks goes on when your parents stay married to each other.” Val glances about the patio, as if checking for someone she might know. “But in my household, my older brothers are the pride and joy.”

Okay, then.

“Gordon plays basketball for UCLA,” she continues. “Gideon practices corporate law in Manhattan. The heirs who did everything right.”

“They must be at least a little impressed, you being top flight attendant for the most glamorous airline in the world and all.”

Val flashes me a look that suggests I can’t be serious. “You think being a flight attendant with status impresses my father?”

I pick apart a breadstick. “It should.”

My mind drifts to Pam and my body stiffens. If she knew what I’d been doing to get my ratings, she’d drop me like a bad habit.

“I don’t have daddy issues, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Val says.

“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” I’m quick to say. “My dad was never around, I’ve no place to judge.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re a natural.” Val gives her shoulder a little shrug and sips from her wine again. “Grady was right about you.”

Her body language is so nonchalant I can’t tell if she approves of or despises me for it.

“What are you trying to say?” As if she has any right.

“Moving on,” she says, rolling her eyes briefly, “let’s talk about how things are going for you, now that you’re part of FC.”

I study her. “Is… this a trick?”

“What ever for?”

I lean over the table, even though we’re well out of others’ hearing range. “The first rule? Second rule?”

Val smirks. “I’m glad you’re taking them seriously. But we’re one-on-one right now for a reason. This is why you’re here, so you can feel free to discuss your development. It’s good housekeeping for the club, and for you, well, consider it your progress report.”

“You do this with all of the members?”

“Airport gatherings are meant for collaboration, and pro-tips. These one-on-one sessions are so I can manage any questions, concerns… and, if necessary, see to any unexpected challenges. You should feel free to discuss whatever’s on your mind.”

I hesitate, because instead of offering those words with a caring, compassionate tone, Val seems to dangle them in front of me like bait. Now is as good of time as any. “Okay, for starters, why’d you recruit Dana to your team instead of me? She showed up on my route all bragging and trying to pull rank.”

“Not surprising,” Val says. “Dana’s good at what she does, but she’s never been one to keep things to herself.”

I may not care about being on her team anymore, but I do believe I deserve an explanation. “What happened to our deal?”

Val studies me. “A deal you have yet to fulfill. We agreed your overall score needed to be 60.”

“It’s 65 now. I was at 55 at the time with two more flights to go before the new quarter. I could’ve made that.”

“55 is not 60,” Val says matter of fact. “After careful consideration, I decided to change my strategy. My position as crew team leader is unique. Certain appearances must be maintained, or else FC and all our achievements will be at stake. Dana was a no-brainer—her score’s been rising for weeks now. She looks much better as my recruit than a new-hire on an active term warning.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t have to—it’s privileged information, above your pay grade. I have to be smart about how I play the game. Think of it as chess. Point is, you’re in an excellent position for next quarter.”

What a load of garbage.

“Thanks to your term warning, you can’t be recruited by a bottom-feeder team,” Val adds. “The way your score’s climbing and coasting, you’re flashing irresistible curbside appeal. It makes much more sense for me to recruit you next quarter. This way our team can acquire Dana, and still nab you next quarter. That, mon frer, is how a Dream Team is assembled.”

She’s sly, I’ll give her that. Now no one else can pick me either, while I keep pulling in points to boost her perks when she finally recruits me. Checkmate on her part.

“What I will do, is let your manager know I’ve got my sights on you for next quarter,” Val says. “That will be incentive for her to move you to a temporary base with better routes and more long-hauls.” She grins. “Just keep that score climbing.”

Goosebumps rush over my arms. “Like an international base?”

Val makes a little snort. “Doubtful. You won’t get international until you’re on an actual team—a Notable team. Aether’s firm on that policy. But you’ll get some place better than DC.”

“You can do that?”

“All with a single phone call.” Her smug expression is every bit as cocky as her tone. “Every manager wants that call. The more crew they have on top teams, the better their resume.”

“Dana said seniority within FC is a thing. She told me I couldn’t go for Chan—for a certain prospect on our flight together because she’d been a member longer. Said she was invoking dibs.”

Val snickers quietly, shaking her head to herself. “Sounds like Dana. She’s competitive, which is why she’s perfect for my crew team. Seniority is a card she plays to keep prospects for herself. Can’t blame her for strategizing. Everyone falls for it at first.” Val stares at me. “I spoke to her earlier. She was pretty pissed you didn’t respect her wishes. Ballsy of you.”

“I didn’t—”

“I admire that,” Val cuts in. “FC is a tool for taking charge of your destiny. You can’t let people like Dana stand in your way. There will always be Danas, capiche?”

“I guess.”

“Women who try to push you around ‘cause they don’t shine as brightly on their own.”

“How many FC members in total?” I ask. “I don’t like being surprised by them.”

As much as I came here planning to quit the club, I need to be prepared in case Dana or someone like her shows up again.

“If you’re referring to initiated Aether crew, it’s twenty-two. Every new inductee has to be vouched for by another member. Like I told you, the club’s concept has been around since commercial aviation began. We just figured out a way to utilize it to its fullest extent.”

“It’s so risky, though. I’m not sure an alliance helps. Wouldn’t it be smarter to keep encounters to ourselves?”

“Hmm, rather stingy.” Val glances up at the sky. “After my very first prospect, my score rose coincidentally. I realized I was onto something. So, I helped myself to more prospects, and soon the results spoke for themselves.” She meets my eyes. “It was genius. I no longer had to bow to every demand—I had control. Later, during a shift-flight with Grady, I asked him to keep an eye out for me while I was with a prospect. He had my back, and it worked well. He was in a rut with a mediocre 58 points for weeks, and his boyfriend had just dumped him. I suggested he take charge of his future, adopt a higher perspective, and test my theory.”

“And that was that?” I ask. “You structured your own version of the club?

“We used what was to form an alliance,” Val corrects. “When Grady put it into effect, his ratings blew up. He shared the concept with Donny, and the same happened. That’s when I truly began to see our future. Like clouds lifting, my perspective on life renewed. We’d take control of our destinies… and anyone with the same ambition to rise up and take charge could do the same. That’s when I knew we needed to establish a system.”

“Your late-night hotel room epiphany?” I ask, remembering what she told me in the bathroom in LA.

Val sips her wine. “Grady had managed to get on a Notable team and earn a permanent Moscow route. Another Notable team traded for me and I earned my line to Paris.” She half shrugs. “We never solicited for more members, but somehow, the right attendants managed to cross our paths. Eventually, we gave our alliance a name so we could keep track of each other. Once I was promoted to team leader, I gathered all I could for my team. But there are other members out there on different teams, and airlines. That’s why it’s an alliance.”

“And you trust them, because they need the ratings too?”

“Obviously, I can’t take everyone. But team or not, what Flight Club accomplishes in the air is more than a rating. Our haute-culture separates us from the rest. Freedom from sexual inhibitions, freedom from labels that society tries to pin on us, freedom to control our destinies—that’s what it’s truly about. Not ratings and routes, though the coincidence is a delicious side effect.”

I find that hard to believe while she coasts at the top on cruise-control reaping benefits from everyone else’s high ratings. “I dunno, didn’t you ever feel like it was going too far?”

“What’s going too far is letting the opinions of others define you.” Val points her gaze. “When that happens, it’s time to redefine yourself. One’s self is not something we stumble onto—it’s whatever we create. So, no, I never felt like it was too far. That’s what FC represents.”

No, that’s the Val Kool-Aid. I admit, she has this uncanny way of glamorizing Flight Club so that I almost take pride in it. Doesn’t make any sense.

“Tell me how you feel about your BTDTs,” Val asks.

I hesitate. Bragging rights over Carlisle and Brantley could be fun. But for some reason I feel like keeping Chandler to myself. “There aren’t many.” I half shrug, hoping to pass it off.

Val drains her wine. “Quality is where the good ratings are. Stick to heavyweights.”

I finish off my own wine. “Do you think Dana will be upset if I ended up with the one she called dibs on? Would she check my crew reviews?”

Chandler’s five-star review was short, sweet, and worth ten points on my score. He didn’t have to do that, not when I didn’t do anything for him really. But she don’t have to know that.

Val’s gaze brightens with what looks like approval. “As it happens, I was perusing your page before I arrived at the airport. May I assume we’re talking about Chandler Graves?”

Even the sound of his name gives my stomach a somersault. I shouldn’t have said nothing.

“Bravo, young grasshopper,” Val says. “Quite the glowing review, too. Please tell me he’s as yummy as he looks.”

Memories of his hands all over my body surge through my head. “I just don’t wanna cause trouble with Dana’s dibs.”

“Dibs means nothing. Prospects and BTDTs are fair game. Dana knows this.”

“Has anyone ever quit before?” I blurt. The wine and fresh air must be getting to my head. But if I don’t ask, I may never get it out. Right now this feels like a safe place to ask questions.

“Quit what?” Val’s forehead creases.

“You know, Flight Club.” I try to sound casual-like.

“You call your own shots, participate at will.” Val all but laughs. “Why would anyone need to quit? It’s a far better trade off than taking orders from corporate, and men who think they’re in charge. I dare anyone to try and convince me otherwise, especially while I’m sun-kissed on the deck of a yacht, straw in my coconut, in Tahitian blue-green waters.”

And that’s as far as I’m willing to go at the moment. I soak in the breezy fresh air, ogle the trails of burnt blue sky from the dipping sun. Since she’s feeling chatty… “Who was the heaviest heavyweight you’ve ever had?”

She perks a little more. “Oo, fun question. I’d say it’s a tie. A Hollywood producer who shall remain nameless—he still puts me on the invitation list at the Oscar party he throws every year.”

“You go to the Oscars?” I ask incredulously.

“Not the show, an after party. Maybe I’ll let you tag along next year.” Her hazel eyes twinkle.

I’m pretty sure I have glamour envy. “Who’s the other?”

Val picks up a leather-bound menu. “CEO of a prestigious world-class company.”

“How is it fair you can break the third rule when it comes to talking about my BTDTs, but not yours?”

Seems my filter is malfunctioning again.

“We’re not here to name drop.” Val reaches her hand across the table and pats my menu. “Decide what you want. Remember, you don’t have to worry about the rules when it’s just the two of us. They’re my rules, and I decide when to lift them. But that doesn’t mean you should do the same. You can look at my page if you must have names.”

Her hand retreats and she’s quiet a moment, looking over the menu. I begin to peruse mine when Val’s cell chimes. She examines it.

“Zanne, something has come up.” She reads from her phone. “Something exciting. How would you like to join me in Manhattan Friday night? You’re off, aren’t you?”

Manhattan? What’s she got up her sleeve? “Um, I’m working two commuters that day, but yeah, I’m free Friday night.”

Val awards me with the warmest smile she’s ever bestowed upon me. “Perfect. Gideon is having a soiree. I can meet you at JFK around 8 pm.”

“The brother in New York?”

“He puts on a huge shin-dig every summer. Looks like he’s starting early this year.”

I study her. “You’re inviting me to a night out on the town in New York City?”

I thought we were hanging out to talk shop. This is above and beyond.

Val holds up a finger. “Trust. You’re going to love it.”

“Why would you invite me?” I have to know.

She leans in. “Because I want you for my team. We just need to get you ready for it.”