Chapter 20

“I thought you left.” Val shows up behind me on the patio, a fresh martini in her hand. “Things don’t really get started till around three. What time did you say your flight back to DC is?”

“Seven.”

“I’ll have a driver by five-thirty.”

“That’s not cutting it close?”

Val holds up a finger, and if to silence me. “Trust.”

Her gaze casually wanders the balcony while she sips from her glass.

I catch our reflections in the tinted wall of windows across from us—all our glaring differences. Val’s brand of beauty is what makes people flock to her—her flashy, but naturally carefree presence. And why shouldn’t she have one? Mother Nature’s been good to her. The way she holds herself, shoulders poised, chin up, in that chic pantsuit that clings to the curves of her breasts, down to the angles of her narrow hips. The jewel-tone color of the fabric brings out the deep bronze and copper tones of her skin, and the luster of her long silky-smooth hair. Laying eyes on her feels like stumbling onto rare treasure—a glimpse of polished amber beneath a ray of sunlight inside a lush tropical forest.

Then there’s me and my washed-out paleness beside her, to no fault of my own. Everyone seems invisible next to Val. I suppose I’m holding my own, as much as a girl from the swamp could in the middle of Manhattan’s finest. Still, I can’t help but notice something else about myself, aside from the new dress—something foreign and strange and I have to look away.

I watch two dancers beside the fire pit. “Val, I need to tell you something.”

“And?” Her attention remains on her phone, on whatever it is she’s reading. “Do you need permission to speak, my pretty?”

“On my last red-eye, when I was with my last prospect… a coworker walked in.”

Val pauses, drops her phone to her side, and steps in closer. Her taller stilettos give her at least an inch advantage on me. “Tell me.”

Her voice is iron-hard.

I concentrate on the city skyline. “He must not have locked the door all the way—you know how easy it is to mistake them as locked.”

“And?”

“And another attendant, Amanda Eggleston, opened the door while we were both inside. We were dressed, and not touching, but… I’m sure she caught on.”

“I don’t recognize that name. Did you confront her afterward?”

“Yes, but she said people are always watching how we do our jobs, and that I had a responsibility to be professional.”

Val slips her phone case strap over her wrist and it dangles like an oversized charm. She bites off another olive from her fresh martini. Olives are the only thing I’ve seen her eat all night. When she finishes chewing, she heaves an irritated breath. “This could be problematic, Zanne. Was this Chandler she saw you with?”

I nod once. “He had his producer give her a five-star rating, to encourage discretion. I don’t think she’ll report us, but has this ever happened before? What should I do?”

“Did she confirm she wouldn’t report it?”

“Not exactly.”

Val sets her martini down on the balcony ledge, brings her phone out again, and types away.

My swampy-senses tell me she’s stalking Amanda’s Crew Review page. I did the same thing right after our encounter.

“She’s a solid 68,” Val says. “Nothing spectacular about the team she’s on, though. Her latest rating was from Derek Weisshopt, producer for, damn, a whole bunch of shows. Looks like that raised her to 68. The earlier reviews… oh god, look at this, Chandler’s producer is her only heavyweight rating. She doesn’t have one single VIP review on her page. They’re all from… regular passengers. Poor thing, she must bow to every whim for these. I feel sorry for her.”

“For getting honest ratings?”

“For thinking she has to. For letting the corporation we report to have control of her life, and for letting the public determine her future. It’s what everyday people have been reduced to, and it’s pathetic.”

“Well,” I say tartly. “I guess slutty isn’t her cup of tea.”

I don’t mean it as an insult, it just comes off that way in my irritated tone.

Val drops her phone-hand to her hip and glares. “Don’t you dare label any one of us like that. As if our choices can be reduced—no degraded—by that demeaning, indignant word.”

Sheesh, defensive much?

I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t calling anyone a slut. It’s just a word, Val. Easy.”

“Is that all you think it is?” Val’s face knots up.

A chill slinks up my back. She’s a little bit scary right now.

“Let me tell you something,” she continues, invading my personal space. “When you depreciate yourself with a negative word, you give that word power. Slut is a name men made up to make women feel inferior for doing the exact same thing they’ve done themselves for generations.”

I take a step back.

“My entire life has been a double standard,” Val continues, “how my brothers were treated, compared to how I was treated, was all determined by gender. My parents put them on pedestals for every small success, let them do whatever they wanted, while I was shoved under protective glass to keep me pure and pristine for the right man—so the right man could have me before anyone else could.” She pauses, her glare intensifying. “My choices are my own, and I take full responsibility for them, but make no mistake, I am a sexual human being who has chosen to celebrate her sexuality, not undermine it, and that does not mean I will sink to the de-valuation of a label.”

I don’t even know why I used that word. “Sorry, okay? I had no idea it was such a sensitive topic. I’ve been called way worse.”

Val cocks her head to the side. “That is a travesty and I am sorry for whatever you had to endure. But you need to eliminate any notion of accepting hurtful names as truth right this very minute, because that is not who you are. It is not who we are.”

I nod that I understand, but truth is I don’t know how to respond.

The salsa music picks up in speed and Val’s eyes close, her hips begin to rock, and she eases herself into the music like she didn’t just ream me.

“What’s your story, anyway?” she asks. “Who were these people in your past who tried to shame you?”

“Non-important ones.”

“Come on,” Val taunts. “You’re not a little girl on the bayou anymore.” Her arms lift to the sky and her hair drops against her back. “You’re a magnificent, powerful, woman!”

My blood pumps faster, my heart thrumming. It’s easy to get drunk off her empowerment.

I turn to rest my arms over the ledge and speak to the night since she really to know…

“When I was thirteen, I played a game of hide-and-seek with the neighborhood kids. The girl next door, she was older, told me to hide in the closet of her parents’ bedroom. No adults were home. One of the older boys—this guy was always horny, always chasing us girls and tackling us—he was already in the closet. There we were, alone together in the dark, and… one thing led to another. Later, he told everyone about it. Back in my home town, rumors spread like wildfire. Didn’t take long for me to become that girl—the one boys wanted to date, and everyone else wanted to trash.” I toss my hands up in a full shrug. “You wanted to know, so there it is. That’s why this job means something to me.”

Val studies me. “Was it what you wanted? Losing your virginity to an older boy in someone else’s closet?”

I snort. “He didn’t force me or anything, if that’s what you mean. It all happened pretty fast. I was curious. Caught up in the heat of the moment. It felt good.”

“You were setup…” Val squints. “By the girl next-door.”

I avert my gaze to the skyline again. “She didn’t know he was in there. She said so.”

“Right,” Val says softly. “Sounds like classic sabotage to me.”

I don’t meet her gaze. As many times as I replayed that day in my head as a teen, I never once suspected Sadie Goodwin had a larger role or motive.

“She was jealous,” Val goes on. “You were probably prettier than her, more popular with the boys. Maybe she knew all too well how horny boys brag about their conquests. Despicable. I’m just sorry you were too young to know better.”

She doesn’t sound sorry—not really.

“What about you?” I ask. “How old were you when you lost yours?”

Val turns to lean her arms on the ledge beside me. “Eighteen. First year of college. Nothing memorable either. Matter of fact, I decided shortly after that being trapped in monogamy was like only being allowed to drink one kind of wine for the rest of your life.”

“Right? I didn’t get what the big deal was. It wasn’t even the fact Corey took my virginity…”

“It was the fact everyone knew about it,” Val finishes.

I shake my head. “Everyone expected me to be in love with the guy afterward—pine over him and dedicate my entire existence to him. Can you believe that? Maybe that’s why people talked smack, ‘cause I was all like screw that I don’t want him anyway.”

“They labeled you a slut for making your own choices, and that’s exactly what I’m talking about. What kind of labels did this Corey get?”

“Wild, reckless. That’s the worst I ever heard. Mama said they weren’t worth it, but at that age, it’s hard to rationalize. By fifteen, I figured if I had to live with a reputation anyway, I may as well be having some fun.”

“And you started living up to it.” Val smirks at the moon.

“Yes and no. I dated some older guys. Seniors, and sometimes college guys. But it’s not like I slept with all of them. I just sorta went with my gut—if it felt right and all. I didn’t have to worry about my reputation no more ‘cause it was already ruined. People still went to great lengths to remind me what they thought of me. When I least expected it, too. Even random people like Mrs. Barsalou, a little old lady who hung out on the front porch of her son’s bait and tackle shop—even she turned her nose up at me once. This was a woman who smelled like clam juice and hadn’t worn a bra in fifteen years. Everybody knew who I was. Everybody thought my mama shoulda raised me better, but she didn’t care what they thought. That’s the problem with small towns. Down on the bayou, everybody knows everybody’s business and it follows you around like a tramp stamp tattoo.”

Val sighs. “That’s some bull shit there.” She faces me. “But just look at you now. In one of the biggest cities in the world, dressed to the nines, and dancing in the moonlight. You’ve beaten the odds, my friend.”

She sashays out toward the main dancing area.

I digest her words. Am I her friend? Am I really like her? Could we both rule the skies together as Top Nobility for the world’s most prestigious airline?

Two nice-looking guys approach Val. One with dark hair and a goatee, the other clean-shaven and blond, both dapper in button-downs and slacks. Val shimmies for them, tosses her head back and laughs. She waves me over.

I don’t know how to salsa, but I join their dancing conversation just as the blond says to Val, “I knew you had to be Gideon’s sister.”

She plays coy with a jerk of her shoulder to her chin. “How did you know?”

“He said you were beautiful, but I don’t think that word does you justice.” He takes Val’s hand in his and kisses it.

Goatee Guy introduces himself to me, while Val’s newest suitor wraps an arm at her waist and they salsa.

I do my best to pick up the salsa steps and we dance away the next hour on the downtown penthouse patio between skyscrapers. Maybe quitting Flight Club can wait till morning. No sense ruining a perfectly good evening.

* * *

Dawn brightens the space of sky between buildings over morning traffic. Val sits on the limo’s back most seat, typing into her phone. She said she wanted to see me off at JFK, which surprised me, but then, she never does fall short on shock and awe.

Last night, I met so many people with impressive credentials and pedigrees, and with the kind of fashion sense that would make Donna Karan proud. Oddly, though, not one of them seemed to have anything meaningful to share. Whenever I mentioned I’m an Aether flight attendant, they’d go on about their last flight, complain about the food or seat comfort or weak cocktails, just before gushing about their two-week vacation at a luxury resort in St. Croix, or Tuscany, or Sun Valley. Some of them even managed to make world traveling sound dull. How is that possible? What’s all that money for if it can’t add value to the life experience? I didn’t meet one person I’d consider a prospect, even though Val tried pushing plenty on me.

In the daylight, with my stomach growling, last night’s extravagance sorta loses its former charm.

“Let’s talk about Amanda.” Val breaks my train of thought.

Her phone in her lap, her gaze out the window, she wears the same pantsuit from last night, but with a white shag fur jacket, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, lip gloss fresh.

“Okay.” My body shivers. I zip up my blue velour hoodie and slip my hands inside the pockets.

“As my liaison,” Val says, “I want your first assignment to be finding out how much she knows, or suspects. Find out her schedule and let me know. I’ll see if I can finagle something so that you end up on the same line. Protecting the club is crucial.”

“Uh… really?” I glance toward the driver, who’s separated by the privacy window.

“Work closely with her and find a way to mention her score, how it’s so close to Future Star status, and how much that recent heavyweight rating helped. Feel her out first. Don’t use FC verbiage or mention specifics.” Val sips water from a bottle. “Just be smart.”

“I think it’s better to let it go. It’s me she saw, not anyone else.” I probably shouldn’t have even told Val.

She holds up a finger, her attention on her phone. “Ah, ah, ah. Trust.”

Ah, ah, ah, trust. I know everything. I mock her in my head and peer out the window again. I have to rip this off like a Band-aid and tell her I quit the club.

“You need to do this,” Val says. “If you want on my team, you need to take your role as liaison seriously. I don’t like the idea of someone like Amanda out there who knows more than she should. If you can convince her how much fun it is to take a prospect for a spin, we can initiate her. Offer to pose as lookout perhaps. Once she gets a feel for our haute-culture, she’ll be eager to share the details with the rest of us—everyone always is. Having alliances on different flights throughout the world is irresistible.”

“Val, I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I’m out.” There, I said it. My shoulders droop. My head falls back on the rest.

Val glares. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.” She fakes a laugh. “I thought you said you want out… after everything I’ve done for you.”

Dang, she is a cold catty bitch.

“I’m grateful for all the pointers. But I don’t want any more prospects.”

“You can’t simply leave.” Val sucks in a deep breath and exhales. “Zanne, it’s time you understand something.” Her prim little smile returns. “Like all FC members, you know too much.”

I watch her intently.

“Every new member’s initiation has consequences,” she continues. “Including yours. Call it a binding contract if you like, or collateral damage. For FC, it’s insurance that our culture remains secure and anonymous.”

A tiny pit forms at the bottom of my stomach. Sheesh, that doesn’t sound good.

“What I stand to lose surmounts anything the others, including you, have to lose.” Val’s face makes me think of a serial killer on trial. Cold, unfeeling. “As a Rising Star and team leader, I must hold intellectual properties to protect myself, our team, and the club. During initiation, when each new potential member shares, for the first time, their encounter, a recording is made. A recording that’s kept private, and never replayed. However, should any member attempt to betray the club, or my team, the recording of their confession will be released to management. Most likely, it will result in immediate termination, as all other members will serve as witnesses. Denial of a club, will be imminent.”

I shake my head, my mouth going bone-dry. “You’re telling me you recorded me? That’s… that’s an invasion of privacy. How could you?”

Val doesn’t flinch. “It takes a few days for it to sink in. But once it does, you’ll realize it’s the only way to protect the team.”

“You have recordings of every member?”

She nods. “Only those on my team. And, of course, you. But I want to change that and collect every FC confession. It’s the price of being the best.”

“I’m not on your team.”

“Not yet.”

“Are you recorded?”

“I’m the one with most to lose”

I weave my fingers together. Feels like they’re going numb. There are a hundred things I want to yell and scream at Val, but after a few seconds of concentrated silence, I settle on, “What are you telling me? I can’t leave?”

“Not without an Exit Strategy. I’ve put too much work into you—you owe me at least a year on my team.”

“What if I don’t wanna be on your team? What if I bring in a bunch of one-stars?” I’m not making sense. My pulse is ripping through my skin. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“Oh, Zanne,” Val says sweetly. “It’s nothing personal, you should know that.”

Her abrupt change of mannerisms makes my head spin.

“Typically,” she goes on, “every inductee is told on their second meeting. As a group, we’ve found it’s best to let members get acclimated to the rules first, before they can understand the final terms and conditions. But listen, you shouldn’t let it fluster you. It works because it protects what we hold dear.”

“I… don’t even know what to say.” I rest my face in my palms. Sweat beads at my temples and forehead.

“Remember, trust,” Val says. “Think of it this way, would you rather be stuck in commuter hell with crappy pay and small-town politicians? Or would you like to feel confident, raking in fat bonuses on your way to European euphoria? Some of the world’s biggest names fly first class Aether to Europe, and only Aether.” She pauses. “You’ll get used to it, and you’ll thank me later for talking sense into you.” She chuckles. “Try to see things from an aerial view. Once you make my team, you’ll be living the dream and this notion of quitting will be something to laugh over. Knowing that a select few of your most trusted colleagues have a voice recording of your first encounter is a small price to pay.”

I stare out the tinted window. I’m trapped. Not only does Val have a recorded confession of me, now she knows Amanda Eggleston is a witness and would probably leap at the chance to condemn me.

“One day, when we’re retired by thirty and living in the Maldives, you’ll know it was all worth it.” Val’s voice sounds trite and greedy.

She actually believes I’m going to forgive her for this—that we’re still friends in some way.

The limo pulls up to the curb of the airport drop-off, inches in, and rolls to a stop. I tighten the laces on my sneakers and grab my bag. “This blackmail will backfire, Val.”

Val leans in over her knees. “I don’t need you, you need me. I hold the collateral that Amanda Eggleston can now confirm is true. I’m offering you an opportunity.”

The limo door opens. What’s left of my saliva turns sour. I don’t say another word as I slide out of the car.

“Back to the real world now,” Val calls from her seat. “FC rules activated and enforced.”

Again, I don’t respond, my blood boiling.

“See you in Phoenix for the next meet-up,” she adds. “Be there.”

But I’m no longer paying attention. I gulp in fresh oxygen and bolt for the terminal. More than anything, I just want to go home.