Chapter 28

When our wheels hit the tarmac a collective sigh of relief echoes throughout the cabin, along with scattered applause.

Oh, solid ground, how do I love thee…

After almost an hour of taxiing to an open gate, we unload into the terminal. Rain hammers overhead on the concourse roof. With no new certain ETD announced, passengers scramble in different directions. I head straight for a newly opened seat at a busy tapas bar in the middle of the concourse.

“Hope you’re not in a hurry,” an older woman on the stool beside me says.

She sips dark liquid from a glass tumbler, her posture relaxed, but lady-like, her black panty-hosed legs crossed, platinum hair in need of an updated style. I’d guess her to be in her late thirties, early forties.

“They must be slammed,” I say.

The woman brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. Her make-up is flawless, but overstated and mannequin-esque.

“My advice, order two at once,” Her accent is a polished southern. Definitely not Cajun.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Where’re you headed?”

“DC. My plane was diverted.”

“Shame.” She sips from her glass again. “My flight was overbooked so I gave up my seat in exchange for a $1000 voucher. Not too shabby, even though I do have to wait a few hours. That was before the storm, though. Wasn’t supposed to move in so fast, nor this far north. But then, storms are like women, each one with a mind of their own.”

The bartender delivers a bottle of light beer and I take a hearty swig from my bottle. “Wow, I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

Blondie holds up her glass, as if to say cheers. “Numbs what ails you.”

“Don’t tell me that,” I say. “I may never leave.”

“That bad?” she asks with faint interest. “A stranger’s perspective can be the most objective, you know.”

I grip my bottle as though it may blow away. Dare I share with her all my juicy details? She has no idea what she’s getting herself into.

“How long you got?” I ask jokingly.

Blondie makes a little sound of amusement. “Well, darlin’, it’s looking like quite a while, but I have to say, you don’t look old enough to have that many problems.”

The guy on the stool to my left bumps me by mistake and apologizes. I lean closer toward Blondie.

“Just work stuff.” My voice remains lowered. “And it’s possible I’ve disappointed some people who care about me.”

“Been down that road,” Blondie says.

I pick at and flick the rumpled label of my bottled beer. “What’d you do about it?”

“Came clean. My conscience was better for it. Way I see it, there are billions of people in this world and if any one of them can’t tolerate me for who I am—which includes my mistakes and admittance of them—they aren’t worth my time. I’ll say thank you very much and move on to make some new friends.”

I fix my gaze on her. “It’s a little more complicated than that. I’m talking about family.”

Blondie drains the brown liquid from her glass and pushes it to the other side of the bar. “Darlin’, so am I.”

My soup arrives and I trade conversation for sustenance and devour my meal. Beside me, Blondie watches the TV over the bar and sips from a fresh drink. After my soup, I order another beer and soon our drinks turn into buzzes, the buzzes into a series of unrelated travel stories.

Eventually, I say to her, “I don’t even know your name.”

“It isn’t important. We’ll likely never see each other again.”

“Where are you traveling to?”

“Boston.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“A client. You? Business or pleasure?”

“I’m an off-duty flight attendant trying to get back to base. Went home to Louisiana for a quick visit.”

“Ah, the life of a flight attendant,” Blondie muses. “I used to think I’d one day work for an airline, travel around while I was young and energetic.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Regression don’t look good on me at all. I’ve come too far for that, make way too much money to be hustling drinks and peanuts.”

“There’s actually a lot more to it than that,” I say, the tiniest bit offended.

“I’m quite comfortable where I’m at, but I’m glad to hear it’s working well for you.”

“What do you do?” I ask.

She smirks. “Everything. If the money’s right.”

I’m buzzed, but I don’t miss the innuendo in her tone. “You mean…”

“I’m a courtesan.” She enunciates the word carefully, her voice low behind her hand and glass.

“Like a…” I stop myself from saying more. “Oh. Wow.”

What are you supposed to say when someone tells you they’re a high-class hooker? Impressive. Did you go to school for that? It makes sense, though—the way she holds herself like she’s better than everyone, but with instinctive discomfort that has her watching her surroundings moment to moment.

“What’s it like?” I ask.

“At times, captivating, exciting.” Blondie licks her lips and takes another sip. “Not always. I have a client list I rarely stray from. However, my best clients sometimes refer me to others. Some think because they’re a paying customer they can let their true freakish nature free.”

“Isn’t that scary?”

“If you forget you’re in control, it can be. I have a strict policy I make very clear at the time a date is arranged.” She pauses. “But you’re old enough to know a little about the way the world works, how people are when it comes to following the rules.”

“Have you ever been hurt, physically?”

“Once, by a referral. I called the cops. If I can help it, I try not to take referrals, but sometimes I have to make my best clients happy. And the bills don’t pay themselves.”

“Does it, um, you know, make you feel weird, going from guy to guy, being passed around?”

She looks down her nose at me. “As in, cheap? Say what you mean, I can handle it. I’m a grown woman.”

“No, I didn’t mean cheap. Just, I dunno, I guess… well, yeah, maybe, cheap is the right word.” My jaw clenches.

“At my prices, I’m anything but cheap.” Blondie’s lips curve upward into a crooked smile. “There are those who’d say my line of work is shameful, and they’d pity me, but mine is a profession that’s been around since the dawn of time. I offer a service men need, that they can’t get elsewhere. One they’re happy to pay for. People who don’t know any better assume I do it because I have no other means—that it’s some sort of temporary state of desperation, because of my bad choices or bad childhood or marriage—some crock of bull like that… But that’s simply not the case for me. I love what I do, and I love my clients—I know what makes each one tick. And I’m my own boss.”

I watch the way her pencil-lined lips move, the way she holds her shoulders with mature self-assuredness. She’s sorta like the second-hand fur coats hanging on the rack inside the upscale consignment shop on Canal street—the one that Mama works in. Luxurious, expensive, but a little bit antiquated, a little bit worn, awaiting a buyer who believes they still hold some beauty, maybe even still holds some worth.

Blondie notices my stare and must take it for admiration. She tosses that platinum hair off her shoulder with a graceful, but vain swing of her neck. “Make no mistake, I chose my profession, it didn’t choose me.” She gives a slight shrug and leans closer toward me as though sharing a secret. “I’ll admit, there have been days when I’ve told myself the next trick will be my last—more times than I care to admit. But then I find myself eager to get back in the game.” One side of her mouth lifts into a half smile. “And I’m good at the game.”

Games. Control. Money. Sex. My chest clamps down over my heart and I can’t look away from her. Val’s no different than she is.

“You might find my profession’s not at all like you think,” Blondie continues. “An attractive young lady like yourself could easily get started. As the service provider, you say who, what, and for how long.”

Come on, do I have a secret mark on my forehead or something?

I push my half-drunk beer toward the other side of the bar and hop off my stool. “I’m sure you have your reasons, and I don’t judge you. But it’s not for me.”

On the way back to my gate I text Grady:

Can you get me Val’s schedule? I think she’s in PPT rn in the middle of nite.

Grady: No, she’s on the east coast. Last I heard she’s headed to OGG day after next. Don’t you work that flight?

Why, yes I do.

Me: IADOGG? Really? Perf.

‘Cause it’s time to standup to a bully.

***

Onboard the double-decker jumbo jet, I skim over the first-class manifest. For BTDTs, not prospects—one in particular. A few Titan Club VIPs and one semi-familiar celebrity name stand out, but nothing more.

Val takes the upper deck suites, as a Top Nobility flight attendant who gets first choice, but she ends up in my galley anyway, fresh-faced and put-together like a poster ad for Aether. Her hair’s bundled at the back of her neck, above her teal scarf, with long wispy strands fringing her temples and cheeks. “Anyone interesting on the manifest?” Her hand rests on the galley wall.

She doesn’t know my intentions. She still thinks I’m prepping to be her liaison.

Here we go. I have to be smart. Get what I need and use it against her till she agrees to delete my confession.

“A few,” I answer.

“Mind if I take a look?” she asks. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

She pulls up her manifest and we exchange print-offs.

“Why are you here?” I ask politely. Not that I mind. Couldn’t have worked out better, though I suspect she’s checking up on me.

“Two-day Maui layover, so I can work a last-minute charter to Tahiti. Special request from the company. With bonus. Small jet, though. You know what that means.” Val rolls her eyes over her prim smile.

Something about her seems different. I don’t know, more overrated, more self-absorbed, if that’s even possible. Maybe it was always there, overshadowed by sophistication. I admit I was drawn to her. She made me believe I was part of something elite. Maybe because I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe I could be Pam. But Val’s just a courtesan, behaving like a pimp.

Val hands me back my manifest. “Two BTDTs, but some fresh prospects as well. Upper deck only has one prospect for me. Do you want to switch and work upper cabin?”

Her tone is too cavalier.

“Nah, I’ll stick where I’m at.”

“Suit yourself,” she says. “Take one of my BTDTs if you like. 8F. He’s especially good with his hands. 4K is a fabulous kisser. Looks like he might be with a woman, though.” Val moves about the galley gathering service items. “An extra bump this week could push you to Rising Star, which is perfect for next month’s recruit. I’ll snag you just beforehand. You’ll probably get word in a couple of weeks. I see a Venice, Athens, Vienna in your near future.”

She’s right. Climbing up to 80 by next month would only take a couple of heavyweight prospects. Wouldn’t she love that. Part of me wants to get on her team and bottom out so she loses her bonuses. I can’t risk losing my job though.

“By the by,” Val says, her voice lowered, “I never received those voice files you said you’d send.”

“Right, I’ll get them to you when we land.” I don’t meet her eyes.

But if all goes as planned, we won’t even get that far. I need to catch Val in the act, or get her to say the right thing at the right moment.

“You know,” I say, “why don’t you switch and work the lower cabin with me? We could help each other out.”

Val pauses, her lips poised with contemplation over her handful of fresh linens. “Interesting. I don’t love the idea of my BTDTs seeing me flirt with other prospects, but—”

“But you’re so good at what you do,” I interject. “Discreet allure, right?”

Val moves in closer, her lips not far from my ear. “I like the way you think, and I do happen to prefer the prospects down here today.”

Her tone is too placating. I’ve been around her enough to know when she’s manipulating me. This is what she wanted all along, ever since she first read my manifest.

“I’ll let the purser know I want lower cabin,” Val announces. “Oh, and you-know-who has been taken care of.”

Amanda. I’d almost forgotten. “It is?”

“Easy peasy,” Val muses. “Like I said—when you’re Top Nobility, everyone wants a one-on-one with you. That’s what you have to look forward to.”

“Did you tell her about FC?”

“I told her I had my sights on her progress. And that I was looking for someone like her to recruit next year—on the condition she proves she’s a team player, a real crew comrade.”

“Are you really considering recruiting her?”

“Oh, Zanne, it doesn’t even matter. All that matters, is that she thinks I am.” Val smirks and exits the galley.

Ugh, she’s such a snake sometimes. But it’s better if she’s in my sights and on my side. For now.

Once pre-boarding begins, she and I stand shoulder to shoulder near the galley—scarves at our necks, hair back and smiles on—and greet our first-class passengers. One passenger asks to snap a selfie with us and leans in between us for a quick shot.

“Excellent,” he says, grinning.

Val leans in toward my ear. “In his wettest of dreams.”

Her cordial expression never changes as she greets each new passenger. At takeoff, we sit side by side in the galley jump-seats.

“What do you think of 8F?” she asks.

She wants to know if I’m going after him—if I’m satisfied with the remnants of her sloppy seconds, or if I’m still in the running as competition. Her transparency makes me cringe.

“He’s nice,” I answer, real expressionless.

“Was I right, or was I right? He’s ideal for you today. Five stars in the bag.”

“Maybe. 2C and 5A are a possibility too.”

Val snaps her head toward me.

There it is. She’s wants one of them. I could sense it in my bones.

She seems to collect herself, her cheek twitching slightly at the corner of her mouth. Finally, she says, “You know, you should take caution with becoming too sure of yourself too quickly. Not all heavyweights are equally accessible.”

I want to demand what she means by that, but I settle for, “Maybe.”

Val’s jaw tenses.

We don’t exchange more eye contact. The silent tension between us burrows into my spine like needles.

“2D is Quincy Rydell,” Val says softly. “Do you know who that is?”

The lightbulb goes off. Now, I remember him. That’s why she wanted up here.

“A musician, right?” I feign naivety.

“With a number one single for over a month now.” Her tone is so nonchalant. “In the category of heavyweights, he’s a whale. His demands will be fierce. His expectations of service, astronomical. Keep in mind, you’re still fairly new at this.”

Really, Val? The hairs on the back of my neck perk.

“Why don’t you just up and call dibs then?” I ask flatly.

Val angles toward me with a roll of her neck.

“Are you serious right now?” Her finger rises and she points it at me. “Let me explain something, I don’t have to call dibs. All of this…” she waves her hand down her body as if presenting herself, “is all I need.”

Wow, I do believe Miss Valentina LaSalle is off her game. Perfect.

“Sure, Val,” I tell her. “Don’t get all bent about it.”

I don’t say nothing more. I need to maintain her trust, but also keep her flustered, till I get my collateral. If that means letting her feel superior, it’s all for the cause.

Soon, she’ll trip up and make a mistake. And I’ll be ready.