Chapter 29

Val and I split the lower first-class cabin, with her on ABD side, and me on FKL side. With two rows each in a configuration of two, two, two across, we both have our hands full. We exchange little conversation in the galley, but while serving VIPs, each of us tries to outshine the other with over courteousness. I hate to admit it, but I have learned a few things from Val—like how to anticipate what a passenger will need before they know themselves. Things like beverage refills, extra linens, assistance with seat buttons and/or Wi-Fi access.

When she wants to be, she’s real good at her job—has a knack for making all of it appear effortless, and a memory to rival a savant. To think, maybe she could even be on top without Flight Club. It’s a shame.

But since I’ve begun this career, I’ve also learned a few things on my own. What passengers want today, don’t differ all that much from what passengers wanted a month ago, or two weeks ago, or even yesterday. All want to feel safe, seen, and heard, then, left alone when it’s time to sleep.

Val’s BTDT in 8F is super laidback, easy-to-like. I almost regret having to pass him up as a prospect since he’d be both an easy A, and five stars. But aside from the hot encounters and coincidental ratings, I’m giving my job the respect it deserves. No more horseplay while on duty. Period.

Aside from normal in-flight busyness, the cabin gradually becomes abuzz with energy as more and more passengers realize Quincy Rydell is here. Seated in the second row like he isn’t a smokin-hot recording artist with a gazillion fans. A few first-class passengers have already snapped selfies and asked for autographs. So far Quincy’s handled it all with class. Of course, every fan request gets filtered through the man he’s traveling with, a guy who must have been an NFL linebacker by the looks of his size.

“Excuse me?” The passenger in 5J asks for my attention.

I step away from serving more champagne to the couple in 7J and K. “Yes?”

She’s an older woman with a soft-side kennel in her lap. A fluffy little pooch presses its face up against the mesh. “Is it okay if I take her out? She needs to stretch.”

“Ummm, I believe it’s against protocol.” Dang, with all the drama swimming through my head, I can’t even remember, but it seems like no.

The dog whimpers from its kennel and the woman consoles it, then scowls up at me with a dissatisfied harrumph.

With my luck she’ll one star me for this. Who knows what Val will have me do then.

I hold up a hand. “Let me double check on that, ma’am. Hang on.”

Inside the galley, I pull up our inflight Policy Pages on my crew app. The attendant call button flashes on the wall: Seat 2D. I peek my head out in the main coach cabin to scan for Val. It’s her seat, her precious prospect du jour. But she’s nowhere.

It’s my job, so I head to 2D behind the bulkhead. Privacy flaps have been drawn and the seat’s reclined at an angle. Peeking over the top of a flap, I say, “Did you call for a flight attendant?”

A dark, handsome, and very bald Quincy Rydell gives me a once over.

“You’re not Val,” he says.

“What makes you say that?” I wink. “Costume change.”

His brow furrows, just before a nice big grin stretches across his entire face.

Wow, a cream pie for sure.

“I’m sorry if I was abrupt,” he says, his tone low and sweet like audible plush. “Val said she was bringing me another pillow for my back. Need me some sleep somethin’ awful.”

“I can check for you. Who should I say is asking?” Maybe I’m flirting a teensy-weensy bit, but that ain’t against the law. After all, it is Quincy Rydell.

He starts to introduce himself, notices my expression and stops with an appreciative little nod. “Aww, you almost had me for a minute.”

“Well,” I tease, “I do know your name from the manifest, it’s true.”

“But not from the music?” he asks, amusement dancing in his baby browns.

“Sorry.” I shake my head. “No offense.”

“You don’t listen to hip-hop?” he asks.

“I’m not much of a Billboard Charts kinda girl.”

“No? What d’you listen to then?”

I push my faux glasses a little higher up the bridge of my nose. “Jazz and blues, a little R&B, a little country. Mostly indie artists. But my heart belongs to the classics like Miles, Charlie, Ella…”

Dang, he’s easy to talk to.

Quincy nods. “I can respect that for sure. Got mad love for them giants of the industry.”

I grin. “I’m glad to hear you have some good taste to go with all that fame.”

He grins back.

And this is how it’s done… If I were doing it. But I’m not. My prospect days are over. Definitely.

“Mr. Rydell.” Val appears, stepping in with a leery glare. She hands a pillow to Quincy. “Here you are.” She forces a polite smile at me. “Thanks, I’ve got this covered.”

“Damn, Aether ain’t messing around when it comes to hot flight attendants.” Quincy stuffs the pillow under his back and wiggles into his seat. “You ladies can fight over me all you want.”

Val glances at me with a little twitch of her lips.

“Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Rydell,” I say, and head for the galley.

Seconds later, when I’ve resumed my search on the Policy Pages, Val enters behind me.

“Flirting with my prospect when you have perfectly acceptable ones of your own?” she asks politely.

Holy moley, she’s jealous. Of me.

“Really, Val?” My tone is soft, but steady. I’m holding my own. “Didn’t you tell me the other day that every prospect is fair game? Or did you mean only when you aren’t a contender?”

Oh yeah, she’s getting good and flustered now.

Her chin juts forward. “Fair game and competition are fine when it doesn’t put the covert operation at risk. Rydell is a high-profile prospect. Neatness counts. We can’t get lax with both of us fawning all over him.”

“What if he’s just not into you?” I ask casually, scanning the pages for pet-in-cabin guidelines.

Val makes a little scoff of amusement. “Not likely. Look,” her tone evens out, “all I’m saying is be vigilant. If for some reason I learn he prefers pale girls with red heads, I’ll let you have him.”

“You will?” I look up.

Just how far is she willing to play this?

She tosses a shoulder as if hardly interested. “Of course. I’m not a total miser. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up too high.” She hovers in over my phone. “What are you looking up on the Policy Pages?”

“5J wants to take her pet out of its kennel.” I scroll through more text. “It’s against the rules, right? I mean, I know it is on short-hauls, but ten hours is a long time for an animal to be stuck in a box.”

“You should know the policy on this.” Val stares at me.

I drop my phone-hand. “I do, I’m just blanking out on long-haul protocol.”

“Not surprising.” Val’s lips turn up into sympathetic little smile that makes her left cheek tic ever so slightly. “As long as the seatbelt signs are off, she can take it out. But she can’t let it out of her arms.”

The call lights blink. 5J again.

“I’ve got this.” I head back to row five, rolling my eyes to myself.

The things that come out of Val’s mouth sometimes. She’ll let me have Quincy Rydell? Unbelievable. Makes me want him just to spite her. Why am I like this? She brings out the worst in me for sure.

By the time I reach 5J, she’s already got the dog halfway out of its kennel. Its front paws are nestled on her lap.

“Did you forget about me?” she asks.

“Sorry about that.” I rest an arm on the seat back in front of her. “You can take out your dog when the seatbelt signs are off.”

“Oh, thank you.” She pulls the ball of fluff the rest of the way out and showers it with ridiculous baby talk.

Across the aisle, the woman in 5F shakes her glass of ice at me.

“Seltzer please,” she says. “Can I get a red wine also?”

Without any prospects, I’m back to answering every passenger’s beck and call—even the no-names on mileage upgrades. But every rating counts, now more than ever. At least I’ll be able to look Pam in the eyes again. And myself.

“Yes ma’am.” I take the glass and return for the galley.

Full cabin, lots of needy passengers, and every one of those needs being met with my five-star customer service. Yet the entire first quarter of the flight has passed and not one of them has bothered to pull up the app and rate me. Why? Because when you’re satisfied and content, you’re lazy, and you don’t worry about what one simple compliment might mean to someone who’s busting their ass on the other side. Come to think of it, it’s the passengers’ fault as much as mine that Flight Club was the only way to pull up my score and keep my job. It’s the company’s fault for making its employees’ life revolve around stupid ratings, and the gen-pop’s fault for treating their complaints like currency in exchange for free stuff like vouchers and upgrades.

It's why Val created her own haute-culture anyway. Like a dang cult leader.

* * *

Since it’s a daytime flight, the cabin never fully darkens, even though most of the window shades are pulled. Some of my passengers watch movies on their tablets or personal screens, a few nap, but the main attraction, as usual, is the upper deck lounge. It empties the lower first-class cabin to only a few passengers who stay occupied inside their privacy flaps, which also allows plenty of down time for Val and me.

With one more pass through the cabin, I take note of who’s awake and who’s not in their seat. Glancing over the top of his privacy flap, I notice Quincy hasn’t left for the lounge. I guess he’s not up for being the center of attention like Chandler was. His lids hang heavy, his body motionless. I need Val to seduce him already so I can get my collateral.

Quincy glances up at me.

I smile. “Everything okay?

“I’m good, baby girl.”

Everyone else seems to be good as well, so I return to the galley.

Val stands in the middle of the floor, a hand to her hip. “Any luck?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” The tension between us is thicker than gumbo.

“I’ll save you some embarrassment.” Val glances at the clock on the galley wall. “Rydell is meeting me in the lavatory in five minutes.”

Good. Real good.

But I ask, “Are you sure he knows that? He looks pretty relaxed.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“The lounge’s packed right now,” I say. “How do you intend to—”

“Not upstairs. Right here.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s perfect.” Val’s tone lightens. “I realize it’ll be cramped, but also, more discreet, especially since you’re here. Do you have another prospect in mind for yourself?”

I shake my head. “Didn’t care for the options.”

“You should reconsider 8K. He was a mechanic before he bought his own dealership. His hands are used to getting motors running.” Val peeks around the galley wall.

“Well, you could always go for a daily double.”

Val glowers through a smile. “Silly Zanne. Isn’t it obvious? I only want Rydell.”

No kidding. Both her eager and envy are showing today. No, eager ain’t the right word. Aggressiveness, like Dana. For all I know, her and Dana have turned this secret club into some kind of power game. I hate myself for being so naïve.

“Sex is like a seek-and-conquer game for you, isn’t it?” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. She’ll be on to me now. I’m supposed to play along, get what I need.

Val’s gaze narrows into slits, right before revelation flashes over her expression like a rude awakening. She steps toward me. “You’re becoming such a bore. I am confident in who I am, and in what I want. I suggest you learn how to be the same.”

I don’t look away from her—her narrowed gaze, her commanding presence. She puts the entitled businessmen to shame. I’m not sure if it’s denial or delusion or both, but she’s fully drunken on her haute-culture. Now it’s ultra-clear. Whatever it is that’s missing from her life is the same motivation for her sexual triumphs. Maybe I was headed down that road too. But not any—

YEEEEAAAAAHHHOOOOW!

A scream erupts throughout the cabin. All at once the call buttons flash and various seat numbers light up.