Chapter 3
After serving first class without any hitches, even from the jerky-man, I roll the service cart past the second bulkhead and into the coach cabin. A fifty-seater jet is a one-person job, but that don’t make it any less urgent when everyone waits on me and only me to tide over their appetite, pour their alcohol, or remove their garbage.
As usual, one or two passengers don’t follow instructions and try to move about the cabin while the cart is out. They attempt to squeeze past, either forward or backward, and I roll the cart to accommodate, either forward or backward, and try not to crunch toes or ram elbows in the process.
In between tugs of my sleeve, yanks of my elbow, and even a poke to my back with a magazine, I take trash, hand out complimentary wireless earbuds, snack boxes, and serve a variety of beverages. Even though it’s only mid-morning on the east coast, I end up scanning three different smartphone wallets and serve chardonnay, bottled beer, and two screwdrivers.
Sofia’s gossip from earlier swims through my head while I operate on auto-pilot, a pun that’s become much more fun to use over the last few weeks, even if only in my head. I imagine the possible ways Miss Valentina LaSalle could have accumulated enough high ratings to earn Rising Star status so fast. I mean, how did she even get on all those flights with VIPs? And how can I do the same?
“I’ve asked around,” Sofia told me before I left the bulkhead, “and no one seems to have any tea on her. I share my Zurich route with someone on her team, but his lips are sealed—he adores her. You should read her review page—major names there. You know we’re the carrier of choice for celebs, right? Celebs are considered heavyweights because their ratings double or triple in weight, based on their influence alone. She must share her secret sauce with her team because they’re all Future Stars as well. Rumor is, Val holds team meet-ups at different airports around the country. Oh, to be a fly on the wall with a recording device, eh?”
Or just sit at the next table and eavesdrop. My brain churns with ideas while I roll the cart back into the galley and into its groove. The brakes auto-lock. With a few minutes of down time, I pull out my phone and look up Val LaSalle’s Crew Review page again. As if her flawless brown complexion and Naomi-Campbell-caliber cheekbones ain’t enough, her overall score is 90. An Aether flight attendant record.
Her reviews make my heart both sink and swell at the same time. Celebrities, politicians, even a big-name movie producer have left reviews. My gaze flits to the tiny envelope icon beneath her name.
The crew messaging system. That’s it.
I’ll make something up—tell her my new-hire class heard about her success and I want to interview her. Maybe it’ll get her attention—appeal to her ego. If Pam taught me anything, it’s that flattery will get you everywhere. Flattery and a dash of desperation.
I whip up some words of praise and send off the message. A sliver of hope expands behind my ribcage like a tiny balloon—the first positive sensation I’ve felt since Crenshaw canceled me.
* * *
I may never get used to the size of Chicago’s O’Hare airport. So many people, so many agendas. All rushing around with their important lives. Back home, whenever Pam was in town and anxiety had me spiraling, she’d steal me away to MSY (Armstrong Airport, New Orleans) for people-watching in the main terminal. Mama wouldn’t let her take me on trips—some kind of far-fetched paranoia my dad would track me down and abduct me. But it was enough just to be at the terminal with Pam—stepping away from my neighborhood, from social media, and immersing myself with people who knew nothing about me—it gave me hope. No judgment, no disapproving glares. Life was in motion.
Pam would treat me to Starbucks, we’d scarf down beignets, and she’d tell me about her secret Riviera rendezvous, or romantic interludes at the Trevi Fountain with cannolis and cappuccinos. It reminded me the world extended far beyond the bayou. I’d watch her in action, how easily she’d chit-chat with strangers and whip out advice like it was a business card when they mentioned where they were headed or where they’d been. None of them cared what age she’d lost her virginity, or how many guys she’d dated the previous month.
“Nice meeting you,” Sofia interrupts my thought, brushing past me.
I wave.
She rolls her small black suitcase behind her designer jeans and one-inch heels and disappears into the passenger traffic, her hips in a perfect rhythmic sway with her narrow stride.
That could be me some day. I’ll be damned if I let some conceited entitled man ruin this for me.
Which reminds me…
I dodge off near a water fountain and check my phone for the twentieth time in the last ten minutes. Still no reply from Val LaSalle, but then, I expected as much. She could be anywhere, in any time zone, living much too much excitement to worry with checking her work messages every hour.
But I do know where Pam is.
I call her and she picks up on the second ring.
“What a sweet surprise,” she says, her voice in its usual polished drawl. “Tell me you’re here in Phoenix!”
“Hi, Pam, no I’m in Chicago for a transfer and… having a rotten day.”
“Now surely that’s an exaggeration ...”
“I had one of those irates you warned me about. A total jerky-man. Because of him my overall Crew Review score just took a massive dive. I’m talking tube worms and angler fish here, Pam. I’m still on probation—I could lose my job.”
“Oh boy.” Pam sighs and I can hear the eye-roll in her tone. “Why don’t you start from the beginning.”
I replay the scene for Pam while making my way to the Aether Airways crew check-in point, then pass by the row of restaurants and coffee shops in the main terminal. I may or may not be hoping to spot Val LaSalle at a table. As if.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Pam says, “I once had to insist a passenger exit an L1011 before takeoff because he’d soiled his pants. I shit you not.”
She chuckles and I stop short of the electric cart swerving past me on the concourse. “Ew, you never told me that before. Is that what I have to look forward to?”
“Honest to God,” she says. “No telling what may turn up, but listen, you did your job the way it was taught to you. Don’t doubt yourself so soon—you’re there, aren’t you? Each new flight is a new slate. Just turn on that dazzling Zanne charm.”
Swamp charm is more like it. “I know I’m whining but I can’t lose this job. This is my only shot. Aether’s the best airline out there. I’d never get rehired if some stupid one-star review costs me my job.”
At the gate for Mobile, Alabama, I check in with the agents. One opens the door to the jet-bridge and lets me through. It rattles as I trot down the slope.
“Okay, let’s figure this out,” Pam says. “And just ‘cause I was twenty-four when I got my European line doesn’t mean you have to be. Times were different back then. You’re a good flight attendant who knows what she’s doing.”
I step onto the next regional jet. “Thanks. Can I call you later? I have to work my next flight.”
“Actually, I was thinking of heading out to see your mother next week. She sounds so lonely since you left, and I’ve been way too sedentary. Need to put my retirement perks to good use, you know?” She chuckles. “Maybe you could meet me there? Zanne, you still there?”
“Yeah.” I stow my suitcase into the first-class cabin closet. I hadn’t planned to go back home so soon. And now that my job’s on the line, ain’t no way I want to see anyone I know. But the idea of spending the day with Mama and Pam warms my soul like a fresh pot of homemade gumbo. “I do have a few days off, I could surprise Mama, too.”
“Perfect!” Pam squeals. “It’d mean so much to her. I can have her meet me out for drinks and you can pop in unexpectedly. If that doesn’t cheer her, nothing will.”
“Okay. I really gotta go now. Love you.” I end the call and stow my phone in my pocket.
The flight deck door stands open and I pop my head in to greet the captain and first officer. They brief me on flight details and start up some small talk. The forty-something first officer gives me a once over that lasts a little too long.
Whoa, obvious much? I’m in no mood.
From the forward most overhead, I check the first-aid kit to ensure all equipment is accounted for and in top working order: life vests, flashlights, medical kit, portable oxygen bottles, a halon extinguisher, and the defibrillator. Heaven forbid I should ever have to use any of it, but plenty of practice in new-hire prepared me for the worst. I take extra care because it could mean someone’s life or death, and it’s my job to know just what to do in an emergency.
Bzzzt. My phone vibrates inside my pocket and I jump a little. I can’t get to it fast enough, my fingers like butter trying to hold it still. Please be Val LaSalle.
It’s an airline app private message. Not from Val LaSalle.
From the managing supervisor, Mei-Ling. My stomach folds over on itself. She wants to speak to me right away about my overall score. I shudder all violent like. This could be it—the beginning of the end. Wings revoked, world travel denied.
Okay, Zanne, remain calm. Grab an oxygen mask, and breathe.