Mister Weston

by Whitney G.

  “I’m not...” I hit my lamplight and glanced at my alarm clock. It was only five in the morning. “I’m not scheduled to fly out until Thursday. A turn to Philly and then Reagan International.”

  “No, you are scheduled.” She snapped. “For a very important meeting. We sent you two emails this weekend, updated your employee portal, and left a voicemail yesterday regarding the change.”

  I swallowed. I’d thought nothing of those normal update emails, deleting them as soon as they appeared. I started thinking of possible excuses I could give as to why I hadn’t listened to them or bothered to check my status for an entire weekend, but the woman on the line beat me to it.

  “You have an hour to get to JFK,” she said, “Come in uniform to the conference room in terminal six.” She hung up without another word.

  FIFTY MINUTES LATER, I pushed my way to the front of the city bus and nearly ran into a family of four attempting to get inside the airport. I headed straight for the crew line at security—holding up my badge as the TSA agents waved me through.

  Please don’t let me be late. Please don’t let me be late...

  I rushed from terminal to terminal, adjusting my neck scarf with every step, frantically counting down the seconds in my mind. By the time I made it to the conference room, I had exactly one minute to spare.

  There were twenty other flight attendants inside, all dressed in the same Elite Airways issued navy blue blazers and skirts. Every set of lips was stained in the same shade of Chanel red, every bun was perfectly coifed and positioned to the right, and every wrist bore the official glittering bracelet with the company’s signature charms: A white dove and a globe.

  I spotted an empty seat near the back of the room and made my way over. Before I could ask the girl next to me if she’d received a phone call this morning as well, the door opened and a beautiful African American woman walked into the room.

  Dressed in a form fitting navy blue dress and dark grey heels, she flipped her long, wavy hair over her shoulder and glanced at her watch. Her hazel eyes scanned the room as she took her place at a centered podium. Her lips were stained in a light pink, and from the way she smiled her set of pearly whites, she reminded me of the picture perfect models in all the Elite Airways commercials.

  She took a folder out of her bag and looked directly at us. “Good morning, welcome to the meeting, and shut the hell up.”

  The room fell silent.

  “My name is Alicia Connors and I am a fifteen-year veteran and senior purser for Elite Airways,” she said. “I’ve been flying for the airline since I was fresh out of college, and although I enjoy it very much, this is honestly the one part of my job that I couldn’t care any less about. That said, since I am the only flight attendant here who has ever—” She suddenly stopped talking and stared at something across the room.

  Taking a deep and exaggerated breath, she walked over to a woman in the front row and tapped her on the head. “Excuse me. You. Yes, you. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I was...” The woman’s face turned red as she looked up. “I was sending one last text to my boyfriend.”

  “In the middle of me talking?”

  “I...”

  “Does your boyfriend cut your checks at this airline?” Miss Connors asked. “Is he the one holding this meeting right now?”

  “I’m...I’m sorry...”

  “Yes, you are sorry.” She snatched the woman’s cell phone and held it up to her face, reading the text aloud. “Hey, baby. As soon as you get out of your meeting, have your pussy ready for me. Make sure it’s soaking wet...” She shook her head. “Yes, I can definitely see why this message was far more important than what I had to say.”

  She tossed the phone into the trash can and rolled her eyes. “You are on my shit list for the rest of this session,” she said. “And since your sexting was so important, you’ve just cost this entire class my very interesting and in-depth background story that would’ve landed you on my good side. At least, temporarily.”

  “I really am sorry.”

  “Save it.” She rolled her eyes. “Mindless repetition does not impress me.” She returned to her place at the center of the room and silently counted us, writing a few words down on her clipboard. “Does anyone have any idea why you were asked to be here today?”

  She looked around the room, but no one raised a hand. “Interesting. You’re here because you’re the least important employees we currently have on the payroll. You are the bottom feeders and the trolls, but since we have successfully completed the buyout of three mid-sized airlines, we are finally upgrading last year’s pond scum from reserve attendants to full time flight attendants.”

  There was a brief buzz of excitement that filled the room—a couple of whispered yeses, a few murmurs of “Finally...”

  “Within the next ten days,” she said, “If you’re interested in staying with us, you’ll receive an updated line, i.e. your new schedule that will tell you when and where you’ll be flying over the next few weeks. And before you ask, yes, I’m more than aware of how scheduling is done at other airlines, but this is not other airlines, so spare me your thoughts and unwanted opinions. If you have another job, I suggest you put in your notice to quit it ASAP. You won’t have time to hold it anymore. Any questions?”

  A few hands flew into the air.

  “Good. No questions.” She shrugged. “Unfortunately, due to some recent events and incidents I’d not care to discuss, all flight attendants are being retrained on every single aircraft in our fleet. To streamline this process, each of you will be paired with a designated senior flight attendant for the next few months who will share your same line. These months will serve as your full-time probationary period. Any questions about that?”

  More hands flew into the air.

  “Good to know.” She hit the lights and tapped the wall, forcing a screen to slowly drop down from the ceiling. The airline’s white globe logo appeared onscreen, and then the words, UNOFFICIAL REMINDERS, appeared in bold.

  Without prefacing anything, she clicked through all of the slides—speaking so fast that I could hardly understand what she was saying.

  “Skip, skip, skip,” she said, passing slide after slide. “This rule is common sense, this one should be common sense, and this one is not common sense, but if you’re foolish enough to break this rule, you deserve to be fired. Skip, skip, skip.”

  Uneasy murmurs filled the room and the girl next to me whispered, “Is she being serious right now?”

  “And lastly,” Miss Connors said, pausing as she skipped through at least twenty other slides. “Don’t shit where you eat. This goes for affairs with the baggage boys, trysts with the gate agents, and especially the pilots. We have enough Cockpit Connies and cheaply made Hallmark Channel movies about that sad little scenario to last us a lifetime. And besides...” She hit the lights and the screen slowly returned to its position. “As you should already know, it’s against company policy as of eight years ago. No relations between employees are ever permitted, and if you don’t like it, go fly for Southwest Airlines. In closing, you can read the file you’ll receive via email later for all the fine print on that. Last chance, are there any questions?”

  Everyone raised their hands, including me.

  “Wow...” She looked around the room and raised her eyebrow. “After that entire, informative presentation, no one has anything they want to ask? Nothing at all?”

  Our hands were still clearly in the air.

  “Well, that’s all I have to say today,” she said, looking at her watch, “Please be sure to check your employee portals later today for a file that recaps everything you learned today. Also, sign this clipboard on your way out. You will be paid a four hour per diem for today’s meeting, even though we’re leaving early. “

  No one made a move, and she crossed her arms. “Hurry up and sign my damn paper so I can go home and enjoy the rest of my day.”

  We quickly pushed up our chairs
and formed a line.

  I overheard a few people asking her questions as they signed the clipboard, and she sounded as if she was actually answering them. When it was my turn, I grabbed the pen and cleared my throat—attempting to make eye contact.

  “Miss Connors?” I asked.

  “Sign the paper.”

  “I have an important question.” I waited until she was looking at me. “My other job has been great and really flexible with me, and I really think that I owe them a full two weeks’ notice. I know you said we start within the next ten days, but is there any way I could have a four-day extension on starting full-time so I can do the right thing?”

  “Of course.” She nodded. “I will do everything in my power to tell a billion-dollar airline that we should hold off on the final process of a years-in-the-making merger for one replaceable employee who wants to do the right thing for her other job.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that I feel like I owe them a more advanced notice.”

  “Sign the paper and step out of the room. Now.”

  “Miss Connors, I’m just—”

  “You have half a second to sign my paper or else I’ll be giving you an advanced notice about your loss of this job.”

  I signed the paper and quickly left the room.

  “WELL, I CAN HONESTLY say that I’m going to miss having you as an employee, Gillian.” Mr. Sullivan shook my hand hours later. “You’re always welcome to pick up flex hours on the weekends if the airline decides to give you inconsistent hours again.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re still working today though, right?” His glasses slid down his nose. “Jacqueline and Maria are still out sick.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good.” He opened his drawer and handed me a brown paper gift-box. “This is for you. The resident in 80A said he wanted to ‘express his gratitude’ to the employee who cleaned his room the most.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He shrugged. “But right after bringing me this, he signed off on banning our services from ever entering his unit again.”

  “I’m sorry.” I tugged at the thin, pink ribbon that was tied around the box. “I hope it wasn’t something I did.”

  “I highly doubt that, Gillian,” he said. “Anyway, the assignment lists were redone over the weekend, so be sure to take a look. I need you on mailroom duty for an hour or two. Then floors 65 and 72. Oh, and—” He paused as his office phone rang. “Don’t forget to tell HR what your official last day will be before you go.”

  I gave him an understanding nod as he answered his phone, and walked away. I locked myself into the employee changing room and quickly slipped out of my Elite uniform and into The Madison’s required khaki pants and short-sleeved white polo shirt.

  Stocking my cleaning cart with supplies, I glanced at the new assignment board and noticed that a huge red “X” had been marked over unit 80A. There was a note written next to it: Resident will be hiring his own private service. Was adamant about canceling ASAP for some reason. DO NOT CLEAN.

  I shook my head and set the brown gift box on top of my cart. I debated whether I should wait until I was off to open it, but I couldn’t resist.

  I tore off the paper and saw a box full of my belongings, small things I’d left at his place: A pink coffee mug, white slippers, a hair brush, and a romance novel. The only new things inside were a brand new crossword puzzle titled, “Gratitude” and a small white envelope.

  Opening the envelope, I pulled out the small white index card and read the handwritten note:

  You’re welcome.

  —Jake.

  I ROLLED MY EYES AND pushed my cart out into the lobby. I waved to the staff at the front desk as I passed by and headed toward the mail room.

  Even though I was somewhat sad about leaving this job, I was ecstatic to finally have a job that could offer me a full forty hours a week. Even more ecstatic that I would finally get a chance to work flights that were more than an hour or two and stay at much nicer hotels.

  I pressed the “up” button on the elevator and leaned against my cart as the numbers on the overhead lit up on the way down.

  Is it stopping on every floor?

  Groaning, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and noticed there was a new notification. A new comment on the blog I hadn’t written on in years. I opened it and saw it was the same asshole who always commented, KayTROLL.

  KAYTROLL: No more blogs? No more interesting tid-bits from your woe-is-me life? I was hoping to hear a “I’ve finally grown up years later” post...That or a grand apology. Unless you’ve died...Have you died?

  UGH...

  I put my phone away, not wanting to engage in that part of my old life. Even though I’d never received a single positive comment from whoever that person was, I regarded him as a distant friend. A distant friend who took pleasure in treating me like shit, but at least he read everything I once wrote.

  The elevator doors ahead suddenly opened and a group of residents walked off all at once. I waited for the last person to step off, until I realized he wasn’t getting off at all.

  He was staring at me, looking at me exactly how he’d looked at me that night, beckoning me with his gaze.

  I felt every nerve in my body instantly come to life, but I didn’t let it show.

  “Are you getting on?” Jake asked, his voice low.

  “After you get off, yes.”

  “I’m not getting off.” He held the doors open, waiting for him to join him, but I didn’t.

  “No, thank you,” I said. “Wrong elevator bank.” I quickly turned away and pushed my cart toward the western elevator bank. I felt him following me, but I didn’t look back.

  I hit the up button and kept my gaze forward. When the elevator doors opened, I pulled my cart inside and he stepped right next to me. I pretended to glance at my clipboard and hit five, the floor for the mailroom.

  Jake didn’t hit eighty, and the doors closed.

  It took everything in me not to look toward him, to keep my face forward the entire ride up, especially since I could feel him staring at me. Especially since I could feel that undeniable, palpable energy between us.

  The doors glided open on five and I got off with my cart, telling him, “Have a good day,” but he didn’t stay. He stepped off and followed me down the hallway and into the mailroom.

  I picked up a stack of magazines, tossing them into their appropriate bins—feeling Jake on my heels.

  “What are you doing?” I finally turned around to face him. “Do I know you?”

  His smirk slid into a full blown smile. “Yes, I believe we’ve met pretty recently.”

  “I’m not sure sure about that.” I stuttered. “If we did, it must not have been a memorable encounter because I can’t seem to recall it.”

  “Would you like a reminder?” He lowered his voice and his gaze veered to my lips. “I’m in a particularly giving mood today.”

  “No,” I said, inhaling the scent of his cologne as he stepped closer. “There’ll be no need for a reminder.”

  “What about the need for a repeat?” He closed the gap between us. “Surely that answer would be different.”

  “Actually, it wouldn’t be...”

  “And why is that?”

  “It just wouldn’t be.” I immediately walked away from him, to the side of the room that held the individual mailboxes. I started checking off the boxes that had “package arrived” stickers and I felt him step behind me, felt him gently tugging my hair and mimicking the rough rhythm of when he’d tugged it that night.

  “Turn around,” he whispered, and I spun around without any hesitation.

  He stared at me with those smoldering blue eyes and pressed a hand against my cheek. “Did you get my present?”

  “That wasn’t a present.”

  “Me not pressing charges was the present. The box was a reminder of how generous I’m being about not reporting you.”

/>   “Well, thank you for returning all of the things that originally belonged to me...Although, now that I think about it, you didn’t return my panties.”

  “I’m keeping those.”

  “As a souvenir?”

  “As a reward. What time do you get off today?”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m not allowed to give out my employee information, and since I get paid by the hour, I really need to get to work.”

  “Then whose room are you stealing today?”

  “No one’s. I’m a changed employee.”

  “I highly doubt that.” He smiled, ignoring my poor attempt to blow him off. His lips brushed against mine and slowly leaned forward, using his hips to pin me against the mailboxes.

  He trailed his finger against my lips. “You haven’t thought about me fucking you?”

  “No.”

  He stared right into my eyes. “Tell me you haven’t gone to sleep dreaming of me filling your pussy with my cock for hours and I’ll leave you alone right now.”

  I swallowed, unable to say a word.

  “I thought so.” He leaned forward to press his lips against mine—to render me helpless all over again, but I turned my head and moved out of his grasp.

  “Today is one of my last days working here, so regardless of the fact that I may have thought about having sex with you again, I would like to spend my final hours without seeing you. And since the resident in 80A cancelled his services, I’m pretty sure that’s possible.”

  “It’s not.” He stepped in front of me again, calling my bluff. “Where are the cameras in this room?”

  “What?”

  He looked like he was seconds away from fucking me on the spot. “Where are the cameras in this room?”

  I stood still, completely blank, trying to avoid the fact that my panties were wet and my nipples were tender—begging to be sucked between his lips again.

  “Gillian...” He glared at me. “Where are the cameras?”