Mister Weston

by Whitney G.

  Brian wasn’t as bad as my sisters or my parents, but he never stood up for me either. He would laugh at their put-downs, but offer me a sympathetic smile right after. He’d fill me in on his life—with no air of arrogance at all, but he would never even try to act as if I was working toward something good in my own life.

  Before his call could go to voicemail, I took a deep breath and answered. “Hey, Brian, what’s going on?”

  “What’s going on? What’s going on!”

  Ugh...

  It wasn’t Brian at all. It was my oldest sister, Claire.

  “I’ve called you two times a day—every day for the past two weeks, Gillian. And not only have you refused to return the calls or even considered the thought of texting back, you answer right away for Brian. I wonder why that is...”

  “Probably because Brian isn’t a bitch...”

  “What did you just say?”

  “Nothing.” I cleared my throat. “Is something wrong?”

  “Brian changed his mind about the proposal. Instead of doing it here at home, he’s going to propose to her in New York since that’s where they met, and he really wants you to be there. So, make sure you’ve taken off from your little job, if you haven’t already, and if we can’t find a suitable hotel, we’ll need to stay in that Lexington Avenue apartment you brag about so much. Have I already mentioned that you need to take off from your little job?”

  “My job is not little, Claire.” I snapped. “It’s quite important.”

  “Is it?” She laughed. “Because if it’s that important, why isn’t your name listed on the website anymore? Why is it that when I searched for it last week, you weren’t on the list?”

  I gritted my teeth, halfway believing the concocted lie myself. “Like I told you before, I was—” I coughed. “I am the fifth junior editor in my department. They only list the top three, and for the umpteenth time, being the youngest junior editor in history at The New York Times is far from being little.”

  “You’re right,” she said, somewhat genuinely. “Me and Amy are studying and searching for cures to well-known viruses, Mia is setting milestones in medicine, Ben is winning every case the courts throw at him, and you...” She sighed. “You’re getting paper cuts and making red-lined marks on articles no one reads. So, I guess you’re right, Gillian. Your job is far from ‘little’ after all. It’s nothing.”

  “That’s enough, Claire.” My mother was suddenly on the line and I blinked back the angry tears that threatened to fall.

  “Gillian, I’m sorry,” my mother said. “We’ve been calling you nonstop once again and we just thought using Brian’s phone this morning was a way to get you to answer. Will it be okay if we have to spend a night or two at your place during his proposal weekend?”

  “Depends.” That awful ache that only came when talking to my family resurfaced. “It depends on if you all will stop acting like I’m some type of disappointment.”

  “Oh, Gillian...” Her voice was soft. “You are a disappointment. But that’s okay. Everyone can’t be great and I love you all the same. It’s not the end of the world if—”

  I hung up and blocked all of their numbers. I knew I’d have to unblock them eventually, to also find a way for them not to say at the Lexington Avenue apartment that was mine no longer, but I didn’t want to let them ruin my day before it could even begin.

  I turned up the volume on the television as a knock came to my door.

  “One second!” I stood up and unwrapped my coffee cups before heading toward the door. But when I opened it, I realized it wasn’t hotel services with the additional coffee pods. It was Miss Connors.

  Fully dressed in her uniform and looking absolutely flawless as always, she was glaring at me as if I was committing some type of crime.

  “Um. Good morning?” I double-tied my robe. “Is something wrong?”

  “Something is very wrong, Miss Taylor.” She glanced at her watch. “It is almost seven o’clock.”

  “Are you upset that hotel breakfast doesn’t start until seven thirty?”

  “It’s almost seven o’clock and you’re not downstairs with me, ready and waiting to go to the airport,” she said, ignoring my comment. “It’s almost seven o’clock and you’re dressed in a bathrobe and looking as if you have yet to start putting on your makeup.”

  I was officially confused as hell. “We don’t have to be at the airport until ten today, right?”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “Telling you...” I tried to keep my voice calm. “The flight isn’t until eleven forty-five. And with the airport being literally right down the street, if we left now we’d be four hours early. Three hours ahead of everyone else in the crew.”

  She stared at me.

  I wasn’t sure if I should say, “Okay, I’ll see you downstairs when it’s time,” or continue looking rightfully confused.

  “Miss Taylor,” she spoke before I could come to a decision. “I’m not sure why I have to keep stressing this with you, but I’m going to say this one last time. I am not everyone else, and since this airline has decided that you are working with me for the next few months, that means that you are not like everyone else. ‘On time’ is late, early is on time, and getting there when I get there is perfection.” She crossed her arms. “I am perfection. And now, since I’ve wasted five minutes of my morning on you, you have fifteen minutes to meet me downstairs. Or else I’ll write you up and you’ll be downgraded to working with another supervisor who only flies to places like Detroit, Chicago, and West Virginia.”

  I bit my tongue, trying my best to hold back my true feelings about her too-damn-early timing and “perfection.”

  “Is there something you want to say to me, Miss Taylor?” She tilted her head to the side. “Something other than, ‘I love working for Elite,’?”

  “No.” I forced a smile. “I love working for Elite.”

  “I thought so.” She looked at her watch. “Oh, wow. Now you only have thirteen minutes. See you downstairs.”

  She walked away without another word and I slammed the door closed, screaming all of my frustration into a pillow.

  LATER THAT MORNING, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and bagels wafted through the terminal hallways at Dallas/Ft. Worth International. Passengers stood in long lines, awaiting an early breakfast, and the blue signs that hung high above every gate shone brightly beneath the stark white lights.

  I rolled my bag across the floors for the second hour in a row, still searching for random ways to kill the time since the crew lounge was full. With another hour to spare, I darted in and out of various shops, picking up things I had no intention of buying, staring at things I wished I could afford to buy.

  I watched passengers as they posed for pictures in front of Dallas Cowboys memorabilia, took the Sky-Link tram around all six of the airport’s terminals, and when I couldn’t take anymore, I decided to buy something to read.

  I slipped inside the Hudson Booksellers in Terminal B and headed straight for the books on the back shelf, the bestsellers. Over the past few weeks, I’d torn my way through tons of them, even trading copies with some of the passengers on the long-haul flights.

  Grabbing the latest Grisham, I picked up an overpriced bag of potato chips and stood in line. As I was pulling out my wallet, my phone rang. Meredith.

  “Hello?” I answered, handing the cashier a twenty.

  “Well, hello there, stranger!” Her voice was unusually high-pitched. “How’s life in the skies this week?”

  “Exhausting, but I did get you something from Beijing last week. I think you’ll like it.”

  “I’m sure I will. Is The Hawk treating you any better?”

  “No.” I rolled my eyes at the thought. “She’s somehow managed to get even worse. How’s the fashion world?”

  “Heartless and cutthroat as ever,” she said. “I’ll fill you in on that later, though. I’m calling because Ben came by last night looking for you. He left a small bo
uquet of roses and a card. Would you like me to open the card and read it to you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Too late. Already opened it.” She cleared her throat. “Dear Gillian, it’s been a month since we last spoke and I know that you’re upset with me for cheating, but the fact that you haven’t even tried to understand my side is a bit unfair. That said, I’m willing and ready to compromise. You can sleep with other people as well (two at most) and we just won’t talk about it. We’ll focus on us when we’re together and leave everyone else out of it when we’re apart. Love (Yes, you’re reading that part right: LOVE), Ben. PS—What time can I pick you up for makeup sex this weekend?”

  “How romantic.” I couldn’t believe him. “Was that the entire card?”

  “Unfortunately.” The sound of water running was in her background. “The roses are quite lovely though. I’ll keep them in my room. Anyway, have you finally had hot sex with the men in first class yet?”

  “No, can’t say that I have.” I slipped out of the bookstore and headed up the steps to catch the Sky-Link tram. “I’m still getting used to traveling so often, so I haven’t had the time.”

  “Bullshit, Gillian...You’re still stuck on that guy you met at the rooftop party, aren’t you?”

  “What? No, no, it’s definitely not that.” I didn’t even attempt to sound convincing. “The time zones and the first class service is taking a toll on me. That’s all.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” She laughed. “I’ll give you one more week to hang on to your fantasies of that guy, but since you’re going to be back in New York next week, we’re going to get you laid by someone else. ASAP.”

  “You know, I am so grateful to have a friend like you who keeps my vagina’s visitors in her weekly thoughts. Thank you, so, so much.”

  “You are so, so, welcome,” she said. “Oh and one last thing. Your mail is starting to get out of hand again. Winnie the Pooh Bear, Anne of Green Gables, Kennedy B., and Katniss Everdeen sent ten letters each this week. I took the liberty of stuffing the envelopes in the corner with the hundreds of others you never open, but seriously, Gillian... There has to be at least a hundred letters all over our place. When are you going to finally do something about that?”

  “Depends. When are you going to stop bringing guys home and waking up all of our neighbors with your over the top sex?”

  She immediately ended the call, her loud laughter coming right before the beep.

  “Now heading to Terminal A. Gates 1-21.” A soft voice came over the speakers as I boarded the tram. “Please hold on and step away from the doors.”

  The doors glided shut and the tram lunged forward against the tracks, forcing all aboard to grip the handrails a little tighter, to look up at the gate map and pinpoint how many more stops we’d need to make until we could get on the ground again.

  Outside the windows, several airplanes stood still in preparation for a turn on the runway, and ground controllers waved their bright sticks in the air to assist pilots with parking at the gates. Across from me, two lovers held hands and laughed as they complained about airport security, and next to me, a woman shouted into her cell phone about “rude ass gate agents.”

  “Now stopping at Terminal C. Gates A21-39.” The tram stopped and I let go of the handrail so I could move to the other side, but as the doors opened, I stopped dead in my tracks.

  The man who was now boarding, the man who’d earned the starring role in all of my latest wet dreams, was turning the head of every woman who looked his way. He was staring at his cell phone, completely oblivious to the blushing cheeks and whispers from the onlookers, and I took several steps backwards, moving back to where I’d been.

  Confused, I kept my eyes on him, realizing that he looked even sexier now than I remembered. His full lips were pressed into a firm, angry line, and as he tapped his phone’s screen, I couldn’t help but think about how those same fingers had caressed me, how he’d slipped them inside of me.

  There was only one problem with how he appeared right now, though. He was a pilot. An actual pilot.

  Dressed in a navy blue uniform, his four gold captain’s stripes stood stiff and bright on his broad shoulders. His blazer was perfectly tailored to his build, not completely hiding the chiseled abs he possessed underneath. And as his free hand gripped a handrail, his hat fell forward, obscuring his beautiful blue eyes.

  I blinked a few times, trying to make sense of this, refusing to accept that this wasn’t some sort of mind trick. The more I thought about it though, the more it seemed to add up: He was never home in his condo, didn’t invest too much time into making his space feel too personal outside of those aerial photography pictures, and our first conversation on the rooftop party about the planes made so much more sense now. I just didn’t want it to.

  The tram came to a jerky stop when we reached another set of gates, and his eyes remained glued to his phone.

  I tried to tear my gaze away from him, to look outside the windows again, but as he clenched his jaw and swiped his screen, I couldn’t help but stare just a little while longer.

  More passengers boarded the tram, and as I stole one last glance at him, he looked up and turned his head toward me.

  He raised his eyebrow and slowly looked me up and down, his expression shifting from stoic to confused. Then that familiar, cocky smile tugged at his lips.

  He let go of the handrail and walked over—gripping the handrail next to me and letting his hand brush against mine. “Hello, Gillian.”

  “Gillian?” I feigned surprise. “No, I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  “Your name tag says, ‘Gillian,’ Gillian.” He smiled even wider, looking at it. “I was also burying my cock inside of your pussy four weeks ago, so I’m pretty sure I don’t have you confused with someone else.”

  The woman standing next to us gasped and moved away.

  “Did you...” I blushed, in utter disbelief that he’d said that aloud. “Did you really have to say that, Jake?”

  “Did you really have to act like you didn’t know me?” He raised his eyebrow. “I rewound my security tapes back from the last time we spoke. I didn’t catch you with the other guy you mentioned, the one who’s better than me supposedly.”

  “It’s not supposedly.”

  “It’s definitely supposedly.” He still wasn’t whispering. “And a part of me is beginning to think you made him up. In case you’re not, though...” He looked somewhat jealous. “If he was any good at fucking, you would’ve never needed to come home with me.”

  The man standing on the other side of me leaned closer.

  “He’s not made up, and we decided to meet at a hotel,” I said, lowering my voice. “I decided I didn’t want an audience, decided you didn’t deserve to watch.”

  “What a shame. I was looking forward to learning what not to do.” He stared at me, narrowing his eyes as the seconds passed. “You really need to work on lying, Gillian. You’re not very good at it.”

  “I take it that’s your specialty?”

  “Lying?”

  “Denying,” I said. “You’re too cocky to believe that anyone else could possibly be better than you.”

  “Only when it comes to one particular department.” He stepped closer as passengers pushed by us to get off at Terminal C. “I would’ve never guessed you to be the flight attendant type.”

  “Is that an insult?”

  “It’s a compliment.” He paused as the tram rolled on once more, finally whispering. “Your attempt at impersonating a pilot makes perfect sense now.”

  “I could say the same about you. You never told me you were a pilot.”

  “At what point, between eating your pussy and taking you against the wall, was I supposed to bring that up?”

  My cheeks warmed as he closed the gap between us, as he trailed his fingers against my silver flight pin.

  “How long have you really been flying?” he asked.

  “A year, maybe two. And yours
elf?”

  “Twenty.”

  “What?” I swallowed, silently doing the math in my head. He didn’t look any older than thirty, and even that was pushing it. “So, you’re in your early fifties? Late forties?”

  Another smile. “Late thirties. Where are you headed?”

  I didn’t answer. He’d stopped touching my flight pin and was looking at me with the same intensity he did when we first met.

  “Do you need to look at your schedule, Gillian?” He leaned forward, whispering into my ear. “I asked where you’re heading.”

  “Overseas.”

  “Surely you can be more specific than that. What city?”

  “London. Where are you headed?”

  “London.”

  The tram rounded the curve as it approached my stop and I checked his blazer for where a tell-tale Elite pin should’ve been if he flew for the same airline, but there wasn’t one. I let out a small sigh of relief.

  “Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “My stop is up next. It was interesting seeing you again, Jake.”

  “Only interesting?”

  “Yes. Only interesting.”

  He didn’t say anything else, he simply continued staring at me, making me wet without any effort at all.

  “Now stopping at Terminal D. Gates 1-22.” The speaker system announced. “Please watch your step.”

  Jake walked past me and suddenly stopped, looking over his shoulder. “There’s only one Elite flight heading to London this morning. This is where we need to get off for it, correct?”

  My jaw dropped. I couldn’t think or get a single word to fall out of my mouth. I just stared at him as his signature, sexy smile crossed his lips, as he looked at me in the same way he did when he pushed me against his bookcase.

  “Since you’re not getting off right now,” he said, stepping off and looking amused. “I’ll see you aboard.”

  GATE B9

  GILLIAN

  In flight—> London (HTW)

  “MIMOSA ON THE ROCKS for 3B, mineral water for 4B, and an orange juice for 4A...” I muttered under my breath as I opened an ice drawer.