by Whitney G.
Throughout the room, massive black and white photos played on hanging screens. The pictures all featured various moments from the CEO’s past: He was standing in front of a small white glider at twenty-one years old, tinkering with plane engines and putting together model airplanes with his only son in his thirties, and sitting in a boardroom while starting his own airline at age fifty.
To add to the nostalgic effect, the screens also featured some of Elite’s best headlines, and my blood boiled as if I was reading them all for the first time. I could still vividly remember exactly where I was when each of the stories first appeared in the papers. It was how I kept up with my fucked up family throughout the years, letting the black ink of the press leave bread crumbs the entire way.
As the the final headline and the words, “Nathaniel C. Pearson, CEO of Elite Airways, Credits ‘Family Values’ for the Airline’s Stunning Success,” I felt the same way I did when I was only seventeen years old. When I finally realized that the beloved leader of this airline, my father, was a fucking fraud.
The crowd stood to its feet and applauded loudly—some clinked their cutlery against champagne glasses. As the applause reached deafening levels, my father stepped onto the stage, smiling at his flock of sheep.
I didn’t clap once.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” His deep and ugly voice calmed the room. “I’d like to personally thank all of you for coming out tonight. Before we unveil the design of our newest aircraft, I want to let you know how honored I am to know that our family has grown to thirty-eight-thousand employees who serve more than three hundred destinations!”
More applause.
“My only regret is that my first wife, a woman who poured her heart and soul into helping me achieve everything, couldn’t be here to see this tonight. Her final words to me were full of hope and loyalty, the two values I’ve built the foundation of this airline upon. She said she wanted me to keep dreaming, to keep believing, and to build the greatest airline my mind could ever imagine. She and our only son, Evan, have inspired me to continue pursuing the very best in aviation innovation. And several years ago, the three of us...”
The lies dropped from his mouth so convincingly that I almost believed he only had one son, that I wasn’t really standing in this room. And if it weren’t for the photo-shopped pictures of him and Evan hanging around the room, I might’ve questioned if my memories were real after all.
I kept my eyes on him and his three-thousand-dollar suit, wondering how often he’d had to rehearse this speech to make it sound genuine. If he’d ever stumbled over the sickening twists and turns, if he’d ever found himself waking up in the middle of the night just like I did.
As he spoke of his make-believe past, true memories of him fastening me inside a small, white cargo plane suddenly flashed in front of my eyes. It wasn’t him and Evan in that field flying or tinkering with planes. It was me. Only me. Evan was always far away, in the back of a pickup truck or left back at home, consumed with a new math workbook.
“Now, for the main event!” My father bellowed into the mic and pointed across the room. “If you would all kindly direct your attention to the left for the unveiling of our new 747-Dreamliner!”
I stood still and stared at him as everyone else looked away.
I heard the sound of a drumroll, a collective gasp, and then loud, thunderous applause as the plane was revealed.
“Those of you who are sitting, feel free to get out of your seats and take a closer look,” he said amidst more applause. “I’ll be sure to finish the rest of my speech before we leave, no worries.”
The crowd laughed, and at once stood up from their seats to walk over for a better look. I took one last look at him and decided I needed to leave. Now.
I pushed my way through the guests and headed toward the exit. When I was halfway there, I felt someone tapping my shoulder from behind.
Turning around, I found myself face to face with my ex-wife—the person I hated only slightly less than my father and brother.
“Hey, Jake,” she said, stepping closer to me. “Long time, no see...Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you remember me?”
“I’ve been trying hard to forget.” I glanced at her badge. “Did you somehow pick up the wrong nametag or are you still fucking with people’s minds with your games?”
“No.” She forced a smile and spoke low. “I’m Samantha now, Jake. Samantha.”
“Bullshit.” Her real name was Riley, Riley Cartwright, and she looked as if she was frozen in time from when we’d last met. She was still wearing her blond hair cut short in a way that complemented her brown eyes, she was the epitome of what ‘untrustworthy’ in the flesh looked like. And no matter how many times I tried to rationalize what she’d done, or attempt to placate the past with one of our softer, high school memories, my hatred of her would probably never be erased.
“How have you been after all these years?” she asked.
“Are you referring to the years before you told everyone in Missouri I was abusing you or after? Or maybe you’re referring to the years I caught you sucking—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” She clenched her jaw. “Don’t you dare...And you did abuse me, Jake. I was mentally abused by your lack of care, your constant traveling, and your failure to give me what I wanted.”
“You got upset with me because I filed for divorce, and then you told the police I’d previously beat you in the face with a tire jack. That’s physical abuse, and it was a goddamn lie.”
“Right well...” She smiled, fake as usual. “I think enough time has passed for you to be nice to me and get over us drifting apart.”
“You almost cost me my fucking career, Riley,” I said. “That’s not drifting apart.”
“Jake—”
“You even got my brother to believe your lies...I know how you got my father to believe you, but how did you get Evan to? Did he get the same present, courtesy of your throat?”
“Jake, I swear to God—”
“Jake?” My father suddenly stepped between us. “Jake, is that really you?”
“You know exactly who the fuck it is.”
His eyes widened and he forced a smile for an intrusive camera man who snapped a quick picture. As soon as the photographer walked away, he looked at me and cleared his throat. “You look good, son.”
“I thought you only had one son. That guy ‘Evan’ in the photos up there.”
“Yes, well...” A look of sadness crossed his face, but he changed the subject. “I couldn’t believe it when Human Resources told me you actually signed the transfer papers. I’m quite honored and surprised that you’ve agreed to work for my airline.”
“You shouldn’t be. You keep buying and investing in every single airline I switch to. I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Jake.”
“I’m sure your first wife would disagree.”
He shifted uneasily, and his smile slightly slipped as the flashes of cameras continue to sound around the room. I tried to look him right in the eye, to finally see him as a human being, but all I could see was a heartless monster who was willing to sacrifice anything for his own dreams, no matter the cost.
“What happened to the commemoration of Flight 1872?” I asked. “The papers said you were finally going to tell the truth.”
“They said I would address it. They didn’t say anything about the truth.”
“So, you’re still paying for them to print your lies?”
“No, I did address it.” He pointed across the hangar. “It’s on the new plane if you get a chance to take a look. Nonetheless, I knew having it mentioned it in the papers would make you come here. I really need to talk to you. ASAP, Jake. ASAP.”
I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my elbow.
“You’ve been going out of your way to avoid us all for years,” he said. “And I bought Signature to try to put an end to that. I even agreed to your over the top sa
lary request. I more than agreed, actually. I doubled it so you could see that I’m serious about starting over. Is that not trying? Do you know how much money that is?”
“What’s a million to a billionaire?”
“Would you like more, then?”
“I don’t want shit from you. I’ll be quitting soon.”
“That’s not true.” He looked into my eyes. “Flying means too much to you, and you signed the contract. Even if you were to manage to get out of it, I’ll just buy or invest in the next airline you move to because I love you, Jake. I’ve missed you since you left us all those years ago.”
“See?” Riley smiled at me. “Everyone, including me, still loves you, Jake.”
“Fuck you, Riley.”
She gasped, acting as if she was actually shocked.
“Jake.” My father sighed. “When I told a little lie about the flight ceremony to get you here, I didn’t mean for you to take it the wrong way.”
“And when I said ‘Take care of my wife while I’m flying new routes’, I didn’t mean fuck her.”
Riley’s cheeks reddened and she faked a smile for another photographer.
“Jake, listen. “My father tried to steer the conversation, but I refused to let it go this time.
“You have yet to even attempt to apologize for that.”
“For the umpteenth time...” He paused, giving a half wave to someone across the room. “It was a one-time thing that we both absolutely regret. Nothing became of it, we’re both with other people now, and it was a total accident.”
“Her pussy just fell on your dick?”
“No, but if you’d let me explain—”
“There is no justification.” I hated that I saw my own blue eyes in his, that if anyone else stood close enough they could see it, too. “If you’re interested in explaining it to someone willing to listen, I would write Webster’s and make a claim on your accomplishment before its’ too late. There’s already a term for ‘motherfucker’ but I think the world is in desperate need of knowing that there’s a such thing as a father-fucker.”
The two of them glared at me.
“Nothing else to say?” I asked.
“You don’t have the whole story, Jake.” Riley hissed between her teeth.
“I have the only chapter I need. The scene where I came home early and caught you sucking his dick in my bathroom. Unless you were giving out blow jobs as party favors to everyone else, I’m not sure how I could’ve gotten the narrative wrong all these years.”
“You were never there, Jake.” Riley nearly lost it. “You were never home.”
“I was home that day.” I stepped back.
“Jake, please don’t leave.” My father looked genuine, but I couldn’t help but feel that he was playing another one if his mental magic tricks. “I think your mother—”
“Don’t you dare bring her up. Ever.” I felt an ache in my chest. “And fuck you. Both of you.” I took another step back. “But I am quite serious about that Webster’s submission form. You should hurry up before someone else takes credit.”
I stormed off toward the exit, ready to drink this night away. Something told me to keep going, to not bother looking back, but I couldn’t help it. I glanced over at its sleek white frame, at the light blue and crème emblem on its tail. And just as I was about to turn away and continue heading for the exit, my eyes caught something. Something disturbing and utterly callous.
On the right side of the tail, high enough for all to see was a faded image of my mother’s face in a light sepia tone. Her life span and a few words were written underneath:
I’ll always remember you, Irene.
Love, Nate.
Rest Peacefully,
Sarah Irene Pearson
1949-1999
“IT WAS SUCH A SHAME wasn’t it?” An older woman next to me lowered her voice. “Losing his wife in the very first plane he built...I’m sure it still devastates him.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t.” I turned around and scanned the room for my father, catching him mid-laugh. I stared at him with fury running through my veins, waiting for his eyes to meet mine.
He posed for a few more photos with his new, much younger wife at his side and turned around, his eyes meeting mine. He raised his eyebrow, as if he was surprised I was still in attendance. Then he winked at me, mouthing, “Is that good enough?” before turning his attention to someone else.
I clenched my fists, seconds away from walking over and breaking his jaw.
Before I could make that happen, I spotted Gillian standing across the room.
Laughing, she was wearing a short, emerald green dress that left little to the imagination. The dressed stopped at her thighs and clung tightly to her hips, showing off her perfect breasts.
I started to walk over to her, but stopped when I realized she was dancing with someone in a navy blue suit. Someone who was rubbing his hands against her back and whispering something into her ear.
Confused, I watched for several more minutes, assuming that it was some friend of hers, a casual dance with an acquaintance. But as she tossed her head back in laughter, I saw exactly who she was dancing with and all the blood left my face.
GATE B18
GILLIAN
New York (JFK)
“YOU’RE HURTING ME...” I smiled uneasily as Evan Pearson, the CEO’s son dipped me low and told another inappropriate joke. He was holding onto me a little too tightly, and I was hoping Meredith would see my “Please come save me from this asshole” text soon.
I’d thought that if I simply laughed at a few of his lines that he would walk away, but my reactions only seemed to encourage him further. To make matters worse, he was drunk. Yet, anytime a photographer stopped and asked for a photo, he would somehow manage to look sober for all of three seconds for the shot. Then he would return to harassing me.
“Did we date once before, Gillian?” he asked, finally letting go and reading my name tag.
“No,” I said. “We’ve never dated.”
“Are you sure? I never forget a face, and...” He looked down at my breasts, smiling. “You look really familiar.”
“I interviewed you, your father, and your wife a very long time ago when I was a journalist.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s it.”
“That’s definitely it. Speaking of which, how is your wife?” I slowly pulled my wrist away from his grasp. “Her name is Sharon, right?”
“Yes.” He laughed. “She left me, but Shhhh! Don’t print that. No one knows yet.”
“My roommate is over there waiting for me.” I started to step back. “I need to—”
“Wait.” He grabbed my wrist again, much harder this time, his fingers pressing deep into my skin. “Were you shitting me about the interviewing me when you were a journalist thing?”
I shook my head. I remembered that awkward encounter all too well. A full day interview where he and his father, unsurprisingly, fed me rehearsed answers about Elite. After blowing off the interview three times in a row, they gave me answers I could’ve found on Wikipedia and turned a simple profile project into an absolute nightmare.
“Did you ask us how this amazing airline was really built?” He grabbed a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray and tossed it back. “Did you ask us how we really started this, by chance?”
“With all due respect, everyone already knows the answer to that.” It was embedded in the history books as the ultimate Cinderella story.
“No.” He shook his head, his speech slurred. “Everyone just thinks they do. Come home with me and I’ll give you the exclusive...You have to swallow, though, I’m clean, so no condoms.” He looked me right in my eyes, giving me a familiar look that reminded me of someone else. “I just hate confirming the lies year after year at these parties...I’m getting very tired. Very old and tired...”
I was slightly curious as to what he meant by ‘confirming the lies,’ but minutes ago he’d claimed that he invented Starbuck
s coffee machines so I knew this was just the liquor talking.
I started thinking of another excuse to get the hell away from him, but a blonde stepped between us and took his hand—whispering into his ear.
“He’s here?” he asked her, his eyes wide. “He actually came?”
The woman nodded.
“Where?”
She didn’t answer. She just walked away.
Without saying another word to me, he turned away and followed her into the crowd.
Relieved, I headed to the other side of the hangar, in desperate need of some space. I pushed my way through the guests and past the packed restrooms. Noticing a “Silent Auction” sign hanging above a door, I stepped inside a room full of glass cases and mirrored walls.
The curator immediately handed me a blue sheet of bidding paper and smiled. Then, as if she knew I wasn’t in here to bid on anything, she rolled her eyes and whispered, “You came here to check on your makeup, didn’t you?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m just trying to get some space.”
“Sure.” She pursed her lips and snatched the blue paper from my hands. “You can ‘get some space’ on the far side of the room for twenty minutes. Then you need to get out.”
“Thank you.” I stepped away and stared at my reflection.
Even though there were small bags under my eyes, Meredith had done wonders with my makeup. The second I told her my flight was diverted and there was a gala tonight, she’d insisted on dressing me from head to toe.
Although I still wasn’t sure about the revealing green dress she’d made me wear, the bronze glittering eye shadow and bright pink lipstick were nothing short of amazing.
I dug through my clutch for the lipstick and suddenly heard the sound of glass shattering onto the floor.
“What the hell? You can’t just barge in here, sir!” The curator gasped. “Sir, you have to get out. Now.”
