by Whitney G.
He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me.
Clearing my throat, I glanced behind him, noticing the television in the living room was on and blaring loudly. “Am I bothering you and someone else on a late-night date right now?”
“What the fuck do you want, Gillian?”
“I want to talk.”
“Are you sure about that? Perhaps you mean you want to write.” He sounded angry, but I could see a world of hurt in his eyes.
“I just want to talk to you. Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Well, can you step out here so I can—”
“Record it? Tape it? Use it for Turbulence Part Two? Or will the second novel have a different name?”
“I’m really sorry, Jake, and I really tried to tell you that night,” I said softly. “I told you it was important.”
“You told me it could wait.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You knew damn well something like that shouldn’t wait. Was that your motive all along? Was all this shit just a fucking project for you?”
“No, it wasn’t. I promise. I signed that deal when we weren’t talking for weeks, when I thought we were truly over. I don’t reveal anything specific about you. I don’t state your name anywhere and I—”
“You didn’t have to.” He clenched his jaw. “You didn’t have to give details about shit, Gillian, because guess what? Now you’ve got HR sitting every employee down and asking about how often we all fuck in-flight. What happens when they discover the other relationships that actually have substance? For the people without FCEs or million-dollar-book deals? What happens to them?”
“Nothing. It’s being marketed as meta-fiction.”
“Is that a new synonym for bullshit?”
“I said I was sorry.”
“And I said I didn’t care.”
“You’re not going to give me the chance to explain?” I wiped away a tear. “You’re just going to let what we had go? This is supposed to be love.”
“It was never love.”
“It was love the moment you gave up everyone else for me.”
“I did that so I could fuck you again. It had nothing to do with loving you. I hardly knew you.”
“You wanted to.”
“Is this what you came over in the middle of the night to do?” He wasn’t giving in. “Talk in circles? To keep running around each other until one of us gives up?” He held up his hands. “I give up. Now, what?”
“I’m not going to beg you to see what’s right in front of you, Jake.”
“You don’t have to, Gillian.” His voice was cold. “It’s very clear what’s currently in front of me: The past.”
My heart dropped.
“Now, if you would kindly get the hell away from me, and return to your adoring flock of fans who actually buy into the bullshit you’ve spun about us, I think you’ll be a lot happier in the long run.” He slammed the door in my face, and it took everything in me to resist the urge to knock on it again and force him to open it right back up. To hold off from storming inside and making him listen to me, but I held back.
I needed to let go of this for good.
We were finally done.
GATE C42
JAKE
Dallas (DAL)
I TOOK A SEAT IN THE makeshift Personnel Office at the Dallas/Ft. Worth Marriott, noticing that unlike my previous experience here, there was no blue-suited witness, no files stacked all over the desk, and no digital recorder waiting to collect my every word.
There was only a red-haired woman with glasses sitting across from me, looking as if she’d been conducting these sessions far too long.
She adjusted her frames and clicked her ballpoint pen. “Good afternoon, Mr. Weston.”
“Good afternoon.”
“Could you take a look at the paper in front of you and read the first few lines aloud, please?”
“Sure.” I picked it up. “Elite Airways does not, under any circumstances, condone interpersonal relationships between any of its employees. If any employee is found to be involved in such a relationship, he or she may (depending on their position within the company), be subject to suspension, transfer, or termination.”
“Thank you.” She slid me a different sheet of paper. “Now, for the record, I am aware that you have an FCE and are nearly incapable of being fired for any reason. That said, so far, I’ve asked every pilot who’s scheduled to fly out of this city this week a certain list of questions, and I have to travel across the country over the next few weeks to ask hundreds more. So, please don’t take the following line of questioning personally. Did you, Jake Weston, ever have interpersonal relations with Gillian Taylor?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
“Then I guess it has to be a no since I don’t know who that is.”
She raised her eyebrow and flipped open a folder. “Miss Taylor flew with you on numerous trips, Mr. Weston. During her last few months here, your schedules actually aligned thirty percent of the time. I’m not attempting to imply anything. I’m just asking if—”
“I said I have no idea who the fuck she is.” I glared at her. “Can we move on?”
“Fine.” She glared back, pressing the issue even further. She slid me a copy of an employee witness report. “Is this your signature? Confirming that you did see a passenger treat her inappropriately, upon landing at Houston, during a repositioning flight?”
“It looks forged.”
“There’s a video tape on file of you signing it.”
“Was I under duress at the time?”
“Mr. Weston,” she said, crossing her arms. “Did you confirm that you saw Gillian Taylor being treated inappropriately or not?”
“I did.” I relented. “Although, she wouldn’t be the first flight attendant I stood up for.”
“Actually, she would be.”
Silence.
“In all of your years as a pilot for other carriers, you’ve never vouched for any of your peers. Only Miss Taylor. Quite an interesting fact, isn’t it?”
“Only if you have a distorted definition of the word interesting.”
“Why would you vouch for her, Mr. Weston? And why did you vouch for her over something so simple? Were you jealous?”
“This is your attempt at not implying?”
“It’s my attempt at giving you a chance to be honest with me.” She looked me right in the eyes. “When I pulled your file a few minutes ago, I noticed that you updated it weeks ago. You listed a new emergency contact, one by the name of Gillian Taylor. Her phone number and address are actually identical to the ‘Gillian Taylor’ we’re currently discussing. Any idea how her name and your signature got there?”
I took the form out of the folder and quickly signed my name next to the “Never had any contact with Gillian Taylor” and “I understand the employee relations policy” boxes and stood up. “Is that all you need from me?”
“Yes.” She shook her head as I handed her the paper. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Weston.”
“My pleasure.”
GATE C43
GILLIAN
PENGUIN PUBLISHING’S UPCOMING RELEASE, TURBULENCE, ENJOYS DIZZINGLY HIGH PRE-ORDER SALES, EBOOK & PRINT
—USA Today
SOON TO BE RELEASED TURBULENCE REVEALS THE FALLACIES IN ELITE AIRWAYS’ NONFRATERNIZATION CLAUSE, REVEALS SEX IN-FLIGHT
—Flying Quarterly
PILOTS DECRY THE LOGISTICS OF “IN-FLIGHT SEX” IN UPCOMING NOVEL, TURBULENCE
—CNN
TWO PILOTS ADMIT TO HAVING SEX IN-FLIGHT AT LEAST ONCE DURING CAREERS, SAY ‘TURBULENCE’ COULD BE ACCURATE
—MSNBC
TURBULENCE, AN EROTIC ROMANCE, REACHES SOARING ALTITUDE ON BESTSELLERS’ CHART FIRST WEEK OF RELEASE
—The Wall Street Journal
AUTHOR OF TURBULENCE, TAYLOR G., TO APPEAR ON THE TODAY SHOW TO DISCUSS SCANDALOUS NOVEL
—Today.com
TURBULENCE
LANDS AT #1 ON THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLERS’ LIST SECOND WEEK OF RELEASE
—The New York Times
DAUGHTER OF FAMED NEUROSURGEON(S) RELEASES STEAMY, EROTIC NOVEL BASED ON HER OWN EXPERIENCES AT ELITE AIRWAYS
—Boston Globe
TURBULENCE SPENDS SEVENTH CONSECUTIVE WEEK ON NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLERS’ LIST
—The New York Times
OFFICIAL ELITE AIRWAYS PRESS RELEASE
*Regarding the fiction that is currently being propagated as fact via a former employee*
OUR ESTEEMED AIRLINE did indeed employ Gillian Taylor as a gate agent, a reserve flight attendant, and as a full time flight attendant over a well-documented period.
During her short term career with us, Miss Taylor amassed a total of five minor employee infractions—one of which was a termination which was eventually overturned due to an error in the Human Resources Department.
However, her fictional account of being able to so easily sustain such a relationship within the confines of our airline’s strict non-fraternization policy is simply untrue, and is packaged solely for her publisher’s entertainment.
Furthermore, although we are genuinely happy for “Taylor G.’s” newfound career and success, we would be even happier if the reading public accepted her “truth” for the mere fiction that it really is.
GATE C44
JAKE
Dallas (DAL)—> Barcelona (BCN)—> Chicago (ORD)
Rome (FCO)—> New York (JFK)
THE NEWS MEDIA WAS like a flock of thirsty seagulls. Desperate and deprived, they waited at their desks every morning for something worth devouring and they fought over it until there was something new.
Unfortunately, Turbulence was still running its course through the news cycle, and “Taylor G.” was everywhere I looked. The airport bookshops were stuffing that book on every possible shelf, late night talk show hosts had started a “How Many Days Until Pilot’s Identity Is Revealed” contest, and even passengers on my planes were still carrying their freshly bought copies, asking, “Hey...Since you work for Elite, do you know who she was talking about?” with annoying curiosity.
I’d flown every international trip I could manage—running my body off pure anger. I changed my phone number, got a new email address, and made sure that Jeff now knew that anyone whose name started with a ‘T’ or a ‘G’ was on my “I Don’t Fuck with You” list. Along with the rest of my family.
I made new casual sex contacts abroad, but I could never seal the deal with any of them. “Dinner” always ended with just dinner. “Drinks” never escalated to anything more than a drunken evening alone. My promises of “more” always remained broken, and an unwelcome feeling of guilt lodged in my chest whenever I even attempted to call someone new.
It didn’t stop me from trying, though.
My date tonight was with a woman I’d met after landing at JFK this morning. She’d purposely brushed by me in the terminal and she didn’t waste any time letting me know what was on her mind.
“How long are you in town for, Captain?” she asked.
“Until tomorrow.”
“So, that means you’re free tonight for some company?”
“I don’t do company.”
“Do you do fucking?”
“I do.” That was what brought me to the Marriott Le Grande, at a small café outside of Bergman’s. Since her room was being serviced, she’d suggested that we have lunch.
I was glad she wasn’t the talkative type. She didn’t even pretend like she wanted to have a conversation.
“They should be done with my room in twenty minutes,” she said, putting her phone away.
“Good.” I took a short sip of coffee and looked out the window, hoping tonight would finally be the day I would end my sexless cycle.
As the waiter offered us more bagels, I heard the sound of a familiar light and raspy voice behind me.
Gillian.
I turned around in my seat and looked around the room, trying to place where she was, but then I saw that she wasn’t really here. She was on the television, on the news.
Dressed in a fitted beige dress and red heels, she was sitting across from one of the most popular morning anchors in America. Katie Seleck, a pretty blonde woman with a penchant for being completely over the top.
Without thinking, I stood up and moved closer to the screen.
“Can you turn that up a bit, please?” I asked the barista.
“Sure thing.” He smiled and lifted the remote.
“Today we’re here with Taylor G.” Katie said. “She’s a former Elite Airways flight attendant and author of the book that is causing quite a bit of a buzz, Turbulence.”
The camera panned to Gillian, and she looked as if it was killing her to smile.
“It made its debut on shelves last month and it’s apparently going to have to go through a second printing fairly soon.” She looked at Gillian. “How do feel right now about living your dream?”
“I’m still in a bit of shock, honestly.”
“I can imagine.” Katie laughed. “So, let’s just get down to the question that everyone wants to know. Outside of the name and city changes, is your book mostly true?”
She hesitated to answer. “Yes.”
“Interesting!” She pulled out a sheet of paper. “Are you aware of the press releases that Elite Airways has sent out this week? How they’re now framing you as a disgruntled employee?”
“Yes, and I think they’re doing a very good job to discredit me.” Gillian folded her hands in her lap. “A very good job, but facts are facts.”
Katie smiled again, seemingly overjoyed to have an exclusive. “You told me right before the interview that you wouldn’t divulge the name or anything specific about the pilot you were involved with, but does he know about the book? Is he aware that he’s the main subject?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “Let’s focus on you. So, you got a small book deal fresh out of college and your debut book was supposed to be about...”
I tuned out the reporter’s voice, tuned out Gillian’s obviously-rehearsed answers. I kept my focus on Gillian’s lips and her eyes, the way she blushed every few seconds when she was uncomfortable.
I couldn’t deny that she was still fucking beautiful, or that seeing her for these few minutes was having an effect on me and making me sense the very feeling I’d been attempting to avoid for the past few months. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I had yet to curb my habit of waking up in the middle of the night and reaching for her.
I’d found images of us in my desk drawer, more secret pictures she took of us, and ones she continued to snap of me when I was asleep. And I still looked at the naked images she once sent to my phone via our FaceTime chats. I couldn’t bring myself to delete those.
“One last question before we take a quick commercial break.” Katie’s shrill voice cut through my thoughts. “If there’s anything you’d like to say to the other subject in Turbulence, anything at all, what would you say?”
A look of hurt crossed Gillian’s face, but she recovered quickly and forced a smile. “I would say, two word phrase, seven letters. Something I always wanted you to say, but now I’m saying it to you and I mean it.”
I’m sorry...
“Okay, then...We’ll be right back with—”
“I’d also say that I miss you.” She looked directly into the camera. “I miss you a lot more than words can explain.” Then she mouthed, “And I love you.”
Someone off camera handed her a box of Kleenex and Katie winked at the audience. She patted Gillian’s knee and whispered, “We’ll be right back, America” with a smile. And after the camera got one last shot of the tears falling down Gillian’s face, the screen cut to a laundry commercial.
“You ready?” The Marriott woman whispered into my ear. “I just received the text from housekeeping. We’re good to go.”
I turned around to face her, unable
to see her true features. All I could see was Gillian.
“Is that a yes?” she asked.
“It’s a no.” I moved past her and walked out of the bistro and into the evening air of the city. I headed down 38th street, toward the financial district where I was less likely to run into too many people.
When I approached a stoplight, I looked to my left and noticed Turbulence staring at me from a display inside of Barnes and Noble. Unable to look away, I stepped closer to the glass, eyeing the new cover for the paperback. Unlike the hardback cover which featured a couple leaning against the wall in a post-sex kiss, this cover was far simpler.
The word “Turbulence” was split into two: “Turbu” and “Lence” lined up symmetrically in a bright white font. There was a man in a pilot uniform—a captain’s uniform with four glittering gold stripes on his shoulders, and his back was turned as he stood beneath a dark blue sky. In thin, white letters at the bottom were the words, “Taylor G.” and above that were the italicized words: New York Times and USA Today bestselling author.
A part of me wanted to storm into the store and strip the cover off every copy—to rip out the pages until there was nothing left for anyone to read. But another part of me, a part I couldn’t explain, was telling me to pick up a copy for myself.
With the streetlight still red, I went against my better judgment and walked inside the store. I was immediately faced with a larger display of her book, and a stand stocked with free bonus gifts that came with every purchase of it: A silver plane keychain with the words “This is us. This is our messed up love” etched onto the wing.
“Can I help you with something today, sir?” A brunette walked over to me. “Anything particular you’re looking for?”
