Truth, Lies, and Second Dates
Page 4
“Maybe you want to take a break from the tar?” she asked, smiling so he wouldn’t think she was taking his inventory.
“You mean switch to bourbon?”
“Uh…”
Half an hour later, Ava was helping Dennis out to the parking lot, if “helping” meant “staggering under his weight.”
“Ggggggnnnnn work with me, Dennis! We might be the same height, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got at least twenty pounds on me.”
“Haven’t lost my winter weight,” he slurred, which made her laugh, which made her lose her grip, which meant Dennis’s ass was about to meet pavement.
“Captain Capp?” Suddenly most of Dennis’s weight was gone. “May I be of some assistance?”
“Some,” Dennis mumbled to … someone. “But don’ go overboard. With the … uh … the assist-tancing. Assisting. We could use a little. Of the assistancing. But not too much.”
The man who had come to her assistancing—wait, now she was doing it, and she wasn’t even drunk—was over six feet tall, with the broad shoulders and overall musculature of a regular lifter. His eyes were deep brown (probably—it wasn’t a well-lit parking lot) and his nose was a blade; he was clean-shaven and unabashedly bald, with broad wrists
(Why am I noticing his wrists?)
and casually dressed in tan slacks and a navy-blue dress shirt. His voice was a deep rumble, almost a baritone, as he quietly answered Dennis’s questions.
“You’re super tall. And big. Are you a skyscraper sometimes?”
“I am not.”
“Well, you should drink about it. Think about it. Is what I meant. Not drink. D’you want to get a drink and tell me how you became a skyscraper?”
“No, thank you.”
“Thanks a lot,” she told the mystery hunk after he’d manhandled Dennis into the car with about as much trouble as she’d have with a sack of groceries. “We’ve had a long day.”
“Not as long as Danielle’s!” Dennis shouted from the back seat. “That day, I mean. Her last day. Not today. Ava, is this a rental car? Cuz I might have to throw up in it. So much. Not right this second. Prob’ly later. Just so you’re apprised of, y’know. The situation.”
“Thanks,” Ava said to the mystery man, and she could feel her face getting warm. Drunken ex-boyfriend shouting inappropriate observations? Check. Long-ass day including her best friend’s memorial? Check. Mysterious hunk seeing her and Dennis at their worst? Mark that one off, too. Vomiting imminent? Of course! “I’m not sure I could have gotten him in.”
“Where do you have to go?”
“The Hyatt next to the mall. But we’ll be fine. I’m sure I can manage.” Her confident tone was immediately contradicted by the sound of retching from the back seat. “Anyway. Thanks again.”
He chuckled, a wonderful rumble that she practically felt, then held up a finger in the universal gesture for “give me a minute,” and sprinted away. Yeah. Sprinted. If she wasn’t seeing it, she wouldn’t have believed a large man could move so quickly. And he was back in seconds, reaching through the open back seat door and handing Dennis a …
“What is that?”
“Emesis basin.”
“Thanks, man! If my dead sister wasn’t dead, she’d really like you! She’s dead, though. So. There’s that.”
Ava tried to shut out the drunken babble and focus. “Emesis? Those things you find in hospital rooms?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you traveling with an emesis basin?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty. I don’t need that one back.”
Plenty? “Thank God,” she replied with no small amount of relief, because from the sounds, Dennis was using the hell out of the thing. Or he was being devoured by dinosaurs.
The weight-lifting track star smiled and said, “Why don’t I follow you? The Hyatt is less than ten minutes from here. I’ll help you so you can get him up to your room.”
“We’re not sharing a room,” she said quickly, because she’d decided it was important to establish that for some reason. “I mean, it’s not necessary. Don’t put yourself out.”
“I wouldn’t be, Captain Capp. I didn’t imply I would aid you without payment.”
Hey! “Hey, that’s right! How’d you know who I was? Wait, don’t tell me…”
“Belly landing,” they finished in unison. “Argh, they’re gonna chisel that into my tombstone.”
“As well they should, if the stories are accurate. In return for my assistance with your friend this evening, I ask that you allow me to buy you a drink in the hotel bar and tell me the tale of the belly landing.”
She stared at him. “I don’t even know you.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
She thought about trying to wrestle a vomit-spattered Dennis out of her car, through the parking lot, into the lobby, up the elevator—
You know what? Fuck it.
“Deal,” she said.
From the back seat: “I’m done throwing up if you two wanna bone in the back seat.”
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, but the mystery hunk just laughed.
Six
“Of course I recognized the infamous Captain Bellyflop—”
“Oh, for—I do one interview with Buzzfeed…”
“—and had to introduce myself.”
“There’s really not that much to it.”
“I have found that when someone says that, ninety-five percent of the time it’s demonstrably untrue.”
“What, you’ve done a scientific study? Besides, it was. And it was ages ago. I can’t believe people still remember.”
“It was two and a half weeks ago. Which in news-cycle time is about forty years, I grant you.”
“Ages ago,” she insisted.
“Next you’ll tell me you were simply doing your job—”
“Well, I was.”
“—and your training kicked in—”
“It did.”
“—and it was a group effort, and thus your crew is equally entitled to the public kudos.”
“It’s true! My friend G.B. didn’t hesitate to take over the booze cart.”
They were in the Bar Urbana, but the drinks made up for the terrible name and uncomfortable chairs. The courteous/yummy stranger had been true to his word, helped her get Dennis up to his room (miraculously, Dennis hadn’t missed the emesis basin), got him to drink a big glass of water, left another for him on the nightstand, put his phone in reach, and left him dozing off to the Weather Channel.
Now they were back in the lobby, and Ava was appreciating that the dim lighting of the parking lot had not done the man justice. Two words: oofta. No, wait …
“So, then,” he prompted. “What happened?”
“Well—” She stopped, embarrassed. “I just realized I don’t—”
“It’s Tom Baker.” He stuck out his hand and, amused, she shook it.
“Good enough. Well, my friend G.B.—he’s a flight attendant—we were deadheading to Vegas. That’s when employees of an airline who aren’t on duty take a flight for free. And everything was pretty quiet right up until the aneurysm…”
Seven
Ages ago
“It sounds so … unceremonious. I can’t believe she just up and dumped you like that.”
“I can,” G.B. replied gloomily. “I knew she was an up-and-dumper and a superficial wench when we got together, but even so, I didn’t anticipate—”
“Falling in love?”
“No, you idiot. Have we met? I got used to the perks that come with the ‘Influencer’ lifestyle.”
“Wow. I actually heard the capital I. And you see the irony in you calling her superficial, right?”
“So much free shit,” G.B. moaned, ignoring Ava’s 100 percent on-point observation. “Much of which was passed on to me. See?” He held out his wrist, displaying a Power Rangers wristwatch. “She didn’t even like Power Rangers. That’s when I knew we’d never be long-term.”
“Wha
t a heartbreak,” Ava observed. “Well, you’re welcome to stay at my place while you look for a new place. You’ve still got my key from last time.”
“Thanks, and that’s another thing. I have to go from a McMansion with high ceilings—the place was basically one gigantic loft—and a pool and a home gym back to that hovel my mom’s letting me squat in.”
“The hovel would be the mid-six-figure condo at the Platinum? One of the three she owns?”
“Only one bedroom.” He sighed. “And no home gym.”
Given the excellent shape the man was in, Ava could understand his woe. For all his frivolous bitchiness when he wasn’t on duty, and all his calm, polite efficiency when he was, more than once a woman had moved her purse when she saw him approach. Or crossed the street. Or wouldn’t get on an elevator with him. A clueless coworker had once suggested G.B. not work out so much, not look so imposing. G.B. had fixed him with a cold stare and said, “They’re judging me on skin color, so I’m the one who has to change my life. Got it.”
Long story short, a home gym and free watches would induce G.B. to tolerate an “Influencer” for months. Which he had. However, to everything there was a season. Or something. “I’m pretty sure you’re gonna land on your feet.”
His reply was a snort, but before she could form a devastating rebuttal, they both heard the odd noises from the cockpit. They were in seats 3A and 3B, and the cockpit was less than ten feet away. And it wasn’t soundproofed, so it was easy to hear the thuds.
“Flight Attendant Evans to the cockpit, please.”
Ava could not recall ever being in a cockpit and doing or seeing anything that would result in the noise they were hearing followed by the immediate summons of a senior flight attendant.
“Maybe he spilled hot coffee…?”
“Maybe,” she replied.
Flight Attendant Evans, a short brunette with a fixed smile, hurried past them and disappeared into the cockpit, reappearing almost immediately and going for their seats like she was laser guided. Ava reached for her seat belt just as she heard the click of G.B. unbuckling his. “We’re up,” he said under his breath.
“Pardon me, Captain Capp, the first officer would like to see you on the flight deck.”
“Of course,” she replied. To G.B.: “Stand by.”
“I’ll be here,” he replied dryly.
When she stepped onto the flight deck she saw at once what had been making those odd thuds: the pilot appeared to have had a full-on stroke at the controls, and the copilot had tried to shift him. He was slumped, semiconscious, and his right arm and leg were limp. When he turned with great effort to look at her, she noted his right eye was drooping and the right side of his mouth was drawn down. She felt a fist clench just above her stomach and begin to squeeze.
“Captain Lewis, may I be of assistance?”
He tried to answer her, couldn’t. The first officer glanced at her, then back at the controls. “Ma’am, I think he’s had a stroke. But the thing is, this happened when we were trying to deal with a hydraulic leak.”
The fist tightened. “I see. And when you say ‘leak’…”
“Major fluid loss. And I—” The first officer looked at the pilot, down at his instruments, up at Ava. He cleared his throat. “I’ve only been doing this for four months.”
The fist tightened … then relaxed. Not knowing had been the worst of it.
“I understand, First Officer Wilson. As the manifest advised, I’m Captain Ava Capp, and I’ve been doing this for six years.” Which in pilot time meant she was a bratty teenager as opposed to a teething toddler, but there was absolutely no point saying that out loud. To the flight attendant: “Please bring Flight Attendant Benjin to the flight deck.” To the pilot: “Sir, I’m relieving you as of”—a glance at her phone, which she’d set to RECORD the moment she stepped on deck—“thirteen hundred hours.” She was reasonably certain he knew exactly what she was doing, but there was no telling how severe the stroke had been, so it was worth elaborating. “We’re going to make you comfortable and get you medical assistance ASAP, and since you decided to goof off, I’ll be helping your first officer land the plane today. I won’t tell you not to worry,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “But we’ve got this.”
And here was G.B., who took in the situation at a glance. “How can I help?”
“The captain is in difficulty. Please assist Flight Attendant Evans in moving him to an empty row, then assist the crew as needed and stand by for further instructions.”
“Right away.”
“I’ll be making an announcement to the passengers shortly; I’ll want you back on deck when you hear it. You know what to do until then. And after then, actually.”
He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” Then: “Ooch over, Evans. I’ll shift him out of there for you.”
Ava was at the controls seconds later, and after a thorough check, turned to her pale but calm first officer. “Everything else looks good, aside from that pesky matter of no hydraulics.”
He blinked and almost smiled. “Yes, ma’am. Aside from that.”
“All right. I’m showing we’re forty-four minutes out from Vegas, but Salt Lake City is closer. Your captain needs an ambulance, so I’m going to advise SLC of our situation and we’ll go from there.”
“Yes, Captain.” He nodded stiffly and she realized just how frightened he was. It would have been horrifying to see his captain go down for the count, even without the hydraulics issue. His eyes were so wide they showed the whites all around, like a crisply uniformed horse about to bolt, and he was sweating. But his ass was in the seat, he was paying attention and following his checklist, and he’d called her within seconds of his captain’s stroke.
She tapped his wrist. “It will be fine,” she said. “I’ll bet you dinner on it.”
He tentatively smiled back. “You’re on.”
She clicked in. “SLC, this is Northeastern Southwest flight 729 bound for Las Vegas, Captain Ava Capp, Northeastern Southwest employee number 293, at the controls. Captain Lewis appears to have had a stroke and First Officer Wilson has requested my assistance. I have had Captain Lewis moved to the First Class section and will initiate an emergency landing.”
There was a short, startled silence, followed by, “Copy that, Captain Capp, NS 729.”
“We also have a hydraulics issue. EICAS* indicated a drop in pressure; extent of damage unknown.”
“Copy that, NS 729. Where would you like to go?”
“Salt Lake City.”
“NS 729, we understand. Please advise when you want to come in.”
“Copy, Tower.”
Wilson let out a breath. “Okay. So. There’s a plan.”
“There’s always a plan, First Officer Wilson.”
“How about the passengers?”
Passenger announcements were at the captain’s discretion. This wasn’t her first emergency landing, and experience had taught Ava not to say a word until she’d taken care of the essentials and had a plan for landing. Which she now had, so she clicked into the PA system.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Captain Ava Capp. Captain Lewis has had a medical emergency, so we are keeping him comfortable and diverting to Salt Lake City. We’ll be landing in a few minutes, and, needless to say, I’ve turned on the fasten-seatbelts sign. The flight attendants are standing by to assist you, and I will update you as often as I can. And remember, once we’re safely on the ground, you’ll have a good story for your friends and family.”
There was a quick rap at the cabin door, and then G.B. was poking his head in.
“How’s Captain Lewis?” she asked.
“There are no medical personnel among the passengers, so we’re giving him oxygen and monitoring his vitals.” Which was about all they could do, but it was better than nothing.
“Very well. I need a head count, passengers and crew,” she replied without looking up.
“Got it right here,” G.B. said at once, because he was terrific. “Two hu
ndred twenty-two passengers, crew of seven, including us.”
“Copy, leave the manifest where I can grab it in a hurry.”
“Copy. I also have a number of passengers requesting drinks service. Specifically booze.”
“Oh, I’m sure. But that’s a negative.”
“I figured.” Then, lower, “I wanted to request booze, too, but you’re heartless so I have to do this sober.”
Startled, Wilson let out a bark of laughter as G.B. exited.
“NS 729, this is the SLC tower.”
“SLC, this is NS 729. Go.”
“Report SLC when in sight, please.”
“In sight,” Ava replied, because yay! It was. Never had the clay valley of Salt Lake City looked so inviting. “Tower, SLC airport is in sight.”
“Very good, NS 729. Runway four is available.”
“Copy that, descending to runway four. Please roll an ambulance.”
“Got it, NS 729. Rolling ambulance.”
“Okay, Wilson, let’s see what’s going on with the hydraulics. Starting descent.” But because it was that kind of day … “Landing gear is not deploying.” She tried again. Nothing. So the hydraulic system was fucked. “Accessing electrical system to deploy landing gear.” Gotta love all the redundancies the engineers thought up … except that wasn’t working, either. No hydraulics + no way to bypass and use the electrical system = no landing gear. No landing gear = belly landing. What fun. “Tower, our landing gear will not deploy. Repeat, attempts to lower landing gear have been unsuccessful. Can you verify with a visual?”
“Negative, NS 729; all incoming flights were diverted.”
“Copy. We’ll be making a gear-up landing. Are we still go for runway four?”
“Affirmative, NS 729. Runway four is ready for you. Rolling more ground emergency crews.”
“Copy, Tower. I’m going to circle up here for a while, use up some of our fuel.”
“Copy, NS 729.”
Wilson cleared his throat. “We’re still on for dinner, though, right? Because everything’s going to be fine?”