by Alyson Noel
“Deal,” he said finally, trailing me up the steps and into the building.
Attaching our little metal “M”s to our collars, we headed for the Modern Art gallery, both of us talking quickly and listening patiently while we caught up on the events of the last several months that couldn’t be properly conveyed in an e-mail or phone call. I mean, some stories required dramatic hand gestures and facial expressions to really get the point across. And as I watched Clay dramatize a showdown with a customer in a T-shirt that read “Fuck You, You Fucking Fuck,” which ultimately involved a planeload of outraged passengers, six flight attendants, a gate agent, two OOs (one, a conflict-resolution specialist who taught Verbal Judo), and finally the captain, who resolved the whole mess by handing over his jacket and extorting her promise to keep it zipped until reaching her final destination, I realized it was the first time I’d ever gone that long without seeing him, and just how much I depended on his friendship, advice, and overall presence in my life.
“So have you called him yet?” Clay asked, changing the subject as he stopped in front of a Lichtenstein.
“No.” I shrugged, knowing exactly who he was talking about, as Clay truly believed that Dane and I belonged together.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked, gazing at me instead of the painting.
“Listen,” I said, turning to look at him. “I know you think he’s cute, and now that he’s apparently single and not dating Cadence like I thought—”
“All good reasons to pick up the phone,” he said, steering me quickly to the other side of the room.
“Yeah, well, I just feel that ever since I broke up with Michael, I’ve had a few false starts. I mean first there was Max in Paris, and then there was Adonis in Mykonos.” I shook my head. “And it’s like, even though they were nothing alike, with totally different backgrounds, from totally different cultures, in both those situations I was all too eager to just pack it up and move, to say adios to my life so that I could go live theirs. And it wasn’t until I was confronted with some huge, glaring flaw that I woke up.”
“But Hailey—” Clay started, then abruptly stopped, probably because he knew I was right.
“And the fact is, I have to build my own life, from my own dreams, before I can go merging with someone else. And if I keep allowing myself to get sidetracked, that will never happen. I mean, how many men do you know who let some woman distract them from their goals?”
“But you can build your life and call Dane. It’s not like he lives in Europe; he’s just a few floors down!” He looked at me. and I knew he thought I was crazy, but I was serious about what I’d said, and this time I was planning to act on it.
“Look at them,” I said, pointing to Botero’s Dancing in Colombia. “They’re having a great time.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Clay, forget it, I’m done. Besides, I can barely stand the guy. And if you were ever forced to hang around him for more than a few seconds you’d know exactly what I mean. He’s arrogant and annoying, and he acts like he’s this major player in publishing, when the reality is he’s just a creepy . . . sapphic sycophant.”
“A what?” Clay looked at me, eyebrows raised.
“I just made that up. You know, like the male version of fag hag?”
“That’ll never catch on.” He laughed.
But I just shrugged. “Look, I’m not calling him, and that’s final. I’m revising my book, saving my money, and I’m through with dating. So tell me, what’s going on with you?”
“I’ll tell ya,” he said. “But only if we go to the park.”
We made our way outside and headed straight to Central Park, where we stopped at a cart and bought some warm, salty pretzels and a couple bottles of water. And just as we were strolling down the path toward the castle, Clay sighed and said, “Peter and I are moving.”
I stopped in my tracks and stared. “But, when? And where? And what about Atlas? And what about we?” I cried.
“Okay,” he said, nervously twisting the cap on his water bottle. “When? Soon. Where? California. Atlas? I’m either taking a leave, getting furloughed, or quitting so I can go back to school. And you? Well, that’s the hardest part.”
I stood there looking at Clay. If he was happy, then I was determined to be happy for him. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t devastated for me. “How did this happen?” I asked.
“Peter got a promotion that required a transfer to Los Angeles. And you know how I’ve always loved California, and you know how I’m so over these winters. So when he asked me to join him, I said yes. I’m hoping to get into UCLA, so I can get my master’s in psychology.”
“And how soon is soon?” I asked, blinking hard and trying not to cry. He was my best friend in the whole world, and he’d been such a major part of my life for the last six years I had no idea how I’d fill the big empty space he’d leave behind.
“Well, we’re headed there this weekend to look for a place to live, and then we’ll probably be moving shortly after that. But Peter’s so attached to New York he’s determined to keep the apartment. So we were wondering if you’d want to sublet?”
“Are you serious?” I asked, tearing off a piece of my pretzel and searching his face. I’d been to the apartment only once before, but I remembered it as being full of light, with a surprising amount of storage space.
“We’ll leave most of the furniture, so you won’t have to worry about that, and I know he’ll keep the rent reasonable, since he’d rather have someone in there that he can trust. So, are you interested?” He looked at me.
I did need a place to live, and so far everything I’d seen was either out of my league or completely unlivable. But I wasn’t sure I was up to staying in his old place, using his old furniture. I mean, it would seem weird without him. “I have to think about it,” I said, slipping on my sunglasses so he wouldn’t see me cry.
Then I leaned into him, and he put his arm around me, and we headed toward the castle.
I had just left the service elevator and was rushing through the lobby on my way to meet Clay and Peter for dinner when I ran smack into Dane and Jake. And having no choice but to acknowledge them, I reached down to pet Jake while carefully avoiding eye contact with his owner, as he’d recently crammed another message under my door that I hadn’t bothered to answer.
“How’ve you been?” he asked.
“Great! Really, really busy though, flying, writing . . .” I met his eyes reluctantly, knowing I wasn’t at all convincing.
But he just nodded. “Where you headed?”
“Mark’s. My best friend and his partner are moving to L.A., so we’re meeting for a last supper.”
“We’re headed that way too. Mind if we tag along?”
I glanced down at Jake, who was gazing up at me with those irresistible big brown eyes, and then I looked at Dane and shrugged.
And as we headed across the street, weaving our way through traffic, we pretended not to notice when our hands awkwardly bumped together. “So how was Greece?” he asked as I sank my hands deep into my pockets, keeping them safe from any further accidental contact.
“I stayed a little longer than planned,” I admitted.
“I hear Atlas is going to furlough. Will that affect you?” He looked at me with concern.
“Well, they sent me a warning letter. But it really depends on how many people take the leaves they’re offering.”
“Are you taking one?”
“I wish,” I said, shaking my head. “My friend Clay, the one who’s moving, hes taking one. But unfortunately, I don’t have anything else lined up yet. I guess I’ll just stick around and see what happens.”
“And the book?” he asked, gazing at me.
“Five rejections, and one pending.” I shrugged, not wanting to tell him I’d decided to revise my work as per the suggestions of a reality-challenged editor. “Well this is me,” I said, peering in the restaurant window, searching for Clay and Peter and hoping they
wouldn’t see me talking to Dane, since I’d never hear the end of it.
“Well, good seeing you.” He smiled.
“Yeah, you too,” I said, bending down to pet Jake.
“Call me if you want to hang out sometime,” Dane called as I went inside.
But I just smiled and waved, knowing I’d be moving to a new neighborhood soon. Then I’d never have to run into him again.
After accepting Clay and Peter’s offer, I coaxed Jonathan Franzen into a plastic bag, packed my belongings, and headed for Chelsea. And even though Jonathan would no longer get to enjoy a room of his own, I made sure to position his tank near a window so he could appreciate the view of the fire escape, and the dirty brick building next door.
With the deadline for the Atlas leave program long gone, and still no word from the sixth publisher, my dreams of following Clay and receiving low-priority stand-by travel for the next five years were sadly not to be. So all I could do was just sit back and wait while Atlas tabulated the takers, so they’d know just how many heads to chop.
The second I finished the rewrite for Chance Publishing, I dropped it in an envelope and sent it to Martina, adding “Requested Material” in big, bold letters along the front, so that who-ever handled the package would know that someone actually wanted to see it, and that it wasn’t just another wannabe destined for the circular file. And now that it was out there, making its waythrough the system, I tried to stay focused on how awesome it would feel to finally be a published author, while ignoring the voice in my head that was calling me a sellout and accusing me of writing a book I’d never want to read.
I still spoke to Clay nearly every day, and I could hardly wait till he and Peter were settled so I could go visit. I’d even considered swapping my Atlanta “Aware” seminar for the one in L.A. so I could see his face when I mocked the supervisors, reenacted the skits, and relayed just how stupid it all really was.
And even though I spent nearly all of my time either flying or working on my second book, in the moments when I found myself alone with nothing to do, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly lonely.
I’d just returned from a Brussels layover and had swung by the flight attendant lounge to check my mailbox before catching the bus, when Jennifer, whom I hadn’t seen since Puerto Rico, rushed toward me and said, “The numbers are out.”
I stared at her, taking in her red and watery eyes.
“The cutoff was just below you. You’re safe.”
“And you?” I asked, already guessing the answer.
“I’m junior to you. So it looks like I’m outta here,” she said, sniffing and looking away.
“I’m sorry.” I felt awful for her, and more than a little guilty that I’d been spared. “What’re you gonna do?”
“I guess I’m going home.” she shrugged
“To Alabam?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise. I mean Alabama might have been home, but Jennifer was East Village through and through. During the last six years she’d even managed to lose her accent, and I just couldn’t imagine her living any-where else.
“Both my roommates got axed, so they’re leaving too. I have nowhere else to go.” She tried to smile, but it was too much of a stretch.
“You can stay with me,” 1 offered. “I have plenty of room.”
” “Thanks, but I already called my parents. Besides, I want to buy a house someday, with a real yard instead of a fire escape. And I’ll never be able to do that here.” She shrugged.
I just nodded, knowing it was true.
“Well, good luck,” she said, leaning in to hug me. “Call me if you get a Mobile layover.”
I watched as she grabbed her bags and left; then I sat at a vacant computer, logged into my e-mail, and clicked on the one regarding “Atlas Transformation Furlough Notice,” scanning the document and feeling a twinge when I saw the cutoff was just two below me.
Which meant I was now the third most junior person in the en-tire Atlas system.
I just sat there staring at the screen, not quite sure how I felt about that. Because even though I’d managed to keep my job, the job as I once knew it was over.
In my new life as number three from the bottom, I’d no longer choose when and where I flew, as now the good people in scheduling would be deciding that for me. I’d be required to keep my cell phone turned on, fully charged, and by my side at all times during my “on-call” periods, which could last as long as a week and encompass an entire twenty-four-hour period, I’d be forbidden to consume any alcohol, or stray too far from home, and my bags must always be packed, and my uniform pressed and ready, in the event I was needed to fly anywhere in the world, at any given time, on a moment’s notice.
In briefing, I’d be the last to sign up for duties, which meant I’d be assigned to all of the tasks no one else wanted. And the crews would treat me as though I was new, even though I had six solid years stashed firmly under my apron.
With the drop of a snowflake, or a hint of rain in the southeast, my cherished and few “off” days would transform into “on” days. And I could definitely plan on spending Christmas, New Years, and all other holidays anywhere within the Atlas system—except home.
I would be a Ready Reserve. Which in the Atlas caste system made me an untouchable.
And since I’d barely survived this dreadful existence during my first year and a half of flying, I had no illusions about what I was in for.
So once again, my life was regressing. But this time, with the way things were going at Atlas, it held little promise of moving forward.
I logged off, grabbed my bags, and headed for the bus stop, knowing I should be grateful for keeping my job, even though I was pretty sure I no longer wanted it.
The first time I was charged with a Failure to Be Accessible I’d just returned from a seven teen-hour duty day, and was so exhausted I forgot to call scheduling and ask permission to go home. And for my punishment, I was banned from flying until I’d contacted Lawrence, apologized profusely, and followed up with a signed letter detailing exactly why and how the unfortunate event had occurred, including a point-by-point outline of how I’d ensure that I never, ever “jeopardized the integrity of the Atlas operation” again.
The second time took place when I failed to notice I had limited cell phone reception on the third floor in Bloomingdale’s.
“Hailey Lane, please.”
I shifted my two Medium Brown shopping bags to my other arm and squeezed my phone between my ear and shoulder. “Speaking,” I said, wondering who I could possibly know with such an insincere, affected voice.
“This is Lawrence Peters.”
But of course, I thought, pushing through the revolving glass door and making my way to the corner of Sixtieth and Lex.
“Hailey? Is this you?” he asked, sounding a little irritated.
I considered snapping it shut and pretending we got cut off but I knew he’d only hunt me down eventually. “Yeah, it’s me,” I sighed, pausing to gawk at a table full of knockoffs.
“I need you to come to my office immediately.”
I rolled my eyes and picked up a faux JP Tod’s purse. “I’m busy,” I said, running my hands over the smooth, slick vinyl.
“Yes, I can see that. Apparently you’ve been too busy to answer your phone. Because for your information you’ve just received your second Failure to Be Accessible, which, I might add, requires a face-to-face meeting with me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, shaking my head and moving on to the fake Burberry scarves section. “I only have one FTA, which, I might add, I’ve already apologized for.” I dropped the scarf and smiled at the dead-on voice impersonation I’d just delivered.
“Scheduling tried to reach you approximately two hours and ten minutes ago. You were to fly a Cincinnati turn. But even though you’re on call, you failed to answer your phone.”
“That’s totally ridiculous. I’ve had my phone with me the entire day, and it hasn’t once—” I held t
he phone away from my ear and looked at it. Oh crap! There was an envelope on the display, and the red light was flashing! Had scheduling really tried to call me? And how had I missed hearing it ring? “Um, I’m not sure how this happened,” I said, breaking into a cold, clammy sweat, and attempting a verbal backtrack. “I’ve had it on this whole time, I swear. I mean, is it too late? Because I can still get to JFK—”
“You’ve already been replaced,” he said, back to his usual, smug self. “I expect to see you in my office tomorrow afternoon, one o’clock sharp.”
“But that’s my only day off! Can’t we do this before my next trip?” I pleaded. The last thing I wanted was to go to the airport and see him.
“If you care about saving your job you’ll be in my office tomorrow at one, where I’ll move you from Verbal Warning to Written Warning.
I stood on the corner of Lex and Sixty-first, fuming. “If I care about saving my job?” Who the hell is he to threaten me like that? And what if I’ve just now decided that I don’t actually care about my job? What then? I mean, obviously I’m just days away from getting the call from Martina that will change my entire life. So why am I still putting up with this crap?
“So what comes after Written Warning?” I asked, adding a little chuckle to the end of that, so he’d know just how seriously I wasn’t taking his threats.
“The next step is Final Warning, followed by Termination. And trust me Hailey, you don’t want to go there.”
“Hmmm,” I mumbled, crossing the street against the light. I was living dangerously now.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, in my office, one o’clock. Or I’m afraid I’ll be forced to take drastic measures,” he said, with barely concealed rage.
“I’ll pencil you in,” 1 said, rolling my eyes and snapping my phone shut.
BELLY LANDING
When the landing gear is
inoperative, the aircraft will
slide across the runway until
coming to an eventual stop.
You should then evacuate
