by B.C.CHASE
Jet
Inside, Aubrey hardly had time to take in the surroundings as she was whisked through the plane, and although she hadn't ever been in one before, she knew this didn't look like anything people usually flew in. There was a lounge with supple, leather wrap-around sofas and sleek-looking armchairs, a conference room where several men sat at a rich wooden table, and a hallway with wood paneled walls—one side lined with doors and the other side arching down and dotted with the small, round windows typical of airliners.
They stopped at a door in the hallway and Maggie quickly looked Aubrey over and batted some dirt off her skirt, saying, “Okay, if he asks you about your experience, just make something up.”
“You mean lie?”
“Yes; lie.” Maggie knocked on the door. An immediate, baritone response came from inside, “Come in.”
Motioning for Aubrey to wait, Maggie stepped in and closed the door behind her. Aubrey heard her muffled voice, “Your new personal assistant is here, sir.”
The reply came in a rich, Anglican accent, “Show her in, Maggie.”
The door opened and Maggie's hand appeared around the door frame, making two quick motions to usher Aubrey along.
She stepped around the corner into what was a contemporary, but elegant office; there was a modern sofa against one wall and two chairs facing a glass desk. Behind this sat a strongly-featured man, breathtakingly handsome, but austere in expression, with eyes fixed on a transparent screen that he held between both hands.
Aubrey stood there before the desk, waiting, but the man didn't even lift an eyebrow. She cast her eyes at Maggie, searching for some kind of guidance, but Maggie motioned for her to wait. And so she did, for at least two minutes.
Finally, the man raised his eyes and, as if he was surveying a new suit, fleetly looked Aubrey over. He then nodded to Maggie, “She'll do.”
Aubrey's jaw would have dropped, but Maggie didn't give it a chance to, pushing her straight back into the hallway. After the door was closed and they were a safe distance away, Aubrey protested, “She'll do? What kind of an interview was that?”
“We're departing soon; he doesn't have time to do a full interview. You're actually lucky,” Maggie laughed nervously.
“I don't know if I feel lucky or insulted!”
“Trust me, you're lucky. Now let me show you where you'll sit for the flight.”
Maggie led her back through the aircraft to an area directly behind the cockpit where there were three sections; one was a galley, one had bunk beds and the last had rows of seating. In one of the seats was a sixty-year-old-looking woman with bright red lipstick. She had big curls that were dyed golden and she held a long-stemmed glass of sparkling champagne in one hand. Maggie introduced her as “Lorraine, the stewardess.” She then directed Aubrey to sit in one of the seats and dropped a cell phone in her lap. “If this rings and it says, “Henry Potter,” that means he needs you for something. Go find him and ask him what he wants—politely. I'll be back later.” Maggie left them alone.
Aubrey felt a tingle of excitement when the plane began to move. Despite the strange “interview,” she felt pride at having been granted the job. She had, after all, dropped everything to come here at a moment's notice. Few people would have had the nerve to do that, she surmised.
“So you're Henry's new personal assistant?” Lorraine asked, not bothering to hide her skepticism.
“Yes.”
Snickering: “Well good luck.”
“Thank you...” Aubrey said, her satisfactory feelings now giving way to dubiety. “Why would you say that?”
“Oh, no reason. It's just that his last personal assistant left this plane about two hours ago. And she had only been with him for five days.”
“Oh really?” Suddenly the pieces began to fall into place. The urgency, the limo, the lack of an interview... Maggie had been on the hot seat for a new PA, pronto, and she'd capitalized on Aubrey's ignorance.
Lorraine chuckled hoarsely, and broke into a cough. When she recovered, she said, “Oh yeah, I've been on Henry's planes since the first time he had one, and I've never seen him keep a personal assistant longer than three months.”
“Oh... Really...” Aubrey's disappointment was betrayed by her voice.
“Sorry, kid, but Henry Potter is a first-class jerk, at least when it comes to his PA’s,” Lorraine said. “This new job of yours is going to be hell on earth.”
The engines fired loudly and the plane started to accelerate toward takeoff. Lorraine raised her glass jovially, “Champagne?”
The cell phone rang. It was Maggie, “Come down to the conference room as soon as we're in the air.”
“What for?”
“Just do it.”
