by Whitney G.
“You got all that from that story? Would you like me to tell you another one?”
“No...” His voice was a demanding whisper. “I’d rather hear the story about why you didn’t show up to fuck me, why you think I’m going to continue to put up with that shit.”
“I was upset with you…I was trying to teach you a lesson.”
“Was the lesson how to piss me off? How to leave my cock hard and waiting for pussy I never got?”
“No…” I felt my cheeks reddening. “I was just angry with you.”
“Then you ‘just’ really should’ve showed up.” His voice was low. “I waited for you for an hour because I thought you were playing games like before. I was looking forward to burying my face in your pussy, tasting your clit with my tongue.”
I was silent, but my fingers were tracing the hem of my soaked panties.
“You can’t decide to randomly break our rules when you want to—especially not when it gets between me having you.”
“You say that as if you really like me.”
“I really like your pussy,” he said. “But seeing as though I have yet to experience your mouth around my cock, that may be subject to change in the future.”
I bit my lip as he breathed heavily over the line, as he sounded even angrier.
“You’re not going to say shit about fucking up my entire weekend for the second week in a row?” he asked. “Making it so I have to wait another full week for you?”
“I won’t stand you up again…”
“I’m aware,” he said. “Because I’m going to make sure that thought never crosses your mind again when I see you. I don’t care how dripping wet your pussy gets or how loudly you scream when you beg me to let you come because I won’t show you any mercy whatsoever, and I won’t hold back like I normally do.”
“Jake, I said I was—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you said.” He was speaking slowly. “I don’t care how mad with me you are again. You can ride my cock until you’re not mad anymore, and I can tongue your pussy until you can’t think anymore.”
“Jake…”
“I’ll be seeing you in Atlanta next Tuesday, correct?”
“Correct…” My clit swelled beneath my fingertips.
“Good. Glad we could have this conversation.”
I nodded as if he could actually see me.
“Oh, and Gillian?”
“Yes?’
“This counts as a late night phone call.”
“Okay. And?”
“Don’t let it happen again.”
Gate B17
Jake
New York (JFK)
She can’t follow rules for shit…
“Are you there, Jake?” Gillian asked me on the phone, a full week and a half later. “Are you still there?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Then what did I just say?”
Why am I still on the phone with this woman? “You said your brother seems to be acting like a bride-zilla and his girlfriend isn’t even aware of his plan to propose yet.” I paused. “And then, you said you realized that it’s nine o’clock at night, you’ve been talking to me for over an hour, and you need to let me return to my life where late-night phone calls don’t exist.”
She laughed her infectious laughter. “I think you like my late night phone calls.”
“I don’t.”
“Then stop picking up the phone.”
“Stop calling me five times in a row.”
She laughed again, and then continued talking as if she hadn’t heard me say that we’d been on the phone for over an hour. For the tenth night in a row she’d decided that “no late phone calls” meant call me anyway, and as much as I wanted to hang up and tell her that I didn’t want to hear about her life outside of the bedroom, I couldn’t do it. For one, the sound of her light and sultry voice—even though she rambled and asked one too many questions, was somewhat calming for my fraying nerves. For two, she was the only woman who could intrigue and enrage me all at once—the only woman who could literally piss me off one second and have me laughing at her the next.
“And that was it,” she said, finally done talking. “Thank you for listening to me again.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“You could make things even with me, if it makes you feel better.”
“Make things even? How so?”
“Well, I’ve bombarded you with my family drama for the past few days—”
“Past ten days.” I corrected her.
“Okay, okay.” Her laughter came again. “Past ten days. You could tell me something about your family.”
“I don’t have a family.”
“Everyone has a family, Jake. But you know, I bet I could fill in some of the blanks of yours myself, actually.”
I rolled my eyes, but instead of ending this call like I should’ve, I let my intrigue get the best of me. “Try me.”
“Well, you said you were from Missouri on the first night we met and unfortunately back in New York so…I’m willing to bet the ‘unfortunate’ part means either: A) Your family also lives in New York. B) You left your family in Missouri and New York is the only place they won’t come bother you, or C) You’re attempting to repair an estranged relationship with your New York family but it’s harder than you expected. Which one is it?”
“D. None of the above.”
“Well, it was worth a try.” There was a smile in her voice. “Can I guess again?”
“You can do whatever you like. I’m about to hang up.”
“Wait,” she said. “I only have one more question.”
“Somehow I doubt that…”
“Are you going to the airline’s gala tonight? Since my flight was cancelled, I’m considering going with my roommate.”
“Gillian…” I sighed. “Is this the last late night phone call we’re going to have? It really needs to be.”
“Yes.” She sounded somewhat offended. “I won’t call you again after tonight unless it’s about sex.”
“Thank you very much.”
“You could at least answer my question before you go, though…”
“I’m not sure if I’m going to the gala,” I said finally. “I’m leaning towards no, though.”
“Well, if you don’t go, would you like me to tell you all about it?”
“That’s another question. See you in Atlanta Monday.” I ended the call and leaned back—half annoyed, half aroused. I wasn’t sure if I actually liked her incessant rule breaking or not.
Not wanting to think about it for any longer, I looked outside my rearview mirror. Contrary to what I’d told Gillian, I was already at the gala, watching attendees guard their designer clothes against the light rain.
I considered driving away and acting like this event wasn’t really happening, because I could do without seeing the promised commemoration of Flight 1872 or witnessing the unveiling of a new plane, but I couldn’t get my key to turn in the ignition.
For another hour, I watched more attendees slip inside, watched the rain fall harder against my windows, and as a round of thunder roared in the distance, I stepped out of my car. I walked to the front of the line, and handing my ticket to the security guard, not even attempting to give an apology.
Inside the hangar, grand and glimmering chandeliers hung from the ceiling’s exposed pipes—drenching the room in a blinding white. Ivory clothed tables surrounded the massive stage at the center of the room, and miniature ice sculptures in the shape of aircrafts lined the back wall.
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 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 attempted 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 after 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 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 salary 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 c
ontract. 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 it’s 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.”