by Whitney G.
* * *
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 se
e 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?”
“I’ve found it,” I said, picking up a copy. “Where do I check out?”
“Far right wall.” She smiled. “Happy reading!”
“Thanks.” I walked away from her and headed toward the counter, stopping when I saw a black book with the title, How to Date a Pilot (And Have Cockpit Sex!). I knocked it onto the floor and purchased my book.
I disregarded my previous plans for the Financial District and hailed a cab straight to my condo.
Since I was off for the next few days, I poured myself a few shots of bourbon and tossed them back. Then I took Gillian’s book out of my bag and sat on my couch.
I stared at it awhile, still unsure of whether I wanted to read it or set it afire.
It wasn’t until a little after midnight that I finally flipped open the page and read the first few lines:
* * *
PROLOGUE
GILLIAN
How many times will you burn me?
Three, four, five, maybe ten—
Is it me who’s burning you?
Yes, ‘this’ needs to end.
If you walk away first, I’ll follow suit.
I’ve told you this before, and yet you never do…
The first time I flew through severe turbulence, I swore on my life I’d never fly again.
It was during a red-eye flight from Seattle to London, and three hours in, we were swept up in a sudden summer storm. The plane shook violently as the passengers screamed and prayed for their lives, and my calm assurances of “Hold on! Everyone, please just hold on!” fell on deaf ears.
The pilot was young and inexperienced, his soft voice not comforting in the least, and as the glasses from the first class cabin shattered onto the floor and luggage toppled from the overhead bins, I promised myself that if we ever landed, my days in the sky were long over.
I broke that promise hours later, of course, but I could finally say that I’d experienced the worst of what turbulence could ever be.
Or, so I thought…
* * *
I read the one after that, and as the hours passed, my eyes took in her sentences—devouring her every word.
Gate C45
Gillian
MYSTERY PILOT IN EROTIC ROMANCE BELIEVED TO BE RELATED TO AN AIRLINE EXECUTIVE
—E! News
* * *
AUTHOR OF PREVIOUS BESTSELLER, MILE HIGH CLUB UNVEILED, ADMITS TO “HEAVILY SAMPLING” TAYLOR G.’S FIRST NOVEL AMIDST THOUSANDS OF FAN ACCUSATIONS
—RT BOOK REVIEWS
* * *
ELITE AIRWAYS MAKES ALL EMPLOYEES RESIGN NEW NON-FRATERNIZATION POLICY. CLAIMS THE MOVE HAS “ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT BOOK”
—USA Today
* * *
‘TURBULENCE’ TO RECEIVE A RECORD FIFTH PRINTING WITHIN FIRST THREE MONTHS OF RELEASE
—The International Times
* * *
AUTHOR OF ‘TURBULENCE’, TAYLOR G., BEGINS INTERNATIONAL BOOK TOUR AS NOVEL CONTINUES #1 REIGN FOR THIRD MONTH IN A ROW
—The New York Times
Official Elite Airways Press Release
*Regarding the fiction that is still being propagated as fact via a former employee*
* * *
Our esteemed airline has now completed an extensive investigation process that included all of the pilots who currently fly for our company. The results definitively conclude that the former employee in question, Miss Gillian Taylor (writing as “Taylor G.”) was never involved in an interpersonal affair with one of our pilots.
We will no longer issue any more press releases regarding this matter, but as mentioned previously, we wish Miss Taylor the best of luck with her newfound literary success.
Gate C46
Gillian
New York (JFK) --> Salt Lake City (SLC) --> Pittsburgh (PIT)
“Keep your eyes on the camera…” Jake whispered into my ear as he pulled me back by my hair, fucking me deeper and deeper.
I looked right at the lens, crying out as he filled me with every inch of his cock. His left hand squeezed my breasts, pinching my hardened nipples as I cried out.
“Jake…Jake…” My body spasmed violently beneath his and he flipped me over, covering my mouth with his and claiming my lips until I went completely still.
Then, just like he’d done in every other viewing of this video, he kissed me before turning off the tape. I immediately hit replay, watching it for the umpteenth time.
“Miss Taylor?” The interviewer from Midnight Ramblings suddenly stepped into the room.
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to personally thank you for letting us interview you tonight.” She extended a bouquet of flowers toward me. “Not too many people are willing to fly to Salt Lake City, so it was an absolute pleasure, and I look forward to your next novel.”
“Thank you. I’m honored you invited me.”
“Do you mind signing a few copies before you go? They’re on the table by the soundstage.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“Great! Thank you once again!”
I waited until I heard the click of the door, and then I finally let my perfectly-rehearsed smile falter and fade. I let the tears roll down my face, let my chest heave up and down like it always did after these unfulfilling interviews.
With no shame, I dialed Jake’s number, but instead of going directly to voicemail, there was a new message: “This number is no longer in service.”
Subject: You.
You’re still my anomaly.
Miss you,
Gillian
No answer. As usual.
I hit refresh a few times, hoping for something—anything, but nothing came.
A light knock came at the studio door and I quickly wiped my eyes.
“Come in,” I said.
“Okay, yeah.” Kennedy walked in, talking on her cell phone. “Right. Well, we can talk about that on Friday. I’m with a client. Friday, Kenneth.” She shot me a quick ‘I’m so sorry about this’ look and spoke to whoever Kenneth was for a few more minutes before hanging up.
“Well,” she said, giving me her full attention. “This particular interview went rather well, didn’t it? I think you did an amazing job.”
“Thank you.” I feigned a smile. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to si
gn the books and go home. Can we bypass the extra photos thing?”
“I’m ten steps ahead of you.” She placed a bag on the table. “Here are the books and there’s a pen inside. Are you still up for a dinner with readers tomorrow?”
“Always.”
“Great. I’ll go tell them we’re leaving shortly and be right back.”
As she left, my phone vibrated against my thigh. My heart stopped.
Jake?
I unlocked the screen and opened my email app.
Not Jake.
Not even close.
It was Ben.
* * *
Subject: Fate.
I know that your book is really about us. You didn’t have to make me a pilot to make it more interesting. A stockbroker is just as impressive. I’m here for you and I will take better care when we get back together. I want to take you out for dinner sometime this month. Can you wear the dress I prefer this time, though? It’s only fair, since you want me just as much as I want you.
—Ben
* * *
Ugh…
Gate C47
Gillian
Pittsburgh (PIT) --> Salt Lake City (SLC)
Another interview came to an end, another stack of books quickly signed, and another bouquet of flowers were placed into my hands three days later. This time though, I didn’t sit in the green room to kill time. I headed straight to a waiting town car, prepared to sleep more thoughts of Jake away.