B01MUG7DJX EBOK

by Mathew Ortiz

  I loved takeoffs and let myself doze while we taxied. The roar of the engine assailed my ears, the sudden acceleration smushed me back into my seat and, in moments, we were airborne. I love takeoffs. The plane leveled off after a bit and I unsnapped my harness. Time to go to work.

  Curiosity got the better of me as I set up the cart and I found my mystery man’s name on the passenger manifest: Cotton Myer. Odd name. But then I’ve come across some pretty odd names living here in Atlanta. Annie joined me in the back and checked the front of the cart. Nodding to her, we pushed off and guess who was first…? I spoke before Annie had a chance.

  “Anything to drink?” I asked politely. He gazed up at me with those dreamy brown eyes.

  “Um, apple juice if you have it.”

  I grabbed a plastic cup, popped open a can from the bin and poured it. Handing it to him, our fingers touched. Zing! Bugger me. I felt that spark and, judging from his widening gaze, so did he.

  “Uh… thank you,” he mumbled. I tipped my head to him and asked his neighbor what they wanted. Annie shot me a look that said we were going to chat after service had been completed. I didn’t expect anything less.

  The next forty minutes ticked by as we served and cleaned up, while the flight hummed along. I figured we had about ten minutes or so of down time, so I hit my seat and took a breather.

  “Tired?” A deep voice asked. Most of the passengers were dozing except, it would seem, Mr. Myer. I shifted to the edge of my seat and met his gaze. He had turned in his seat to speak to me, not a comfortable move mind you, and waited for my reply.

  “A touch,” I answered him honestly. “These early flights are hard to do. Being chipper this time of day is draining, especially when I’m knackered.”

  “I hear an accent,” he drawled. “British?”

  How amusing, he can hear my accent.

  “Yes, I’m an expat,” I elaborated quickly. “I’ve lived in Atlanta since I was sixteen. You?”

  “Born and bred.” He held out a hand. “Cotton Myer.”

  “Caleb Jaspers.” I shook his hand.

  His gaze darted around to make sure no one was listening and then settled back on me. “Single? Gay? Please say yes to both.”

  “Cheeky,” I chided, but he only grinned like the devil at me. American men were so forward sometimes it still amazed me. I lowered my voice to whisper. “Yes, to both. Are you hitting on me, Mr. Myer?”

  “Hell yes. Is it workin’?” he replied smugly and I had the sudden urge to yank his beard. His eyes twinkled merrily.

  “Yes, it is. We can get drinks once we land in Raleigh, if you like.”

  His eyes darkened at the suggestion, his expression suddenly sad. Obviously, something I said had caused his reaction, but I didn’t know why. He seemed to pull away and I wanted to smack myself. I never had any luck with men. Three years ago, I met this gorgeous Latin guy, Valentino DaCosta, on a flight to Boston. God, he looked like a model. We’d flirted and I gave him my number. I anxiously waited to hear from him but I never did. When I did see him again, he and a hunky redheaded man were walking hand in hand into one of my favorite restaurants: Avanti Blue. I guessed I’d missed that opportunity. Not long after that, I thought I’d struck gold when another handsome Latin crossed my path. I was redoing my condo’s kitchen and the designer, Oscar Hernandez from COR Interiors, had come to consult. To say I was smitten was an understatement. In a span of moments, I was dreaming of picking out Royal Dalton china patterns with him until he told me he was taken. Bugger, bugger, bugger! Then Robert… no I’m not going there. A shiver ran up my spine and I hugged myself.

  “Um… I have a thing in Raleigh I have to do.”

  Polite brush off. Why should I expect anything less? I’m good for a fuck but not to keep. Stiff upper lip, Caleb. Don’t let them see you hurt. Schooling my face into a placid screen, I strove for an air of nonchalance.

  “No problem,” I said coolly, and he worried at his lower lip.

  “I-I listen, Caleb. I get back to Atlanta in six weeks. Can I call you then?”

  Six weeks? What the hell? Then I looked at those puppy dog eyes and all my self-respect flew out the emergency exit.

  “Why not?” I sighed, as I jotted my number onto a napkin and handed it to him. He turned around with a small smile and I reflected on my hollow life.

  I didn’t really feel like dating, anyway. The last year had almost destroyed my faith in love and I hadn’t, in my opinion, fully recovered. However, Mr. Myers’ soft brown eyes had drawn me in and I’d relented. Why not, indeed? I’m a hopeless romantic but, so far, I was zero for zero. I hated the bars and their phoniness. Twos acting like tens. Snobbery on a level that would make even my mother cringe. I mean, if you’re going out to a bar to meet men, why be such a wanker? Some guy would give me the eye, I’d smile and then he’d brush me off. My last encounter at a bar finished me for the whole scene. I’d been chatting up this rather attractive young man who spent half the time on his mobile or scanning the crowd.

  I did my charming best but he’d acted like such a bore. When I asked him what he did, he said he worked as a sales clerk at Macy’s. You would have thought, by the way he presented himself, that he worked in law or some upwardly mobile executive type job. He was a shop boy for God’s sake! Where the hell did he get off looking down his nose at me! Here I was, trying to make a connection and he acted as though I was beneath him. Totally pissed me off. After that, I gave up. I decided I wasn’t meant to find a nice guy. I told my sister I was going to buy a crazy cat lady starter kit and learn to knit. Yes, I’m well aware I’m going to die alone—sad but true. That had been ten months ago and, since then, I’d only dated one man which had ended with me in hospital with a broken arm, two black eyes and three broken ribs. That was the day I’d packed up my romantic aspirations and picked up a set of knitting needles. I have two sweaters and a Tom Baker scarf.

  The chime of the phone to my left brought me back to the here and now. I picked it up and Annie said from the front, “Final run. We’re starting our descent.” No sooner had she said it, Captain Chad came over the speaker and announced the same thing to the passengers.

  Sighing heavily, I got up and started my final checks for landing. Trays up. Belts buckled. Seats up. Yes, I’ll take your trash. I completed my run and met Annie in the middle where she handed me her trash sack and I turned to head toward the back of the cabin. As I passed him, Mr. Myer gave me a shy smile and I returned it. He seemed nice, but who was I kidding? He probably just wants a piece of ass. He won’t call me.

  I tossed the waste into the bin and checked off the list. The plane dropped roughly and I grabbed the corner of the wall in the back to keep from falling. Weather reports from Raleigh had said to expect storms and a quick peek out of the window confirmed it. Dark gray clouds hovered under the plane as we descended. It was going to be a bumpy approach and landing. Letting go of the wall, I secured the cabinets and called Annie to give her the green light from the rear. I’d just sat down when a patch of rough air shook the cabin. We’d flown into the clouds and the air had taken a turn for the worse.

  I snapped the buckle on my jump seat as another jolt shook us to the right and I closed my eyes. I really must stop watching those documentaries on plane crashes. I was hooked on them and had learned that, in a crash, being in the back of a plane increases your chance of survival. That’s why I tended to take the back. Most attendants wanted the first class or business class section. Me, I stayed in the rear—just in case. The plane dipped radically and I gripped the seat. I turned to look out the window as we left the cloud cover, revealing a gray, gloomy landscape. Our turn around schedule gave us an hour to get ready and I knew the bad weather wouldn’t have passed by then. The day was going to be a series of rough takeoffs and landings. I could only hope my motion sickness would stay quiet. It didn’t rear its ugly head often, yet days like this egged it on.

  The roar of the engine whined as we decelerated and the thunk as the landing ge
ar was deployed reverberated through the cabin. Some passengers jumped at the noise, but I was so used to it that I paid it no mind. Bloody hell! The aircraft fell sharply to the left. I peered down the aisle and saw Annie sitting tensely in her seat. Not that I blamed her. I shot her a reassuring smile and, a moment later, we touched down without incident. I had to give it to Captain Chad, he always handled his aircraft with precision. The engines roared in reverse, throwing me forward as we slowed, then throttled down as we rolled toward the terminal. The cabin echoed with the familiar sighs of relief from the passengers and I smiled to myself as I unhooked and made my way up to the front. Annie had already gotten up and the Captain was announcing our arrival.

  Ten minutes later, we’d parked and I opened the door to the ramp. The passengers trudged off and I gave them my best “Thank you for flying with us” face and cheery goodbye! The cabin emptied and, despite trying to play it cool, my heartbeat increased as Mr. Cotton Myer made his way down the aisle, deplaning last. He stopped, gave me a long look as I recited my spiel and smiled warmly. My face reddened and I chided myself for being such a twit.

  “I will be callin’,” he said quietly.

  Before an answer could form on my lips, he clomped out of the plane and down the ramp. I gave him a half-wave and heard the loud ‘ahem’ from behind me. Pivoting, Annie gave me a pointed look.

  “What? He asked for my number.” I defended myself. “He’s cute.”

  “Ew! All those tattoos and that beard! Yick! Too hairy.” She scrunched up her nose and I glared at her.

  “And that’s why you’re still alone.” I swished past her. “Too picky.”

  “Whatever, Queen Elizabeth. Let’s get something to eat after we prep the cabin.” She hurried down the rows, taking the starboard while I took port and we made quick work of it. Satisfied and having thirty minutes to kill, we hurried to a restaurant to grab some breakfast.

  As we walked in, I spied and waved to Robin and Finn, two fellow attendants, who motioned for us to join them. Our waitress came over to take our order and put a jug of water and four glasses on the table.

  “I’ll have the fruit cup and a pineapple smoothie,” I gave the waitress my order and turned to Annie to indicate she should go next.

  “Oh, that sounds good. I’ll have that… and eggs… sausage and bacon… hash browns… muffin… waffles ... and coffee,” Annie said, then handed the menu to the waitress. She looked at each of us, who stared at her, open-mouthed. “What?”

  “Where do you put it all?” Robin balked as she picked over her tiny Danish.

  “Hollow bum,” I mumbled over my water. Annie huffed and smacked my arm.

  “More like the chesticle area,” Finn grumped and Annie’s face flamed scarlet. He had moaned more than once that he had a hard time keeping his weight down. His build was stocky, with muscles padded in fat. He didn’t look fat at all, more like a football player in a flight attendants uniform. I loved Finn. Straight as an arrow, he nevertheless treated me respectfully.

  “Well there is ample storage,” I replied. Annie stuck her tongue out and grinned. The food arrived and, per usual, we fell onto it, nattering nonstop in between quick bites. Time between flights was finite and dawdling over a meal wasn’t an option. Annie sipped her juice, polished off the last of her waffle and checked her phone.

  “Cripes. We have to leave in five minutes!”

  “You guys doing still doing milk runs?” Robin asked. Robin and Finn were seniors with Cloud 9 and had the overseas assignments… coveted and much sought after assignments. Their flight was scheduled to leave for Rome in three hours, so they had time to kill. Robin was lead attendant and Finn was second. Both worked the first class and business sections of their flight.

  “Yes,” Annie replied, gloomily.

  “I had hoped to catch you two and give you a bit of news.” Robin lowered her voice. “There are two positions on the London run opening up in a month. Marylou is retiring and Annaliese is getting married to her doctor boyfriend, and taking some time off. You two should put in for it. I mean, you won’t be lead, but it’s a start.”

  My gut tightened. The overseas flights were plum assignments and hard to come by. Knowing someone on the inside helped obtain those jobs.

  “Oh, my gosh! I’d love to go on the overseas runs,” Annie bubbled and I nodded.

  “When do you think they’ll post it?” I asked and Robin looked around, checking no one was listening, as the whole area was filled with attendants and pilots.

  “Next week. If you want, I’ll put a word in for you two to Barbara.” Robin waved her spoon at us. Finn nodded and added his two cents.

  “You two are way too good to be doing milk runs. Annie, you speak Vietnamese, Tagalog and French. And Caleb, you speak French, Italian and Spanish. Why they’re wasting you two is beyond me.” He had a point. We had all the necessary credentials and both of us were single. It took me a nano-second to decide I would apply for the job as soon as it was listed on the Cloud 9 employee site.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence and the recommendation.” I meant that sincerely. Getting the overseas jobs took monumental effort. I had originally been given the runs from Atlanta to Boston but, when I was hospitalized, they’d had to give the position to someone else and I hadn’t been able to get off my current assignment. Annie had tried to get a better gig too, with no luck. Maybe things were looking up for us. I finished my muffin and coffee. “Come on half-pint. They’ll be calling us any moment.”

  Annie slurped the last of her smoothie and wiped her mouth. We bid Robin and Finn goodbye and hurried back to our gate. I gazed out of the huge floor to ceiling windows as we approached and grimaced. The clouds were even darker than when we’d landed. That meant delays, irate passengers, grumpy ground crews and an overall miserable day. We badged in at the gate and trooped back to the plane. The tang of rain and jet fuel tickled my nose. Thank God I loved my job.

  Chapter 2

  Cotton

  “Alcohol doesn’t make you smarter, funnier or more charmin’. It makes you too stupid to see how stupid you’re actin’.”

  *

  “Hello, everyone. My name’s Cotton Myer and I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Hi, Cotton,” the circle of ten men and women chorused back.

  “I’m ten weeks sober today,” I announced even as my hands shook. Light applause answered me and I took a steadying breath. “Funny… I think this is the longest stretch of time I haven’t had a drink in years.” More nods and my throat constricted as memories of my teens and early twenties flooded me.

  “Go on, Cotton,” Christina prompted. She led the AA group here in Decatur and was my sponsor. I’d gratefully accepted a woman as my sponsor, because I didn’t need any male distractions. Since coming home, my life had been a whirlwind of activity. I’d moved out of the house I shared with Boone and moved back in with Momma and Mawmaw. There’s something kind of sad in being a man closing in on thirty and returning to live with your momma. But I knew I had to remove myself from my old home. Boone liked to drink socially sure, but he didn’t do it that often because it whacked out his diabetes. He said he’d get rid of all the booze in the house and I knew he would, but I stubbornly refused to make him change his life because I’d fucked up mine. In the end, I moved back in with Momma. She and Mawmaw didn’t drink and, since Avery and Peg had moved in with Martin, there was plenty of room for me. I took Avery’s old room and settled in, but my counselor from Raleigh reminded me to attend an AA meeting immediately.

  So here I was, sweating so bad, I’d given myself swamp-ass. “I don’t know where to start really.”

  “Try at the beginning. Tell us ‘bout yourself,” a man named Izumi said, and they all nodded. Steeling myself, I told them my story.

  “Well, to begin with, I’m an identical triplet. My brothers, Avery and Boone, are older than me, so I guess that makes me the baby, and the screw-up of the bunch.”

  “How so?” Christina asked. “And why a sc
rew-up?”

  “If any of you have siblin’s, there’s always comparisons between ya’ll and it’s no different for multiples. Avery has always been the sensible, steady, smart one. He led our little trio. I could always go to him when I had a problem. Boone is the funny, talented one. He’s always got a quip or comeback and keeps people on their toes. He also has the biggest heart. And then there’s me. Cotton; the uninteresting one, the bland one. I never felt like I measured up to my brothers. Don’t get me wrong, my momma and mawmaw loved us equally, but I always felt like I fell short.” I shuddered and pressed on before what courage I had failed me.

  “At school, they separated us as best they could, and that’s where the differences came to the fore. Avery was a natural leader and Boone drew people like moths to a flame. Me, I had a temper, was surly as hell and known for fightin’. I did well with my subjects, but my poor momma had to come to school at least once a week to bail me out. Hell, I was suspended so often during one year of junior high, I almost didn’t pass it. I seemed hell bent on causin’ trouble and, in my last year of junior high, I fell into a rough crowd. I had my first drink with them one day after school. I-I liked the calmin’ effect it had on me and suddenly I was the life of the party. I was funny, charmin’, a leader… everythin’ my brothers were… except at home. There I was still Cotton. I never drank at home, only with my friends. I did that all through junior and senior high. I was drunk or hungover most of the time and surprisingly hid it well from my family—until the day after graduation.” I bit my lip, refusing to cry. That day was one I’ll never forget or live down.

  “It’s okay, Cotton,” Lilli Beth, another member, said softly.

  “No—no it’s not.” My knuckles were white on the edges of the podium. “I’d been out all night with my friends and rolled home, drunk off my ass. I didn’t attend any of the same parties as my brothers ‘cause we’d fallen into different social groups quite early on at school. So, I stumble in at eight in the morning and my entire family is sittin’ in the livin’ room waitin’ on me. I was totally busted. I don’t remember much about what happened next, except arguin’ with Avery and Boone and my momma cryin’. I hated seein’ Momma cry. I got so angry at them, ‘specially Avery. He was raggin’ on me and the next thing I knew I’d slugged him.” I paused and gathered myself. A cold bead of sweat trickled down my back. “I hadn’t ever hit one of my brothers in anger before. Sure, we’d wrestled and fought like most teenage boys, but had never hit each other like that. I saw the blood and it woke my ass up, fast. Avery was flat on the floor nursin’ a bloody nose and everyone was lookin’ at me in shock. No. Worse. Fear.”