Call Me Stewardess

by Elizabeth Landry

  Afterward, I made my way to some of my favorite stores just to see if they had gotten new arrivals in. I got lucky and found a nice pair of bohemian-style pants for a really good price. Walking by Boulevard Saint-Germain, I admired the church on my right-hand side, and in the many crossroads surrounding it I found time to wander a little before making it to the grocery store. I walked by the delicious macaroon store Ladurée, on Rue Bonaparte. Seeing the line, though, I didn’t have a choice but to skip the stop, and continued straight on to Monoprix to get a salad for the return flight. I took the opportunity to also purchase some delicious yogurts and French cheese. While waiting at checkout, I looked at my watch. It was already five thirty p.m. I had to quickly get back to the hotel. I couldn’t miss my “date.”

  ◆◆◆

  After carefully putting my food in my room’s mini-fridge, I put on my new baggy pants. They were made of a light, silky fabric and the tag was proudly marked MADE IN FRANCE. This was one of the reasons I chose it in the first place and it also made me look at once laid-back and very stylish, just the way I like it. I wore it with my everyday T-shirt and took a last look at myself in the mirror to make sure my walk hadn’t messed up my hair. Everything was perfect and, most important, I felt like myself. I went down to the lobby.

  When I arrived, Becky was already there, sitting on one of the sky-blue couches. She seemed enthralled by the words her handsome pilot Philip was saying to John. Shyly smiling, I got closer to them.

  “Hi, guys! Did you sleep well?” I asked instinctively.

  I wasn’t expecting a very elaborate response from any of them as asking a flight attendant or a pilot how they slept was like asking the usual “How’s it going?” to which no one really cares to hear the answer.

  “Sure did, and you?” they all answered.

  “I did too, thank you,” I automatically replied. “By the way, my name is Scarlett,” I added, looking at the first officer and the captain.

  “Hi, Scarlett. I’m Philip.”

  I then turned toward John so that he could in turn introduce himself.

  “I’m John. Nice to meet you, Scarlett,” he said, with one the nicest smiles I had ever had the pleasure to witness.

  “Where did you plan on going to eat?” I asked the first officer, way too shy still to ask the captain.

  “We were thinking of going to a restaurant I know. It’s very good and it has an outside patio.”

  “Yes, somewhere with a patio would be pretty cool on a day like today,” I said, mentally smiling at the pun.

  “All right, then, let’s go!” said Philip.

  We all followed him without adding a word, which made it a very satisfying agreement. In order to avoid conflict, a leader had to take charge. So many times, we would all agree to meet up for dinner but ended up splitting the crew in order to satisfy everyone. But when one of us stepped up as THE connoisseur of a restaurant, no one dared to doubt him or her for as long as they maintained their convictions. Like a herd of sheep, we would then follow to the suggested destination. However, if the connoisseur doubted his or her choice out of fear of not pleasing everyone, chaos would arise: “Is your restaurant still very far?”; “Well, I know a cheap spot.”; “I really would have liked to have some paella.”; “Honestly, I don’t really feel like having tapas.” Doubt would bring fear and panic, which, just like on a plane, were contagious.

  Fortunately, that day, it wasn’t the case. Everything was going for the best since our leader had faith in his own skills as a culinary guide. He had an exaggerated confidence, just like a pilot’s. Ah! Well, look at that, he was a pilot, that’s why!

  As we were walking toward the restaurant, the group naturally split in two. The first half consisted of Becky and Philip, and the second of John and me. Walking on Boulevard Saint-Michel, I noticed that John opted for the side closest to the street. I didn’t know if he had done it intentionally, but nevertheless I appreciated the gentlemanly act. Becky was in front with the first officer. We weren’t far behind but I couldn’t hear their conversation. John and I started talking about nothing in particular. The conversation was friendly.

  Pulling out my favorite ice-breaker question, I asked, “Have you been with the company long?”

  “Ten years already. Yourself?”

  “Three years. But it also feels like it went by very quickly.” I continued on with my second favorite question. “What were you doing before Americair?”

  Everyone had a past and I was always intrigued by my colleagues’. Some had had children, a family, and then one day had realized they had always wanted to be a flight attendant, so had applied for the job. Others had been nurses. Tired of the health system, they had decided to make the most of life, all the while still taking care of others. Among my colleagues, there was also a stylist and an American athlete. Flight attendants come from all kinds of backgrounds. Many have degrees in law, management, or teaching, and evolve to working in aviation purely out of choice. If only passengers knew all of this, they might look at us differently.

  As for pilots, prior to Americair some had flown rich men around to foreign countries on their private jets. Others were retired from the army but still wanted to keep in shape and thus had chosen to fly with us full-time. A few had even been flying above distant corners of America, where there is plenty of wildlife but not many people. I wondered about John’s past.

  “Well, I was up in Alaska,” he said. “I was flying for a small charter company there. I was often with geologists who had to analyze the ground composition. By flying over the land they could, with the help of their weird machine, know if it contained gold or something. As far as I was concerned, though, I was flying, and that’s all that mattered to me.”

  I had never heard of that technique. And although it was all very educational, I didn’t really care to find out more about it. I wanted to know more about him instead, about his life.

  “Interesting. How long would you be lost in the woods for? Surely time didn’t fly up there?” I asked, to keep him talking.

  “I would stay there for three months and then they would fly me home for two weeks so I could be among humankind. I can’t deny the fact that after three months I needed to see people, women. But above all, I loved to fly the northern skies. It was flat calm. Peace and quiet. With only wolves howling. Can’t put a price on that.”

  Listening to him, I let his words and thoughts sink in. As I was from Woodstock, Vermont, I also felt a strong love for nature. Actually, I wondered where he was from.

  “What background is Ross?”

  “It’s from Ireland. My father is Irish and my mother American.”

  “Ah! That’s where your subtle accent comes from?”

  “Barely noticeable, right?” he said, in a very proud, nationalistic way.

  “No, not at all! I hope I didn’t offend you?” I said, worried it had come out as an insult.

  “Just a little bit,” he joked, flashing one of his charming smiles.

  The more I listened to him, the more I was starting to understand my inexplicable attraction for him. I was really hoping nothing would go wrong until the end of the night as for once, I was interested in someone.

  After only a few minutes, we arrived in front of a restaurant sign indicating Le Pré Verre. We made ourselves comfortable on the patio. Becky was sitting in front of me and Philip next to me, with John facing him, so diagonal to me. We started by ordering a bottle of the red wine the waiter had recommended. After a few sips, I finally became more at ease. I had no reason to be shy, especially since there had been zero intimacy. I couldn’t tell if there was a slight chance he found me attractive. I could clearly see that Philip was attracted to Becky, but John hadn’t given me any obvious sign, even though I could definitely feel some chemistry between us.

  At dinner, we talked about, unsurprisingly, airplanes, passengers, and company gossip. John, on his end, kept mostly silent. He laughed with us but remained quiet, only speaking to add a few comments o
r a relevant statement here and there. At one point, out of the blue, or perhaps due to our alcohol consumption, the conversation strayed into a completely different direction: the mid-life crisis.

  “Is it true that men start considering being unfaithful when they get close to their forties?” asked Becky, obviously trying to test the waters with Philip.

  “Hum, maybe John could answer that,” said Philip, avoiding the question.

  We later learned that Philip was only thirty-four and single, so had no way to answer the question. But wait a minute! If Philip passed the question on to John, did that mean that John was in a relationship? I started freaking out internally. I could already sense disappointment growing. It was only a matter of seconds until I found out the truth.

  “Ah the mid-life crisis! Well, I’m thirty-nine and strangely, the closer I get to forty, the more I feel like I just think differently.”

  I had just found out his age and according to me, he was too handsome to be single. But I had to make sure.

  “Well, have you been with your girlfriend for a long time?” I asked, having forgotten to turn my filter on. I thought, Surely, I’ll know every detail of his life momentarily.

  “Eight years. But it’s not really my wife, nor my kids, who are making me go through a mid-life crisis . . . but rather everything else that’s going on in my life,” he confided, quite naturally.

  I was about to faint. A wife? But where was his ring? Maybe he wasn’t wearing it out of fear of losing it? No matter the reason, I had to put an end to the interest I felt toward him. Not only had he been in a relationship for eight years, he had also mentioned having kids. Kids! Not kid, kidS! The “s” at the end of the word clearly indicated plural, therefore John must have had at least two kids. Possibly even more! Disaster! How could I have been so interested in a man I didn’t know anything about and who was, above all, a pilot? Unfortunately, as attraction was often inexplicable, I couldn’t hold it against myself. I’d be disappointed for a day or two and then would get over it. That’s what I hoped, anyway.

  I suddenly really wanted to go back to the hotel but Becky, after glancing at me with sadness in her eyes, tried to get some more information out of John, maybe some clues of infidelity to cheer me up. Knowing me, though, she should have realized that all my hopes were crushed and that even if he was open to frolicking, I would have never allowed myself to get involved. Nevertheless, she continued her search on the matter.

  “According to what I’ve heard, the mid-life crisis has nothing to do with thinking differently. Men just want to get some with younger girls. They want to have an affair, it’s that simple! Don’t you?” said Becky, as eager and determined as Sherlock Holmes.

  “Hm, mid-life crisis does imply exploring new territories, but not always. For me, it makes me question many aspects of my life. I feel like I haven’t experienced enough in the past, so I want my future to be different. Let’s just say that now, I want to put myself first,” he explained genuinely.

  I could appreciate his honesty. He didn’t avoid the question, probably having realized that Becky and I would have only pressed on. Had he not said anything, we obviously would have searched deeper. We were, after all, flight attendants. Within crews, we tackle many very intimate subjects. We are, to some extent, a big family. The only thing is, our family can’t keep a secret. And secrets get repeated as soon as we touch the ground. Either way, John had not shared very juicy life details so it was all going to stay here, around a pretty Parisian table. After all, he hadn’t said anything explicit about being unfaithful, and I was satisfied. At least I had had a crush on a decent guy.

  Philip took over the conversation, having suddenly decided to convince us of the many advantages of having an affair.

  “Well, I believe that being unfaithful once in a while can actually save a lot of relationships,” he declared, sticking out his chest. “I once cheated on my ex and when I admitted it to her, she understood the reasons why and saw the positive impact it had had on my mood. Once in a while, it can’t hurt anyone.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. There he was, the Scumbag Pilot, trying to convince us of the positive effects of cheating. If that was his opinion, he was not meant for Becky, as she still believed in fidelity. She looked at me, no longer interested in his remarks. I knew then that she had categorized him as a scumbag pilot, along with many of her nocturnal conquests. Perhaps one night with him was worth it. But no more than two.

  I couldn’t help but stir things up a little bit.

  “By the way, you’re no longer with her, you know! (Idiot.) So, I don’t see how you can be so sure that cheating on someone you love once in a while can save the relationship. And did you ever think about her mood when she found out about your actions? Instead of being sensible and wondering what was wrong between the two of you, you decided to relegate the problem and blamed your testosterone. Like a coward.”

  Obviously, continuing the debate wasn’t going to improve our evening. I looked at our waiter and asked for the bill. I wanted to get away as fast as I could. I allowed Scumbag Pilot to try and justify himself for a few minutes. Becky was no longer participating in the conversation. As for John, he listened to his first officer and laughed along at the libertine philosophy. I could see the way he looked at him. He didn’t agree with his relationship ideals but as Philip expressed himself with so much confidence, he found it amusing. His first officer was acting like a bro detailing his sex life in the hockey locker room, hoping to impress his buddies. It was entertaining, but certainly very stupid, and my hotel room was waiting for me.

  When the bill arrived, John, with Philip, took care of paying for the wine. That was much appreciated as even though pilots earn a lot more than flight attendants, they only rarely offer to get the wine. Tonight, being a pilot didn’t mean being a cheapskate. We made our way to the hotel and despite everything, I still would have liked to extend my evening with John, even if no intimacy was in the cards. To my great despair, I was attracted to him; his energy hypnotized me.

  Once in front of the hotel, Philip suggested we walk by the Seine. I thought to myself, If John goes, I go, but sadly, he declined the offer. He preferred going back to his room to rest before his flight the next day. As I no longer had any interest in going for a walk, I also declined the invitation and left Becky in the arms of Scumbag Pilot.

  I entered the hotel lobby, making sure to walk a few steps in front of John, thus demonstrating my lack of interest in him. I went straight to the elevators, assuming he was following me. However, his room was in a completely different part of the hotel, so he wasn’t following me at all. I heard his deep and captivating voice wishing me good night. I was unable to say anything, so I didn’t. From the corner of my eye, I could see his silhouette standing still behind me, staring at my back, waiting for his good night. At that moment, knowing that I wouldn’t get the chance to fly with him again the next day, I soaked up the memory of his shadow walking away, full of charm, as always. Only the future could tell if I’d be seeing him again soon. And despite my greatest efforts, I did hope it would be very soon.

  Chapter 7

  Boston (BOS) – Paris (CDG) – Philadelphia (PHL) – New York (JFK) – Barcelona (BCN)

  I had been extremely busy flying all summer long, and so I had managed to bury deep the crush I had on my captain. It was far away from any of my conscious thoughts and I didn’t expect it to come back to the surface any time soon. Within only a few months, I had traveled as far as Turkey and had visited some of the nicest cities Europe has to offer. Having a set schedule meant I could be gone for as long as a week at a time and thus never had any idea what day it was. I was now relying on the good old calendar days, actual dates, to plan my social life.

  “Are you free next Saturday?” my friends would ask.

  “Nah, if it’s a Saturday I’m definitely working.”

  “All right, so are you free the following Thursday, then?”

  “What date is th
at? The nineteenth? Yes, I think I’m free,” I would answer, convinced that I was available. But then, looking at my daily planner, I’d realize I was coming back on the nineteenth at six p.m. Surely after my flight I would be pretty tired, and as there was always the possibility of encountering a delay, I would prefer to not plan anything in advance.

  I hadn’t seen my mommy-friends Paige and Rachel since our last catch-up in February. They had tried to organize a barbecue on a hot weekend in July but, once again, I had been flying and couldn’t make it. To be honest, I was far from upset about it.

  As for Becky, she had seen her pilot three more times, but had put a stop to it after hearing a colleague bragging about fooling around with a pilot whose name happened to be Philip Burns. She hadn’t made a big deal out of it but she didn’t wish to be number fifty on his long flight-attendant trophy list, so had cut all ties with Scumbag Pilot. I was pleased, of course.

  Rupert-the-Jinx, on his end, made us laugh all summer long with his extraordinary stories. One day, a sick passenger on his way to the lavatories discharged his whole digested meal on Rupert’s nice uniform. Another time, Rupert had to step in between two frustrated passengers who were ready to fight for the middle armrest; the ladies really didn’t want to share. There was also an emergency situation where the indicator for the landing gear showed that it wasn’t secured. The pilots had to navigate the aircraft as close to the control tower as possible in order for someone there to see if it was actually out. They landed on the lookout, not entirely convinced it was properly engaged.