“This is an Embraer E-Jets 190,” Janet said. “You’ll be lucky if you manage to pee in the bathroom, let alone masturbate, let alone mutual…” Janet silenced herself as a flight attendant started down the aisle. “Maybe on the flight back.”
“Then maybe you should’ve taken my panties off on the flight back,” Wendy suggested. She got up, struggling past Janet’s aisle seat. “Trust me, it’ll be fine, I did gymnastics in high school.”
“High school is always farther back than you think,” Janet needled, starting her book.
Wendy paused in front of Janet, making one long step to the aisle, stretching her skirt up her thighs. “Maybe I got held back a grade.”
Janet looked up over the rim of her glasses. “It’s not me. It’s physics.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I’m gonna go have a word with physics.”
With that, Wendy went to check out the restroom. She came back in thirty seconds. “That thing is a chamber pot. Not a room with a chamber pot—an actual chamber pot.”
Janet patted her hand. “I’ll try to find us a nice 747 for the return flight.”
Wendy caught Janet’s hand in her fingers and gave it a squeeze before she let Janet pull away. She wondered if Janet had known this was an E-Jet 190 when she booked the tickets. And whether or not it was worse if Janet had known, but not thought of how much Wendy would want to touch her, kiss her. Be in love with her.
Their stopover was in Chicago and it felt like they had to wait as long as they’d been in the air for the connecting flight. All that haste, just to hurry up and wait. They had the gate all to themselves. Wendy considered coffee, considered trying to get some sleep on the chairs—curling up horizontally was an impossibility for obvious reasons—and finally settled on washing some of the grime off in the bathroom so she could at least feel clean on the flight.
Janet went with her to the restroom.
“All you’re doing is giving material to the stand-up comedians of the world,” Wendy told her.
Janet was quick but thorough, checking under the stalls, then double-checking them by nudging the doors open. Finished with that, she exited the restroom and jiggled the handle on a small door adjourning it.
“Janitors never lock these,” Janet said, and pulled out an Out Of Order sign, which she neatly slotted over the women symbol on the restroom door before pulling Wendy back through it.
And Wendy would’ve thought that if anyone in this relationship had a system for bathroom quickies, it’d be her.
“Come on. Let’s not press our luck,” Janet said, going to the line of sinks and pulling hotel-sized soap and shampoo from her purse.
Wendy took off her sweatshirt, suitably embarrassed by the fresh tank top she had on underneath that had supported her through sobering up and coming awake and had been repaid with toxic levels of sweat. But Janet didn’t appear to notice, dragging Wendy by the hand and giving her arms a quick once-over. Wendy helped out, struck by the absurdity of trying to wash one arm while Janet washed the other; by having Janet lift her tank over her shoulder blades and scrub her back, or hold it up to her breasts and wash her stomach. By the end, her tank was soaked through anyway. She’d have to put her sweatshirt back on just to avoid looking like she’d been on the set of Coyote Ugly.
“Lean your head down,” Janet told her. “Turn your head to the side. Eyes closed.”
Wendy did, forgetting she was mooning the handicapped stall until the air conditioning picked up and flicked her skirt at least once. She moaned unhappily; Janet ignored her, giving her hair a good rinse, then massaging shampoo into her scalp while Wendy hung on to the sink and concentrated on not taking a header into the linoleum.
“When I was your age, I did this every week,” Janet said. “Much easier with a second pair of hands.”
“‘When I was your age’? People actually say that?”
“When I was in my twenties,” Janet corrected. “The company had a plant in Germany, and many of the NATO countries were interested in our products, so I did demos. Troubleshooting. Taught the mechanics a thing or two about maintenance. It was all terribly exciting. And Roberta loved having me gone for weeks at a time.”
“It was your job, though,” Wendy reasoned, eyes still shut against the shampoo. She thought that was why Janet had picked now to bring it up.
“I didn’t say that so you could defend me. I said it because you were thinking it, just too polite to say so. There we are.”
She held Wendy’s head under the faucet a moment, long enough to comb through her hair one last time, then she pulled her up. Wendy straightened her skirt. That was going to become a nervous tic, she knew it.
“How do you feel?”
Wendy wrung out her hair into the sink. “Halfway human. That was certainly the most hygienic thing that’s ever happened to me while I was bent over a sink not wearing panties.”
Janet kept a stiff lip. “Sorry I didn’t bring conditioner. Short notice.”
Once they boarded, the plane couldn’t take off. They were grounded.
An hour into the wait and Wendy was too awake to sleep, too tired to do anything else. She made a good-faith effort, asking for a blanket from the flight attendant and snuggling under it when it arrived. Maybe it was suddenly having senior prom modesty over her legs, but she felt more at ease. She tilted her seat back, eased down with it, and turned on her side to look at Janet.
In profile, the woman was stunning. Her keen intelligence focused on a paperback, a manicured thumb turning the pages like some Roman emperor might accept a grape popped between his lips. In the darkened cabin, her glasses shone with the light reflected in them.
“Good book?” Wendy asked.
“Good book. Great subject matter,” Janet replied.
Wendy adjusted her position, staring at Janet meaningfully.
Janet turned another page. “It’s about a B-29 Superfortress that crashed in Greenland after WW2. It was abandoned for decades, but perfectly preserved. Some men went to repair it and fly it back. Nova did an episode about it.”
“You think I watch Nova?” Wendy asked. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You callin’ me a liar, city slicker?” Wendy said, putting on a Yosemite Sam voice.
“I think people must say sweet things to you very often,” Janet said. “Because I’m not a very affectionate person and it’s all I can do not to say sweet things to you all the time.”
“And I think you are a very affectionate person.” Wendy grinned. “You’re just not having a particularly affectionate week.” Her hand wandered between the seats, dropped down, tickling the stream of warm air that ran under the seats, keeping the plane from being as cold as the condensation that formed outside the windows. “Read to me?”
Janet blinked. “Why? I could just let you have it when I’m done?”
“Because I like hearing your voice,” Wendy said. “And I like watching your lips. But I would love for you to let me have it.”
Janet glanced sidelong at her. Then returned her attention to her book. She cleared her throat.
“Bob cooked and helped wherever needed, as did the Nova crew, as the normal distinction between journalists and their subjects dissolved in the all-consuming fight to stay alive and get the job done. The task was so overwhelming, the life so hard, there was no place for anyone who failed to contribute.”
As she read, Janet shifted the book to one hand and dropped her right arm between the seats, behind the armrest. Wendy felt her open palm and stroked it. Traced her fingertips over Janet’s palm and the back of her hand and the sides of her fingers and the hardness of her knuckles and the chill of her fingernails. Thinking of the tiny hairs she felt, the capillaries carrying blood, the sinew that tightened and loosened for each and every motion. All the things that went into Janet Lace’s hand. All the things that made it fit around hers.
“And, in addition to survival, they had a shared interest.
Without an airplane to fly, there wouldn’t be much of a film or a story, and without six more useful bodies turning wrenches or cleaning or lifting, the airplane would never fly.”
By the time they took off, Wendy had long since fallen asleep, her grip limp on Janet’s hand. Janet didn’t know why she kept reading aloud, her voice low, barely a whisper. And she didn’t know why she liked the thought of Wendy falling asleep a little closer, resting her head on Janet’s shoulder. It wasn’t as if Wendy would care where her head was while she slept.
Janet tucked her finished book into the pocket of the seat in front of her, then called the flight attendant for her own blanket. She slept the six hours left in the flight, waking up with the gentle, golf-commentator tones the captain used to announce their approach. Somehow, it was always more of an alarm clock to her than announcements about the in-flight meal or turbulence; some trigger word about descent always jogged the air traveler in her awake. She took a moment to watch Wendy sleep, the girl looking as peaceful as ever, then gave a light tug on one lock of her hair.
Wendy squeezed her eyes shut tighter, groaned, then yawned and woke. “I cannot believe I slept with you on the first date.”
“It’s amazing the jokes you can come up with on a full night’s rest.”
“That’s nothing. I’m still tired as…I’m still very tired.” Wendy yawned again, pointing a finger at her mouth in demonstration. She checked her phone. “And cold! The low is thirty degrees? We’re in Arizona! I thought this was a desert.”
“Cold front. El Nino. Climate change. Take your pick.”
“I didn’t even bring a coat.”
“You can have one of mine. Yes, I brought a spare.”
“You bring spare coats on business trips?”
“Needed it, didn’t I?”
As they disembarked and went to claim their luggage, sluggish and sedated with jet lag and the hours of confinement, Janet nevertheless felt a palpable excitement. It was the crush of the responsibility placed on her, the trust she’d been given, the opportunity that she’d doggedly pursued until this moment, when it was hers. And it didn’t hurt to have Wendy sharing that.
She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew it meant something. And she was growing more comfortable with not knowing.
She had traveled light, only two bags on the carousal for her, and only one for Wendy, although Janet suspected that had more to do with Wendy planning to buy what she needed here rather than having thought through everything she needed. No one knew how to save money in their twenties.
She unzipped one of her bags, found a gray wool and cashmere coat. It was heavier than the long camel one she would be putting on herself, but she felt indebted to Wendy for agreeing to this on such short notice and not being able to dress appropriately for the weather. She was wearing a skirt, for Christ’s sake. Not even a modest skirt—it disappeared under the hem of her coat.
“Wait here,” Janet told her, pulling the coat tight around Wendy before shrugging her own on. “I’ll hail a cab.”
“And I will try to sort out if this is the most uncomfortable I’ve been for fashion. Probably not. I’m wearing flats.”
Janet hurried out, wishing she’d had more time. She’d been able to arrange for the limo to the airport, but getting one to take her away from the Yuma main terminal was outside her timeframe. It embarrassed her, having to smuggle Wendy about in a cab. That certainly hadn’t been her experience on her honeymoon. That had been first-class, all the way.
Only you’re not on honeymoon, you’re barely even on a date, you’re on a business trip with, what, your work-wife? Your office fling? Your slightly-more-classy-than-banging-the-secretary? Just because she’s the same age you were when you got married doesn’t mean she wants damaged goods and—
Whatever existential episode she was having was interrupted by a taxi cab pulling up. She signaled for the driver to wait, hurried back inside to fetch the luggage Wendy was guarding, and together they got everything into the trunk of the cab. The cabbie didn’t offer to help, seeing they could manage three bags on their own, and probably not getting out from under the cab’s heater for love or money. Even if it wasn’t actively snowing, there were hailstones on the glossy-wet ground that Janet assumed had come with recent sleet. The airport had been chilly, the outside was cold, and when they finally piled into the back of the cab, it was all Janet could do not to help out as Wendy rubbed herself warm. She did offer a sympathetic smile and promised herself she’d get some hot coffee into Wendy at the earliest opportunity—her treat.
The ride was through light traffic, the driver careful with slick streets. There was a peculiar melancholy to being driven in that haze between morning and night and overcast skies. The natural tendency was towards sleep, lulled by the motion of the vehicle, buffeted by the darkness sweeping by on all sides. It soothed frazzled nerves, not that Janet had let her nerves get frazzled. She’d been remarkably calm in her dealings with Wendy, despite the eagerness of the move. The stupid, silly conspiring between libido and circumstance to rush her into this. She felt breathlessly afraid that a wrong move would spoil everything beyond repair; a misstep that she would be entombed in for the remaining days of the conference, the error festering with the close proximity she and Wendy would be in, if she moved too fast, if she moved too slow, she could ruin it all.
Janet stared out the window and tried not to let any of the anxiety reach her. It wasn’t like with Roberta. She wouldn’t let it be. When was the last time, with Roberta, that Janet had wanted so keenly to feel her hand again? She laid her hand down on the bench seat between herself and Wendy, palm down, gripping the coarse leather of the water-damaged seat. Wendy could lay her hand down alongside Janet’s, and if she left it there long enough, it would be perfectly natural for their fingers to brush together, for her to feel the warmth of Wendy’s pinky along hers.
She was smiling, thinking of something so small—gripping the leather in hopes it would happen. She hadn’t had that with Roberta for a long time, if ever. She wouldn’t let it go now. She’d find a way to make it stay.
Wendy set down her carry-on bag, light as it was, atop Janet’s hand, and Janet shot her a look before Wendy slid her hand underneath the bag and gripped Janet’s.
Maybe she wouldn’t have to make it stay. Maybe it would last.
“Oh, Janet, before I forget,” Wendy said, as if she weren’t holding Janet’s hand, but with a secret little smile because she was. “I read on the plane about one of the Hawkowl’s new systems, a RadarVoid project?”
“I’ve heard of it,” Janet said. “It’s one of the upgrades we’re planning to implement after the Hawkowl’s gone into production.”
“It sounds revolutionary. You might want to lead with it.”
“The thing about revolutions is sometimes they fail,” Janet reminded her gently. “I’d rather promise what I can deliver.”
“I’ve seen the project reports. They sound very promising.”
“I’ll consider it. But when we get there, leave the talking to me. You’re there to learn and observe, not participate.”
“Sounds like my high school love life.”
A light drizzle started halfway to the hotel, clattering at the roof of the cab with enough volume to be rhythmic, and Janet knew if she leaned her head against the window, the cool glass would rock her to sleep. She kept awake. Dragging her thumbnail along the skin of Wendy’s hand, seeing the muscles in her arm clench right through the sleeve of her coat. Two days…an eternity!
The drizzle cut off, too abruptly to be natural, and Janet realized that they’d passed under the awning of the hotel. Wendy slipped her hand away in a smooth motion, seeming to pick up her carry-on bag more than anything else. “I really need to use the bathroom.”
“Would you like a hall pass?” Janet asked, trying not to tease too hard with her smile with the cabbie so close at hand.
“Just wanted to know if you could handle the luggage.”
“
The porter will handle the luggage. This isn’t a Holiday Inn.”
“Oh. Right.” Wendy glanced out the window. “You know it doesn’t have automatic doors?”
“The bathroom’s probably inside,” Janet pointed out.
“I’m just saying, is it not a Holiday Inn because a Holiday Inn wasn’t available?”
“It’s the best I could do on short notice. My predecessor was going to stay with friends in the area, and everywhere else was booked. We’re lucky to get a five-star hotel at all.”
“Five stars!” Wendy guffawed. She got out her end of the cab and came around the car, stopping once more at Janet’s window. “This is a three-star hotel, four if they got the reviewer on a good day, but five? As what, an Airbnb?”
“Would you prefer to go around town, seeing if any of the Shriners have canceled their reservations?”
“There’s a Shriner convention in town?”
“Yes. I triple-checked.”
“I can’t believe Shriners are still a thing. I thought they went extinct or something. Where’ve they been all this time?”
“Apparently, here.”
Janet got them checked in, the porter handling the bags with ease. He had them to the elevator long before Wendy had returned from the bathroom, and Janet found herself wondering why Wendy was taking so long. And why she had taken her luggage with her?
Maybe she packed a book. No, she would’ve read it on the flight. Makeup? For what, she looked perfect? What else would someone bring on a trip? Change of clothes? But why would she need to change her clothes?
Then Wendy came back and Janet realized her coat covered her entire body. There was no way of knowing what she had on underneath. No way of knowing what she might have changed into.
As they rode the elevator up, the porter and the luggage cart and the elevator’s cramped interior conspired to push her toward Wendy. She felt like she had to pull back to stop from pressing into her. And she couldn’t stop thinking about what Wendy had on. Was her bag bulging? Just how much had Wendy taken off to put in there?
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