by Marya Stones
Greta paused and waited for Mike’s reaction. Had she been too open? Was she being too personal? Had she exposed too much of herself?
Mike had become very still, focused on her, and then he suddenly felt close to her. How open she was, he thought, how honest and unafraid, simply to open up like this to him, a stranger, and completely without coming across as argumentative or conceited. One thing was already very clear: He was fascinated by her.
“You seem to have a genuine free spirit that you can enjoy to the fullest in your current profession.” He looked at her for a long moment and saw a woman apparently in her late twenties, dark brown hair, probably long and wavy but now tied in a knot at the base of her neck. Greta Mayfield was tall, with long beautiful legs that extended beyond her dark-blue skirt; she was well-built, with a bust-line that looked to be at least a 34B under her uniform; in short, a self-confident woman, natural and authentic. He liked what he saw.
He tried to imagine Greta in her everyday clothes: What was her style? Was she classic, a blazer-and-ballerina-flats – woman? Or boots and a leather jacket? A rocker type? Or did she have a natural style with Birkenstocks and flowered dresses . . .? Mike’s imagination provided him a nice trip into the various possibilities of Greta’s look.
Greta interrupted his conjecturing. “What will you be doing in New York – other than meeting your friend in a comfortable pub?”
“Oh, Mike responded, “I’m a web designer and am always traveling to New York on behalf of my clients. Actually I travel to New York and other cities in the USA more often than in Europe. This developed when I acquired my first client in New York and it snow-balled – one followed another, and finally I could hardly keep up. So I decided to take an apartment in the city. Thanks to my Green Card, it was no problem to stay and work there.”
“Oh, you have a Green Card. That’s a real advantage. Then you’re not an American by birth?”
“Yes, that’s right. My father is American.” He smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say: Such is life.
Chapter 5
An announcement from the cockpit interrupted their conversation. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have just learned from air traffic control that we are flying towards a hurricane. Please don’t be concerned, we will give it wide berth. You will have the chance, however, to be able to observe this natural phenomenon through the window from the safety of the cabin. We will alert you from here when the hurricane becomes visible. Unfortunately, as a result, our arrival time in New York has been delayed approximately forty-five minutes. In order to assure your safety, we ask that you now fasten your seatbelts and remain in your seats. Reduced service will continue to be available.”
Mike’s facial expression had suddenly changed: His brow was creased, his eyelids were closed, and his mouth was slightly open. With his shoulders pulled up, he almost looked afraid.
“Mr. Sloan,” Greta said intuitively, “don’t worry, you are safe with us. Would you like a cup of coffee or a glass of water?”
“Yes, please,” Mike said and glanced out the window with concern, “I would really like a cup of strong coffee.”
Greta immediately made her way to the galley. She placed the coffee on a tray and added several pralines and mini-biscuits. Under no circumstances did she want Mike to feel ill. Perhaps he’s afraid of flying? she wondered. There were quite a number of frequent flyers who had to overcome their fear anew each time they were about to climb into a plane – or who could only survive a flight with the aid of tranquilizer medications. More than once she had to assist passengers who were afraid of flying, and it worked best when she was successful in distracting them, mostly with conversation if time permitted.
While she was still preparing the tray for Mike, she wondered a little about her own reaction. How important it was to her, all of a sudden, that Mike felt well on board! Her concern for Mike was essentially much greater than Greta wanted to admit to herself, and she quickly suppressed her feelings.
Then she remembered a passenger that she once had, Carmen, who was flying from Miami to Frankfurt – with an extreme fear of flying. The flight lasted approximately ten hours and the lady spent nine of those in the galley, where she hunkered down on a food container. Greta was completely occupied by her duties but just the nearness of the flight attendants, their diligent efforts during food prep and other services, the chatter and laughter between the dinner courses helped Carmen to endure the hours on board. During the short breaks in which Greta found time for conversation, she learned almost everything about Carmen’s life.
Upon arrival in Frankfurt Carmen gave Greta a big hug, thanked her profusely, and handed her a calling card: Carmen Wanold, Owner, CW Jewelry Design. “Send me your address,” Carmen said. “I’d like to make something for you.”
Just a few weeks later, as promised, a package arrived for Greta. The bracelet from Carmen was particularly attractive, a real “look-at-me” piece. Greta wore it happily and often and received many comments and compliments on its style. In the meantime, it had become one of her favorite pieces. She couldn’t wear it with her uniform, but as soon as she changed into her own clothes, the bracelet was a part of her outfit. It almost always fit with whatever she was wearing. Artistically fashioned of semi-precious stones -- blue topaz, rose quartz, and rosewood -- it was worked into small spheres, with sparkling stones inlaid between them. Looking closely, one could see animals and fantasy figures: elephants, frogs, the head of Buddha, snakes, and dolphins. It was a dreamy design.
On her way back to Mike’s seat, Greta saw that he was sitting upright, casting glances at the window but at the same time trying to concentrate on his laptop. She put the tray down and he looked up and smiled.
“Many thanks for the sweets,” he said.
“Perhaps the sugar will sweeten the rest of the flight for you a bit.”
“You managed to do that quite some time ago,” Mike said promptly, and looked directly into her eyes.
Greta blushed. She hadn’t expected the compliment. What do I say now, she thought quickly, and sought an answer. “Well, you know . . . sweets are supposed to stimulate the serotonin in our body. When we’re not feeling all that well, it can be quite helpful. For me, something sweet actually works very well, particularly when I have some kind of a strange feeling.”
Oh, man, Greta, she thought, what kind of nonsense are you blithering about?
She quickly walked away from his seat, looked around for something to do, but there was nothing that needed attention. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mike smile.
And then it happened.
One could hear a resounding thump, so loud as if a wing of the airplane had broken off. Everything that wasn’t well secured flew through the air. The passengers were screaming. The flight attendants who were still in the aisle busy pouring drinks, tried to hold onto the seats but fell to the floor, and two of them hurt their head and arm. Books, trays, magazines, drinking glasses, boxes, purses, shoes and blankets – simply everything not tied down -- flew around in the cabin. It was completely chaotic and impossibly confused.
Greta too stumbled in the aisle and could just barely clutch an armrest to save herself from completely losing her balance. But just a few seconds later, as the plane dropped even further, it pulled her down to the floor too. She fell first to her knees and then lay between the rows of chairs.
What in the world was that!? She hadn’t experienced such an air pocket in a long time – must have been an offshoot of the hurricane. Keep your nerves in check and remain calm, she reminded herself. You’ve been prepared for this and trained on board. She sat up carefully, regaining her balance, and looked around.
Total panic had erupted in the cabin.
Chaos, horrified expressions, unadulterated fear and all kinds of questions: Was that it, or will there be another such air pocket? Are we going to crash? These questions weren’t just going through Greta’s mind, the passengers were screaming at her a
nd bombarding her with them. She couldn’t answer even a single passenger because of the screaming and noise around her. At long last, there was an announcement from the cockpit:
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. You have just experienced a classic offshoot of Hurricane Cesar. We ask that you remain calm. The plane was not in any way adversely affected by the air pocket. Our flight-safety staff on the ground has just provided us with a new flight route which will channel us into calm weather. Possibly encountering additional air pockets is not beyond the realm of possibility, however, and therefore we urge you to remain in your seats with your seatbelts securely fastened. The crew will endeavor to straighten out the confusion insofar as possible and to be of assistance to you if necessary.
If you now look out of the windows on the right side of the airplane, you will be able to observe Hurricane Cesar. In the meantime, we have attained sufficient distance to be completely safe and there is no cause for alarm. If you look closely you will be able to discern the whorls in the eye of the hurricane and its cylindrical form. Particularly beautiful is its impact on the water and the resulting turbulence of the sea. In approximately one hour we will land at John F. Kennedy Airport. The hurricane will not reach the coastline but a strong, stormy wind can be expected on land, with torrential rain. We hope to make the remainder of your flight as pleasant as possible and thank you for choosing Lufthansa. We look forward to welcoming you on board once again in the near future.”
During the announcement Greta got up and tried to get an overview of the condition of the cabin. And then she went over to Mike.
Mike was glued to the window, watching Cesar. Apparently he had not hurt himself. As she came toward him, he looked up and said in a calm voice: “You were right! Something sweet really does work. I’m feeling better.” He tried to smile. “Thank you – and by the way, too bad that we’re landing in half an hour. I would have liked to spend more time with you and learn more about your theory regarding sweets.” He looked out the window, smiled a little, and turned to Greta once more. “But maybe not quite so close to a hurricane. What would you say to getting together in a hurricane-safe place?”
Chapter 6
Greta was flabbergasted.
Speechless.
After the hurricane scare and the fright of the passengers, the screaming, and the still hysterical individuals here and there, Mike is asking me for a date?It was an invitation to go out on a date, wasn’t it?
YES! she thought. I want to go out with you, hurricane or not. But then, suddenly, doubts began to creep into her mind.
But I don’t even know him. Maybe he’s a freak who’ll totally flip out and attack me. Ohmygod, now I sound just like my mother. No, trust your instincts, she thought, and admitted to herself: I would be very disappointed if I didn’t see him again, or if he told me that he’s married and his wife and three kids were waiting for him at the airport.
“I would like that very much, Mr. Sloan, and I’m glad that after such a turbulent flight, you’re still interested in spending more time with me. What would you think of breakfast together tomorrow?” As she spoke, her pulse quickened. She tried, however, to remain cool but couldn’t prevent the color from rising in her cheeks. Not that he should think “breakfast together” meant after a night together? For heaven’s sake, Greta, how dumb are you, really! She shifted from one foot to the other.
Mike beamed at her, smiled a little again and dug around for a pencil and paper in his leather bag. Then he wrote down an address and a telephone number.
“Would you like to call me then?” he asked her directly, “or should we just meet somewhere?”
“I’d be happy to meet you at a breakfast place that you know, too,” Greta said. “Do you have any ideas?”
“There’s a very pleasant bistro around the corner from me with a few tables outside, and the pancakes with fresh fruit that Carlos makes are a poem. It’s not Elephant’s Wedding, of course, but also very nice. What do you think?”
In the meantime, Greta was completely convinced: Mike Sloan was not a freak; her mother wouldn’t have to worry.
“Yes, that sounds great. I’m looking forward to it. At what time should I be there?”
“Is 7:00 a.m. too early for you?”
“No, absolutely not. With the time difference, I’m usually awake by 4:00 a.m. anyway. Oh, no, Greta thought just as the words were leaving her mouth, he’s going to think that I want to meet him in the night. How can I babble so much nonsense? It’s got to be the hurricane that’s affecting my brain.
An announcement from the cockpit saved her:
“Please remain seated, fasten your safety belts, return your seats to their upright position, stow your service trays, and place your belongings under the seat in front of you.”
Until the arrival in New York, Greta was completely occupied with straightening-up and preparing for landing. But it seemed almost as if she were hovering above the still completely chaotic cabin. She was so happy and full of anticipation about seeing Mike Sloan again.
Mike was one of the first to leave the airplane. Greta had put on her blazer and stood in complete uniform at the exit to say good-bye.
“‘Til tomorrow, then,” she said.
“Yes, Mike responded, “I’m looking forward to it.”
He was almost off the plane, but turned around and said, “Oh, and maybe I’ll bring my friend along.”
Then he turned and disappeared down the gangway.
Chapter 7
Just briefly, Greta’s face fell.
What was that?
He’s going to bring his friend along?
That’s not a date.
Maybe he’s homosexual?
Gay? Or what?
Oh no, could she have been so mistaken?
The possibility that he could be gay didn’t bother Greta. She was great friends with her neighbor, Marcel, who was in his early forties, a picture of a man — gallant, kind, intelligent, subtle, witty – actually a man to fall in love with, but gay. He was one of Greta’s confidants. Many times they had shared a bottle of Prosecco and cried their eyes out, and then ended up laughing together. Marcel was obviously gay, which he communicated with his posture, gestures, mimicry and his way of speaking. One either liked Marcel or not; Greta liked him a lot.
Mike, however, didn’t seem the least bit gay. Neither his posture, mannerisms nor anything else gave that impression. Or maybe it was his friend whom he hadn’t seen in a long time and wanted to take to the restaurant Tribeca, which had been Greta’s recommendation?
Far too many questions were making their way through Greta’s mind suddenly. She bid the other passengers good-bye as if on remote control, dealt with the crew regarding baggage delivery and then climbed into the bus headed to Manhattan.
Arriving at the hotel, the crew checked in. A colleague asked Greta if she wanted to join her in going somewhere. Greta was not in the mood for company and thanked her, but declined. She was tired, the hurricane had done her in, and she just wanted to go to her room. And secretly, she simply preferred being alone now. Maybe she’d wander around a bit as a diversion, to make her purchases at Macy’s, with a possible visit at Victoria’s Secret to peruse the sales, and to look for Nathalie’s vintage-shop thereafter. She could also make a quick stop at a deli to get some delicious carry-out treats to take away to her hotel room, where she could crawl into bed and make herself comfortable watching a nice soap opera on TV.
She wasn’t in the mood for an extended shopping trip today, however. I can do that tomorrow, too. Don’t know yet if I’m actually going to go to breakfast with Mike; it’s too stupid: “bring a friend along” resounded in Greta’s ears.
She pulled on her favorite jeans – slim fit – with a white T-shirt and her favorite bracelet, and slipped into her Chucks. Then she quickly changed purses, pushed her hair back with her sunglasses, and left the hotel on her way to SoHo.
In SoHo she could actually always become pleasantly d
istracted. Instead of going to Macy’s, she strolled comfortably through the streets and allowed herself to become engrossed. As always, SoHo succeeded in diverting her and cheering her up.
At the corner of Washington Square she bought a frozen yogurt and a diet vanilla cream soda and Bugels, super delicious corn chips. As always, there was a mob on Washington Square: Street musicians, acrobats, children, dogs, crazies, students, ice cream sellers, actors and joggers. Reason enough to search for a spot and just watch. She spent the rest of the afternoon doing just that. A little before 6:00 p.m., she hailed a Yellow Cab and shortly thereafter arrived at the hotel.
By the time she paid the driver and stepped out of the taxi, her decision was firm: The breakfast with Mike was no longer a topic. She wasn’t going! No, she had already burdened this first encounter with far too many expectations. She was only setting herself up for disappointment.
I don’t need that right now, flitted very sensibly through her mind. I can do my Macy’s shopping tour tomorrow.
Greta was satisfied with this decision and felt good. She didn’t want to think about Mike any more ....