The driver, quiet as always, took X to a private airport at the edge of town, driving onto the tarmac after being let through the gate by the security guard. Outside of the plane, Steinberg was waiting.
The driver opened the door for X and she exited the car, surveying the plane that she would ride first to New York and then to Paris. From her purse, X got out a cigarette and lit it as the driver took her bags and gave them to the flight attendant.
Steinberg came over to X, professional as always. The last time he had seen X, she had been following Compton on a leash to his art gallery where she had made the billionaire polish Steinberg’s shoes. But at this moment, Steinberg did not communicate any judgment about X or her treatment of Compton, his boss. Steinberg seemed happy and excited, acted as if he didn’t remember their last interaction at all. X admired his composure.
“Have you ever flown in a private plane?” he asked.
“No,” X answered. “I don’t like to fly.”
Two uniformed pilots were approaching the plane and X watched as they boarded.
“We certainly hope you will enjoy the new experience.”
Nearby, the plane was powering up, making the air vibrate with the noise. It made the atmosphere congeal around X, bending reality somehow. She tossed the cigarette onto the asphalt and crushed it under her shoe.
“What kind of plane is that?”
“It is a Cessna Citation Ten.” There was a flicker of excitement in his eye as he said this. “Come with me, I’ll show you.”
As he led X up the steps and into the plane, Steinberg informed her that Compton would be taking part in business meetings through the night via the satellite communications system. The yen was diving and the euro was following suit, Steinberg said, and Compton would be having conversations with his advisors to discuss how the markets might react.
As they entered the plane, a pretty flight attendant welcomed them aboard. Compton, sitting near the front at a square table, conversed with the two other men who were with him. One of them, a young Indian man, was pointing to a graph on a screen and tracing his finger along its jagged lines. Compton looked up at Steinberg and X briefly before shifting his attention back to his advisor and the display.
The interior of the plane was just high enough for X to walk in while standing, but Steinberg had to bend down a little bit as she followed him. He led her to a white leather seat and informed her that there was a screen set into the back of the seat in front of it where she would be able to watch television or a movie if she liked. X sat down, and Steinberg crouched next to her.
“We’re going to be flying first to New York to refuel, and then we’ll continue to Paris,” he said. “I will be assisting Mr. Compton most of the night, but if you need anything, just let the flight attendant know.”
The plane started moving and he said. “I better get buckled in,” and then he was gone.
A few minutes later, the plane took off, gliding off the ground smoothly and effortlessly into the brooding clouds.
The flight attendant came to X almost immediately once they had achieved cruising altitude and asked if there was anything she could get for her.
“A glass of wine,” X answered. “White.”
The woman returned with a glass of wine and X sipped it as she looked out the window and down to the grids of light beneath them. The lines of lights below them looked mechanical, unreal, but X still tried to guess which towns they were flying over.
X felt alone in the plane, Compton up front having his business meeting and all of them separated from the earth as if man had been doing such a thing since the beginning of time. X didn’t know who she was anymore and somehow her separation from the earth magnified the feeling. Something had changed in her, some critical piece of how she lived her life and how she viewed herself had shifted. Eventually, it would overtake her entirely, she feared, blotting out any remnants of her old self.
Then X asked the attendant for a blanket and pillow, reclined her chair, and drifted off to sleep.
2.
The pale morning light woke her. When she came back into consciousness, it took X a moment to remember that she was not in her own bed but was instead on Compton’s airplane. In a few moments, the disorientation subsided.
When the flight attendant saw that X was awake, she told her that they would be landing soon and that she should buckle herself in.
X put her seat upright and snapped the gold-plated buckle around her hips. The buckle matched the controls on the arms of the seat and the trim details on the ledges that ran beneath the windows.
X looked out her window as they began to descend through the clouds. As the plane hit some turbulence, X tried to imagine that she was not in an airplane but instead in a car on a dirt road. That thought always could comfort her. A few moments later they landed cleanly on the runway of a large airport. Outside, other planes were getting ready to take off or land as their aircraft rolled slowly into the area where they would refuel.
When they had stopped completely, X got up and went to the lavatory, noticing that the sink and faucet had the same gold plating as the buckle and controls. The vanity had what looked to be a marble countertop and the cabinet was the same high gloss burled wood that was in the rest of the plane. On the drawers of the vanity, the grains were perfectly aligned, a detail which X noticed. She opened a drawer to see that it contained some shaving supplies, medicines, and toiletries, all unopened.
When she exited the bathroom, X saw that the seat in front of hers had been spun around so that it faced her own chair and that a small table had been pulled out from the wall. The smell of coffee filled the air. A new, different flight attendant was helping the original one in the galley kitchen.
X returned to her seat and saw Compton coming down the slim aisle. He sat down in the seat facing hers.
The fresh attendant, perky and bright, came over and asked what they would like for breakfast. They could choose from eggs with toast, cereal, pancakes or a croissant. X choose the eggs and Compton requested the croissant.
“May I start you out with some fresh fruit and coffee or tea?” she asked.
“Coffee,” X said, “with cream and sugar.”
“Decaf,” Compton said.
So deeply had X rested that she was unsure if Compton had slept at all.
The attendant served the coffee in delicate china cups set on small flowered saucers. The containers for the cream and sugar bore the same intricate pattern as the cups. Next, she brought them real silver flatware and linen napkins which were placed gently onto the table along with small plates of fresh fruit for each of them.
X added the cream and sugar to her coffee and took a drink. Compton did the same.
“It’s good,” X said.
“Sumatran,” he informed her. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.
X shook her head yes.
“Was your seat comfortable? Each seat is custom made.”
“Yes,” X returned, “it was fine.”
“Good.”
It felt strange to be making small talk with Compton so early in the morning, the sleep barely gone from her eyes. She had never interacted with him in this way. It almost made it seem that he was a regular person. Except that he wasn’t. And she wasn’t.
“What about you?” she asked. “Did you sleep?”
The attendant brought the food to them and X put the napkin on her lap. She began to eat a sliced strawberry.
“No,” he said, “too many pressing issues to take care of. But after we’re up in the air again, I’ll rest in the back. There is a small room behind the galley that has a sofa that can be made into a bed.”
Compton didn’t look tired—there was only the faintest deepening of purple below his eyes to communicate his fatigue.
X bit into her toast and Compton broke off a piece of his croissant and popped it into his mouth.
“Have you ever been on a private plane?” he asked.
X took another drink of cof
fee. She was starting to wake up. His question made her feel very small and inexperienced.
“No.”
“What do you think of it?”
X surveyed the cabin. The attendants were in the galley and she could hear the drawers opening and closing, the clinking of glasses being taken out or put away. The constant shroud of white noise of the plane, quieter now that they had landed but still present, continued in the background. Soon, X guessed, the attendant that had been with them on the first stretch of the flight would leave and be replaced with the fresh one.
“Flying is flying,” she said. “I don’t like to fly.”
X dug into her eggs which were starting to get cold.
“But not all planes are the same,” he countered.
“True,” X said. “Your plane is opulent. It’s lavish. Clearly it’s incredibly expensive. I wouldn’t have expected anything different from you.”
Compton ran his fingers over the stitching on the arm of the white leather chair.
“Each of these chairs cost over $20,000 dollars,” he said. “There are seven stitches per inch, meticulous detail. The wood,” he continued, “is a veneer on top of a honeycomb composite because the weight is an issue. Likewise, what appears to be marble in the bathroom and kitchen is an artistic rendering. Some reproductions are incredibly convincing.”
“You should have dipped the whole thing in gold,” X said as she finished her meal.
Compton laughed, and X got a sense that he was enjoying her lack of awe for his plane. The truth was that she was amazed by his plane even though she found it a garish, bloated display of wealth.
X pointed to the gold trim. “Did you know that every ounce of gold requires that roughly 250 tons of rock and ore are excavated?”
There was a gleam in his eyes now, a look of real enjoyment as if her comments awoke a part of him and energized it. She wondered if anyone else ever spoke to him this way, questioned his wealth, the smug complacency of it. It probably made his little penis hard in his pants.
The attendant came over and poured more coffee into X’s cup. Compton was finishing his croissant.
“Have you been to Europe before?”
“No,” X answered, small again. “I’ve traveled mainly through Asia and India with my mother. She did humanitarian work there.”
“From what I understand, your mother had been a popular model in Paris.”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad that you agreed to come with me,” he said. “There is so much that I want to show you.”
She started to wonder about how Compton viewed her, about how she appeared through his eyes. Clearly, X was something more than just a dominatrix to him. She wondered if maybe he thought he could win her with his charms. Maybe he just liked the challenge of it.
Up near the front of the plane, X saw Steinberg stand up. He made his way down the aisle past them and into the bathroom, avoiding any eye contact. In contrast to Compton, Steinberg looked tired, absolutely spent. His thinning hair was wild and disheveled.
X watched as the original attendant left the plane and fresh pilots entered. The new attendant came over and removed their dishes and took them into the galley. Compton finished off his coffee, blotting off the corner of his mouth with his napkin.
Once the plane finished refueling, it started shuttling them over to the area where they would take off.
Compton reached down and buckled himself in and X did the same.
“The lift off,” he began, “is my favorite part. The sheer amount of energy that is necessary to get such a large vehicle off the ground is incredible.”
The plane was gaining speed and finally, it lifted up and started its climb.
X closed her eyes and started to think of the calm image of the ocean. The ocean was a calm image as long as you weren’t drowning in it.
When it seemed that they were finished with the climb, she opened her eyes. The plane was passing through a cloud and the mist of it was right outside her window, simultaneously wispy and thick.
“Why don’t you like flying?” Compton asked.
X, unsure if she wanted to tell him, finally divulged the reason.
“It’s the idea of a sudden, instantaneous death,” she answered.
“Ha! That would be the best way to go.”
Immediately, the image of a woman with a nail through the base of her skull passed through her mind. X stared deeply into Compton, still unsure if he was capable of such a thing. And when Compton looked at X he seemed to be measuring her as well, trying to decipher the woman somehow.
They hit a bump of turbulence and X grabbed onto her seat. Compton smiled as if he enjoyed watching her anxiety. Behind them, the flight attendant buckled herself into a small seat by the galley.
“I haven’t told you yet today,” Compton said, almost whispering, “how beautiful you look.”
X had worn just a pair of jeans and a simple sweater for the journey, having had no intention of dressing up for Compton unless she had to.
“You are patronizing me,” X replied.
“Not at all,” he said, seeming bruised from her comment. “You’re a natural beauty.”
X was initially unsure how to respond.
“I’m sure that there are many women more beautiful than I am who would jump at the chance for your company.”
Compton fingered the gold trim that ran around the table.
“X, there is no one like you. No one.” He was looking out the window dreamily. “You are irreproducible. A work of art.”
“Stop it,” she commanded.
“Why?”
“Your flattery is pathetic.”
Compton rubbed his lips together.
“Is it?”
“Yes. I don’t like it.”
Compton was looking out the window again.
“I’m sorry that it is not to your liking,” he said.
“Look at me,” X said and he obeyed.
“You like it when I insult you, don’t you?”
Compton paused and then answered, “Yes,” the word coming out in a little whisper. X wondered how a man so able to do multi-million dollar business deals without a flinch could enjoy a woman like her, a nobody, insulting him.
“Why?” X asked.
“I don’t know why.”
“It’s because you think you are better than everybody.”
“You think that’s why?” he asked, seeming to be genuinely curious for what X thought.
She was running her fingertips over the burled wood of the table and she gave him her assessment.
“You are so used to being respected for nothing other than the fact that you are a rich man that you are surprised when you are insulted, aren’t you? It reminds you that you are a regular human being.”
“Yes.”
“You want someone to be brutally honest with you, don’t you? It touches something inside of you. Personal truth has become so rare to you that it’s now a valuable commodity.”
Compton was listening to her every word as if hypnotized as she leaned across the table.
“All of that money that you have, and still, you are nothing more than a man. I want you to know something,” X continued, “I insult you because I detest you, not because you like it.” X sat back onto her seat. “There is a strange symbiosis in it. We each get satisfaction from it.”
That was the moment X first thought she noticed true adoration in his eyes.
“Go to bed,” she said. “You are starting to look tired.”
He stood, gazed at X a few more moments, and then was off to the back to take his rest.
3.
Compton got up several hours later, stopping in the bathroom first and then returning to the front of the plane after acknowledging X with a gentle smile. They arrived in Paris in the late afternoon, and shortly after landing, Steinberg accompanied X to a private car and told her that Compton would join her shortly after he finished a brief business meeting.
After they a
rrived at their hotel on Faubourg Saint-Honoré, she and Steinberg exited the car when it stopped in front of the building, the two doormen opening the glass doors for them as a bellboy scurried behind the car to retrieve their bags which he placed on a tall rolling cart. Once inside, the concierge met the pair at the reception desk, giving them their room keys and then leading them to the elevator, inconspicuous and nearly hidden by its ornate wooden housing.
X followed Steinberg to the penthouse suite, and as they entered, Steinberg let her know that she could choose either of the two downstairs bedrooms. The suite could actually be made into four bedrooms, if necessary, he continued, but that Compton had decided to leave the upstairs level open for business meetings.
The bellboy put down her bags and Steinberg gave him a tip before the young man left.
“Mr. Compton will be with you within the hour,” Steinberg said. “A meal will be brought up after he arrives. Tomorrow, while Mr. Compton is in meetings, a woman will take you to the boutiques and then later, you will go on a private tour of Versailles. The day after, you will be visiting the Louvre in the morning and then go to a party that evening.”
Steinberg reached into his jacket pocket and handed X a business envelope full of cash.
“That should cover your incidental expenses. If you need any more, let me know. On your shopping trip tomorrow, Mr. Compton will be paying for everything, and he has requested that you buy whatever clothing you like. If you would like room service, or to go to the hotel spa, feel free to do so. But if you need to leave the hotel for any reason, call the number on the envelope I gave you so that we can arrange for a bodyguard.”
“A bodyguard?”
“Yes,” he began, “there have been occasional threats on Mr. Compton’s life, and a close personal friend of Mr. Compton’s could potentially be kidnapped in order to secure ransom funds. You aren’t in imminent danger,” he said, trying to quell her worries, “it is only a precaution.”
X took off her coat and hung it on the coat rack in the foyer and she put the envelope of money into her purse.
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