I shut the book.
I didn’t want to consider remembering what he was doing. I was sure it wasn’t what I thought it was anyway. I tossed the album onto the floor of the hidden case and locked it up as a familiar, haunting voice played in my head.
“He lied to you, Jake...He lied to all of us...”
I needed to focus my attention on something else.
I returned to the kitchen and flipped through the mail. All of this weeks’ newspapers were neatly stacked and waiting to be read. There was The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, USA Today, and the most ruinous one of them all—The New York Times.
All of them were running variations of the same story across their front pages, harping praise and acclaim toward Elite Airways. The accompanying pictures were all white and sky blue, the words all written in a bloated black with phrases like, “Elite Ascends to New Altitudes!” “CEO of Elite Airways Flies High, Soars!” and “Elite Brings Back the Glory Days of Flying!”
There was no criticism, no journalistic analysis, not the slightest hint of critique. It was all an infallible farce, and after reading through all their bullshit, I knew there was no way I was going to get through my first full month of flying for them without fucking losing it.
***
A week later, I sat across from the Chief Hiring Director at Emirates Air in Dubai, watching him tap his pen in annoying fashion as he looked over my paperwork.
“Very impressive, Mr. Weston...” He flipped a page. “Even more impressive...” He’d repeated those same five words over the past hour and I was considering getting up and leaving the room.
“Well, Mr. Weston—er Jake.” He finally looked up. “Can I call you Jake?”
“Mr. Weston will suffice.”
“Fair enough.” He set the papers down. “I’m honestly in awe of your previous service, sir, but I have a few reservations about hiring you here.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, for one, we’d have to pay you on a senior captain’s salary which is far less than what you were earning at Signature.”
“How much is far less?”
“It would be half,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And Emirates is the highest luxury line in all of commercial travel right now. Well, we were until Elite, but you honestly don’t strike me as the ‘do anything and everything to make the passengers happy’ type.”
“That’s because I’m a pilot, not a goddamn customer service agent.”
“And lastly.” He slid the papers back to me. “As much as I despise Elite for being what they are, I respect them for what they’re doing.”
“What exactly are they doing?”
“Getting people excited about flying again,” he said, turning on the massive TV screen on the other side of the room. “The aviation industry has never been better.” He pointed to the TV. “Have you seen their newest commercial? It’s very vintage and very original.”
I looked at the TV screen, watching it unfold. In grey scale, several flight attendants dressed in navy blue dresses and blazers walked arm and arm with a captain in the center. They all laughed and smiled as Frank Sinatra’s “Come Fly with Me,” played in the background.
Onlookers waved at them as they walked through the terminal hallways, down the jet bridge and onto a plane. The commercial cut to the flight attendants serving a five course meal in first class, then to the pilot flying over a sparkling blue sea.
Seconds later, the CEO of the company—a man with graying hair and a soft smile, stood outside of LaGuardia International with a white Boeing 737 in the background.
“Fly with the best fleet!” He waved his hand across the sky. “Fly with Elite!”
Then the words, “Bring back the good days of flying” appeared.
The screen went black and the hiring director stood up and clapped as if he hadn’t just watched a commercial from his competitor.
“That was actually pretty good, don’t you think?” he asked. “It was a perfect pitch.”
“Look.” I’d had enough of this shit. “You don’t strike me as the stupid and gullible type, and I know damn well you’re aware that everything Elite does is a twisted rip-off of the old Pan Am.”
He was silent, but he smiled.
“That said, I hope I don’t strike you as the stupid and gullible type either, so you need to tell me the real reason you’re not hiring me on the spot since I know you’re lying about the pay grade, and I’m more qualified than most of the people who are currently flying for you.”
“Okay...” He looked slightly uneasy. “It’s because you’re overqualified.”
“Try again.”
“Did I give you the budgeting reason yet?”
I stood up and took my paperwork. “Thank you for wasting my time.”
“Wait, wait.” He walked over to me. “Look, as much as I want to stick it to Elite and take half of their staff like they did to me ten years ago, the rules are different now.” He opened the door. “Besides, the second I had my assistant call to get your records, they sent over your employment contract.”
“I’m not following.”
“You have a five year non-compete and non-transfer clause. Every new pilot they hire does.” He shrugged. “Not only that, but I received a not-so-nice email from the director herself minutes before you arrived here today. She said that meeting with you would be a waste of my time. Something about an ‘FCE’? Whatever the hell that means. There’s nothing I can do for you, Mr. Weston. I’m sorry.”
“As am I.” I shook his hand. “Thank you.” I walked away before he could say another word, heading out to the parking lot and into my rental car.
Emirates was the final airline on my list of last-resort transfer options, the last place on my upcoming schedule of stopovers I planned to visit. There was now no one else I could call.
Refusing to think about it for the rest of the day, I pulled out my phone and noticed I had four new text messages from women on upcoming layovers. Messages that promised sex that I surprisingly didn’t feel like entertaining.
The only woman I honestly wanted to fuck right now was Gillian and that was a problem.
I’d never thought about a woman for more than a few minutes after sex. Even if I walked them back to their hotel room or saw them the next night due to an extended layover, the thoughts of our sex ended as soon as we were done.
So, I had no idea why my unwanted thief of a roommate was still on my mind days later. Regardless of the fact that she was undeniably stunning with jet black hair, almond shaped eyes, and sultry smile that sealed the deal, my current thoughts of her weren’t adding up.
Then again, maybe it had something to do with her smart ass mouth and backward logic. The way she actually believed she was doing me a favor by sneaking into my apartment.
Unable to shake the thought of her away, I scrolled down my list of contacts and called the Housekeeping Director’s direct line.
“Yes, Mr. Weston?” He answered on the first ring. “Are you calling to tell me that we need to search for ghosts in your apartment?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m looking for someone.”
I didn’t want to consider remembering what he was doing. I was sure it wasn’t what I thought it was anyway. I tossed the album onto the floor of the hidden case and locked it up as a familiar, haunting voice played in my head.
“He lied to you, Jake...He lied to all of us...”
I needed to focus my attention on something else.
I returned to the kitchen and flipped through the mail. All of this weeks’ newspapers were neatly stacked and waiting to be read. There was The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, USA Today, and the most ruinous one of them all—The New York Times.
All of them were running variations of the same story across their front pages, harping praise and acclaim toward Elite Airways. The accompanying pictures were all white and sky blue, the words all written in a bloated black with phrases like, “Elite Ascends to New Altitudes!” “CEO of Elite Airways Flies High, Soars!” and “Elite Brings Back the Glory Days of Flying!”
There was no criticism, no journalistic analysis, not the slightest hint of critique. It was all an infallible farce, and after reading through all their bullshit, I knew there was no way I was going to get through my first full month of flying for them without fucking losing it.
***
A week later, I sat across from the Chief Hiring Director at Emirates Air in Dubai, watching him tap his pen in annoying fashion as he looked over my paperwork.
“Very impressive, Mr. Weston...” He flipped a page. “Even more impressive...” He’d repeated those same five words over the past hour and I was considering getting up and leaving the room.
“Well, Mr. Weston—er Jake.” He finally looked up. “Can I call you Jake?”
“Mr. Weston will suffice.”
“Fair enough.” He set the papers down. “I’m honestly in awe of your previous service, sir, but I have a few reservations about hiring you here.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, for one, we’d have to pay you on a senior captain’s salary which is far less than what you were earning at Signature.”
“How much is far less?”
“It would be half,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And Emirates is the highest luxury line in all of commercial travel right now. Well, we were until Elite, but you honestly don’t strike me as the ‘do anything and everything to make the passengers happy’ type.”
“That’s because I’m a pilot, not a goddamn customer service agent.”
“And lastly.” He slid the papers back to me. “As much as I despise Elite for being what they are, I respect them for what they’re doing.”
“What exactly are they doing?”
“Getting people excited about flying again,” he said, turning on the massive TV screen on the other side of the room. “The aviation industry has never been better.” He pointed to the TV. “Have you seen their newest commercial? It’s very vintage and very original.”
I looked at the TV screen, watching it unfold. In grey scale, several flight attendants dressed in navy blue dresses and blazers walked arm and arm with a captain in the center. They all laughed and smiled as Frank Sinatra’s “Come Fly with Me,” played in the background.
Onlookers waved at them as they walked through the terminal hallways, down the jet bridge and onto a plane. The commercial cut to the flight attendants serving a five course meal in first class, then to the pilot flying over a sparkling blue sea.
Seconds later, the CEO of the company—a man with graying hair and a soft smile, stood outside of LaGuardia International with a white Boeing 737 in the background.
“Fly with the best fleet!” He waved his hand across the sky. “Fly with Elite!”
Then the words, “Bring back the good days of flying” appeared.
The screen went black and the hiring director stood up and clapped as if he hadn’t just watched a commercial from his competitor.
“That was actually pretty good, don’t you think?” he asked. “It was a perfect pitch.”
“Look.” I’d had enough of this shit. “You don’t strike me as the stupid and gullible type, and I know damn well you’re aware that everything Elite does is a twisted rip-off of the old Pan Am.”
He was silent, but he smiled.
“That said, I hope I don’t strike you as the stupid and gullible type either, so you need to tell me the real reason you’re not hiring me on the spot since I know you’re lying about the pay grade, and I’m more qualified than most of the people who are currently flying for you.”
“Okay...” He looked slightly uneasy. “It’s because you’re overqualified.”
“Try again.”
“Did I give you the budgeting reason yet?”
I stood up and took my paperwork. “Thank you for wasting my time.”
“Wait, wait.” He walked over to me. “Look, as much as I want to stick it to Elite and take half of their staff like they did to me ten years ago, the rules are different now.” He opened the door. “Besides, the second I had my assistant call to get your records, they sent over your employment contract.”
“I’m not following.”
“You have a five year non-compete and non-transfer clause. Every new pilot they hire does.” He shrugged. “Not only that, but I received a not-so-nice email from the director herself minutes before you arrived here today. She said that meeting with you would be a waste of my time. Something about an ‘FCE’? Whatever the hell that means. There’s nothing I can do for you, Mr. Weston. I’m sorry.”
“As am I.” I shook his hand. “Thank you.” I walked away before he could say another word, heading out to the parking lot and into my rental car.
Emirates was the final airline on my list of last-resort transfer options, the last place on my upcoming schedule of stopovers I planned to visit. There was now no one else I could call.
Refusing to think about it for the rest of the day, I pulled out my phone and noticed I had four new text messages from women on upcoming layovers. Messages that promised sex that I surprisingly didn’t feel like entertaining.
The only woman I honestly wanted to fuck right now was Gillian and that was a problem.
I’d never thought about a woman for more than a few minutes after sex. Even if I walked them back to their hotel room or saw them the next night due to an extended layover, the thoughts of our sex ended as soon as we were done.
So, I had no idea why my unwanted thief of a roommate was still on my mind days later. Regardless of the fact that she was undeniably stunning with jet black hair, almond shaped eyes, and sultry smile that sealed the deal, my current thoughts of her weren’t adding up.
Then again, maybe it had something to do with her smart ass mouth and backward logic. The way she actually believed she was doing me a favor by sneaking into my apartment.
Unable to shake the thought of her away, I scrolled down my list of contacts and called the Housekeeping Director’s direct line.
“Yes, Mr. Weston?” He answered on the first ring. “Are you calling to tell me that we need to search for ghosts in your apartment?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m looking for someone.”
