For over a decade, I’d flown for respectable airlines and companies, more than earned the four gold stripes that were sewn onto the shoulders, and I honestly thought that the remainder of my career would be spent flying for the beloved Signature Air. But the moment Elite Airways became the number one airline in the country, with its “steal everything from the incomparable days of Pan Am and just make it seem new” approach, I knew there was a chance that it would find a way to take over my favorite airline. Just like it took over most of the others.
I picked up my phone from the nightstand, hoping to see a new acceptance email from any of the charter airlines I’d applied to work for last week, but there were none. There was only a text message from the woman I’d fucked earlier, Emily.
She was listed as ‘Dallas-Emily’—city first, then name. That way, I wouldn’t confuse her with ‘San-Fran-Emily’ or ‘Vegas-Emily,’ so I could easily keep track of the other women I slept with in other cities.
Dallas-Emily: Did I leave my earrings in your room?
J. Weston: You did. I had someone from the front desk come get them. You can pick them up from there whenever you get a chance.
Dallas-Emily: You could’ve just told me that I left them there, Jake...
J. Weston: I just did.
Dallas-Emily: You know what I mean. Maybe I left them on purpose because I wanted to come back up and talk to you.
J. Weston: That’s exactly why I gave them to the front desk.
Dallas-Emily: Can I ask you something personal? There’s something I need to say.
J. Weston: I can’t prevent you from sending a text message.
Dallas-Emily: The next time we meet up, would it kill you to start our night with something other than, “Get on your knees,” or “Open your mouth?”
J. Weston: I’m not opposed to saying “Hello” from here on out.
Dallas-Emily: That’s not what I mean, Jake! I mean that there’s something palpable between us. Something real... And I just...
J. Weston: Are your ellipses (...) implying something significant or do you just enjoy abusing grammar for no reason?
Dallas-Emily: I want more from you, Jake. More for the both of us.
J. Weston: More fucking?
Dallas-Emily: More of YOU. I like you A LOT and I know that with your career, you’re alone a lot (as am I) and I feel like the two of us have a real connection.
J. Weston: We do not have a connection, Emily.
Dallas-Emily: If we don’t, then how come the last time you were in town, we talked for HOURS and you treated me to a five course dinner?
J. Weston: We spoke for twenty minutes and I bought you a taco.
Dallas-Emily: Same thing...Every time we see each other, even if it’s only a couple times a month or so, I feel something and I know you do, too. I think we’d be really good together if we decided to pursue a relationship...What do you say?
I turned off my phone and made a mental note to block her later. There were plenty of other options in Dallas, plenty of other women who wanted nothing more from me than a shared fuck and a short, meaningless conversation. And the second she typed the word ‘connection,’ I should’ve ended our conversation.
In my world, a connection was a temporary lull in an itinerary, a short-term flight that eventually led to a final destination and nothing more. The word itself was fleeting, never final, and it never applied to relationships.
Walking into the living room, I searched for my tie—stopping when I saw the headline that was scrolling across the bottom of the television.
A New Future, a Forever Beginning for #1 Elite Airways Starts Monday
A blonde anchor was interviewing one of Elite’s perfectly groomed and robotic employees. He was wearing the standard blue and white tie, an “I Love Elite” pin on his right breast-pocket, and a smile that never faltered. No matter how many lines of utter bullshit that streamed from his mouth, his smile remained the same.
“Well, we’re the number one airline in the country for a reason, Clara.” The Elite representative couldn’t have been any older than twenty-five. “That’s why we’re excited about the acquisition of Signature Air and Contreras Airways.”
“That’s right!” The blonde clapped. “Earlier this morning, you all announced that you just bought Contreras Airways! What an amazing time your airline is having!”
“Thank you, Clara. It’s like our team motto says: We will do whatever it takes to be the best, no matter the costs.”
No matter the costs...
As the headline scrolled across the screen again, I felt my blood pressure rising. For most viewers, I was sure this was another business segment, another young interviewer’s big break on the airline industry and the American Dream, but to me, those words meant more than just the end of an era. They meant something I’d never forgive or forget.
Livid, I forced myself to walk away and returned to the shower. I turned the water on its highest setting, trying to focus on something else, anything else, but it was no use. That ugly headline was all I could see.
Fuck it. I’m not going downstairs until I feel like it.
***
Three hours later...
“Thank you so much for arriving on time, Mr. Weston.” Dr. Cox glared at me as she opened the door to the meeting room. “Did you purposely arrive here with only limited time to spare before your scheduled flight to Singapore, or is that just a coincidence?”
“A convenient coincidence.”
“I’m sure.” She groaned and led me inside the small room. “You can have a seat at that table over there.”
I stepped inside and noticed that they’d transformed the sparse space to look like an actual orientation session. There were Elite policy posters tacked onto the walls, a projector screen, and a stack of Federal Aviation law books stacked high in a lone chair. There were two large boxes marked “J. Weston” in the corner, and the table was littered with huge binders, notebooks, and pens.
As I took a seat, I spotted two glasses of water labeled “For Mr. Weston” dripping onto the table’s wood.
Dr. Cox sat across from me seconds later, and another Elite executive, a grey-haired man donning a familiar blue and white tie, took his place next to her.
“This is my colleague, Lance Owens,” she said, placing a digital recorder on the table. “Since you took your precious time getting down here today, my videographer left. So, I’ll have to record the audio of the interview and Mr. Owens will serve as a visual witness. Also, we managed to fill in most of what we were missing from your file as we waited, so this won’t take too long. Do you have any questions before we begin?”
“None at all.”
“Good.” She hit the start button on her recorder. “This is the final interview for employee #67581, senior captain, Jake Weston. Mr. Weston, can you state your full name for the record please?”
“Jake C. Weston.”
“What does the ‘C’ stand for?”
“Can’t remember.”
“Mr. Weston...”
“It doesn’t stand for anything. It’s just C.”
“Thank you.” She slid a blue file toward me. “Mr. Weston, can you confirm that the previous job listings in the file in front of you are correct?”
I flipped the file open and saw my professional career compiled into a sparse black list. United States Air Force. American Airways. Air-Asia. Air-France. Signature. No accidents, no infractions, not a single tardy.
I picked up my phone from the nightstand, hoping to see a new acceptance email from any of the charter airlines I’d applied to work for last week, but there were none. There was only a text message from the woman I’d fucked earlier, Emily.
She was listed as ‘Dallas-Emily’—city first, then name. That way, I wouldn’t confuse her with ‘San-Fran-Emily’ or ‘Vegas-Emily,’ so I could easily keep track of the other women I slept with in other cities.
Dallas-Emily: Did I leave my earrings in your room?
J. Weston: You did. I had someone from the front desk come get them. You can pick them up from there whenever you get a chance.
Dallas-Emily: You could’ve just told me that I left them there, Jake...
J. Weston: I just did.
Dallas-Emily: You know what I mean. Maybe I left them on purpose because I wanted to come back up and talk to you.
J. Weston: That’s exactly why I gave them to the front desk.
Dallas-Emily: Can I ask you something personal? There’s something I need to say.
J. Weston: I can’t prevent you from sending a text message.
Dallas-Emily: The next time we meet up, would it kill you to start our night with something other than, “Get on your knees,” or “Open your mouth?”
J. Weston: I’m not opposed to saying “Hello” from here on out.
Dallas-Emily: That’s not what I mean, Jake! I mean that there’s something palpable between us. Something real... And I just...
J. Weston: Are your ellipses (...) implying something significant or do you just enjoy abusing grammar for no reason?
Dallas-Emily: I want more from you, Jake. More for the both of us.
J. Weston: More fucking?
Dallas-Emily: More of YOU. I like you A LOT and I know that with your career, you’re alone a lot (as am I) and I feel like the two of us have a real connection.
J. Weston: We do not have a connection, Emily.
Dallas-Emily: If we don’t, then how come the last time you were in town, we talked for HOURS and you treated me to a five course dinner?
J. Weston: We spoke for twenty minutes and I bought you a taco.
Dallas-Emily: Same thing...Every time we see each other, even if it’s only a couple times a month or so, I feel something and I know you do, too. I think we’d be really good together if we decided to pursue a relationship...What do you say?
I turned off my phone and made a mental note to block her later. There were plenty of other options in Dallas, plenty of other women who wanted nothing more from me than a shared fuck and a short, meaningless conversation. And the second she typed the word ‘connection,’ I should’ve ended our conversation.
In my world, a connection was a temporary lull in an itinerary, a short-term flight that eventually led to a final destination and nothing more. The word itself was fleeting, never final, and it never applied to relationships.
Walking into the living room, I searched for my tie—stopping when I saw the headline that was scrolling across the bottom of the television.
A New Future, a Forever Beginning for #1 Elite Airways Starts Monday
A blonde anchor was interviewing one of Elite’s perfectly groomed and robotic employees. He was wearing the standard blue and white tie, an “I Love Elite” pin on his right breast-pocket, and a smile that never faltered. No matter how many lines of utter bullshit that streamed from his mouth, his smile remained the same.
“Well, we’re the number one airline in the country for a reason, Clara.” The Elite representative couldn’t have been any older than twenty-five. “That’s why we’re excited about the acquisition of Signature Air and Contreras Airways.”
“That’s right!” The blonde clapped. “Earlier this morning, you all announced that you just bought Contreras Airways! What an amazing time your airline is having!”
“Thank you, Clara. It’s like our team motto says: We will do whatever it takes to be the best, no matter the costs.”
No matter the costs...
As the headline scrolled across the screen again, I felt my blood pressure rising. For most viewers, I was sure this was another business segment, another young interviewer’s big break on the airline industry and the American Dream, but to me, those words meant more than just the end of an era. They meant something I’d never forgive or forget.
Livid, I forced myself to walk away and returned to the shower. I turned the water on its highest setting, trying to focus on something else, anything else, but it was no use. That ugly headline was all I could see.
Fuck it. I’m not going downstairs until I feel like it.
***
Three hours later...
“Thank you so much for arriving on time, Mr. Weston.” Dr. Cox glared at me as she opened the door to the meeting room. “Did you purposely arrive here with only limited time to spare before your scheduled flight to Singapore, or is that just a coincidence?”
“A convenient coincidence.”
“I’m sure.” She groaned and led me inside the small room. “You can have a seat at that table over there.”
I stepped inside and noticed that they’d transformed the sparse space to look like an actual orientation session. There were Elite policy posters tacked onto the walls, a projector screen, and a stack of Federal Aviation law books stacked high in a lone chair. There were two large boxes marked “J. Weston” in the corner, and the table was littered with huge binders, notebooks, and pens.
As I took a seat, I spotted two glasses of water labeled “For Mr. Weston” dripping onto the table’s wood.
Dr. Cox sat across from me seconds later, and another Elite executive, a grey-haired man donning a familiar blue and white tie, took his place next to her.
“This is my colleague, Lance Owens,” she said, placing a digital recorder on the table. “Since you took your precious time getting down here today, my videographer left. So, I’ll have to record the audio of the interview and Mr. Owens will serve as a visual witness. Also, we managed to fill in most of what we were missing from your file as we waited, so this won’t take too long. Do you have any questions before we begin?”
“None at all.”
“Good.” She hit the start button on her recorder. “This is the final interview for employee #67581, senior captain, Jake Weston. Mr. Weston, can you state your full name for the record please?”
“Jake C. Weston.”
“What does the ‘C’ stand for?”
“Can’t remember.”
“Mr. Weston...”
“It doesn’t stand for anything. It’s just C.”
“Thank you.” She slid a blue file toward me. “Mr. Weston, can you confirm that the previous job listings in the file in front of you are correct?”
I flipped the file open and saw my professional career compiled into a sparse black list. United States Air Force. American Airways. Air-Asia. Air-France. Signature. No accidents, no infractions, not a single tardy.
