Airplane Rides (11 page)

From behind my sunglasses I measured Archer a second time.  He
looked different to me now, and I felt guilty that I had initially been
suspicious of his intentions.  Behind his “Happy Days” image was a strong man
who had faced extreme loss and still maintained his compassion and concern.  I,
on the other hand, had been too inconvenienced by a bad airplane seat to make
the effort.  Inside that realization, I was as awed by him as I was ashamed of
myself.

Inspired, questions rushed to my mind, but this was not my
conversation to direct, and I suspected Archer had another reason for sharing
his story.

“I am very sorry,” said Candice when Archer stopped talking,
displaying a sensitivity that contradicted her appearance.

“Thank you, Candice,” Archer replied, reaching across me to pat
her arm.

He had won her confidence, sufficient to return to the matter
at hand.

“Do your parents know you’re on your way to New York?”

The question caught her off guard.

“They don’t care,” she replied with disdain.

Archer folded his hands patiently across his lap.

“I doubt it, but that’s not what I asked you,” he replied
calmly and waited for her answer.

“No, they don’t, but it doesn’t matter,” Candice answered
obediently.

“Are your parents still together?” asked Archer.

“No.”

“And who do you live with, your dad or your mom?” Archer
continued.

“My mother,” responded Candice.

“And that’s not going too well?”

“Not too well,” confirmed Candice, sarcastically implying an
understatement.

“Have you talked to your dad about it?” Archer asked.

“Right!” replied Candice, laughing and rolling her eyes.

Archer watched her as patiently as I watched him.

“Your friend, is he a boyfriend?” Archer asked after a few
moments.

“Yes,” replied Candice, blushing slightly.

“How old is he?”

“He’s twenty-four,” she answered with a touch of pride.

“And how old are you?” he asked.

“Legal eighteen,” replied Candice, “free to do whatever I
want!” she proclaimed with attitude, as if it had been an age she had waited a
long time to reach.

Archer smiled at her with an expression of understanding.

“My son was a year younger than you when he died.  He was
almost a man, just like you’re almost a woman. He couldn’t wait to get his
license.  We had bought a third car for the kids to use because my oldest, she
was driving already and my wife and I both needed our cars. So we thought…”
Archer paused for a moment and swallowed hard to regain his composure. 
“Regardless, he was still a child, just like you.  Legally you may be able to
hop a plane to New York and live with your boyfriend. Physically I am sure you
are capable of what comes with an adult relationship.  But you’re still a
child, making decisions based on a flurry of emotions and limited experience,”
he finished.

She looked at him, taking in his words without launching into a
defense purporting she was different, smarter, or for that matter, an adult.  I
wasn’t sure what was next, and I wondered if Archer was going to tell Candice
to get on the next plane home to Ohio. I took off my sunglasses, took a good
look at each of them and rationalized that I deserved some airtime for having
contributed my airspace to facilitate it.

I looked at Candice, our eyes met and her expression feared the
questions that I might pose.  I turned away to face Archer.

“May I?” I asked him.

“Of course,” Archer replied, as though he understood what I was
asking permission for.

I turned to Candice and addressed her with the most sensitive
voice I was capable of.

“Does your boyfriend know that your parents are unaware you
have run away?” I asked her without garnish.

“Yes,” she replied quietly.

“Then he’s not the guy you want to live with,” I replied. 
“He’s willing to mislead them; someday he will be willing to mislead you.  If
you won’t go home, which I think you should, find yourself a job and a new
roommate.”

Candice opened her mouth to protest, presuming that I might be
as gentle as Archer.

“Save it,” I said to her sharply, holding up my hand.

Archer looked at me supportively as if to say “good try,” the
same way men do for each other on bad golf shots.  I appreciated the thought.

“May I ask you a question?” I asked him in a respectful tone.

Archer nodded, granting my request.

“How did you get through it?  How did you keep from drinking
yourself into oblivion or driving into a wall?”

My words choked me, and I could feel my eyes glass up.

Archer smiled and chuckled gently.

“There were plenty of those nights.  Days, too,” he said, his
eyes turning towards memories I knew he wanted to forget.

“Hell, the whole family almost fell apart.  The first year it
was like we were all waiting for someone to tell us it was a mistake and that
Bow would be home before 10:30, just like he had promised,” he continued.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek to hold back my emotions. 
If Archer could make it through the conversation, so could I.

“I gave into a lot of self pity. My wife and I felt guilty the
first time we were romantic, and it was probably fifteen months after the
accident.  Then I realized it wasn’t about me.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “I’d say you deserve to have it be
about you!” I narrowed my eyes at him to convey how ridiculous I thought the
comment.

Archer patted my arm and spoke to me the same way he had spoken
to Candice.

“No it’s not. It’s not about me at all.  It’s about these kids
who you do your best to launch into a happy life,” Archer replied.

His eyes locked on mine and I could feel his sincerity as
though it was flowing through the air between us.  I was embarrassed by the
honesty of his gaze, and instinctively reached for my sunglasses.  On my right
side, I could hear a quiver in Candice’s breath.   A quick glance confirmed
that she was crying.  At the time I thought it was because of the sadness of
Archer’s story.   Now I realize it was because of the words that she had wished
someone else might have said.  I turned back to Archer, my attention asking him
to continue.

“That’s it,” he said with a shrug, and turned his meaty palms
up.

“I have a job as long as I still have two more children. When I
am done with that…” he trailed off, giving the notion some thought.

“Well, then I can go fishing on the river of pity if I like,”
he continued with a smile, and turned his attention to Candice.

“Or maybe I can help someone else’s kid.”

UA Flight # 196
San Francisco (SFO) to New York (JFK)

Katherine was a picture perfect San Francisco woman. Long and
healthy sandy blond hair, hazel-green eyes, a five-foot-six lanky build and a
natural beauty that required very little cosmetic enhancement. Like many of the
people in San Francisco, she was well-educated, ambitious and, of course,
prided herself on the well-balanced priorities that elevated her above the more
myopic east-coasters.  She was no stranger to men and had enjoyed a number of
interludes with female partners.  She prided herself on this as well, but would
not have described herself as bisexual, simply experimental.

Katherine was in control and defining the adventures.  It was
the common thread that wove each of her relationships together.  She
continuously reset the boundaries of outrageousness for the people around her,
often pushing them past limits just to make sure that she still could.  She
would require practical men to drink and dance all night, initiate sex with conservative
men in the car on the way to Christmas midnight mass and tempt innocent
girlfriends into their first same-sex kisses. Without question, Katherine was a
firebrand carefully disguised in an upright exterior, and logging enough
adventures to win the respect of even the most experienced of men.

By the age of twenty-seven she found herself on a successful
investment banking track and was surrounded by a new group of people who
shuttled between the power worlds of San Francisco and Manhattan. It was in these
circles that she met Roger, a man six years older than she and the founder and
manager of a successful hedge fund based in San Francisco. Roger was handsome,
confident and skilled at the art of raising money from others for high-risk
investment.  The affluent and intelligent placed millions of their dollars
under Roger’s command and Katherine was very impressed. Within weeks, they were
effectively living together, and within four months she made it official,
moving into his stunning Russian Hill apartment with sweeping bridge-to-bridge
views of the San Francisco Bay.  For three years, Roger and Katherine worked at
building their life together.

Roger’s “no limits” mentality began to show up in their sex
life, and Katherine enjoyed his fascination with her past exploits.  Over
dinners and in cab rides, Roger coached Katherine into revealing her secret
sexual encounters.  He developed favorite stories that he would ask her to
retell him as foreplay.  Like most men, Roger had never enjoyed the pleasure of
a ménage a trois, but it was not something he thought he should be denied.   As
he grew more comfortable and secure with their relationship, his suggestions
that the couple bring a woman into their bed went from the occasional kidding
to a borderline demand.  Katherine, unwilling to share him, fended off his
requests, but was secretly delighted that he was viewing her as the more
advanced partner in this obviously important facet of their relationship. 
Without further hesitation, she assumed her most comfortable role, and took
charge of their sexual direction.

One by one, Katherine introduced Roger to each of her old
tricks, beginning with the tame and eventually moving up to the more exotic of
her repertoire.  She was careful not to overwhelm him, or worse yet, cause him
to judge her.  It began as innocently as getting him to say how he wanted to be
touched and getting him to admit he enjoyed watching her perform her favors. 
She progressed into lingerie, first beautiful and sexy and eventually dangerous.
 Within a year, pornography and sex toys were introduced, and by the second
anniversary of their living together, the couple had advanced into bondage and
light sadomasochism.  Eventually, they were dosing themselves with
Viagra-Ecstasy cocktails and locking themselves in their apartment with gallons
of Evian. They were engaging in some kind of deviant sex almost every day, but
Katherine could not escape the reality that months had gone by since they had
made love.

The couple raised the stakes of their personal life as well. 
They enjoyed each other’s families and developed a common circle of friends
with whom they socialized frequently. They dined on tuna tartar at Aqua and
rabbit tort at Rubicon.  They sailed the San Francisco Bay and mountain biked
in Marin.  They enjoyed the more opulent rewards of their respective financial
successes.  Matching 911s, wine weekends at Auberge du Soleil in Napa, skiing
in Lake Tahoe and spa retreats in Maui were all part of the program.  On
Katherine’s thirtieth birthday, Roger threw an elegant surprise party in the
private dining room at Charles on Nob Hill. The small room was packed with the
twenty people who made up their inner circle.  They waited quietly as Roger and
the maitre d’ guided Katherine into the room, and they yelled “Surprise” in a
sophisticated tone.  Each of the decadent twenty sipped Dom Perignon over a
course of cracked lobster laced with tarragon butter, enjoyed Flowers pinot
noir with duck confit, and paired rack of lamb with ‘82 Chateau Haut-Brion.   At
the end of the meal, Roger stood at the front of the room with his oversized
Bordeaux glass high in hand.

“Tonight we feast in celebration of Katherine’s thirtieth.  To
a girl who has everything, most of all the love of the people here tonight,
happy birthday darling!”

The room was alive with clinking glasses, and those within
reach stole a quick kiss. It was a beautiful group, a beautiful meal and a
beautiful toast.  Unfortunately, Roger was wrong.  Katherine didn’t have
everything, only its illusion.

As Katherine progressed into her early thirties, the idea of
motherhood naturally began to work its way into her daily thoughts. 
Conversations between her and Roger turned to marriage, and at the age of
thirty-one, she accepted his proposal for a life of “everything” together.  The
acceptance evolved into a three-year engagement during which Roger’s quest for
sexual extremes distracted the couple from other aspects of their
relationship.  His request to bring another woman into their bed turned into
pressure and somewhere inside Katherine’s heart, a conflict was emerging. 
Roger’s acquired addiction for sexual adrenalin was now detracting from the
domestic image she had once imagined. She held her ground and refused Roger the
threesome, closing the door on the possibility in an alcohol-fueled
confrontation outside of a sushi restaurant on Chestnut Street.  As the line in
the sand was drawn on that otherwise perfect San Francisco evening, Katherine
officially rescinded her title as Managing Director of Sexual Activities and
with it, control.

Privately she grew troubled that Roger’s distractions had grown
into obsessions.  Despite her apprehension, wedding plans were eventually made
and family members from opposite ends of the country purchased airplane tickets
on instructions to convene in Palm Beach for the ceremony.    Katherine
coordinated most of the events from afar, but decided that a trip to make final
arrangements was in order.  Selection of the band was a last-minute item, and
three weeks before her wedding, she flew into West Palm on a mission to secure
the entertainment and confirm final details.  She checked into the same hotel
that she would be staying at weeks later with her family and friends, and began
her first night at a club where a band she was considering was scheduled to
appear.

Watching from the audience, she was taken by a handsome Cuban
guitarist four years her junior.  After the show she waited for him, and
together they negotiated performance terms over a long series of mojitos.  Like
a conferencing salesman in Vegas, Katherine liked being out of town.  She was
temporarily anonymous and had enough cash to be in charge. She was excited by
the young Cuban’s attention to her, and by his diminishing respect for her
pending wedding.  As the alcohol set in, the distance between their faces
decreased until they could almost taste the mint from the cocktails that laced
each other’s lips.

“I brought him out to my rental car and went down on him,”
Katherine said, with every intention of shocking me.

The beautiful and proper woman could not help but laugh into
her glass of chardonnay as I waited patiently for her to continue her story.

“I knew the next day I was in trouble, but it was too late,”
she continued after emptying the glass.

“Too late?” I asked.

“It was easier to go through with it and just annul it
afterwards. Everyone enjoys the party and we send back the gifts,” she replied
almost cavalierly.

For a moment I thought I caught a glimmer of sadness, but it
disappeared when the flight attendant arrived offering a welcome refill.

“The wedding was a blast,” she continued on an up note. “I
danced with the guitar player.”

Again she tried to drown her laughter in the wine.

“Did anyone know what was going on?” I asked, without expecting
much resistance.

“A couple of my bridesmaids were on to me,” she said with a
scheming smile.

“My girlfriends who knew me!” she clarified.  “They knew
something was up the night before. We were very drunk and I made them go see
his band. I was a mess and if they hadn’t forced me home, I might never have
shown up the next day.”

Katherine sat quietly for a few moments, wedding scenes
floating through her head, far different from those I would have guessed she
had conjured as a young girl.

I was taken by her beauty and excited by her sexual appetite,
but at the same time was conscious of what it had cost her.

“How long did you wait?” I asked, disturbing her from her
thoughts.

She looked at me for a moment, registering the words and
interpreting the question.

“About three weeks,” she replied.

“How did he take it?”

It was the first question I had asked that made her visibly
uncomfortable.

“Not very well.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Mostly that I was sorry.”

Her expression begged forgiveness.

“And what did he say?”

“He said ‘get out’.”

Her intoxicated laughter returned and once again she employed
her remedy.

“So did you?”

“Did I what?” she asked on the completion of a swallow.

“Did you get out?”

Another glass drained, she ignored the question and scanned the
cabin for the flight attendant. She began to fiddle around inside a large brown
suede tote bag.  From it she pulled the components of a CD player, first the
player and then the headphones. The headphone cord had unwound in her bag and
tangled with the other items. Out they came one by one, hanging from the taut
headphone cord like fish from a long line.

“You leaving me?” I asked with a smile, nodding towards the
headphones.

“Not just yet,” she purred, pretending to be very relaxed, and
smiling through her glassy bedroom eyes.  There in front of me, I was observing
Katherine using her allure to control the situation and get me off the scent.

“So what happened to Roger?” I asked.

“He went off the deep end for a while, jumped into work, then…”

She faded off into another memory as the flight attendant
showed up to refill her glass.

“And then what, Katherine?”

She returned her gaze to me, locking her eyes onto mine and
smiling as though she were about to perform some exotic pleasure. I couldn’t
help but feel she was baiting me, creating reasons to continue her story, each
chapter suggesting the ways she might stir me.

“I got out. Went to a friend’s house for a few days. I was a
wreck, he was a wreck. Neither of us ate.  We both dropped a bunch of weight.
Then I went back a few nights later.  We talked and cried all night.”

She paused a moment for a sip of strength.

“And then I left again.”

“He wanted you to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you stay in touch?”

“Every day!” she proclaimed. “You have to realize, we were best
friends. Our worlds were completely overlapped.”

“How did he manage?” I asked, returning to the answer she had
censured earlier.

“Immersed himself in work, and then he just continued on,
crazier and crazier.”

“Finally hit a double?”

Her smile answered my question.

“He called me the second it was over, couldn’t wait to tell
me.”

I looked at her thoughtfully, deciding which of my questions to
ask.  I glanced at the headphones and chose the one which had the best chance
of a reply.

“So he got it out of his system?”

“That was just the beginning,” she replied.

“What do you mean?” I said, again aware it was bait.

“From there things just got bizarre. He did the ménage thing
for a while with a couple of twenty-two year-old dancers from North Beach. I
guess the thrill of that wore off because he started migrating towards the
bondage thing.  One night we met for drinks and he was telling me all about it.
We were a little looped and he made me come back to the house so that he could
show me how some woman had shaved him clean.”

She flared her eyes at me to demonstrate how extreme the sight.

“I mean really clean and he was wearing a ring around his…”

“Did you have sex with him that night?” I asked, intentionally
cutting her off and taking back control of the conversation.

Katherine burst into a wicked laugh.

“He made me tie him up and beat him with a riding crop. So
yeah, I had sex with him,” she replied, vying for pole position.

“So Roger’s life spiraled off into a never-ending series of
perverted encounters?” I asked, casting some bait of my own.

“Pretty much,” she replied, nodding her head and dressing it up
with an unconvincing smile.

“And what about yours?” I asked gently.