She tortured me with radio silence the rest of the day. Is a genuine relationship possible, or will this be fun and games until we run out of ideas? Guess I’ll enjoy the ride while it lasts.
I’m up before dawn and waiting in line at the US Airways ticket counter. My texts to Bea went unanswered, still I scan the area for her–wondering and hoping. When I hand my license across the counter, I have a pleasant surprise.
“Hello, Mr. Silver. Will you be checking any bags?”
“No, I’ll carry this. It’s a short trip.”
“I see here that you’ve been upgraded to First Class.”
That’s wonderful, but there’s still no sign of Bea. I wait at the gate, browsing my Kindle, peeking over my reading glasses every few minutes. Nothing.
They call First Class to board. I try calling Bea. No answer. I try calling Eric. No answer. I hand my boarding pass, walk the jet bridge, enter, and find seat 2A. I place my carry-on overhead and relax into my seat. Where is she? She must be 2B.
I check my cell again. Nothing. Suddenly, a FaceTime request comes through. I answer and see Lovergirl’s smiling face. She’s in the jet’s restroom, wearing a red wig, dressed like a flight attendant.
“Hello, Uncle M.”
“Bea, what’s going on?”
“I always wanted to do it on a plane. Are you game, Uncle M, or are you already a mile-high member?”
“Technically, this would be only around twenty feet but, where do I apply?”
“Walk to the rear of the plane. I’m in the restroom on the right. Tap twice and I’ll let you in, lover.”
Like an anxious teen at his prom, I stride back with an uncomfortable lump in my jeans. I arrive and tap. The door unlocks and opens.
Sex in a jet bathroom is anything but easy. We giggled like mischievous children as we contorted our bodies to find a comfortable angle. I banged my funny bone on the faucet. She accidentally pressed “Flush.” Yet, we managed to make love.
We finished quickly before the plane began filling up. Bea suggested she leave first and wait for me at our seats, as to not raise suspicion. I agreed and cleaned up after she left. I stared at myself for a moment in the mirror, wondering how I’d explain our relationship to my family. My face showed beaded perspiration, lip gloss glitter, and an unfamiliar blissful smile. Bea is holding my heart now. I shrug and head back to our seats, annoying the travelers by going against the grain.
When I get back to First Class, there’s a man sitting in 2B. I check above the seat to make sure I have the right row.
“I’m sorry, sir. You must be in the wrong seat.”
“No, actually I’m in two B,” he said as he showed me his boarding pass. He looked familiar to me.
“I’m in two A and my, um, girlfriend is sitting there.”
“Sorry, buddy,” he tells me as he rises to let me in.
Did she do it to me again? I flop down into my seat and check around. No sign of her.
“You OK?” my row mate asks.
“I guess so.”
“Want a drink? I know I could use one.”
He waves to get the attendant’s attention. I notice a huge ring on his right hand and it hits me.
“Holy shit! You’re Dave Fucking Shultz.”
“Dave William Shultz, actually, but you can call me ‘The Hammer.'”
I shake the hand of one of my heroes, a Philadelphia Flyers legend, and wonder how much of this she has orchestrated.
(my love is taking me higher)