Each One a Nation, page 12
Through the chatter of the drunk adults in the section ahead of them the kids engage in small acts of surveillance against one another, peaking around periodically, and taking care to quiet their breathing so they may listen to one another’s conversations. Before long, the boys abandon their seats and move toward the back of the plane for privacy. The idea of it burns her as she knows that the girls have approximately nothing to say between them. Sloane has not spoken to Mallory about what she knows Peyton did, and she does not intend to. Mallory does not know that Sloane knows, but cannot work up the gumption to tell her on her own. The conditions hang over the kids, affecting their regulated functions and altering their carriage of their bodies. For Sloane and for Peyton, the time that has passed between the incident and the trip has ground on slowly and painfully, and has caused them to grow distant and cold, unsure of each other, their common language having seemingly failed, having suddenly lost all of its rational syntax or common meaning. Sloane has borne the separation in her temples and stomach, almost daily falling ill with a nauseating headache and a churning stomach. Peyton, having felt a tremendous amount of pain for an incredibly short period of time, has since boxed it and stored it in a cell within him, locking it away within the blind certainty that she would always be around. He has truly come to believe that everything is natural, god-ordained, and that his actions need only live up to that, that the world would be his so long as he was incredible.
His body has followed suit. He remembers the first small deposit of muscle he could discern as new on the inner rim of his groin, and how it strained and contracted as he moved his leg in small, intentional circles as he dries off from his shower in the boy’s locker room. He has since discovered more of these grainy piles of muscle all over his body, from his now very large feet to his neck which has begun to thicken and amplify his sharpening face. With a deepened voice, he tells Seth McWhite, “It’s going to be the first time we’ve gotten to be alone since the event. Very first time. We have only spoken over the phone or in a group setting. What am I supposed to say to her when I see her?”
“Probably just the normal stuff to start. Ask how things are going and what not.”
“How they’re going?” asks Peyton.
“How she’s handling everything, dude. This was a traumatic thing for her.”
“We both were there,” says Peyton, “I already know how it feels to have been there.”
“You only know how you feel about it,” says Seth.
“Why would it be different?” asks Peyton.
The curtain slings open and Eric balances himself using the curtain rod above him and says through a hiccup, “We’re circling Miami now. We’re going to land and take a chartered jet to the island; this one’s gotta get to Phoenix.”
None of the children listen to him so he closes the curtains to return to his throne in the front, where the whole of them fasten their seatbelts and sit very stiff until the plane touches down in Miami. They disembark and dissipate into the terminal, joined in small groups on various tasks. Martha McWhite goes to the bar with Neal Streeter. Ian McWhite stands with his boss. The Crow parents sit next to one another, reading. Further down the row, a mound of their bags is waiting for Astra flight team members to hurry them away to the private plane waiting on the tarmac a short distance away. Finally the bags are taken and Eric begins to check his watch impatiently, wondering where his scheduled liaison is. His timing fails and eventually the entire group is sitting before him, waiting for the employee to help transport them off the tarmac. Eventually, he calls Ian up to join him in confronting the gate attendant into action when he sees the Astra plane they came in on departing for Phoenix with a large group of passengers. The Latreuo crew is left alone at the gate without their bags and becoming impatient with Eric.
“Where is our liaison?” he asks the young girl at the counter. “I scheduled a liaison and you said you were going to look into it.”
“Oh my God,” says the girl, “I am so sorry Mr. Del Rio.”
Eric carries the anger in his jaw, which the girl notices and begins to shake slightly at the thought of it. She stands frozen for a nauseating moment before Ian McWhite shouts, “Well, do it now!”
The group all pulls away from their phone to see who Ian is yelling at and why he is yelling at them. The girl scrambles to the phone and calls over the intercom for a scheduled corporate liaison at the gate. Eric’s mouth tightens again, as the girl has only alerted other employees to his presence. He stews with his face to the window while Ian continues to hassle the gate agent until a sweaty kid in a blinding baby blue polo arrives and extends a hand.
“Mr. Del Rio,” he says nervously. “I will take you and your family right this way.”
There is a leased Lear Jet to jump them to Bimini on the windy tarmac seeming to glow white against the dark clouds on the horizon. Inside the jet, Devyn finds herself in close quarters, stuck between Sloane and Peyton. She sits between them with both of their bodies crunched against her, and she thinks about how they both feel so different from one another. Peyton’s skin is freckled and pale, and Sloane’s is tanned, smooth, and goosebumped. Devyn, between the two, feels herself disappear into the energy being transferred between them. Below the skin Devyn feels a creeping urge to jump up and just let them slam together like magnets. Her options, however, are limited to staying where she is, or sitting with her dad. And so, she stays put and sweats profusely.
Everyone watches from the plane as Eric and Ian remain in the transport vehicle with the liaison standing outside. They are putting the finishing touches on the maiden voyage of the first new jet. The two listen closely to a meeting in St. Louis with the relevant players of the leadership unit of Astra Airlines. AstraOne Fleet’s Plane One sits on a runway in San Diego, bound for Phoenix where the plane that Eric secured for his family’s trip will take over the burden and the AstraOne plane sent to Miami to pick up Eric and his guests at the end of their trip. The flight from San Diego to Phoenix is meant to be a surprise, giving a flight full of people, normal Astra budget flyers, the very first glimpse of the new Astra luxury at the company’s normal shuttle price. Eric, having so brilliantly navigated the board with Ian’s idea, had stood before them and said, “It will signal something to our customers: that we have grown, but we are still here to serve you.”
The flight is set to be covered by a host of publications as human-interest pieces, and Ian has invited writers from each of them to fly absolutely free. On the line with Eric are Chief Commercial Officer, Doug Debrincat; Flight Operations Officer, Nick Mullins; Director of Communications, Tanya McTooth; and the pilot, Alan Zurig, who has just landed from his previous shuttle in from Palm Springs.
“Okay, Eric, looks like the plane is ready and the journalists are confirmed,” says Debrincat. “All things considered, we are in for a completely normal operating environment. We have a rep flying with the media, and Captain Zurig is just freshening up in a lounge before he checks out the plane.”
“Okay,” says Eric, “Captain, how are you feeling?”
There is a muffled sound of ice against a glass and the captain, whose voice is rough and defensive, says, “Kosher.”
“Tanya, what are we doing to ensure a positive media experience.”
“Choice seats,” says the young McTooth, “free drinks, steam towels, free reign of the cabin, hottest flight crew we have.”
“I love it,” says Eric.
“Okay, Zurig it seems like you’re an experienced pilot set to go about his evening, and Eric, it sounds like you’ve got a vacation to catch so, you know, I think we got this one under control. Seriously, man. You’re, you’re just an awesome leader and we’re so lucky to have you on our side.”
One of the lines click dead. Eric lingers for a second and says, “Well, I surely appreciate that, Nick. You all call me immediately if you need me. I’ve only promised Darlene to ignore work for a night so I will be back to chat results tomorrow. Peace.”
Eric hangs up. He and Ian leave the vehicle and board the aircraft. He ducks into the entrance as a team of Astra employees close up the stairway. He pauses with Ian close behind him and says, “We are all about to be so fucking rich!”
The group, including the Crows, erupts into laughter and then cheer. Devyn, in the very back with Sloane and Peyton, still sweating wildly, grins a slim grin and claps her hands along with her mother.
The plane disappears over water and emerges on the small Bimini until it lands at a strange looking airport in a thicket of jungle. The absolute change of surroundings lift everyone’s spirits, each one believing they’ve arrived at their vacation and they are the ones who needed this most. The sun on the tarmac makes the rainy horizon seem like another world, and they all pile into the chartered cars that Eric had arranged and drive to the rental home on the beach.
Upon arrival, rooms are claimed and the men run out for groceries while the wives change into their swim apparel. The pool is fenced in by hedges that block the wall, cutting the property into a square completely separate and to itself from the rest of the land around it. The kids run off to see the beach.
When the men return, they stock the fridges, coolers, and ice buckets. In the spirit of the communal vacation, even Pat Crow opens up the wallet, buying a large quantity of groceries for the group, which includes choice meats and fresh seafood.
Eric walks down to the beach to take a call from headquarters, where there is a problem with the new jet. On the other end of the line is the company’s Chief Commercial Officer, Doug Debrincat, and Flight Operations Officer, Nick Mullins, as well as the pilot on the ground in San Diego.
“Eric, you’re on with Captain Zurig,” says Debrincat.
“Plane can’t go, E,” adds the FOO Nick Mullen, “Captain Zurig isn’t one of our pilots trained for this model.”
“I need to understand how this could have possibly happened, Doug,” he says. “Where’s the closest pilot who is trained?” asks Eric.
“The only pilot’s trained on the new model are currently in Orlando, Spartanburg, and en route to Phoenix.”
There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line before Eric says, “Okay so those aren’t options. But again, why did we not have any of these pilots in San Diego for the one event we even trained them for.”
“I’m not totally sure,” says Debrincat. “I had one ready to go but for whatever reason he was sent to Miami on a C-suite reroute without my knowledge. The other AstraOne pilots were routed to Florida for the plane’s eventual hard-launch on the Miami to Tampa to Atlanta leg where we were going to meet for the ceremony. You set most of this up, E. You and Ian.”
“I don’t like what I’m hearing from you, Doug” says Eric. “We can’t worry about that now but we need to get this plane in the air on time or we’re all going to be embarrassed.”
“I’m willing to fly untrained if necessary,” says the voice of Zurig, “I’ve flown everything with wings.”
Eric’s brain alerts him of an in.
He was the one who arranged the switch without thinking about pilot certifications. He had not reported the pilot schedules needed to be rearranged to Ian, and now he finds himself with a pilot who is flying to the wrong city with no time to do anything about it. With all of his pilots spent, and all of the above-board decisions off the table, he begins to search for creative solutions.
“Ian!” he yells up the beach. “Need you and your phone.”
Ian McWhite is in the hot tub with his wife and Neal Streeter. Darlene suns from a nearby lawn chair and watches her husband through a gap in the hedges while she listens to Mary Crow who speaks quietly of the physical growth of her son, Peyton. Ian jumps up in the hot tub, climbs out, grabs his phone, and disappears behind the hedges. When he reaches the waterline, Eric tells him, “Get anybody with pull at Boeing, we need to contract a pilot trained on AstraOne and we need him in San Diego yesterday.”
Ian is on a call instantly with his contact at Boeing, who listens to the situation carefully before she says, “And Eric is going to be okay with a non-company pilot?”
“Eric is the one who’s asking,” he says, “we need this to get done for reasons I’m unwilling to share and we need it done without questions.”
There is a hesitation at the other end of the line before she says, “Let me make some calls,” and hangs up.
“Now,” Eric says, still on with his executives and the pilot, “I need legal on about flying with an unaccredited pilot, if he’s flown similar models. What do they say?”
Ian dials again and walks in the other direction down the beach.
“Captain,” Eric says back into his phone, “have you been on board yet?”
“Yes,” says the captain.
“What do you think? Does it look like something you can operate?”
“Jesus,” says the captain, “look at what we got ourselves here. How much did this thing cost?”
“Captain Zurig,” says Eric seriously. “I’m not sure that’s relevant.”
“Yeah,” says the captain, “you’re probably right on that one.”
“So can you fly it?”
There is a pause on the end of the line as Zurig explores the cockpit.
“Yup,” he says, “I figure I could handle this. Let me uh…let me study up on it.”
“Can you study in an hour?” asks Eric.
“I can try, sir.”
While Eric is working through the problem, he can feel the weight of the other two executives on the line with him. In addition, he is feeling weight from other places, including from the house, where his wife is surely disappointed in him for working when he told her he wouldn’t, from the gate full of customers, who will be slowly filing in, expecting a plane to get them where they need to go. He also feels the weight of his project, his gamble, the new fleet, which must go off without a hitch if it is to see a successful birth.
As Ian returns, Eric puts the phone down to his shoulder.
“They don’t like it,” Ian says, “and they say that you ought to know better.”
Eric, knowing that he ought to know better, also knows that success lies on the other side of risk.
“What did Boeing say?” he asks.
“She didn’t seem confident but she’s making calls,” he says.
“Okay, I need you to tell legal that we aren’t going to do it if they don’t think it’s a good idea. Call some pilot reps and get intel on Zurig. He seems like a sketchy guy.”
Eric can feel the heat of frustration that comes from being the one at fault. From the top of the beach. he can see his wife and Martha McWhite standing between the hedges watching their husbands on the phone. He puts his phone back to his ear.
“Doug, Nick, can you give us a moment?” he asks.
From the other end comes a crystal-clear white silence, before Debrincat says, “Sure, Eric,” and both of the lines cut out.
“Captain,” says Eric, “can you find a quiet spot to talk?”
Ian McWhite receives a call from his Boeing contact. She says that there is a pilot who is willing to do the job but the company doesn’t want anything to be in writing. Ian agrees and gets to work on getting that pilot, who is based in Seattle, aboard a charter jet immediately, and then goes to work on building a presentable profile on Zurig.
Meanwhile, Eric has himself walked a good ways down the beach and is speaking quietly to the pilot on the other line. Eric has reduced his strategy down to baby steps given the severity of the situation and is weighing risk not in souls but in words, and how they may be repeated or altered by time. The pilot, to his credit, understands the temperature of the situation, and is willing to do business with a man who knows nothing else. After a few moments, Ian comes sprinting down the beach with intel.
“Alcoholic,” he says, “thrice grounded for mental health concerns.”
He disappears in the other direction.
“Here’s what I’ll say to you,” says Eric. “It sounds to me like you can fly this thing. So, if you are willing to do so, we will make sure that you are accommodated when you reach Phoenix. We will be sure to supply you with whatever you need or want while you’re there.”
Eric feels the cold wash of the gamble as it coats his veins and makes his legs lose feeling. He is so locked in for an answer, with multiple variations of what to do next seemingly floating above him, that he does not notice Ian McWhite, who has been standing next to him waiting to give him good news.
“Okay,” the pilot says, “I’ll do it.”
He hangs up on Eric, who, under the weight of everything he’s just set into motion, stands there for a while, blankly staring at the bright ocean waves. A few moments pass before Ian speaks up.
“We’ve got a pilot from Boeing,” he says, “we’re going to get them on a flight from Seattle and they’ll land just in time, but we’ll have to delay.”
