Page 1 of Grounded
Chapter One
Annie couldn’t wait to get home. Up from the subway station and into a downpour, she wrestled a book out of her black leather handbag and used it to cover her head. The book made a poor umbrella, but with her other hand dragging luggage, it was the best she could do. Maybe getting soaked would at least wash the red stain off her khaki skirt.
Good rain, good rain.It was something her grandfather used to say years ago on the farm. Annie could see him in her mind, standing at the window of the farmhouse, a contented smile on his face and pipe smoke curling around his white head. But that was when rain was vital for food and income. Now it was a messy inconvenience.
The weather had delayed their landing in New York and added to an already difficult flight. The crew had celebrated her birthday the night before, and she’d had too much wine. A dull headache lingered into the first few hours and then there was the businessman from New Jersey who could not be pleased. As soon as she brought him a newspaper, he wanted a drink. Then he wanted another newspaper and on and on it went. A bossy teenager flying alone complained about the music selection, all the while going through three headsets to find the one with the best sound. What was a teenager doing in first class anyway? And what happened to the iPods that seemed to sprout on every teenager’s body like an appendage at age thirteen?
The apartment building in sight, Annie ran the last few yards, her feet bitterly complaining in the high heels. Under the stoop, she unlocked the door and stumbled over the threshold with her luggage.
The air was thick with the rich scent of curry. She hoped it was coming from her Indian neighbors, the Agarwals, and not from her apartment. Her roommate, Prema, also Indian, had taken up traditional cooking lately and their apartment was beginning to smell like the Kashmir Indian Restaurant. Stuart had even smelled it on her clothes and hair when they’d gone out last week.
Nearly to the door, her luggage caught on the grate in the floor, jerking her backward. When she reached down to dislodge the wheel, her purse fell, scattering her phone, hairbrush and lipstick across the floor.
Snatching up the errant items, Annie nearly stuffed her phone back into her bag before seeing a text from Stuart.
“Running late today … meet me at the apartment?”
She rubbed her temple, working it to release the tension. The last thing she wanted to do was go back out in the rain and ride the subway uptown.
“Annie, you are home!” Prema smiled, her warm dark eyes alight with excitement when Annie finally struggled through the door. “Oh, what happened to your skirt?”
“Tomato juice. We had a little turbulence and a passenger who had too many drinks. It could have been worse.”
“Yes, like my flight to Delhi a few weeks ago. A child threw up on me! It was most unpleasant.”
Amused at the understatement, Annie hid her grin since Prema was entirely serious.
“You’re cooking,” Annie said.
“Yes. I invited this son of my father’s friend for dinner. He is newly arrived and sounded so sad, all alone.” The gold hoops in Prema’s ears swung as she moved from the living area to the kitchen, the scarf of her purple sari flowing behind her.
“And you’re in traditional dress,” Annie said. “Why do I think this is more than just a ‘Welcome to New York’?”
“I am only doing as my father asked of me. Jatindre is used to seeing Indian women in their traditional clothing. I don’t want to shock him with my American style yet. Can you have dinner with us?”
Annie tossed the book she had used for an umbrella on the side table and picked up her mail. “I’m going out with Stuart, thanks.”
“There will be leftovers, I’m sure.” Prema pointed to the chalkboard hanging next to the door. “Kate and Evie are gone through Tuesday. Whatever is left is yours. I leave tomorrow for Delhi.”
In an apartment of four flight attendants, the chalkboard was the only way to keep up with who was coming or going. Days of the week were listed at the top. To the side each girl’s name was written. An “X” meant you were out that day and night. A small “x” meant you were out part of the day. It helped with planning for social activities.
Four women in a three-bedroom apartment had worked out well for the most part, because it was rare for them to all be home at the same time. Annie had the master bedroom, Prema had her own room and the two younger flight attendants, Kate and Evie, shared the third. Annie earned the larger bedroom by being in the apartment the longest, as several roommates had come and gone after getting married or transferring to another city.
Annie tossed the mail on her bed and stripped off her TransAir uniform before stuffing it in the dry cleaning bag that hung from a hook in her closet.
The hot shower enveloped her, washing off the grime of an overseas flight. Breathing deeply, the moist heat eased her clogged sinuses and aching head. Her body relaxed.
She had snapped at two passengers and had bit her lower lip so much it was now as raw as sandpaper. For a couple of weeks she had been on edge, as if a black cloud of foreboding had settled on her. Annie knew it stemmed from the news reports that kept coming out about the airline’s financial crisis. She had tried to shake it off but was overcome by the paralyzing fear of losing her job.
The hot shower massaged her skin like a thousand small fingers and she tried practicing the deep breathing exercises she had learned in exercise class. She felt somewhat more relaxed and pried herself from the water cocoon. Annie wrapped a towel around her body and leaned in close to the mirror. She peered at the lines around her eyes. They had gotten deeper since she turned thirty-two. Digging eye cream from one of her toiletry bags, she dabbed a bit in each corner before putting on her makeup then drying her dark shoulder-length hair.
Dressed and left with some extra time, she sat to read through her mail—bills, junk mail, a letter from the airline, and a letter from her grandmother.
“Bad news first,” she said to herself and opened the envelope from the airline. It was a letter from the CEO updating the employees on the attempts by a competing airline to take TransAir. Nearly the same as the letter that had arrived a month ago:We are trying to fight the takeover. We want to continue to provide the routes and services we’ve been providing since 1969. Please be patient as we work through this with our share-holders…
She threw it in the trash.
With full passenger loads on most flights, how can they not make it work?
