Page 7 of Grounded
“Unless I lose my job, then things could get really interesting. See you at eight in the lobby.”
In the small alleyway off the piazza, sunlight was hidden by the ancient buildings. Passing the Italian Senate, Annie watched as dark Lancias whizzed in and out of the heavily guarded gate. The street was filled with people. Scooters motored between cars and pedestrians, their horns beeping a warning to anyone in the way. A couple walked a few paces in front of her, and Annie watched as the man pulled the woman to the inside of the sidewalk as a car zoomed by.That is the nice thing about having someone,she thought. Stuart was there to pull her out of the street when danger was too close; at least he would if he was with her.
Annie pushed her sunglasses on top of her head, using them to keep her fine straight hair off her face. Like a grain of sand in her pantyhose, Janice’s questions about Stuart irritated her. Janice had no motive other than concern, but she could be opinionated and didn’t mind at all telling anyone who would listen whatever she thought. It was part of why they were such good friends. They were different in that way. Annie had opinions but her Southern upbringing kept her from voicing every thought in her head.
Annie tucked her purse in front of her, holding it like a small pet.My situation is different from Janice’s sister,she thought. Stuart wasn’t a kid out of college. He was a successful adult who could buy her a set of diamond earrings and a ring on the same day if he wanted.
She felt the stone again in her ear, fingering the cuts of the solitaire and the metal setting. Stuart had commitment hang-ups.Who wouldn’t if his mother abandoned the family while the children were so young?But as they had grown closer, things had changed. They were taking a big step in the relationship. Stuart said it was huge for him, something he had never done with another woman. It was certainly big for her.
A chaperone, looking pale-faced and out of breath, chased along behind a group of teenagers, calling out in a British accent, “Stay together, please!”
She moved down a narrow alley, then suddenly the great Pantheon was in view. The stunning, ancient structure with a columned porch and the great bronze doors nearly two thousand years old stood majestic, as if holding court in the piazza. Annie knew from previous visits the Pantheon stood on the site of a former temple. The architecture was famous for the rotunda having a dome in equal height to the diameter of the circular interior that gave a sense of harmony. She didn’t walk inside today, instead choosing to admire it from the center of the piazza. Cafes surrounded the perimeter of the piazza, and a fountain in the middle near where she stood added background noise to the bustling center of activity.
“Scuzi, dove…,” a man asked for directions in Italian.
“No Italiano, sorry!” Annie said.
The question was a compliment, she thought, due in part to her dark hair and the fact that she never wore sneakers like most other tourists. Annie considered taking Italian lessons, but she was never sure how long she would keep the flights to Rome she bid for every month. For international flights, giving up her weekends was a small price to pay for the experiences. Annie had always wanted to see the world, even from her roots in a small Kentucky town. She didn’t always get the Rome flights; sometimes it was Munich or Amsterdam. Janice, much higher in the line and a dual language speaker, preferred weekends so she could be home during the week with her children when Jimmy had to work second shift.
Despite Annie’s effort to be optimistic, the airline’s prospects were disturbing. She tried to imagine herself working for another company, learning new service policies, perhaps having to go through the entire training process again. Ten years of seniority was not a lot in an industry where flight attendants worked up to and more than thirty years.Would there even be jobs available with other airlines in New York, or would the market be too flooded?A cloud of questions hung over the whole mess.
But for now, she had this moment in Rome. She needed to enjoy it, soak it in and not worry about the future. Her grandmother always said today had enough trouble of its own, and that was true.
She walked up the Piazza della Rotonda with the decorative iron light posts with mustard buildings and brown shutters and onto the Via delle Muratte. Annie heard the roar of the fountain mixed with voices calling to one another, shrieks and laughter, before she actually saw it. The small piazza was dwarfed by the Trevi Fountain, eighty-five feet high and sixty-five feet wide. Salvi’s famous creation incorporated the space of the piazza and the backdrop of the palazzo into the design. She paused to sit on a stone bench and watch.
Around the sides of the piazza, vendors hawked their wares. A policewoman blew her shrill whistle anytime someone stepped into the water. To her right, a Japanese tour group listened as the guide talked about the fountain, or Annie assumed since it was in Japanese.
Across the street from where Annie sat, a small balcony was lined with pots of different shapes and sizes. An elderly woman sat next to one of the containers and worked the dirt with her wrinkled hands. Annie watched as she dropped seeds into the pot and then covered them with the dirt. With a tin can, she poured a small stream of water over the seeds. Then she pushed the pot to a corner of the balcony where a glint of sunlight shone.
Something about the woman reminded Annie of her grandmother. This universal need to grow something, even when surrounded by the bustle of the city, was a common thread binding man and woman since the beginning of time.
After an hour of enjoying the scene, Annie decided to take her turn at the fountain’s edge. Fishing a coin out of her purse, she turned her back to the fountain as legend required, made a wish and tossed the coin over her shoulder.
Tuesday morning’s flight made Annie wonder how an airline could teeter on the brink of bankruptcy with full flights. Every trip she had worked in the last few months had been either full or near full. Today, the flight from Rome to New York was no different.
“Good afternoon. May I take your coat?” Annie asked the first man who entered the business class cabin on her side. He handed her his sport jacket. A father, mother and two young children entered Janice’s side of the cabin together, and Annie stopped on her way to the closet to take the man’s leather jacket while Janice situated the children. She hung the coats in order of passenger seats for later reuniting with their owners.
After everyone was seated, Annie offered the passengers orange juice or champagne. She was halfway down the aisle when a heavyset, middle-aged woman stumbled into the cabin with a bulging shopping bag.
Janice intervened. “Can I help you?”
The woman’s face was flushed and the dash to the plane had obviously winded her. She handed Janice her boarding pass, too out of breath to talk.
“You’re right here in front, the aisle seat,” Janice said. The woman managed a breathless thank you and moved to the front, bumping passengers with her bag as she went.
Several minutes later, they were in the air and waiting for the pilot to indicate they were at cruising altitude. Facing the cabin, Annie watched the late arrival talk nonstop to her seatmate, hearing bits and pieces of the conversation. The man kept looking down at his book and, when that didn’t work, he plugged in the headphones and hung them around his neck, but the woman didn’t get it. As soon as they could move around the cabin, she would try to divert the woman long enough for the poor man to put on his headphones or feign sleep. It worked nearly every time. Once she had a man so happy to be relieved of the talking that he tried to give her a hundred dollars when he exited the plane. She didn’t take it, but it was a nice gesture.
When the tone sounded, Annie unbuckled her seat belt and went over to the woman.
“Did I hear you say you’re from Illinois?” Annie asked her.
“That’s right. Peoria! Are you from Illinois?” The woman’s face was wide and smiling. The man next to her shot Annie a grateful look and slid the earphones over his head.
Peoria was Stuart’s hometown. It was a good excuse to divert her for a moment. “I’m not, but I know someone who is. I’m sure it’s a big place.”
“Not that big. Who do you know?”
“His name is Stuart Henderson.”
