Page 1 of Sparks
Iused to keep track of the number of flights I’d taken, but I lost count somewhere around forty. After all those flights, I could finally look out the window during takeoff without feeling queasy. My jumpseat faced the passengers, so I kept my eyes open and my expression poised, never letting on how tense my muscles were to avoid the swoop in my belly when we ascended at a sharp angle and dipped to the side.
Today we were expecting turbulence because of a cold front coming down from the northwest, and a warm front blowing up along the Atlantic. They weren’t sure if the fronts would collide and turn into a horrible winter storm or if they’d veer apart, but we’d be getting some of the effects no matter what. Hopefully we’d land before the runways got slick, and that would be it for me tonight. I was looking forward to hanging with my seven roommates. It was drinkies and game night in pajamas. We were so rarely all home at the same time.
Marcelle, the senior flight attendant, was first to unbuckle and stand. Her sky legs were always steady and she had a stomach of steel. She’d been doing this since before 9-11. I was only at four months. They called us newbies Sky Muffins, an endearing term we’d keep until we switched from on-call fill-ins to regular crew members.
I swallowed and unbuckled, keeping a pleasant look on my face as I stood and walked carefully to join Marcelle in the server galley. Walking on a plane soon after taking off felt a little like trying to surf or ride the subway without holding on. In the galley area, I held the wall as the plane tilted and adjusted my stance, keeping my knees unlocked to balance myself. My ears popped and I opened my jaw in a yawning motion to unpop them.
We’d done enough flights together this week to give us a good routine: unclasping the trolleys, readying the ice in trays, settling the bag of pretzels and cookies on the center of the trolley where we could both reach. Marcelle gave me a questioning look and I nodded. All good.
She reached for the mic and pressed the button, bringing it to her mouth with a red-lipped smile as she greeted passengers and told them our drink selections. This was a small jet, just for regional flights within an hour and a half of Newark, our base, so no meals. Just drinks and snacks. Marcelle’s normal flight attendant partner was on maternity leave, so I’d filled in several times. This jet was cushy compared to the tiny prop planes I usually worked, which only required one flight attendant.
“So, please sit back and relax on this fifty-six minute flight to Newark, and thank you for flying Omega Skies.” Marcelle clicked off the mic, and her fake smile slipped. “Watch your ass,” she said under her breath as she kicked the break off the drink cart. “Bunch of Marines on this flight.” She had greeted the customers as they boarded while I dealt with stocking the drinks, snacks, and alcohol from the vendor.
I chuckled. “They know better than to touch.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Probably, but there used to be a day when they could, and nobody would blink an eye. Doesn’t keep ‘em from saying stuff, though.”
I grinned. “Let’s go.” I could handle comments from men. Sometimes they pissed me off, but mostly they just amused me. Being a flight attendant wasn’t exactly glamorous or sexy, but the public assumed so. They had no idea how much puke I cleaned on the regular, or how many urine-soaked seats I’d pulled off and replaced. And don’t get me started on the 3:30AM wakeup texts when I was on call, only to crash in some nondescript hotel after midnight. I feltsuperglam those days.
At twenty-three, I’d taken this job after breaking off an engagement with my high school sweetheart, around the same time my three best friends all got married within a year of one another. My parents had not been happy with my choice to become a flight attendant after all the college tuition they’d paid for me to be a teacher. That is, until I sent them to Europe for free with my buddy passes. They were somewhere in France right now. I smiled at the thought of Mom chatting up every person in her vicinity while rockin’ a fanny pack, and Daddy taking thousands of pictures on his new camera. Such Americans.
We stopped the cart and the drink service began like a well-oiled machine. I took orders on one side, Marcelle on the other. She passed me mini bottles of alcohol when I asked for them, and I poured her coffee when she needed. Half of the way through the plane I came upon the first row of soldiers.
I looked at the first man and literally froze at the sight of two bright, light blue eyes watching me intently. In half a second, I took in his Marine look: hair buzzed super short around the sides with a tiny bit of straight, soft-looking light brown on top, and a camouflaged uniform tucked into black boots.
“H-hi.” Good gawd, did I stutter? “Drink, sir?”
“Uh, yeah, please.” His country accent hit my ears and made my cheeks flush. “Vodka and tonic.” The man next to him did a double take, which made me wonder if he didn’t usually drink.
For a second, I forgot what to do. Honestly, I wasn’t usually fazed by men. I served them all the time, good looking ones, too. I had no idea why I felt thrown off.
This was when I was supposed to ask if he wanted pretzels or cookies, but instead I grabbed one of each with a shaking hand and held them out, avoiding his eyes.
He took them with a polite, “Thanks,” and I caught sight of his calloused palm. I flushed again because that was so manly.
So manly? Oh, for goodness sake, Harlow. It was a freaking hand.
I fished out a can of tonic and a cup of ice while Marcelle handed over a vodka, placing them on his tray atop a napkin, then taking his payment. If my hands could stop shaking now, that would be great.
“Would you like me to pour half? Or all?” I forced myself to look at him and my heart gave a hard pound to find him still watching me so…fully.
“All of it,” he said in a slow drawl. I don’t think he was trying to be sexy, but damn. He was.
I cursed my sweating hands as I twisted off the top and poured it over the ice, shaking out the last drop, then popping open his can for him.
“Well.” I wiped my hand down my navy polyester skirt and managed to smile at him. And then he grinned and held up the cup. Holy. My smile faltered as lust kicked me in the uterus at the sight.
“Coffee,” Marcelle called. I jumped and stared at her, startled out of whatever that was. She looked at me weird. Oh, coffee! I poured the steaming nectar from the carafe into her cup, then turned my attention to the second guy in the row, also in camo. They all were, now that I took a second to glance up. The entire rest of the plane was military. It made my heart swell a little.
“What can I get you, sir?” I asked the next gentleman.
He glanced at the man I’d just served. “Are we allowed to drink, sir?”
“Just one.” The first man gave a nod and I realized he looked a bit older than the others. He must’ve been their commanding officer.
“A light beer, please,” said the soldier. “Oh, and a Coke.”
“Pretzels or cookies?” I asked.
