I kind of liked it. Not that I was taking pleasure in his discomfort, of course. More that it was a bit of a relief to see a man who looked like him show a touch of vulnerability.
“You alright over there?” I asked, as the plane broke through the cloud barrier, the Denver metro area disappearing beneath it.
“Fine.” He said again through gritted teeth. “Be even better when I have a drink in my hand.”
“I’m right there with you. One of my favorite pre-flight rituals has always been to hit up the airport bar and have a nice glass of white wine. Something about it just makes the flight go so much smoother, you know? A glass of that, a Dramamine, and before I know it, I fell asleep on the plane and I’m already there! Of course, in order to do that you’d need to actually show up on time.” I hung my head.
He said nothing in response. I went on anyway, feeling like maybe if I talked, it would distract him from his anxiety.
“God, you should’ve been there to see the whole debacle with getting out of the house today. You ever have one of those trips where you leave, and as soon as your butt’s in the car you realize you forgot something? Then after you go back to get it you realize that you forgot somethingelse? It was one of those days.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see that his gaze was still fixed forward.
“Anyway, traffic was a killer. But I already mentioned that. My heart was pounding, and my forehead was covered in sweat once I got to the gate. I strolled up to the agent and told him I needed to check in and that I’m running really late. He looks up my name and, you’ll never guess, tells me that I didn’t have a freaking ticket! See, I’m going to this work conference, and I’d assumed my boss had already bought me a ticket, but it turns out I am gettingreimbursedfor buying one.”
I gestured to the seat. “That’s why I’m in first class. Normally, I’d never splurge on something like a damn flight, but the guy at the gate told me that the only seats they had available were in First Class. So, here I am in a seat for a three-hour flight that cost almost a thousand dollars. Then again, not like I’m paying for it, right?” I glanced over at Valentino and winked.
As I looked at him, I noticed outside of the window that we were leveling out at cruising altitude. Sure enough, a chime sounded through the plane with the captain’s voice confirming it seconds after.
“I believe that’s our cue to take off our belts and start to relax a bit,” I said.
Valentino closed his eyes and took in a deep, slow breath before opening them once more. I could sense that, while he was a little calmer now that we were up in the air, he still wasn’t quite at ease.
I checked my watch. “Well, look at the time!” I held it in front of him. “I think we’re now entitled to a little something to drink.”
He glanced in my direction, finally breaking the death stare he’d had with the back of the seat in front of him since we’d taken off.
“Yeah. Let’s do that.”
I flagged down the flight attendant, and she hurried on over.
“Hey,” I started. “So, I know you’re not doing drink service just yet, but we’ve got a brave little flier here who just survived takeoff without having a full-blown fit.”
Val let out a snort of a laugh, shaking his head. “Smartass.”
“Now, he’s working up the nerve to see if you’ll let him in the cockpit to meet the pilots and get one of those cool pins. To that end, would you be so kind as to bring a pair of neat whiskey’s for me and the tough guy?”
She smiled. “Why yes I would.”
With that, she headed off to the drink cart.
“You keep making fun of my fear of flying like that,” Val said, “And you just might hurt my feelings.”
“I doubt that.” I replied. “You strike me as the kind of guy who’s never cried once in his life, probably not even while he was in diapers.”
“Not even then. I was a totally stone-faced baby. Nothing bothered me.”
I laughed at the mental image of a tough faced baby Valentino in a diaper . The flight attendant returned a few moments later, placing the drinks in front of us on the tray tables and we thanked her.
“Whiskey neat, huh?” he asked.
“You surprised?” I replied.
“I’d be lying if I said I weren’t a little bit.”
To that, I raised my glass, cleared my throat, and spoke in my best Ron Swanson impression. “Clear liquor is for rich women on a diet.”
I was hoping he’d get the reference. The look on his face, however, made it very clear that wasn’t the case.
