Page 101 of Come Fly with Me

Moving to the table, I fire up my laptop and open my email, my fingers itching, my whole body restless and needing to do something while I try to process everything that’s just happened.

I notice an email from Reece, who’s currently in New Zealand, but who has still somehow managed to help me out.

“Fuck me,” I murmur as soon as my eyes scan the list of names he’s sent me. “Shit, this is good,” I say to myself. “This is really fucking good.”

Knowing I have to move quickly, especially in light of tonight’s revelation, I quickly fire off a group email to everyone on the list, outlining the situation, what I need and asking them for not just their support, but the support of anyone else in the industry they think will be willing to help.

Then I log off, knowing it’s late and everyone is spread around the globe and there is no point sitting here and waiting for the replies to come in.

So I head to bed, taking my half-drunk beer with me. But as I slide under the covers, the sheets feeling empty and cold without Taylor, I find myself reaching for my phone, opening up the message app and typing.

Me: It was really great to see you today. I’ve missed you, Taylor…so much. Thank you for hearing me out, for letting me tell you my side of the story. I know you’re pissed still, I don’t blame you. And I know I have a lot of work to do to earn back your trust, but just know, I’m willing to do that. I’m willing to do anything for you. I’m in LA for the next 5 days and I would really love to see you again, so… Anyway, I’m not drunk right now in case you were wondering. This is me, stone cold sober telling you I…

I pause, my fingers hovering over the keys as I contemplate exactly what I am trying to tell her right now. That I love her? Yeah, absolutely. But it’s not the kind of thing you say in a text message for fuck’s sake.

…telling you I hope you had a good day today and I hope I hear from you soon. Good night, beautiful xx

The next morning, there’s no reply from her, although I can tell the message hasn’t been read yet. So instead I open my email to find my inbox filled with replies, and not just from pilots either, but also flight attendants, ground crew, everyone.

Seems a lot of them have heard the news now and they’re all pissed about it.

I straighten, realize I’m smiling like a fucking lunatic as I work my way through my inbox, printing every single message that’s come through overnight. When it’s done, I type up and print my own letter before heading into the bathroom to take a quick shower.

On the way to the airport, I turn up the radio, singing along to the music with a huge grin on my face. I get strange looks from a UPS guy who pulls up alongside me at the lights, but I don’t give a shit because today feels like it’s going to be a really fucking good day.

At the airport, I pull into the crew car park, jumping on the bus even though I’m not working today. A couple of people who sent me emails overnight are onboard and I sit with them, chatting about what I plan to do and thanking them for agreeing to help me with this.

Inside the terminal, I head over to the HR department, making a beeline for the pilot supervisor for Crescent Airways, flashing his PA a quick smile but not bothering to stop and check if it’s okay that I go in, as I breeze past her desk and into his office, shutting the door behind me.

“Can I help you?” a balding guy in his fifties asks as he immediately stands, a worried look on his face.

“I hope so,” I say, still smiling as I lay the stack of emails on his desk.

He glances down at them, his eyes briefly scanning the first one, the one I wrote myself this morning. “What the hell is this?” he asks, his head snapping up.

My smile widens. “Action,” I tell him.

“Action?” he repeats, confused.

“Yep,” I reply, nodding. “And if I were you, I’d suggest you take it seriously,” I add, knowing I’m walking a really fine line here, coming in and swinging my dick about as though I own the place. “Because there’s a lot of letters there,” I add, pointing at the stack of papers. “Which could really screw with the schedule if we were to…”

I trail off, not wanting to actually say the words. Striking is not really something any of us wants to do. Not just because it puts our jobs and our pay at risk, but also because it messes with a lot of people’s lives. Passengers who get stranded somewhere, people who miss holidays or weddings or funerals.

None of that is what we want to do. But at the same time, I can’t just sit back and accept that this is okay either. So I don’t say the words, even though both of us know exactly what I’m talking about.

“How…how did you even…”

“Know about it?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

The guy nods, his mouth open as he leans forward, his hands resting on his desk.

I chuckle. “It’s an incestuous business, the airline industry,” I say, smiling. “Which means,” I add, leaning forward a little. “When you fuck with one of us, you’re fucking with all of us.”

I watch as he swallows hard, glancing down at the stack of emails again before he finally lifts his head and gestures to the chair.

“I think you’d better sit down.”

Thirty-Five

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