Unaccompanied Minor (14 page)

“How can I forget?” he asked. I took it as a good sign that he gazed at her with admiration, as I knew for a fact that Flo was probably four Bloody Marys to the wind right then. Maybe these two could tolerate each other after all, I thought.

“Flight attendants, please prepare for departure and cross check,” the coordinator instructed over the PA, and with that we backed away from the gate, taxied to the head of the tarmac runway, and took off.

I think about that moment a lot, because if I had gotten a good look earlier at the prisoner Officer Ned was escorting, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe I could have employed a diversionary tactic to bring the aircraft back to the gate. God knows I’m capable.

But like I said, my situational awareness had been compromised by the distraction of surrounding events. So when the plane had reached a comfortable cruising altitude and the fasten-seatbelt sign was turned off, and when Officer Ned had arisen to allow his handcuffed prisoner access to the restroom at mid galley… I’m haunted by that prisoner’s face and how things might have turned out differently if only I’d seen it earlier.

Because I knew that face. I’d seen it last when he broke down the door to Ash’s condo, grabbed me by the hair, dragged me out of the house, and threw me in the trunk of his car.

I focused on my breathing because I’d heard doing that can calm your anxiety. Surprisingly, it kinda worked, and by the time Old Cinderblock left the lavatory I had almost finished hyperventilating. He didn’t show any signs of recognizing me, which was understandable because of those thick glasses. Beside me, Malcolm was engrossed flipping through the music on his iPad, so he didn’t notice my panic.

Old Cinderblock and Officer Ned were seated at 32A and 32B, the two seats along the window on the pilot’s side of the plane. This meant they were seated with their backs to the mid galley.
That’s a break
, I thought.

“Ladies and gentlemen, once again, welcome aboard WorldAir flight 1021, L-1011 jet service to Los Angeles, California,” the flight attendant announced over the PA system. “The captain has indicated that you are now able to use your electronic devices, though the seatbelt sign is still illuminated, so please stay seated with your seatbelts securely fastened.

“Also,” she continued, “we’d like to extend our congratulations to a pair of newlyweds on board today! WorldAir’s own pilot Ash Manning just married WorldAir’s own Kathy Landry, and today they are on their way back from their honeymoon in the Cayman Islands!”

An anemic spattering of applause rippled through the cabin as I tried to suppress my gag reflex. This could not be good.

“Malcolm,” I said, but then realized he had his headphones on and was listening to Frank Zappa. “Malcolm,” I hissed, yanking the headphones off his ears.

“What?”

“Hand me your notebook, please, and a marker.”

He did as I asked. I opened his notebook to a clean page, scribbled a message, and tore the page off. I put the marker in my bag and turned back to Malcolm.

“Now listen to me, and please don’t ask questions,” I began. I appreciated how his green eyes focused on me with concern. It was so nice to have someone simply believe what I had to say, as opposed to the normal response of the jaded populace (minus LaVonda). “Gather up Captain Beefheart,” I instructed, “and follow me.”

He did as I said without hesitation. I wanted to kiss him. I grabbed my backpack from underneath the seat in front of me, left the note on my seat, and led him toward the back of the plane and through the aft cross-aisle, then up the opposite aisle to the mid galley. Flo had already descended the elevator to the lower galley, and the imposter Brighton McPherson was retrieving the prepared carts she was sending up to him from below.

“There are five other lavatories at the back,” offered one of the flight attendants. She was a tall, heavyset brunette in her late thirties with deep dimples on each cheek when she smiled. Her name badge identified her as Alba Madison, but I knew her as Alby. We’d sat next to each other as nonrev passengers a few months prior. She was in her third year of law school and had given me a sympathetic ear and some sound advice regarding my mother’s custody trial. I could tell she didn’t place me right away, and I debated refreshing her recollection.

“Hi, Alby, it’s April,” I said. Oh, what the hell.

She clapped her hand over her mouth in surprise. “Why hi, honey! I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you right away! But can you blame me? Look at you! Your hair and face, all done up. Don’t you look all grown-up with those black slacks and white blouse? You almost look like one of us. Don’t walk up and down the aisle too much or people will start demanding drinks from you!”

I blushed as she fussed over me for a bit, then I introduced her to Malcolm.

“It might be easier for you to use the lavs in the back,” she repeated to him, as the ones near where we stood were being blocked by the flight attendant activities.

“Um, Malcolm needs to use this lavatory because it’s the only one with a diaper changing table,” I said, indicating Beefheart. This didn’t make much sense at all. Beefheart was not only not a baby, but he wasn’t wearing diapers, either, dirty or otherwise.

Luckily flight attendants are a pretty accepting bunch. If, for whatever reason, this boy needed the special lavatory with a drop-down changing table for his emotional support animal, far be it for them to question it. Alby simply smiled brightly and told us they’d be out of our way shortly. Not everybody was on board with that, though.

“Hey, I told you to put that dog away,” the imposter Brighton McPherson sneered at Malcolm. Luckily, there was another flight attendant in the galley who recognized the significance of Captain Beefheart’s green vest.

“Hey, hey, hold on, Rambo,” she interjected, reaching out to pet Beefheart. “That’s an emotional support pet. He’s on the manifest, see?” She snapped the passenger manifest from a clip between the two elevator doors and showed it to him. “Emotional support pets are allowed outside their carriers.”

“Oh,” said the imposter Brighton McPherson. “Well, I… I didn’t know.”

“What do you mean,
you didn’t know
?” she scolded. Her badge revealed her name to be Ramona Thibodaux. She looked to be in her mid-forties with an explosion of dyed-black hair, fake breasts, and a body like a brick house. It occurred to me that she was the crew coordinator. I remembered from helping Flo and my mother prepare for their recurrent training that the flight attendant coordinator often came back to direct the mid galley on L-1011 aircrafts.

“It’s right there in our manual,” she reminded the imposter Brighton McPherson. I was starting to love this woman.

“Right, I know, I forgot,” he stammered, pulling the plastic sheet off a sleeve of Styrofoam cups before placing them next to the coffee server on top of the beverage cart.

“Maybe if you’d made it to briefing today instead of barely getting here in time for boarding….”

She griped at him some more, then directed her attention to Malcolm. “Okay, darling. You just do what you need to do.” She cupped Beefheart’s face in her hands. “Ooooh, isn’t he the cutest little itty bitty honey bunny butter bottoms
in the whole wide world
?” Then she covered Beefheart’s snuffly, gnarly, and decidedly
un
-honey butter bottoms face with kisses. It was official. I loved this woman.

Beefheart wiggled his tail-stub and grunted adorably at Ramona’s attention. Malcolm made appreciative noises, as well, and soon the coach-class flight attendants had finished preparing their carts and been dispatched to their respective starting points along the aisles of the aircraft.

The coast was clear, so I grabbed the passenger manifest from its clip and pressed the button to call one of the elevators. The two elevators on an L-1011 are little more than dumbwaiters, really. They’re only sixteen inches wide but as deep as a meal cart, so they can accommodate two people (or one cart) at a time. Once inside, the only way they can be operated is by flipping two toggle switches simultaneously. The switches are on either side of the interior, so it’s impossible to control it with just one hand. This design was intentional, as a “legacy” of earlier-model L-1011s revealed the propensity for injury when the design was different.

“Ripped her arm clean off,” Flo had told me, though I’m sure it was an exaggeration.

So now the toggle switches are located on either wall to ensure that both hands are being occupied inside the elevator when it’s in use. This can be overridden by the control panels on the outside, as the flight attendants need to be able to send the meal and beverage carts up and down. The elevators cannot operate at all, though, if either door isn’t closed securely.

So, even though the elevators at the mid galley of an L-1011 are made for the tight transport of two people and single service carts, if you’re not shy, you can add in one wiggle-butted emotional support animal, if need be.

“This is so
totally awesome
,” Malcolm said as we descended. “I can’t wait to tell my dad about this.”

“Malcolm, you can’t tell
anyone
about this!”

“Oh, right.”

The elevator didn’t descend without warning, so when Malcolm and I, along with Captain Beefheart, made our way into the lower galley, Flo had already doused her cigarette and was screwing the cap back onto her thermos of Bloody Marys when she caught sight of us through the glass window of the elevator access door.

“Oh, what the
hell
?” She rolled her eyes. “I just flushed a perfectly good cigarette, April. You were supposed to wait for me to come get you. What’s going on?”

“Flo, let me explain….” I began as I stepped off the elevator, revealing Malcolm and Beefheart behind me.

“Seriously,
what the hell
?” Flo groused. “This is all I need, Boy Wonder and his Underdog. My ass is gettin’ fired now. Say goodbye to free flight benefits and forty-six years of pension.” She shook her head, tapped another menthol from her pack, and lit it.

“You can smoke down here?” Malcolm asked.

“No,” Flo said, drawing deeply on her cigarette.

We stood by the sink at the side of the elevators so Flo could exhale directly into the drain. I asked them to gather close so I wouldn’t have to raise my voice over the sound of the engines. As Malcolm suppressed his coughs through Flo’s smoke, I told them everything that had transpired over the past two and a half weeks—the kidnapping, Jalyce, the escape, the lock-up at the hospital, the escape, Kathy Landry, Old Cinderblock, Officer Ned, the escape, everything—including and up to a few minutes prior, when all the above parties, minus Jalyce but including Ash, had boarded the plane.

When I finished they simply looked at me, as though their minds needed a moment or two to digest what I’d told them. Just as they opened their mouths to pelt me with a million questions, I remembered the imposter Brighton McPherson.

“Oh, and there’s an imposter on the plane.” I pulled the pairing summary that listed the crew names from my backpack. I like to print them out in the crew lounge or the Flight Clubs before the flights if I can. “The male flight attendant, here, Brighton McPherson. That’s not him up there—” I pointed to the cabin above us. “—that’s an imposter. I met the real Brighton McPherson a week ago, and that guy up there is not him.”

Flo blinked. Malcolm looked like he was still processing everything I’d told him. We all jumped out of our skins when the intercom, which was always set to the highest volume so it could be heard above the engines, buzzed into action: “Trash cart coming down!”

“That’s him!” I whispered sharply, indicating the voice on the intercom. “That’s the imposter Brighton McPherson.”

We jumped again when we heard the loud mechanical churning of the elevator as it made its descent. If there was indeed a cart in there, there would be no room for the imposter, but still Flo directed us to stand flush with the crew luggage shelves behind the jumpseat on the other side of the sink. This kept us from being seen from the vantage of the elevator door as the car made its descent.

“It’s too early for them to send down trash carts,” I said. “They just started the service.”

“I know,” Flo said, taking a last drag from her cigarette before dousing it in the sink. “Stay back here, and don’t come out unless I tell you.”

She went to stand before the elevator door and out of our eyesight. “It’s a trash cart all right,” she called. I heard her open the elevator door and struggle to pull the cart off the stabling ballast on the elevator car floor. “This is a heavy sucker.”

She finally succeeded in pulling it out of the elevator, and I heard her flip open its flat metal lid. “Oh,
what the hell
?”

“What is it?” I jumped out from around the corner, Malcolm and Beefheart at my heels.

“Kids, didn’t I tell you to stay back there?” She sounded more concerned than annoyed.

Malcolm obliged politely and returned to his spot, but I continued forward and peered down at the opening on the trash cart lid, then jumped back in alarm.