“Wait,” she said, understanding dawning. “This is your row.”
“Now it’s yours.” He glanced at the document in his hand. “I’m in 35C. Center seat. My favorite.”
She shook her head. “No, you are not giving me your first-class seat.”
“Business class,” he said, “and you need your rest. You have meetings tomorrow, right?”
He left her with a wave.
She sank into the plush leather. Never had someone pampered her like he did.
The stewardess offered her champagne, warmed nuts, an appetizer on a ceramic plate, and freshly baked rolls. After her vegetarian meal, dessert arrived. Orchid thanked the server, then took the lemon bar and rose from her seat. She walked back to where Phoenix was seated, his six-foot frame asleep between a portly grandfather-type bent over a crossword puzzle and a sullen teenager lit up by her phone. There was a tin of tomato-smeared pasta and an untouched roll left abandoned on Phoenix’s tray. Gratitude swelled in her chest.
“May I borrow your pencil?” she asked the gentleman. He looked up at her blankly, so she tried again. “Votre stylo, s’il vous plait?” He handed over the pencil and she scribbled a message on this untouched beverage napkin, leaving it under the lemon treat.
Orchid swayed back to the front of the plane, passing through the curtain and into Business Class. Her steps were unsteady, as much from her emotions as turbulence.
She settled into her seat and stretched her stockinged feet onto the elevated leg rest, so flat that became a bed, then pulled a comforter over herself. She tucked the soft pillow under her cheek. It was like a caress that whispered,He loves you. No, that was impossible! Where had that come from? She didn’t even want that, right?
A decade-old wish surfaced. For someone to know her. For her needs to be seen. To be cared for.
The hum of the fuselage soothed her. She felt such longing. When had she ever been attended to in this way?
The plane was preparing to land at Charles deGalle Airport. It was eight in the morning. Orchid stretched, depressed the seat button until she was upright, and slipped on her shoes.
The purser plucked her blanket from the floor and folded it into a neat square. “We still have time for a warm croissant, if you like.”
“Non, merci.” Orchid shook her head, and he left with a smile.
Outside the window, clouds wisped against a brilliant aqua backdrop.
“Trés belle, n’est pas?” noted her seatmate, glancing towards the view.
“Oui,” Orchid agreed. And indeed, the bright sky was lovely. Yet again, she was warmed by Phoenix’s thoughtfulness. She’d never flown in business class before.
A few mild bumps, and they were on the ground. It took nearly a half-hour to taxi to the terminal, and then another twenty minutes to deplane. Orchid retrieved her suitcase and laptop and left the plane. She waited in the gate for Phoenix. Each successive wave of passengers looked more haggard, as if the rear of the plane had bounced them into exhaustion.
Phoenix sauntered off the plane and into the terminal. His rumpled, button-down look was like studied elegance for a men’s cologne ad. He was conversing with the elderly man who’d been his seatmate. When he spotted Orchid, he bid the gentleman goodbye with “Au revoir.”
“You speak French, too?” she asked when he joined her.
They set off, traversing the cavernous terminal, passing through enormous glass tubes that carried them towards the passport control area.
“Bien sur,” he replied.
“You might try to give us mere mortals a chance,” she joked.
“Feisty. Sounds like you slept well.”
“I did. That was nice of you. Really.”
“I wasn’t fishing for a thank you, but you’re welcome.”
They showed their passports, got them stamped, then followed the crowd heading toward the front of the terminal. After passing through Customs, they were met with a wall of drivers holding signs exhibiting the names of passengers.
Phoenix gave a small nod towards a placard revealing WALKER, nodded to the woman holding the sign, and she stepped forward to greet him. “Would you like a hand with your bag?” she offered in English, in a pretty lilt making her vowels soft and round.
“No, thank you,” they both responded.
