Getting Real

11. Sky Train



Jake had coffee, toast, and Zanect for breakfast in his hotel room. He’d managed to snag a seat on the same flight as both Ice Queen and Problem Children, but he was pleased they’d be in business class while he rode down the back with the ordinary folk. The less chance they had to see him sweat, the better.

After a long night and an early morning trip to the stadium to check on the road crew and make sure Bonne was stowed away safely, he was feeling liquid tired. All he wanted was to be seated as far away from the windows as possible, a no fuss boarding, and to sleep through the next three hours.

He avoided the airline lounge and headed straight for the gate. He was hoping to board without seeing anyone. Time enough to deal with them in Perth, and even then, Sharon had that covered, so he wasn’t going to be needed for anything.

Seat 25E was just what Jake ordered. It was in the middle block of seats towards the back of the plane with no view other than the row of seats in front. He stowed his bag, belted up, closed his eyes, and waited. One knee was doing a nervous jiggle in the seat well, but he was breathing normally. He tried to focus on black, on nothingness, on a void of zero. He tried to sleep. That meant putting aside the question of whether the road crew had gotten away on time, the list of things he wanted to accomplish during the Perth stadium inspection, the reminder to have Bodge order more spare parts for the trapeze, Issy’s birthday, and the strangest impression that Rielle had been crying on the back of the bike last night.

They’d not talked at all, just rode through the suburbs and along the beach front. But when she got off Bonne outside her hotel, and handed him the helmet, her face was pale, and she avoided eye contact. He said goodnight to her rigid back as she went through the hotel door. He didn’t get her at all. One minute monster diva, the next clinging to him like it meant something. The only thing he was certain about Rielle Mainline was that she was a born performer on stage and off.

Rielle liked Jonathan, but he talked too much. In the cab, in the lounge, boarding and now in their business class seats, Jonathan talked. He talked band politics, hotels, microphone technique and favourite Perth nightclubs, without needing an air refill. Taller than Rand, Jonathan had long delicate fingers, knobbly wrists and elbows and narrow knees that almost grazed the seat in front. He also had fast flitting eyes and a quick wit. He made it very plain he was interested in hooking up.

She sat in the aisle seat next to Jonathan with Roley across from them. Twice since boarding, Roley had managed to poke her across the expanse of walkway to indicate he was on to Jonathan. More than twice, Rielle had tried to give Jonathan the signal to shut up. She was flicking through the in-flight magazine for the second time when it dawned on her she had a legitimate excuse to escape and avoid having to be direct with him.

Jake was sitting alone in his row at the back of the plane. He had his eyes closed and was gripping both armrests. Rielle could tell by the tension in his hands he wasn’t asleep. She slipped into the empty aisle seat beside him and nodded her thanks to the attendant who’d found him.

It seemed like a great idea to come and check on Jake five minutes ago, but now she was here, she was unsure what to do. It was her fault he was white knuckling it. Maybe it would be smart to just sit here quietly, and after take-off go back to her seat. He might not even notice her.

“Did they boot you out of business?” he said, interrupting her reverie and any hope of sneaking away.

She smiled. “No, I’m being a good little rock diva. I came to check on you.”

He opened one eye and angled it towards her. “I’m alive and not sweating if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I can see that.”

“Since you’re concerned, it would be better for me if you’d let me tough this out alone.”

“Oh, right.” She unbuckled and stood, but an attendant signalled her sternly with a wagging finger, to sit again. “Ah, I’ll have to stay,” she said, over the sound of the engines revving.

She watched Jake grip the armrest harder. He had both eyes open now, and was breathing deeply. On impulse she put her hand over his and he flipped his palm and wrapped his fingers though hers, holding tightly.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, looking down into his lap. He was embarrassed but he wasn’t letting go.

They stayed that way, hands gripped tightly; forearms pressed together, until take-off completed, the plane levelled out and the intercom opened.

The Captain said, “Folks, we’re expecting some turbulence so we’re going to keep the fasten seat belts sign on and ask you to stay seated for a while. We’ll let you know when it’s safe to move around the cabin.”

“Figures,” said Jake through gritted teeth. He relaxed his hold on her hand, but didn’t let go. “It seems to be my lot in life to have you witness all my moments of weakness.”

“We all have moments, Jake.” He’d certainly been witness to hers. The screaming match on the broken trapeze for one and he had to know she’d been upset last night.

“I can’t imagine you’re scared of anything.”

She said, “Fear is for failures,” but the aircraft was loud, and there was a kid screaming about the end of the world somewhere close by so there was a chance he’d missed it.

“What did you say?”

She dropped her head and let go of his hand.

He tried again, twisting his head to look at her. “What did you say, Rie?”

She could lie. Invent something. She could leave, seat belt warning be damned. But it was the truth, her truth anyway. “I said fear is for failures.” She projected into the back of the seat in front, then turned to face him to make sure he got it. “I can’t afford to be frightened of anything, Jake.”

He breathed out, his eyes clouding. “Fear is how we grow, Rielle. Everyone is frightened sometimes.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s what cripples us. Just look at you.”

Jake turned his face away, but she caught his expression, no longer professionally polite. He put his finger on the recline button, and pushed his seat back to create some distance from her. His voice came out hard, short. “You should go back to your seat.”

The only sound Jake wanted to hear was the ping of the fasten seat belt sign going out, but the kid kept yelling, his head filled with aircraft noise and Rielle sat on by his side trapped by the threat of turbulence.

How apt. She was turbulence personified in her rock chick armour, with her tough mouth, harder look and her in your face attitude. He had to be wrong about the crying. Rielle Mainline’s tear ducts would’ve dried up and rusted shut long ago.

He tried to relax, closed his eyes. Tried to will himself to sleep. But the part of him that was eased by the drug was also uninhibited enough to be spoiling for a fight. The sooner Rielle left his side, the better it would be for both of them.

But QF587 had other plans. When they hit the first pocket of turbulence, it jolted all of the passengers in their seats, shocking enough to make the wailing kid stop to draw breath. Jake pressed himself back into the seat and hugged the darkness behind his eyes, one leg bouncing a quick, continuous, nervous heel beat in the cramped leg space.

Rielle said, “Are you okay?”

“Sure, I’m having a lovely time.”

“I… ah…” She stumbled on her response, but her actions were precise; she put her hand to his shoulder.

Jake’s eyes rocked open, and he shifted sideways to get away from her touch. “You wouldn’t want to get infected by my failures, Rielle. Go back to where you belong.”

She pulled her hand away. “Jake, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” He was wired with irritation. “Fallible, frightened, human. Real. Rielle, I might be scared of heights, but at least I’m real. What about you, is there anything about you that’s real?”

She frowned at him: eyebrows under her mop of multicoloured hair drawn together, a green garnet winking on her nose, the corners of her blackberry coloured lips turned down, silver jewelled crucifixes dangling in her ears.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He sat forward, bringing his face up close to hers. “You’re a complete fake, Rielle. It’s all an act with you, the whole gritty rock chick thing.” He snorted when he saw her surprised blink. “Do you even know who you are under that paint and dye, out of those slut’s clothes?” Her violet eyes were wide now—another thing about her that was fake. He was so close he could see the rim of her contact lens. “Leave me alone. Go back to where you belong.”

Jake slumped back in his seat in time for another air pocket to jolt the aircraft, and he barely noticed it, or the renewed wailing of the miserable kid. And when the plane lurched suddenly to the right, and the people sitting near made a collective, ‘Ohh’, of surprise, he felt fine. He wasn’t going to die, not today and not with her sitting beside him. He wouldn’t be so lucky. He shot a quick glance at her; the frown was a full blown angry scowl, and she had her arms folded tight. He wasn’t unhappy about that.

The plane took another sharp lurch to the right, and the overhead lockers rattled. The Captain said, “Sorry folks, that was a rough ride, but we’re out of the storm pattern now. We expect clear sailing til we touch down.”

Jake heard the clack of Rielle releasing her belt seconds before the ping of the seat-belt sign. As the Captain said, “The weather in Perth is fine, and hot at thirty-eight degrees,” she was out of her seat and headed back up the aisle.

Now he would sleep. He closed his eyes and thanked Zanect for making everything all right.