He was probably right, she thought. Since her parents had died, she'd felt increasingly isolated. People had been very kind to her and supported her through her grief, but she'd pulled back into her own world, and now all she could do was tell other people how lazy and boring they were. She would go away and experience something else in the world. She'd get a job in another country.
That evening she sat alone in what used to be her parents’ home, and was now hers, and searched the internet for journalism jobs.
“London,” she muttered. “Hundreds of jobs.” George had hit the nail on the head, she told herself. She needed to put her words into action. She had more than enough money to tide her over until she found a good job, and she could get an agent to look after her house in the US.
“Six hundred bucks. Okay,” she said as she hit the “BOOK” key on the British Airways website.
*****
“This happens to me every time I fly,” a short man said as he raked his hand over the sweat covering his bald head. “You'd think with better technology airlines would be able to get their act together, but no, they make all the excuses under the sun for their tardiness.”
“This is the first international flight I've ever taken,” Olivia said as she stared at the departures board. “It just says delayed. Don't they have to give a reason?”
“My dear girl, you are very naive if you think they would tell their customers anything. They are perfectly happy to take our money. But tell us what's happening when things go wrong? Never.” The man had a British accent; he sounded very much like Prince Charles to Olivia's untrained ear. “If I were you, I'd go to the information desk and ask, but all they'll say is that they can't be held liable and that it's not their fault.”
She went to the British Airways help desk and waited in a long line of disgruntled passengers. When it was her turn, the lady in a blue and red uniform told her exactly what the man had said she would say.
“I'm sorry, but it's beyond our control, and we certainly can't be held liable.”
“But can you give me any idea at all when the plane is likely to leave?”
“I'm sorry. I can't at the moment. Please keep your eye on the departures board.”
Olivia, like all the others, turned away none the wiser and considerably more disgruntled.
“Frustrating, isn't it?” a man said just as Olivia sat down where she could watch the flight board.
“Yes, very,” she answered without looking at him.
“I assume you're going to London?” he asked.
Jesus, you're the hottest piece of man meat I've ever seen, she thought when she did eventually look at him. It had been a long time since she'd had sex, and she'd found that she was thinking increasingly lurid thoughts whenever she saw a hot man. This guy, however, was more than hot, and her thoughts began to run away from her. Any position you want, she thought. All I ask is that you do me really hard.
“Going to London?” he asked again when he noticed how she was staring at him but not offering an answer.
“Er...yes. Sorry. Yes, I'm going to London,” she eventually said.
“I'm afraid it looks like we're in for a long wait,” he said.
“Yes. They don't seem to be able to tell us anything. That's the worst part.”
“It's par for the course,” he said.
She looked more closely at him and decided she would not only let him take her in any position he wanted but also at any time he chose. He was sitting in the row behind her, and she'd turned around to talk to him. Little was she aware that the third button on her blouse had slipped open and he was being treated to a wholesome view.
“Why are you trying to get to London?” she asked.
“Business,” he said without revealing anything. She tried to guess what kind of business. He didn't fit the boring banker category, and neither did he look like an accountant, a lawyer, or a salesman. In fact, if she had to pick a profession for him, she would have picked something dangerous, like a mercenary, a policeman, a private detective, or even some kind of criminal.
“Bank robber,” she said without meaning to—it just slipped out.
“What? You think I'm a bank robber?”
She turned crimson. Shit, get a grip, she told herself. “Sorry. I was trying to guess your profession. You look like the kind of man who would do something slightly illegal or dangerous for a job.”
“No. Actually, what I do is very mundane. But very lucrative.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is?” she said.
“Are you going to come and have a coffee with me?” he replied.
“Yes,” she said immediately. She cringed when she noticed her blouse. Not only do you say yes to him immediately, like some kind of overgrown schoolgirl, but you show him all your attractions for free, she thought.
The Thirsty Flier was a plastic paradise in the middle of the departure lounge. It was packed with passengers as frustrated as Olivia. They found two chairs against a back wall and sat under a fake palm tree.
“Why are you going to London? Modeling?”