I had really made it finally. All those years of hard work and bum kissing finally paid off. I was about to climb the tall ramp leading to the company airplane. I didn't then, nor do I now, know what kind of plane it was. I knew it was some kind of large four engine jet for sure. The ramp was tall and there were no propellers.
Inside the plane I found a small passenger compartment. I was surprised to find only a dozen or so seats in the compartment. The rear of the plane was walled off. I supposed there was a rank thing even in our company. I really was surprised since I had always been told everyone was equal in the company.
I remember thinking, as I looked at the wall separating me from what I presumed were the higher ups, that it must be like communism. All are equal, some are just more equal. I sat in the seat assigned to me by a window while I fumed. I had worked damned hard for the company. I won my trip to the Tiny island of Bimbo through some damn fine work. I resented being singled out to sit in the front of the plane while others travelled in what I considered a more luxurious manner. I had absolutely no facts on which to base the thought.
I was not only the only woman in the regular class compartment, I was the only person. The steward, who spent almost all his time in the rear, explained that mine was the first stop on the pickup route.
It seemed that we barely made it into the air before the plane began to descend again. The second stop was in a town slightly larger than my own. We were on the ground only a few minutes when the tall grey-haired man entered. He was shown to the window seat directly across the aisle from me. I smiled as the steward introduced us.
"Mr. Miles this is Mrs Stanley." After those words the steward disappeared again into the closed compartment.
"How nice to meet you Mrs, Stanley." He said it from his seat by the window. "I suppose you are one of the contest winners?"
"Why yes are you?" I asked it because he had a way about him. Something that gave him an air of authority. If he were a simple salesman like me, he had to be the best one ever. The suit he wore looked as though it cost more than everything in my closet at home.
"Not this year," he replied with a warm smile. He did not go on to explain his rather cryptic remark.
I smiled at the rather imposing man, then returned to my own thoughts. Those thoughts were not very exciting for a woman on her way to a south sea island vacation. A whole month away from the family, hell it would have been a vacation if it had been in the bowels of Calcutta. At thirty-eight I was tired of raising kids and a husband. Yes I meant raising a husband. Bobby, you can tell by the name, never grew up at all. Counting Bobby, I had three kids without him only two. Both the real children were late into their teen years. The three of them assured me they could do just fine without me for the month. Sure they could, the house would be filled with Mcdonalds wrappers and mould when I returned.
I shook my head. I did not intend to allow thoughts of them living in a sty to ruin the first real vacation I had ever had. I looked over to Mr. Miles across the way. He was looking out the window deep in thought. His seat companion was a briefcase, even it screamed class. The case was real leather she was sure. It couldn't have contained any plastic or fiberglass. That case just screamed, I am custom made and cost more than you make a week.
The plane began a descent into the wispy summer clouds over God only knew what town. Again, we were on the ground, only a moment or two when another company employee entered the cabin. The man looked less polished than the first one who sat by the window. The new arrival was seated by the window behind me.
"Mr. Edwards, this is Mrs. Stanley and Mr. Miles." With those words the steward again disappeared into the rear compartment.
"Hi everybody, my name is Martin," the newest arrival said.
"They call me Bess." I said even though no one had called me that in almost twenty years.
"I am Thomas Miles." The older man said then went on. "I am the executive vice president of the sales Division. He didn't need to say that no one called him Tom or Thomas.
"It is certainly nice to meet you Mr. Miles. I didn't recognize you from the picture in the monthly news letter."
"That Mrs. Stanley is because I refuse to have a new picture made. That one is ten years old. I like to think of myself as still forty." His laugh was very honest and appealing. "I am afraid I suffer from the same vanity as everyone else.
"Yes we are all vain to some degree," Martin Edwards agreed. In his case it was the very obvious toupee. "What is your vanity Mrs. Stanley?"
"Oh Lord, I have so many. Let me see, I dye away the grey in my hair." I stopped right there. I had no intention of explaining the fancy spandex undergarments I wore.
"I think it is time to change the subject," Mr. Miles said. Pretty soon we will be listing all our operations. So how about telling me how many children you each have."
"I have two lovely girls," I replied.
"Any how many beastly boys?" Martin asked.
"None, I am afraid."
"I have two boys and a girl and believe me you didn't miss a thing. My wife says the girl is a joy and the boys are a nightmare," Martin replied.
"Your kids must be small," I replied. "Girls are hell in their teen years."
"True mine are all under twelve, but they are hellions. If they get any worse, I may have to consider military school."
"I am sorry to admit my wife and I do not have children." Mr. Miles seemed sad to be reporting it.
He looked as though he took it as a personal affront. That somehow his lack of children equated to a less manly man. At least that was how it looked to me. I almost said something about adoption but I knew it would be the wrong thing to say. Instead I gave him a sympathetic smile.
"Well Mr. Miles if you miss it too much I think I could part with one of my brats," Martin said with a grin.
"So how many more winners do we have to pick up?" I asked it because I knew the subject needed changing.
"Just one more," Mr. Miles replied with a smile.
"Oh, I thought there would be more than just three of us?" It was a question and he recognized it.
"No. This time there are just three of you. We set the goal high because we wanted to find the most elite of the elite. Three of you made it over the bar, the rest didn't."
"Did you expect so few?" I asked.
"Frankly, I had no idea, how many, if any of you would make it."
"So you made it almost impossible to make the grade?" Martin asked.
