Mid-Air Collusion

As I stepped off the escalator, depositing me at the departure lounge at Schiphol International airport, I was still heatedly composing the letter of complaint in my head.

"Dear British Airways, upon arriving at Heathrow airport this evening for my scheduled flight to JFK, imagine my anger when I discovered that it had been delayed and diverted via Amsterdam, resulting in the fact that I would not arrive in New York until the early hours of the following morning."

I sighed as I made my way to a row of three vacant seats and sat down on the middle of the three, briefcase by my side. I'd be over half way there by now if things had gone to plan.

I opened my case, took out a newspaper and began flicking through the pages, pondering how best I could pass the 40-minute wait. The newspaper offered little comfort, as I'd already read it on the way over from London. I stood up and strolled over to a waste bin and tossed in the dog-eared journal. I paused for an instant, stifled a yawn and stretched my arms, more out of boredom than any desire to flex my muscles. Turning to walk back, I became aware of a young woman who had decided to occupy the seat next to my briefcase. I sighed again. This was just not my day, I thought. I should call the whole thing off here and now and head back home.

As I approached the invader of my space, I realised just how pretty she was. She was slim, with tanned skin and wonderfully dark curly hair. She seemed entranced in the book she was reading and at first was oblivious to me standing over her. As I picked up my case, she looked up momentarily, smiled at me and returned to her book. In that one instant I was both incensed by her apparent disconcern that she had stolen my seat, as well as totally enchanted by her smile. On the one hand I wanted to let her know how ignorant I considered her; on the other I wanted to take her hand and tell her how beautiful I thought she was. I wanted to get as far away from her as possible out of anger. Yet at the same time I desired to sit down next to her. Resolving my dilemma, I compromised and slung my briefcase down onto a seat more or less opposite her and sat down next to it.

With no newspaper to occupy myself, I was thankful for the overhead screen directly above her. Leaning back in my seat, I began to study the departure information with apparent interest. Every so often I found my eyes lowering towards her, stealing a glance. I watched her eager eyes move as she scoured the pages of her book. She looked relaxed and at one with herself. Back up to the departure screen, flight to JFK – wait in lounge. Back down again, a pretty cotton skirt and a loose fitting blouse, bare legs and slip on shoes. Up again, flight to Cairo – delayed until 23:30. Back down again, she turned a page, looking about her as she did so. Up again, flight to Madrid – go to Gate 17. Down, she flicked the hair from out of her eyes. Up, flight to Bonn – boarding.

And then down again. She was staring back at me. I didn't realise at first, such was the rhythm of my glances. I must have looked a little shocked when I did become aware, for she began to laugh, but concealed it well by smiling instead. I smiled back and she quickly returned to her book. I too quickly looked up again to hide my embarrassment. Flight to JFK – go to Gate 25, followed almost immediately by an announcement stating the same. I stood up, picked up my briefcase and paused for a moment as I searched for a sign to Gate 25.

"Gate 25 is this way," a pleasant voice said in a rich European accent.

I turned and there she was by my side, a large leather handbag slung over her shoulder, her book in her hand. She caught me by surprise and before I could thank her she was off, walking away from me. I looked on for a moment as she headed towards Gate 25. As if in a trance I began to follow her, almost not caring where she was off to. If she was boarding my flight to New York, then so be it. If she wasn't, I wasn't sure I wanted to go there anymore! But as she joined the ever-growing queue at Gate 25, a rush of sheer panic and excitement came over me and I suddenly felt 16 again.

It seemed to take me an eternity to board the plane after I had watched her disappear through the departure gate from my position in the queue. I felt sure she was by now deep in conversation with some other hopeful. As I made my way through the first class cabin I feared I would see her there, already sipping a cocktail. To my relief she was not, neither did I spy her in club class. As I entered the economy section of the plane the reality of the situation struck me for the first time. There was very little chance I would actually see her again, let alone talk to her. As if resigning myself to defeat I glanced at my boarding card and set my sights on the aisle seat of row 35. Judging from the queue of passengers waiting to board the plane, I was under the impression that the flight was full. Yet as I made my way towards the rear of the aircraft I was aware of many empty seats, providing passengers with a little extra welcome space around them. It was when I reached row 30 that I saw her, sitting alone by the window in row 34, once more engrossed in her book. My pulse raced as I considered my next move. Should I even be considering a move? Sitting so close to her, I'd be crazy not to, I thought. She'd surely expect me to. Wouldn't she? Or was I reading too much into that look she had given me earlier. 'Gate 25 is this way,' she had said in an accent I couldn't quite place. She certainly wasn't Dutch, I knew that much. I was too curious to let it go.

Reaching row 34 I leaned forward and politely asked, "Is this seat taken, Miss?" pointing to the aisle seat.

She turned slowly towards me, pausing for a moment before raising her head to look at me. Her eyes moved slowly up my body as if mentally undressing me. When at last our eyes met, she appeared to be concealing yet another smile. It was then that I was finally convinced that I was not imagining the situation.

"Yes, as far as I know, it is," she replied, lowering her eyes back down me before returning to her book.

Was this a cold shoulder, or was she encouraging me to sit down? Or was this simply part of the game we were now playing? I had to act quickly, not wishing to look stupid. I heaved my briefcase up into the overhead locker and sat down in the aisle seat, leaving the vacant seat between us as a symbolic barrier; a no-man's land for one of us to consider breaching at some point during the flight. I figured that should someone turn up, claiming I was in his or her place, I would be able to rescue the situation without too much embarrassment.

As it turned out I was not in anyone else's seat and within minutes the captain was welcoming us aboard the aircraft and we began taxiing towards the runway. As we bumped along the uneven tarmac, the cabin crew performed their ritual safety procedure. I made the point of paying attention on this occasion, out of sympathy for the crew who showed little enthusiasm for the task. As soon as they were done, the captain was ordering them to their seats for an immediate take-off. Throughout these proceedings, I continued to monitor my mystery girl from the corner of my eye. It was only as the plane began its thrust towards the sky that she looked up from her book, stole me a sideways look and then turned to look out of her window at the night sky. I turned and looked too, half curious as I always am during a take-off, but more so on this occasion as it gave me the perfect opportunity to get a longer look at her. Her profile filled the round window to the outside world and a tingle raced through my body as I studied her soft cheeks, beautifully formed nose and the fullness of her lips, deliciously coated in a cherry coloured lipstick. For a moment I seemed mesmerised by the vision before me. My stomach sank suddenly as the aircraft left the ground and clawed its way upward, catching me a little by surprise. She turned and smiled yet again as if she'd realised how potent a weapon it was against me.

"I love the take-off," she said. "For me, it marks the start of another great adventure."

"Really," I mused. "For me it's the landing. It means I've got where I'm going in one piece!"

She laughed, genuinely I thought and not just out of politeness. "Do you have business in New York?"

I told her about my software company and the deal that we were about to sign with an American corporation. The deal was 99% done, this meeting was just to put the finishing touches in place.

"And you?" I asked.

She relayed to me how she was a Croat living in Amsterdam, working for the Croatian Tourist Board. She was attending a conference in NY, promoting her homeland to American tourists. She spoke with such passion about her country. I found her so easy to listen to, I was fascinated by what she had to say. The manner and tone of her voice captivated me, so much so that I was totally unaware of a stewardess by my side offering complimentary drinks until she tapped me on the shoulder and brought me to my senses. We each ordered dark rum and coke, which we set up on the table of the seat between us.

As I stirred in the contents of the mini can of cola, I raised my glass to her and ventured, "Here's to us both having successfully meetings in the Big Apple."

"And here's to us both having a pleasurable time in the meantime," she replied, raising her glass back at me with yet another wicked smile on her face.

As we sipped our drinks, our eyes made contact once more and remained locked for a fraction of a second longer than they should have done for two strangers who had just met. The way she had said 'pleasurable' was quite deliberate, I was sure. My heart raced as my mind pondered all manner of pleasurable thoughts. Was this to be the most memorable flight of my life, I wondered? Only the next eight or so hours would tell.