A long time ago, someone observed that 'no good deed goes unpunished'. Up until a few months ago, I thought it was just a saying. But here I am, sitting in a hotel lobby in Vegas, dressed just a little too provocatively for someone my age, and waiting for a call directing me to a certain room. I only have a few moments of clarity before the call comes, leaving me this time to ponder just how in the hell I ended up as someone's cock whore.
It was a few months ago. I'm in the logistics business and I travel a lot---a whole lot. I have all the perks and of course all the hassles that go along with it. So as I get to the gate, there's a young soldier at the desk -- arm in a sling, leg in a brace, bandage on his neck. He's pleading with the gate agent to help him get on the next flight. The agent is polite, but the flight is over booked. So I stop and see if I can do a good deed. I let them both know I served at a time when the uniform wasn't so popular, and that any problem can be solved with creative thinking. It takes few moments and it helps to flash the business card of the head of the airline's base operations with whom I had met earlier today. And what do you know? The soldier finds himself in a first class seat on this flight, and I've got a middle seat on the next one. No big deal; I've got lots of work to do.
A couple of hours later, as I shuffle in, I catch a glimpse of the flight attendant working first class. There was a small flash of familiarity--just an eye-blink's worth, but then, as I said, I fly a lot.
I settle in, go to sleep before the door closes, wake up when the wheels touch, shuffle out and head off for the hotel shuttle pick up. The shuttle is there, but the driver has to wait for a crew. So I climb in the back. The crew shows up moments later, and off we go. It's the same crew from my flight. The flight attendant I glimpsed is two rows up. I catch his profile a couple of times and, again, there's a nagging recognition.
First in-last out and everyone heads to the desk. Now I'm behind the guy. He steps up and gets his key, turns, and we make full eye contact. He pauses; I pause.
"I'm sure you get this a lot, but I think we've met before," I say.
He smiles, "Yeah, perhaps, I imagine you're a frequent flyer and well----- so am I."
"Yeah," I say, "But there's something I can't place."
"You trying to pick me up?" he says and smiles.
I raise my left hand, ring finger isolated.
"Sorry to bother you, it was just one of those things--sorta déjà vu, you know," I say.
"Oh, sure," he says, "Tell you what though, let me buy you a drink and maybe we can figure it out. I'm not ready to crash."
I glance at the clock, back at him, over at the lounge. "Sure," I say. "I napped on the plane. Let me go take off the tie and wash my face. Back in ten?"
"Works for me," he replies.
The lounge is dark and quiet. Only a couple of other guys there; game on the TV over the bar. He's over in the corner, off to the side. "Charles," I say putting out my hand. "Brett" he replies.
The waitress is right there, we order, and settle in.
"So, do we play 20 questions?" I say.
He says, "Maybe, but let me try something first. You look like the standard real busy, real intense business guy, right?"
"It shows?" I reply.
"The problem is the clutter; and one scotch and 20 questions won't break the log jam. You need to distract yourself for a moment and see what bubbles up. Maybe it will come to you."
"Ok, what's the trick?" I ask.
He lifts his right hand and removes a ring from his ring finger. It's sort of like a class ring, with an emerald green stone.
"Take this," he says. "Put it on your forefinger, makes a fist and turn the stone towards you."
I do as he says.
"Now, rest your fist on the table so the ring stays in one place. Look at the stone and think of nothing. Oh, and toss down the scotch so the alcohol can get to work."
It had been a long week, a long day, and a long evening. But whatever it was that was nagging at me about where I knew this fellow from was growing.
"Why not," I said. I swallowed the drink, felt the burn all the way down, and relaxed.
So I'm looking at the ring for a moment, and he starts talking softly.
"Relax, breath slower, think of nothing, look deeply, go deep into the ring, no thoughts except what I'm telling you, float free and, relax," he kept repeating softly and slowly.
As his voice wound around me and through me, I started to fall into the ring. It wasn't vertigo, more like those spirals they use in the movies to hypnotize someone. And I kept falling.
After a while, who knows how long, the mantra changed. "Your thoughts are gone, your mind is open, floating, just like on the water, go way back, floating back, floating on the green water, seeing nothing but the green water and the waves, floating on the waves, the smooth flowing waves, and as you see the waves and relax more and more, you glimpse a memory, a long time ago, let it come to you, relax and let it come, you can remember now, I give you permission to remember, go ahead-----remember me, remember our time in Hawaii."
I fell deeper into the green. And slowly, it started to come back.
******
After high school, I joined the Air Force. I got assigned to supply, found I had a flair for logistics, punched my ticket at Danang for a year, survived the '72 offensive with just a little shrapnel from a rocket attack and then got selected for Loadmaster school. Life was great. I got assigned to 141s on the west coast - flying my ass off, saving money and getting some college credits.
One fine spring day a typhoon ripped Guam a new one, so we were dispatched to haul supplies from Hawaii for temporary repairs -- seven hours each way. We went as long as we could, but since I was a high time guy, I ran up against the monthly cap limit, which meant the crew had to stand down for a day or two while my time bank refilled.
As luck would have it, we were at Hickam instead of Guam or Wake or worse - Kwaj, so the crew was all for it. No one even thought to ask me to take a waiver. It's Hawaii. It's a couple days off.
And as luck would have it, they sent us downtown to a hotel on Waikiki also used by the commercial crews. This excited the two Pilots quite a bit - - pilot talk with other pilots and opportunities to meet stewardesses. The Nav was a lot older, and he only cared about getting home. The Flight Engineers were way senior to me and only cared about drinking beer. Me? I had spent just enough time at Hickam to know what I wanted to do.
So we checked in and assembled at the pool. Another crew was already there, and then the commercial folks started appearing. I started out in the mix, but as the junior enlisted guy, I found myself getting moved out to the periphery and then outside the orbit of Pluto. Flight attendants are not interested in the guy who just loads the cargo and gets real sweaty; they want the guy who handles the stick.
Traveling the Pacific, I always had a suit with me, so I hit the pool and swam some laps. I swam in high school and was still in pretty good shape. I even did some fly to advertise my flexibility and see if I would get noticed. Climbing out I glanced at the group----nothing, not even an insult or a sneer. Oh well, I thought, I'll just watch the animals preen for a while, have a drink, get an early dinner and see if there is a way to get out to Point Panic or Makapu'u tomorrow and do some body surfing.
I get back to the table and there's three guys sitting there. So I pull my towel off the fourth chair, nod a greeting, and join them. Names are exchanged. They're all flight attendants so I'm welcome to stay. At least I can talk shop as opposed to being talked through and around.
A waitress comes over, and I offer to buy. I notice her name is Charlotte. Mine is Charles so I try to leverage that into some sort of introduction. She just looks down her nose and says, "Let's see--from the hair cut - Air Force right? Under 25--hanging with these guys -- no empty beer cans in front of you. You must be the Load? I'm an Air Force brat-----Daddy's the Base Commander at Elmendorf so I know better. Besides, I know these guys, which is even more reason for you to kiss off." And off she goes.
This of course tickles the others immensely. The one next to me -- Brett if I recall the names right -- looks at me and says, "Maybe you're just not her type."
"Clearly--I've always known my place but that stung just a bit," I say nodding over at the other tables, "Must have spent one too many winters in Alaska."
Brett chuckles and says, "She's feisty for sure, but what place is that?"
"On the bottom," I say, "In the back, bringing up the rear, seen but not heard. But the ladder is long and it's one rung at a time"
He smirks, "Profound."
"Yeah, the philosophy of a life of hard work on hot ramps and even hotter airplanes; the sun shines in the Pacific a lot," I say, with a grin.
He looks straight into my eyes. "The bottom, huh?" he says.
I'm not intimidated, so I look straight back. After a few seconds, I find myself noticing how green his eyes are. There's an instant where time pauses, then Charlotte is putting the drinks down. I pay, tip more than I should by way of an apology, and turn back to the table.
So the conversation started, but after a moment or two I found myself talking just to Brett: the usual general background stuff -- how I planned to spend the crew rest, how we got to where we are, places we lived, places we've been -- the usual chit-chat.
Early on, I picked up that he had been to Bangkok because he had this two Baht gold neck chain. It wasn't hard to miss lying against his tan. He has this habit of fingering it, but not in a nervous way. As we talked, he would take his finger and trace the chain from one side of his neck to the other. The chain caught the sunlight, as did the gold ring he was wearing, and I found myself sort of half watching it after a while. His voice seemed to get a little lower or maybe the background conversation was picking up and so I leaned in a bit to hear him better. After a while it seemed he was doing most of the talking and I was doing most of the agreeing -- the Mai Tai, the sun, the fatigue from the long days, the rhythm of his voice -- it was all very pleasant and soothing.
After a bit, he suggested that we move over to the bar by the pool. I agreed. As we walked, he talked about my wanting to go body surfing, noting he had watched me swim and it seemed to him that I was in pretty good shape, but the surf could be deceptive--and it would be a shame to scrape up my body. I fumbled a bit for words. He cut me off, saying it was clear I stayed in shape and there was nothing wrong with being well built and having a sexy body.
He smiled gently, "Charlotte may not appreciate you, but from where I sit, you can turn a lot of heads."
I stammered, "I guess it's all in your perspective." I felt a warm flush rising, and then he had his hand on my back, steering me to the two stools at the end. For some reason, I did not resist his touch.
We ordered and settled in. Brett just kept fingering his neck chain, talking about the layout and the surf at the places I mentioned going. I found myself breathing in time to the movements----inhale as he went across, exhale as he went back. The drinks came, and the conversation continued. Well---he continued to talk, and I continued to watch and listen.
He kept talking about how important it was to trust him tomorrow when we went surfing. How it can be a challenge to let yourself go and just trust the wave to carry you to the end, just trust your companion to steer you to the right place, to the right decision.
