The Lion's Den(6)

“I guess she’s been approved,” Wendy breathes.

“Something tells me that was John’s decision, not Summer’s,” I return.

Summer strides toward us, her expression dark, leaving Brittani and Amythest whispering behind her.

“Everything okay?” Wendy asks as she approaches.

Summer narrows her eyes at her mother. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t know,” Rhonda professes. “I can’t keep up with her friends, I figured that was the one you okayed.”

“No,” Summer fumes, sotto voce. “But now John has decided she’s fine, so we have to spend the rest of the trip with her. Thanks a lot.”

“I’m sorry—” Rhonda reaches out to hug her daughter, but Summer turns and marches toward the jet.

An older stewardess with short gray hair escorts the rest of us to the airstair, where Wendy insists we snap a flurry of pictures before finally boarding. As I step through the door of the plane, my sandal catches on the metal and I trip headlong into John, knocking him into the younger flight attendant, who spills the cup of coffee she was in the process of serving him all over me.

“Shit!” I say. “Shoot. I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Well, this is a great way to start off the trip. The stewardess is as mortified as I am. She quickly grabs a napkin and begins dabbing at his suit.

“I’m fine.” He brushes her away without a hint of the charm he usually radiates. “Clean her. She’s dripping all over the floor.”

The stewardess hands me the napkin, which I use to clean my legs and dab my sundress. At least this will provide me with an excuse to change into the more comfortable outfit in my carry-on. I can hear Summer asking John what happened, then apologizing for me.

Wendy grabs my elbow. “You okay?”

I nod, my cheeks on fire as I follow her into the cabin.

The inside of the plane is refined luxury in shades of cream and beige, and refreshingly cool after the sauna we’ve been baking in for the past hour. Having discovered long ago in the way-back of my mom’s station wagon that I get violently ill riding backward, I’m careful to pick one of the forward-facing seats. I slide into the buttery leather captain’s chair that would make any first class look like economy and take a swig of cold water from the bottle conveniently placed in the cup holder at my fingertips.

Yeah, I could definitely get used to this.

I’ve just turned to look for the bathroom when I see the two men in suits that John was talking to outside board the plane, one a large Italian mobster-looking guy in his fifties and the other closer to John’s age, bald and rounding at the belly. “Vinny,” Wendy whispers, indicating the mobster-looking one, “and the bald one’s Bernard.”

I’m aware John travels with bodyguards and have met the bald one in passing before, but Vinny is new. “Friends of yours?” I joke.

“They’re John’s security. I met them at dinner last week.”

A dinner I wasn’t invited to, clearly. It stings a little—especially since I’m the one who introduced Summer and Wendy—but I’m not surprised, in light of the recent events that have driven a boning knife into our friendship, which neither of us dare speak of.

Vinny and Bernard confer with John, then Bernard holds up his hand for us all to quiet down, which we do. Summer stands at attention next to John, her smile restored; the canary-yellow rock on her finger glitters in the sun that streams through the window, sending flecks of light around the cabin. I don’t know anything about carats, but it’s gigantic. John clears his throat and curls his lips into a smile. “Thank you ladies for joining us on Summer’s birthday trip,” he begins. “If you’ll all stand up, the crew are going to come through the cabin and show you to your seats.”

We all stand obediently as he continues. “Each of you will receive a gift bag with an eye mask, earplugs, and a sleeping pill. Once we take off, the stewardesses will reconfigure the plane for sleep while we have a light dinner. Then Summer and I will sleep in our bed in the back, and the rest of you will sleep in your assigned beds in front.”

I think I read a hint of apology in the smile Summer gives us as John takes her hand. They make their way toward the back of the plane while the crew points us toward our seats. Sure enough, I’m assigned one of the two rear-facing seats, next to Amythest, across from Rhonda and Brittani. Why, oh why, did I pack my Dramamine in my suitcase instead of my carry-on?

I quietly get the young stewardess’s attention once we have all been seated. “I’m so sorry, but I get sick facing backward. Is there any way I could sit facing forward?”

“I don’t have the authority to change your seat,” she apologizes, “but I’m sure it would be okay if one of your friends wanted to switch with you.”

I look up at Rhonda and Brittani, who chortles, having heard the whole thing. “Sorry, girl, I ain’t giving up my seat!”

“I gotta sit next to my baby.” Rhonda pats Brittani’s hand. “We have so much to talk about.”

Should have known better than to ask them. I get up to approach Wendy and Claire, who sit directly behind me, facing forward. “I hate to ask you guys this, but I get supersick facing backward. Could one of you possibly switch with me?”