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Fuck you, too, I inform my traitorous cravings, and immediately feel like my old self again.
CHAPTER 5
I GO FROM NEVER HAVING FLOWN to twenty hours later sitting in a small private plane surrounded by buttery leather seats and gleaming wood molding. This cabin, which features two built-in sofas and four captain’s seats, is nicer than any place I’ve ever lived. Period.
I keep stroking the leather, then marvel at a personal light switch, USB ports for my fancy new phone, discreet drink holders for the pleasures awaiting in the well-appointed bar. The captain and first officer appeared long enough to give me the lay of the land, with instructions to make myself comfortable. No flight attendant today as I was their only passenger (and clearly didn’t rate high enough). The weekly flights often didn’t have passengers at all, I learned, but were still necessary for delivering fresh provisions and removing waste.
Apparently, MacManus really is richer than Croesus if he’s using a top-of-the-line private jet for grocery delivery and trash removal. On the other hand, who am I to argue?
I’m giddy and wired and definitely overtired. For all my resolutions, I did a terrible job of sleeping on my first two flights. There was just so much to see and do. Passengers to watch, new customs to learn. On my first flight, I sat next to a big guy in a suit—definitely not headed to Hawaii on vacation. He had his attention focused on his laptop the entire time, which allowed me to sneak glances and mimic everything he did. Otherwise I never would’ve discovered a tray table folded up inside the armrest. Pretty clever.
Landing at LAX was a blur. I had an easy walk to the gate for my next flight. Then I folded my increasingly restless and cramped limbs into yet another airline seat. For someone who was used to walking everywhere all the time, the twelve hours on a bus combined with another twelve hours on a plane was getting to me. And at least I’m not a big person. I had no idea how most of the people on the plane were surviving it.
Honolulu equaled employment office. I had about five minutes to blink at the bright sun, marvel at the waving palm trees and gorgeous purple and orange flowers, then back inside to complete forms and make a copy of my driver’s license. Another quick reprieve, standing outside, the sun on my face. So warm, but not too warm. Look at that flower, oh and that one, and ooh, that one. Is this seriously what it’s like here every single day?
Then before I could process the thought, a cab appeared and whisked me to what appeared to be a small warehouse in the middle of a huge airfield but turned out to be one of apparently dozens of charter companies set up to help people bebop around the Hawaiian islands.
I giggled a few times, covered my mouth with my hand self-consciously, giggled some more.
Fortunately, Captain Marilee and First Officer Brent didn’t seem to care. They were all business. This way, ma’am. Please make yourself comfortable. Seat belt buckled for takeoff. There’s water and champagne in the fridge.
I totally giggled again.
Now the door is latched shut, the pilots are situated in the cockpit, and we’re off. I can feel the speed and lift as the plane takes to the sky, such an intimate experience compared to my earlier commercial flights. Those takeoffs felt like a bus heaving itself off the ground. This feels like I’ve grown wings and am personally soaring into the clouds. It’s wild and primal and glorious. I officially understand why rich people love their private jets. I would do this every single day if I could.
Once at cruising altitude, which is still low enough to marvel over the endless blue expanse of the ocean rippling beneath us, Copilot Brent appears in the small space.
“How are you doing?”
“I love this I love this I love this. You get to do this for a living? You are the luckiest person in the world!”
He laughs. “First charter flight?”
“Yes.”
“Not gonna lie, doesn’t get much better than this. MacManus takes care of his people.”
I nod, too excited and happy to contemplate darker motivations.
Brent gestures to the bar. Water, wine, and beer are complimentary. As a lowly worker bee, I do have to pay for liquor, so apparently there are limits to MacManus’s generosity.
I accept a bottle of water. Ever since Wyoming, I’ve had new appreciation for agua on demand. Plus, the YouTube guy recommended plenty of fluids to assist with jet lag.
“Your first time to Pomaikai?” Brent asks.
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll love it. I mean other than…” His voice drifts off.
“Other than?” I prompt.
“Umm. Nothing. Just been some turnover lately.”
“Because not everyone takes to such remote living?”
“Sure,” he says in a tone of voice that isn’t sure at all. I feel my first twinge of doubt.
“I heard I’m replacing someone who had to leave abruptly?” When in doubt, go with a leading question.
