Page 5 of Serving Him

“I’m sorry, Terminal Three,” I stated as loudly as possible. “I’m here to catch a flight, where are we?”

The cabbie looked over his shoulder at me, annoyed.

“You said Terminal Three,” the grizzled guy grunted through a huge wad of gum. “That’s where I’m takin’ ya.”

And within seconds, the yellow cab pulled up to a plane. Astonished, I couldn’t help but stare. We hadn’t pulled up to a terminal, we hadn’t pulled up to a building or any type of airplane hangar. We’d pulled up to an aircraft that looked ready to fly, the door on the side open, a metal staircase pulled up, ready for passengers. And even now, an older man scurried towards the car, one hand reaching for the door handle.

“Miss Rebecca?” he asked, huffing and puffing, almost bowing at the waist.

Slowly, I got out.

“Yes, I’m Rebecca Wright,” I said confused. “I’m here for a flight to Vegas?”

“Yes, yes,” said the older man. “I’m sorry, there was a mix-up. A car was supposed to pick you up from your apartment but I see that didn’t happen. Here sir, take this,” the man said, handing the cabbie a crisp one hundred bill. “Thank you for your service.”

And I guffawed as the taxi took off, wheels squealing.

“I’m sorry, I think there’s been a mix-up,” I began.

“There has, there has,” said the older man apologetically. “Again, you were supposed to be picked up at your apartment, and that clearly didn’t happen.”

I stood there, astonished.

“No, not that,” I tried again. “What I mean is, I’m here for a flight to Vegas. Where are the other passengers? What’s going on?”

And a light of realization lit within the man’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he said formally, truly bowing this time. “Let me start again. I’m Gilbert, I work for the Club, and it is my job to make sure that you get to Club premises safe and sound. I work as a transporter of sorts, like a concierge.”

“I see,” I nodded confused. “But where is everyone? Why am I all alone here on the tarmac?”

The elderly man nodded again.

“Miss Wright,” he said formally. “It’s my pleasure to escort you to Las Vegas. Mickey and I will be on the flight with you,” he said, nodding to a man standing by the gleaming staircase.

But I was still confused because Mickey was wearing a pilot’s uniform, ready to work.

“I’m sorry Gilbert,” I said slowly. “But if I’m not mistaken, Mickey’s flying the plane, and you’re my escort, which means that I’m the only passenger?” I asked, shaking my head, dazed. How could that be? I had a ticket just like anybody else, stamped with my name and seat number.

But the old man nodded again kindly.

“That’s right. You’re seat 1A, aren’t you? Miss, the Club always flies its guests private, and you’re no exception. Now if you don’t mind?” he asked kindly, bowing once more, gesturing with a gloved hand.

And with numb feet, I ascended the rickety metal staircase to the plane itself. Holy cow, this was so crazy. Inside there were only a few seats, about eight in total, all upholstered in buttery yellow leather, gleaming and new. Each chair was as broad as a La-Z-Boy with all sorts of knobs and controls, like you could command an entire fleet just from your seat.

“Wow,” I whispered, stunned. “Wow.”

But Gilbert was already behind me, pouring champagne.

“Miss, if you’ll just take your seat,” he said kindly. “The pilot’s turned on the seatbelt sign, and it’s about time we were off.”

Still moving in a daze, I dropped into the nearest chair, pushing my small backpack underneath.

“Wow,” was all I could manage.

Gilbert came over once more, a kind smile on his face.

“Champagne?” he asked, holding out a golden flute of fizzy.

My hand reached instinctively forwards, but then I paused mid-air. The truth was that I wasn’t legal to drink yet. Although this seemed like a harmless enough setting, I didn’t want to break the law. Who knows who was watching? Moreover, I didn’t want to be drunk on arrival, making a terrible impression on what would be the most important week of my life.

“No thanks,” I said softly, hand dropping limply back into my lap. “No thanks, I’ll pass.”

And Gilbert nodded.

“If you need anything, just let me know,” he said before strapping himself into a jumpseat. And with that, we were off, the small plane soaring into the blue skies.

The trip was fantastic, and after five minutes playing with the chair gadgets, I actually stopped. I was too amped up, too excited, too nervous to watch a movie or listen to music. The only thing I could do was nervously tap my knee while staring out the window, wisps of clouds floating by in an otherwise unbroken blue sky. God, what was happening? I’d never dreamed of such luxury, riding in a private plane. I’d only taken a flight once before, and my knees had been crunched up to my chin, we’d been packed like sardines, babies bawling in the background.

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