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“Five courses!” Bridget exclaims as she looks over course selections. “We just ate back at the lounge. I don’t even know what some of this stuff is.”
“I can order for you,” I offer, curious how much control she’d cede.
“I’ll figure it out,” she replies, eventually choosing the fennel salad with mizuna, chicken and mutton satay, a noodle soup, Boston lobster, and a peach cake inspired by Chanel. “I’m going to feel guilty eating all this.”
“You want us to move down to coach so you can feel less guilty?” I ask.
“No. I wouldn’t make you do that. Besides, I don’t know that you’d survive fifteen plus hours in coach.”
“Cute.”
“I mean it. You ever flown coach before?”
“No.”
JD pipes in. “You couldn’t pay me to fly coach.”
“That’s how most of the world flies—if they can afford to fly in the first place,” Bridget says.
“Not my fault the world is comprised of the have and have-nots.”
“Yeah, you couldn’t make it past ten minutes in coach,” I tell him.
“Maybe you should try it,” Bridget suggests. “Makes you appreciate all of this so much more.”
“I don’t need to fly coach to appreciate this.”
Bridget turns to me. “How about you? Want to give coach a try? Just for a little bit?”
I stare at her. She’s joking, right?
“At least slum it in business class,” JD advises.
Bridget grabs my hand. “Come on. You’re going to see how those of us in the lower classes live.”
Lim comes over to see if we need anything. Bridget asks if there are any empty seats in coach. He doesn’t comprehend what she’s asking.
Referring to me, Bridget says, “He’s never flown coach before.”
“Okay,” Lim says, still with a puzzled look on his face as he goes to check on her request.
I turn to Bridget. “You realize that it costs about a thousand dollars per hour to fly in the suites?”
“We won’t be in coach for that long.”
Lim returns and informs us there are several empty seats. Bridget chooses two towards the back of the plane.
“I’ll let the attendants in coach know you’re coming,” Lim says. “If you need anything, they can call me.”
“We won’t need anything,” Bridget assures him.
“What about your supper?”
“We’ll have it when we get back.”
She drags me downstairs and through a partition to where the seats must be made for skinny people with short legs.
Bridget smiles at me. “You can have the middle seat.”
