“Yup. That's about it.”
The conversation deteriorated pretty quickly after that, so I said good-?bye and shut my phone off.
The plane filled and the usual announcements were made. No Tank. I was feeling a little worried without my bodyguard. I had Connie and Lula with me. I liked Connie and Lula, but I suspected they were more liability than asset.
The flight attendants closed the doors and the plane began taxiing. Lula was singing with her headset on and her eyes shut. Connie was talking to the woman next to her.
All right, calm down, I told myself. Probably flying to Vegas was safer than staying in Trent
on. Tank would get the next plane and everything would be fine. If I'd stayed with Tank I wouldn't be on the plane. I would have had to call Morelli and he would have insisted I return to Trenton.
Minutes after taking off it was announced that no food or beverages would be served. “What about peanuts?” Lula yelled out. “Don't we even get any freakin' peanuts?” Lula turned to me. “I want to get off this plane. I'm hungry and I'm uncomfortable. And look at the seat in front of me. It's all ripped. How am I supposed to have confidence when they can't even keep their seats sewed up? I bet some terrorist was practicing on that seat.”
I put my finger to my eye.
“You getting that nervous eye twitch back?” Lula asked. “It's from this plane, isn't it? I feel nervous, too. I'm just a bundle of nerves.”
“It's from you,” I said. “Put your headset back on and listen to your music.”
An hour into the flight Lula was fidgeting again. “I smell coffee,” she said. “I bet they're gonna give us coffee. Probably they feel bad about treating us like a bunch of cows and they're gonna hand out coffee.” She sniffed the air. “Hey, I smell real food. I smell something cooking.” She hung over the armrest and looked up the aisle at the front of the plane. “It's not first class,” she said. “I can see into first class and they're not getting any food, either.”
Now I was smelling it. Definitely coffee. And maybe a tomato sauce and pasta dish. And cookies baking!
“It's like there's ghosts up there,” Lula said. “I haven't seen a flight attendant walk down the aisle since we took off. It's like they vanished and their ghosts are cooking. I'm dying here. I'm starving. I'm getting weak.”
Connie looked over. “What's going on?”
“I smell coffee,” Lula said. “I must be hallucinating from hunger.”
“Maybe the flight attendants are making coffee for the pilots,” Connie said.
“I don't like the sound of that,” Lula said. “That sounds like an emergency. Like the pilots are tired. Just my luck I get on a plane with a pilot who was up all night. I'm going to be really pissed off if he falls asleep and we crash and we all die and it's before I get to Vegas.”
Connie went back to her magazine, but Lula was still leaning over the armrest into the aisle. “I can see them!” Lula said. “It's the flight attendants. Someone pulled the curtain aside and I can see the flight attendants eating. They're having coffee and fresh-?baked cookies. Can you freaking believe it? They're not even going to offer any to us.”
I was starting to think crashing and dying might be the way to go. Compared to another two hours in the air, crashing and dying held some appeal.
Lula's eyes were slitty and her forehead was scrunched up. She reminded me of a bull pawing the ground, nostrils flaring, shaggy head steaming. “I'm not calling them flight attendants anymore,” Lula said. “I'm calling them stewardesses. See how they like that.”
“Keep it down,” Connie said. “Maybe they've been working all day and they didn't get a chance to eat.”
“I've been working all day,” Lula said. “I didn't get a chance to eat. You see anybody feeding me? I guess not. Look at me. I'm beside myself. I feel like the Hulk. Like I'm getting all swollen up with frustration.”
“Well, take it easy,” I said. “You'll burst something.” “You know what this is?” Lula said. “This here's plane rage.” “Plane rage isn't allowed. It got taken off the allowed activities list along with eating. If you make a scene they'll haul you off in leg irons.”
“I'm tired of being strapped in here, too,” Lula said. “This seat belt's too tight and it's giving me gas.” “Anything else?” “There's no movie.”
When we landed at Chicago I positioned myself between Lula and the flight attendants.
“Keep your head down and walk,” I told Lula. “Don't look at them. Don't talk to them. Don't grab any of them by the throat. We need to get on the next plane. Just keep thinking about Vegas.”
Our connecting flight was ten gates down. We started walking and almost immediately we hit fast food. Lula hurried over and ordered seven double cheeseburgers. She threw the buns away and ate the rest.
“I'm impressed,” I said to Lula. “You're really sticking to this diet.” Hard to believe she was going to lose weight on it, but at least she was trying.
An hour later our row was called to board and Lula, Connie, and I got in line. We reached the gate and I was pulled aside to be searched. Random female.
“Step over here,” the security attendant said. “And take your shoes off.”