Chapter 21
21
In the hotel room that night, Dave treated me with a new cordiality. He didn’t touch me and slept stiffly on his half of the bed. When he showered in the morning, he brought a change of clothes into the bathroom with him, so that he could emerge fully dressed. He was all business, asking if I’d like a coffee from downstairs and reminding me of our departure time.
I was vaguely offended that meeting my family had turned Dave off so intensely he’d ended our affair the same night. More important, though, I was relieved the universe seemed to have finally loosened its grip on his psyche. As we entered the airport, I toyed with the idea of asking Dave for a loan so I could fly to Denver, where N92823 would land in a few hours. I figured his guilt, however misguided, might make him amenable to giving me money. But it seemed too complicated to explain why I wanted to fly on to another destination, and I didn’t want my reunion with N92823 to be sullied by any association with Dave. I would have to earn the money myself. It might take me a few months to accrue enough for a proper string of dates, but that was fine—I’d already waited seventeen years.
We flew back on a homely but spirited Bombardier CRJ700. I maintained my composure, resisting the little plane’s overtures, as I was now betrothed to N92823, in my heart, if not yet in his. After we landed, Dave and I proceeded to the public sector of the airport, pausing at the foot of the escalator that led to the AirTrain. Dave offered to drive me home, but I said I preferred to take BART. He nodded, a stricken look on his face.
“I understand, Linda. I know it’s hard.”
I stared at the ground, pretending to be wounded by his rejection. Dave put his arms around me lightly, treating me to one last unsatisfying hug. “I’ll always appreciate our time together,” he said. “I’ll think of you whenever I board a plane.”
—
On Monday, I worked with a new sense of purpose, moderating harder than I ever had before. As each hour ticked past, I knew I’d earned another twenty dollars toward my reunion with N92823. Though it was more like fifteen after taxes.
When I left that evening, Simon cornered me in the stairwell and said we needed to talk. My chest clutched with an old anxiety whose emergence I resented, now that I was on such an optimistic trajectory. I wondered if he had news about Karina and hoped, absurdly, that she wanted to reconcile but was too shy to initiate a conversation herself.
Simon and I went to the Starbucks downstairs. He paid for my iced tea this time, and led me to a table in a discreet corner near the restroom. I’d noticed Simon had been putting more effort into his appearance lately. He’d grown a beard of surprising robustness, and the extra hair made him look more mature, concealing the tender doughiness of his chin. He leaned toward me, resting his elbows on the table.
“I saw a crazy video today,” he said. “I think you’re in it.”
My mouth went dry, my mind flashing to the woman across the aisle. “I doubt that,” I said weakly.
Simon showed me the video on his phone. He’d recorded his monitor screen again, and as such, there was no sound. The footage was less vivid than the original must have been, but the gist was clear. A ten-second loop of Dave’s penis popping out of the blanket and my hand pumping with unseemly gusto, reminiscent of a video I’d once seen of a monkey masturbating at the zoo. Dave’s head was tilted back, his eyes closed, his face rapt with pleasure. For the first few seconds, my face was obscured by his shoulder, but at the end of the clip, I leaned forward, revealing my features to the camera.
I’d always feared exposure, but I assumed it would be for my usual activities on planes. It was yet more embarrassing to be exposed for stroking a man’s penis, an activity I did not normally partake in even behind closed doors.
“You shouldn’t be recording at work,” I said. It was a dumb thing to say, but it was all I could manage in the moment.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Simon said. “Once in a while, though, there’s something too good to resist.”
“Like the horse video.”
“The horse fucker, and now this.” He put his phone away, to my relief. “I flagged it, but it’s possible it’ll get out on other platforms. I thought you should know.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for telling me.”
He gave me a sly look. “I was thinking some people might pay good money to keep this video under wraps.”
I felt tired and wished he’d get to the point. “You want me to pay you?”
“Not you,” he said. He looked insulted. “You’re my friend, Linda. You got me the job. Besides, I know you’re broke.”
I hadn’t realized Simon had such warm feelings for me. Since he’d come to Acuity, he’d only seemed interested in Karina.
“I thought Dave might be willing to cough up some cash,” he said.
“I don’t know about that,” I said uneasily.
“Why not?”
“What would he be paying you for? If the video will get out no matter what.”
“It won’t, necessarily. But I can say if he doesn’t pay, I’ll post it on 4chan. Or even Twitter. It’d go viral. People love outrage bait about rowdy passengers. Especially in first class.”
“Really, Simon, I’d rather you didn’t,” I said, feeling nauseated. “This affects me, too.”
Simon nodded. “I know. I won’t actually do it. Dave just needs to think I will. I can say I’ll tell Christa. He’d get fired for sure.” Simon leaned back and regarded me with that same grudging respect he’d shown me on our date at Peet’s, back in January. “I couldn’t believe it was you. I almost lost my shit.”
A man in corporate attire passed us, bound for the bathroom. We were quiet until he was safely inside.
“How much do you think it’s worth to him?” Simon said in a low voice. “Five grand? Ten?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t want to be involved.”
“I’ll cut you in for half.”
I considered the possibilities. If Simon extracted ten thousand dollars from Dave, then I’d get five, money I could put toward flying with N92823 for as long as it took for him to choose me.
“Come on, Linda,” Simon said. “You deserve compensation. Your boss made you give him a hand job on a plane. That’s, like, next-level sexual harassment.”
I had to laugh at this. Simon laughed, too.
“He isn’t really our boss, though,” I said. “And he didn’t make me do anything.”
Simon rolled his eyes. “Okay, whatever. The thing is, I’m doing it. So, can you give me Dave’s phone number?”
I shook my head, coming back to myself. I wouldn’t feel right blackmailing someone, especially for an act I’d willingly participated in. “I can’t help you, Simon. And I really don’t think you should do this. It could backfire on you.”
Simon was unfazed. “No worries,” he said. “I’ll shoot him an email.”
I rode the bus home, feeling sick with dread. I considered calling Dave to warn him, but he’d said we shouldn’t have further contact, to allow me to “heal.” Alone in my cube, Simon’s words kept rattling in my head, along with Karina’s, back when I’d told her about Dave. I wondered if I’d let him get away with things, all along, because I assumed my vision board was to blame.
I paced my room, my affair with Dave appearing in a new light. Each step of the way, he’d considered only his own needs, and then he dropped me the moment he was confronted by my full humanity, my identity as a daughter and a sister, a person with a future he wanted no part in. The fact that my feelings corresponded to his, though from a different angle, was irrelevant. Dave was kind of an asshole.
For too long, I’d been content to sit back and allow the universe to work on my behalf, rather than making a decisive move toward my goal. I had a chance now to go after N92823 with all the funds I could garner. I hadn’t wanted our reunion to be funded by Dave, but this seemed different from asking for a loan. I wasn’t begging for charity; I was demanding compensation. It seemed like a form of justice. We’d make Dave pay for his recklessness, so that maybe he’d be more careful in the future. I texted his number to Simon, writing that I’d changed my mind, and wanted in on the deal. Hell yeah, Simon replied.
—
When I arrived at Acuity the next day, Simon wasn’t at his usual terminal. A cold sensation crept up the back of my neck. I opened my queue and began moderating comments on a news clip from the latest mass shooting. Around eleven, a Slack message from Christa popped up on my screen: Good morning, Linda! Please stop by my office for a chat :^).
In my time working here, I’d never been summoned to Christa’s office. The only occasion on which I’d entered that room was for my interview, which had involved few questions about my qualifications, instead consisting mostly of a list of disclaimers that Christa read from a sheet—things I wasn’t allowed to sue them for. I recalled the walls were painted orange, and on them she’d taped photographs of a child and a man of her approximate age, a square-jawed fellow with a goatee and prominent canines, likely the same man whose sperm had impregnated her.
Christa greeted me at the door. “Thanks for coming by,” she said. She gestured for me to sit in a straight-backed chair, while she settled into the swivel chair behind her desk.
“Linda, I want you to know that your well-being is very important to us,” she said. “We know it can be a stressful job, and we want to support you.”
My eyes roamed the space. The photographs I remembered were still on the wall, along with a few new additions. The child had grown.
I realized she was waiting for me to respond, though she hadn’t really said anything. “I appreciate that,” I said.
Christa clasped her hands on the desk. “I know this is a sensitive issue, and I’m sorry to have to discuss it with you. It’s been brought to my attention that you and Dave Kinney were recently engaged in a sexual relationship.”
I’d expected something like this, and yet I felt mortified, and a little bemused. I thought of my dealings with Brett in the Subway walk-in. It was funny that I, a person who had no interest in sex with people, was always getting tied up in workplace sex scandals.
“I want you to know that you aren’t in trouble in any way,” Christa continued. “We’re dealing with the matter swiftly and aggressively. Mr. Kinney has already submitted his resignation.”
I remembered her email, back in March, referring to Dave as Dave, but now that he was in trouble, he was Mr. Kinney. “So you saw the video?” I said.
“We were made aware of a video, yes. By Mr. Kinney himself, actually.” She leaned forward. “Off the record, Linda, I just want you to know I was appalled when I heard what he did to you.”
“What he did to me?”
“How he pressured you to fly with him and threatened to have you fired if you didn’t engage in sex acts with him on the plane. If it were up to me, he’d be in jail.”
I pieced together what had happened. Rather than responding to Simon’s blackmail attempt, Dave had fallen on his sword, submitting his resignation in exchange for the company’s discretion, to protect both their reputations. I admired him for sacrificing himself, though I knew he’d hated his job, anyway.
“We want to support you however we can,” Christa continued. “We’d like to offer you a raise of one dollar per hour, plus two months of complimentary counseling through the wellness app.”
I laughed, and Christa flinched. “That’s it?” I said.
“What did you have in mind?”
She was only being nice to me because they wanted to keep the incident under wraps. I was the last loose end they had to tie up. They’d have me sign an NDA and throw me a one-dollar raise and some free therapy on their worthless app. But I knew better than to accept this offer. I had my future to think about.
“I’d like to submit my resignation, too,” I said. “And I want five thousand dollars, as compensation for my pain and suffering.”
Christa smiled, but I could tell she was nervous. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way.”
I stood, taking charge of the situation. “Five thousand dollars, direct deposited into my account by Friday,” I said. “Or I’ll take my story to the media.”
Christa cowered beneath me. She must have been shocked to witness my transformation. I’d always been subservient, slinking along the edges of the workspace, afraid if my supervisors saw too much of me, they’d tire of the sight and fire me.
“I’ll check with corporate,” she said. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good.”
“In the meantime, it would be great if you’d sign this for me,” she said, pulling up a contract on her iPad.
“I’ll sign after I get the money,” I said. “Five grand. By EOD Friday. Plus my paycheck for this week, though I’m leaving now and I won’t be back.”
She nodded, a grudging respect in her eyes. As I left her office, I wondered if I should have asked for more money.
I returned to my terminal and gathered my few belongings. I sensed Karina watching me with curiosity, and felt a pang of sadness that now there would be no opportunity to rekindle our friendship. Sadness and also bitterness, remembering what Karina had said the last time we spoke, accusing me of being jealous of her relationship and saying I was weird—which I certainly was, but such an insult seemed beneath the person I’d thought she was. I saw Karina differently now. She was blinkered by conventional values, swaddled by her own beauty, the adult version of the popular girls I’d grown up with in Irvine. I looked her square in the eyes. My expression must have betrayed my anger, as she looked shaken. Her lips parted, as if she were about to say something, but before she could, I left.
I thrust myself from Acuity’s headquarters, pulled by force of habit to the BART station. I went to the airport, where I rode the infinite loop of the Red Line for an hour. Wave after wave of air travelers boarded my car, rode to their terminal, left, and were replaced by fresh travelers, in the anonymous exchange of the airport monorail. As I sat on an upholstered seat in my favorite terrestrial vehicle, I felt giddy, amazed by what I’d pulled off. I remembered the stacks of cash I’d placed on my last vision board and wondered if this had been the universe’s convoluted way of delivering money to me.
Simon texted, telling me what I’d already guessed—he’d been fired for using his phone to record confidential material, and for attempting to blackmail Dave.
Guess you were right, he wrote. Oh well. YOLO, right?
I’d heard nothing from Dave. I wondered if Simon had told him I was involved with the scheme. From what Christa said, it sounded like Dave had taken the fall to a greater extent than he’d needed to, making himself out to be a villain and me the blameless victim. As I considered this, I felt a grudging affection for Dave. I hoped he’d find his happiness in a new phase of life, just as I was about to find mine.
I was still riding the AirTrain at 2:00 p.m. when my phone buzzed with a notification: a new message in the VBB WhatsApp. Amid recent turmoil, I’d forgotten it would be July in a few days, and time for the third-quarter VBB. I reviewed the messages I’d missed over the last several weeks. Morgan had sent photos from Costa Rica, to which other members had heart-reacted. Judy had attempted to start a “gratitude chain” one morning by sending the group a list of five things she was grateful for— cold brew, my wonderful wife, SoulCycle, the ability to pause before making a decision, all my amazing friends! —but no one had replied with their own list, or even heart-reacted to hers, and she hadn’t tried again.
More recent messages revealed that planning was under way for a VBB this Sunday. It was Nikki’s turn to host, but she’d just texted, saying her in-laws had sprung a last-minute visit upon her. Sorry, ladies! she’d written. Can anyone else swing it this time?
I texted back quickly, before anyone else had a chance: Hey, ladies! I can host!