Chapter 13 The Private Plane
The Private Plane
“Worst passenger?” Natalie asked.
Jim looked toward the aircraft and gave a small, diplomatic smile.
“Worst I can’t name. Best was Keanu Reeves.”
Natalie brightened. “Seriously?”
“Vancouver to Tokyo. Knew us all by name, carried his own bag, asked if the jump seat coffee was really as bad as pilots said.”
“Was it?”
“Worse,” Jim said. “But he drank it anyway.”
Natalie laughed.
Captain James Atkinson was the pilot of the private plane that the studio sent to fly Aaron and Natalie to Los Angeles. But, as soon as they realized that they were both American, it was no longer Captain Atkinson and Ms. Chan.
It was Jim and Nat.
Jim was white, silver-haired, broad-shouldered, and sun-creased in a way that suggested years of cockpit windows and golf courses. He lived in Riverside, had a wife and two elementary school aged children.
They were standing inside the glass-walled lounge at Hong Kong Business Aviation Centre, the city’s private airport, close enough to the apron that Natalie could see the plane waiting beyond the window.
Long, white, clean. A dark blue stripe ran along the fuselage, and near the tail was the studio’s discreet emblem.
Natalie had mistakenly arrived at 4 o’clock for a 7 o’clock flight, not realizing that private airports had no crowds. It only took her five minutes to be ready to fly and then she had nearly three hours to kill.
Jim asked, “First time on one of these, Nat?”
“Yes. What kind of plane is it?”
“Gulfstream G650ER,” Jim said, with the mild pride of someone introducing a very expensive horse. “Ultra-long-range business jet. Fast, comfortable, good legs. Hong Kong to Los Angeles nonstop if the winds behave and nobody brings a piano.”
“Do people bring pianos?” she asked, smiling.
“Not yet. But producers exist, so I never say never.”
She laughed again.
The time flew by. Before she knew it, it was six-thirty. She and Jim had talked for over two hours.
The lounge doors opened behind them.
Aaron came in wearing a gray linen jacket, dark trousers, no tie. No sunglasses.
He saw Natalie and smiled.
“There you are.”
He crossed to her, put his hands on her waist briefly and kissed her hello.
Jim’s posture changed.
“Good evening, Mr. Lam.”
Aaron turned to him. “Captain.”
Jim gestured for them all to board the plane.
Hot air blew on Natalie’s face as they exited the building and crossed to the plane outside.
At the foot of the stairs, a woman stepped forward.
“Good evening, Mr. Lam. I am Marianne. Welcome aboard.”
Marianne was white, elegant, perhaps in her fifties, with dark hair pinned low and the composed face of someone who had seen panic, hangovers, divorces and script revisions at thirty-seven thousand feet without allowing any of it to disturb the service.
Beside her stood Elise, younger, pretty, blonde.
“Please let us know if there’s anything you need during the flight,” Elise said with a smile.
They mounted the stairs.
Inside, the cabin was cream leather, polished walnut, and soft gold light.
Four wide club seats faced one another near the front.
Beyond them was a dining area with a glossy table already set with folded linen napkins.
A long divan ran along one side, with a cashmere throw arranged over it.
The carpet swallowed her footsteps. Fresh white orchids sat in a small vase near the credenza.
Real flowers.
Natalie ran her fingertips once over the back of a cream leather seat before she could stop herself.
Aaron saw.
“She’s beautiful,” Natalie said, speaking about the plane.
“Jim will be pleased.”
“Does he love the plane?”
“All pilots love their planes, even if they won’t admit it.”
Marianne took Natalie’s coat. Elise offered champagne. Both Aaron and Natalie accepted.
They settled into two facing seats while the crew closed the outside door. The outside world vanished.
Aaron lifted his glass.
“To America.”
“To Hollywood.”
She touched her glass to his.
The plane began to move.
Jim’s voice came through the cabin speakers, calm and close.
“Good evening, Mr. Lam, Miss Chan. We’re number two for departure. Once airborne, we’ll climb out over the South China Sea and settle in for the Pacific crossing. Flight time shows twelve hours and fifty-five minutes.”
Aaron leaned over.
“Enjoy this, Natalie. You deserve it.”
After about five minutes, the plane turned.
Stopped.
Then the engines deepened.
Natalie felt the change in her ribs before the aircraft moved, a force gathering underneath them. She looked out the window. The runway lights stretched ahead in lines of white and blue, straight and precise.
The aircraft surged forward.
Hong Kong blurred. The lights became streaks. The pressure pressed her back into the cream leather, gentle at first, then more firmly. Natalie smiled, excited.
The plane lifted.
The runway dropped away.
Hong Kong opened beneath them: airport lights, dark water, bridges, towers in the distance, the city scattered across islands and hills like jewelry spilled by someone careless and rich.
Natalie watched through the window until the plane rose above the clouds.
After a few minutes, Jim came onto the cabin speakers again: “We’re climbing to 41,000 feet. It’ll take about an hour to pass over the South China Sea. Weather is clear.” The speakers clicked off.
But Jim couldn’t resist. The speakers came on again: “Enjoy your dinner. It’ll be a smooth crossing. I guarantee that your caviar won’t end up in your champagne.”
Natalie laughed and Aaron chuckled softly.
Elise appeared with a small tray of appetizers: smoked salmon on buckwheat blini, chilled cucumber with crab, tiny porcelain spoons holding tuna with yuzu and a fleck of gold.
Natalie tried each one but the tuna was the best. It was cold and bright and perfect.
“Good?” Aaron asked.
Natalie looked at him, awe in her eyes. “Amazing!”
About fifteen minutes later, they moved to the table and sat down for dinner.
Marianne set the dining table as if preparing a restaurant that existed only for two people: white linen, silverware, low flowers moved from the credenza, plates warmed somewhere Natalie could not see.
No menus.
Aaron had already chosen, though when Marianne described the meal, Natalie realized he had chosen in a way that included her: mushroom consommé; sea bass with ginger and scallion; a small portion of roast chicken with herbs; vegetables that had not been cooked to death; rice because Aaron had remembered she disliked meals without it; fruit; cheese; and a chocolate soufflé that Elise admitted had been “finished on board,” a phrase Natalie felt should be praised rather than apologized for.
They ate as the plane flew on.
The food was not airplane good. It was good-good. The soup was light and clean. The sea bass came apart under Natalie’s fork. The chicken was simple, warm, and filling.
And chocolate soufflé?
Natalie took one bite and closed her eyes. OMG!
“I want to eat at this restaurant every night,” she said.
Aaron laughed. “I don’t think that will be possible.”
After dinner, they moved to the divan.
When Elise came by, Natalie asked, “Where are we?”
“We’re over the Luzon Strait, south of Taiwan, just north of the Batan Islands. Here, let me show you.”
Elise pressed a button and a large screen emerged from a panel with mechanical whir and turned on. She then demonstrated how to switch it to the navigational map. It showed 1:36 minutes elapsed and 11:19 minutes remaining.
Elise then left and dimmed the cabin lights until the windows became dark mirrors. Aaron suggested a film.
“One of yours?” Natalie asked.
“I wasn’t going to punish you.” He smiled.
“What are we watching?”
“A Better Tomorrow.”
She looked at him. “John Woo?”
“I know you like him.”
That was one of Aaron’s gifts. He knew exactly how women felt and what they wanted and, unerringly, he gave it to them.
A Better Tomorrow played on the screen. The sound was low and rich. As Natalie and Aaron watched, they discussed the film from an artistic point-of-view: Natalie employing her art gallery knowledge and Aaron his observations of directors of films that he had acted in.
Natalie sat beside him. Presently, Elise came by, took out a cashmere blanket and arranged it tastefully to cover them both. Natalie leaned against Aaron, her knees tucked beneath her, champagne replaced by tea, and felt completely content.
Halfway through the movie, Aaron drifted off.
His head tipped back against the divan cushion, one hand still resting near Natalie’s knee under the cashmere blanket. On the screen, Chow Yun-fat moved through smoke and violence with impossible grace.
Natalie watched for another ten minutes.
But she realized she was wasting the plane.
She could watch A Better Tomorrow anywhere. She could not wander around a Gulfstream over the Pacific anytime she wanted.
The cabin was dim now, the windows black, the screen painting blue light over the cream leather seats. The plane did not feel like it was moving. That was the strangest part. Somewhere outside, they were crossing hundreds of miles of ocean. Inside, it was still.
Natalie paused the movie and switched the screen to the map.
The little white aircraft showed them east of Taiwan now, edging toward the Ryukyu Islands. 2:52 elapsed. 10:03 remaining.
Carefully, she slipped out from under the blanket.
She went to the lavatory because she could. The room was small but there was a real mirror, real counter space, cloth towels, moisturizer, toothbrushes sealed in paper sleeves, and a single white flower in a narrow vase.
A flower.
In the bathroom.
On an airplane.
Natalie laughed quietly.
When she came out, Marianne was arranging something in the galley. Elise was nearby.
“Can I help you, Miss Chan?” Marianne asked.
“I’m exploring.”
“I do that too,” whispered Elise.
“Best part of a private flight,” Marianne added.
“Is there food I’m allowed to eat when it isn’t dinner?”
Marianne smiled. “On this aircraft, the answer is always yes.”