Sky Daddy

Chapter 13

13

Saturday afternoon, I lugged my hamper three blocks to the laundromat. I was stooping to pry a waterlogged bandage from the lip of the public washer when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

Dave was calling. I stared at my phone screen, adrenaline spiking through me. I saw no alternative but to accept the call.

“Hey, Linda,” he said. “You busy?”

I glanced at my hamper, knowing my soiled clothes would hear my response. “Not really.”

“Want to grab a bite? I have a lead on a pilot for you.”

I’d forgotten I told him I wanted to marry a pilot, a claim that had brought only trouble to my life. “Now?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

I was intrigued, though I wondered if he was using the pilot thing as a cover, just like I’d used it as one, though for different reasons. Corporate types like Dave enjoyed delivering bad news disguised as good news. If I was going to be fired for our trip to Houston, I might as well know now, so I could begin submitting applications at local Subway franchises. I fed the washer the fourteen quarters it demanded, imagining the coin slot as a narrow mouth through which the machine gorged itself, sometimes rejecting a quarter, as though it hadn’t liked the taste of that particular coin.

I sent Dave the address of the laundromat, and fifteen minutes later, his Prius pulled to the curb, and he hopped out to greet me with a light hug. His hair was damp, and his neck smelled of shaving cream. He wore expensive-looking sweatpants and a clean white T-shirt through which his nipples were faintly visible. A small sporty backpack hung from his left shoulder.

“Hey there,” he said. “What should we eat?”

“I’m not that hungry,” I said. I’d just eaten some string cheese and a granola bar from a box I’d stolen from the break room.

“I’ve heard there are a lot of good restaurants around here,” he said. “It’s the new Chinatown.”

“There’s a dumpling place that way,” I said, gesturing west.

“Perfect.” We walked toward it. “I just came from the gym,” he said, which explained his attire. “Equinox. You ever been?”

I hadn’t been to a gym in my life. “No, but Karina says it’s the nicest gym in town,” I said.

“Three hundred a month. But it’s worth it. There’s a sauna.” He paused. “Who’s Karina?”

“Karina Carvalho. She’s in Violence.”

“Oh sure, Karina.”

We reached the dumpling place, which was empty of patrons, as it was only 4:30 p.m. The server, a friendly older gentleman, showed us to a table by the window. Dave asked him which dumplings were their “house specialty,” and the waiter pointed out three types—lamb, pork, and shrimp with chive. Dave ordered them all.

When the waiter left, Dave leaned back in his seat and regarded me with a sly smile. “So, I realized I do know a pilot,” he said. “A guy named Brock I went to high school with. He was in the air force, and now he’s been flying for United for twenty years. I sent him an email. He’d love to meet you.”

I found it unsettling that Dave had already emailed this man on my behalf. I asked him what he’d told Brock aboutme.

“I said I had a friend who’s curious about aviation. I might have mentioned you have a thing for pilots and that you’re an attractive young woman. I hope that’s okay.”

I cringed at this summary of me. An attractive young woman. A dumb girl, easy to impress, lusting after men in uniform. Was that how Dave saw me?

I asked if the pilot was single, the only question that came to mind.

“I don’t know, to be honest. He seemed interested, though.” Dave showed me Brock’s photo on his phone. Brock was wearing his pilot uniform, similar to the phony pilots I’d placed on my first board, but he was older than those men and—even I could tell—far less handsome. He had a wide, ruddy face and lips that curled in a snarling smile.

“He lives in South Bend, but obviously, he’s very mobile,” Dave said. “He mentioned having overnights in Denver and Houston this month. Just say the word, and I’ll arrange a meeting.”

I held my facial muscles in a pleasant configuration, trying not to betray my disgust at Dave’s attempt to pimp me out to his old classmate. I was no longer interested in making detours en route to my destiny. I’d hoped my second vision board had redirected the universe’s efforts, but it seemed some residual energy from the first board was still active. “Thanks, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said.

Dave outstretched his palms in a gesture of benevolence. “I’m here to serve, Linda.”

The dumplings arrived. Dave drenched them in orange hot sauce from a jar on the table. He ate quickly, barely swallowing one dumpling before popping another in his mouth. While his mouth was occupied, I saw a chance to voice the fears that had plagued me all week.

“I’m sorry about what happened last weekend,” I said. “If you want me to pay you back for my tickets, I’m happy to.”

“Don’t be silly, Linda,” Dave said. “It was my treat.”

He didn’t seem to understand what I was getting at. “I haven’t told anyone about it, and I won’t. I just want to keep my job.”

Dave looked up from his dumplings. Sweat beaded his forehead, from the orange sauce, presumably. He emitted a single barking laugh. “You think I would try to get you fired? What for?”

“I don’t know,” I said. It did seem a bit silly now. “Maybe you’d be embarrassed about what we did and want me gone.”

“Even if I wanted to fire you—which I never would—I don’t have direct authority over personnel decisions. I mean, I could make a recommendation, but then you’d be free to tell Christa about our little adventure, and that would make me look pretty bad, wouldn’t it? It would be mutually assured destruction!” He laughed again, too loudly for the little restaurant.

Then Dave leaned forward and placed his hand on mine. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our flight to Houston,” he said, his voice lowered. “It was the most erotic experience I’ve had in years. Maybe in my whole life.”

Of all the Dave-related scenarios I’d spun out in my mind over the past week, I hadn’t considered this one. “But I didn’t even do anything to you,” I said. “I forced you to pleasure me.”

“I know. It was so fucking hot,” Dave said. He smiled, as though remembering the feeling of his fingers inside me. “You sparked a flame that I thought had been snuffed out for good. A feeling I had when I was young, and even then, only occasionally. A sense of possibility and novelty. It’s what I was trying to find at the club that night, but I didn’t find it there. I found it with you. It was like a spiritual awakening.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Dave was acting weird, and I suspected my vision board was to blame. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and drank an entire glass of water. “Jesus, that sauce is hot,” he said.

“You were miserable in Houston,” I reminded him. “You said we’d made a mistake and that you wanted to die.”

“I said all that?” He chuckled. “Well, I was being a baby. I was hungover, and I didn’t have my contact solution or my meds. I’m better prepared this time.” He patted his backpack, which dangled from the back of his chair.

“This time?” I said, a sinister awareness dawning withinme.

He glanced at my empty plate. “You’re not eating?”

I told him I didn’t eat meat. “But it’s okay. I’m really not hungry.”

Dave was already calling the waiter back over and requesting their most popular vegetarian items.

“So what are you up to tonight?” he asked, as the waiter walked away. “I thought we could have a drink in Denver.”

My genitals tingled, while my brain insisted it was a bad idea.

“There’s a flight leaving in two hours,” Dave said, consulting his phone. “My friend has a bar in Aurora. I’ve always wanted to check it out. They close at midnight, so we’ll be able to grab a drink there, as long as the flight’s on time. What do you say, Linda?”

I reasoned the planes wouldn’t mind if I flew with Dave as long as I was only using him for a free ticket. Dave probably wanted to penetrate me again on the plane, given what he’d said about our flight to Houston being a peak erotic experience. That was okay, too. I was willing to compromise most of my ideals in exchange for a flight. I remained troubled, though, about our work situation, as well as the question of Dave’s agency, his presence in his life’s cockpit, which might have been hijacked by my vision board.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I said. “You’re acting out of your own free will?”

He looked puzzled. “Are you asking me if I believe in free will? That’s a big question. We can discuss it on the plane, if you want.”

He took my hand again. “Please, Linda. I’m begging you to do this with me. No expectations. Nothing weird. Just two buddies taking a spontaneous trip to the Mile High City.”

I reached my free hand into my pocket and stroked the shard of 737, which seemed to emanate heat, confirming I should proceed. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

Dave clapped his hands triumphantly. He handed me his phone, and I entered my information for the ticket. “Thank you, Linda,” he said. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

My dumplings arrived, and I ate them quickly, for sustenance, like a snake swallowing eggs. Soon we were driving south in Dave’s Prius. It was only after we’d merged onto 280 that I remembered my laundry, trapped in its wash capsule.

—

On the drive, Dave told me about the year he’d spent in Colorado after college. He’d worked as a white water rafting guide in the summer and a ski instructor in the winter, which was where he’d met his ex-wife, Michelle.

“It was the best year of my life,” he said. “I wish I’d stayed longer.”

“Why didn’t you?” I asked. Forest stretched to the right, while to the left, the concrete expanse of the airport beckoned. A plane flew above us, having just taken off. I leaned forward for a better view of him through the windshield, then turned to watch his form recede through the car’s rear window.

“That’s a good question,” Dave said. “At the time, it didn’t seem like an option. My dad paid for my education, which wasn’t cheap. I figured I owed it to him to get a good job.”

We reached the exit for the 380 interchange, which connected 280 to 101, providing access to the airport exits. I grew irritable on the brink of my fix. I knew I had to feign interest in Dave’s life, seeing as he was paying for me to fly, but I was already fatigued by the effort.

“So you moved here instead,” I said.

“Yeah. It was the late nineties. Everyone was talking about what was happening in Silicon Valley. My friends from college were either working in finance in New York or in tech. I wasn’t cut out for Wall Street, so I came here.”

“You made the right choice,” I said hollowly. We came to an intersection. While we waited for the light to turn green, a wide-body plane flew directly above us, shockingly low, landing gear still extended. I trembled in his wake, the roar of his engines ringing in my ears.

“I don’t really believe in right or wrong,” Dave said, seeming oblivious to our encounter with the wide-body. The light turned, and he continued toward the long-term parking garage. “You asked if I believe in free will. Well, I’m not so sure. Everything that’s happened in my life has led to this moment. We make choices, and they shape our destiny, and it’s pointless to think about what might have been, because the present moment is all that exists.”

I found his philosophizing tedious, though these sentiments aligned roughly with my own notions of fate. I was eager to enforce our pact of silence on board the plane—the sterile cockpit rule, extended to the cabin. In fact, I wished I could ask him to be quiet now, but that would have been cruel. The man loved to talk.

My excitement mounted as we entered the terminal and proceeded through security. Having come from the laundromat, I carried only my wallet, which luckily contained my ID, as well as my chunk of 737, and a drawstring sack of quarters for the machine, which I placed on the belt. I imagined the TSA worker operating the X-ray would consider my quarter sack a tad eccentric, but he must not have found it nefarious, as I wasn’t selected for additional screening.

At Gate F14, our plane awaited. He appeared to be either an A320 or a 737. As I approached the window, I saw he was an A320, as evidenced by his slightly softer, rounder nose. His tail number was N415UA, an auspicious name, I felt, as 415 was San Francisco’s area code. I smiled shyly at his windscreen. I sometimes felt disloyal taking pleasure from an A320, as this model was designed as a direct competitor to the 737, but the A320 was a fine plane in his own right, and I’d gladly marry such an aircraft if he chose me.

I sat with Dave in the gate area. “I feel like this whole recreational flight thing could come into vogue,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” I said without interest.

“Rather than going to dinner and a movie, people could take a flight together. We could make an app for it.”

“I don’t think it would catch on,” I said, offended by the idea. I hated to think of my personal religion, access point to the eternal sublime, diminished to harmless fun for pampered tech workers.

Dave nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. It would be expensive. And there’s the whole environmental angle. Though I think that’s part of the appeal. The taboo factor.”

Before I could respond, he placed his hand on my thigh.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, though I didn’t care for it. I was confused about Dave’s intentions. He’d claimed the flight would involve “nothing weird,” and referred to us as “buddies.” He’d also told me that he wasn’t interested in dating anyone, much less someone he worked with. But as far as I knew, platonic friends did not make a habit of caressing each other’s thighs and genitals.

“I want you to use me for your pleasure again,” he said softly.

“Once we’re on the plane, let’s stick to the no-talking rule,” I said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tonight’s flight was fuller than our red-eye to Houston last week. The mood of the cabin was loose and talkative. Apparent strangers conversed in their rows, yelled to one another, watched video clips on their phones with audible volume. I wanted to tell them to shut up. The interior of a plane was not a hall to be filled with inane chatter.

To my chagrin, our seats were 30A and B, on the port side of the plane; I always stuck to the starboard side, as this had been my family’s position on N92823. As we approached our row, I was further dismayed to see a middle-aged man already present in the aisle seat. His polo shirt and khakis suggested he was a business traveler. I imagined he’d come to San Francisco for work, and was now flying home, perhaps connecting through Denver to a regional airport. His company was too cheap to book him in business class, so he was stuck with us. When Dave gestured to our seats, he shuffled into the aisle without complaint, and I felt guilty about the indignity we were about to subject him to. Alone, I could commune with the plane discreetly, but with Dave, the endeavor took on a more sordid quality.

I took the window seat. Dave removed his sweatshirt and draped it over my lap. I gathered he wanted to use the sweatshirt as a shield beneath which he could stimulate me. His forethought unnerved me. I felt like a dead bird whose cavity he wanted to stuff with seasoned breadcrumbs. A flight attendant walked down the aisle, taming the unruly passengers. She instructed them to push their bags fully under the seats in front of them, to fasten their seatbelts and raise their seatbacks. I was surprised they’d already had a chance to recline their seatbacks in the minutes after boarding, and that they weren’t aware their seats had to be upright before takeoff. Had they never flown before? Were they stupid, mutinous, or merely drunk? It was for the best I hadn’t become a flight attendant, as I would have found it difficult to maintain equanimity around people who were so disrespectful of planes.

As we pulled back from the gate, I closed my eyes, imagining I was alone with N415UA. My body, an object from which I could derive pleasure, remained strapped in its grubby seat while my soul converted to energy that fused with N415UA’s airframe. As we surged down the runway, Dave’s hand crept back onto my thigh. Beneath the sweatshirt, I shifted my hips and unbuttoned my jeans. Dave leaned forward, pretending to look out the window, so that his torso blocked our rowmate’s view of our activities. He probed one finger inside me, then another. I clenched my thighs against Dave’s wrist and pulsed my hips against him. At the verge of climax, I turned and plunged my tongue into his mouth. N415UA lurched as if in response. I came harder than I had in recent memory, my lips latched to Dave’s as the plane carved through rough air.

A moment later, N415UA’s nose leveled, and I broke from our kiss. As we resettled ourselves, my hand brushed the front of Dave’s sweatpants, inside which his penis had firmed. I moved my hand away quickly, as if I’d touched a hot stove, and looked up to find Dave staring at me with a dreamy expression.

“That was fucking incredible,” he whispered.

I glanced at our rowmate and was relieved that his eyes were shut. I held my face close to the window as we passed over the Diablo Range, the waning sunlight etching dramatic shadows around its peaks and furrows. I prayed for the return of turbulence. I’d felt something novel in the moment my lips touched Dave’s. A spark, met with N415UA dipping, as though Dave were a conduit through which the plane felt my kiss. Perhaps N415UA was jealous and wished to claim me. There was possibility in this.

The plane’s early bout of passion did not return, however, aside from a gentle rumbling as we flew over the Rockies before making our descent. When his wheels touched down, I faced the prospect of a night in Denver with Dave. His erection on the flight reminded me that he, too, was a sexual being. If our evening concluded in a hotel room, I would fulfill my side of the implicit bargain we’d struck. It was a small sacrifice. I’d allowed past men to do the same without paying for me to fly.

Dave led us quickly through the terminal, eager to get to his friend’s bar before last call. The taxi carried us along a desolate stretch of highway to the suburb of Aurora, where we arrived at the strip mall that housed Barley Bros, sandwiched between a tattoo shop and an Ethiopian restaurant. Inside, the walls were lined with beer kegs and stacks of wood, steer horns posted over the doorways. The communal tables were crowded with people in outdoorsy clothes, shouting to be heard over a din of classic rock.

We found an open spot at the end of a table. I studied the laminated menu.

“This place is incredible, don’t you think?” Dave said, looking around the space with an awed expression. His enthusiasm seemed forced, and I wished he’d drop the act.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just a bar.”

“You’re tough to please, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Dave ordered us IPAs and a basket of fries from a young waitress. When she returned with our items, Dave asked if the owner, Mike, was around. “I’m a friend of his, in town for the weekend,” he said.

“I love that!” she said. “I think he’s still in his office. Do you want me to pass a message along?”

“Sure,” Dave said. “You can tell him his old buddy Dave Kinney is here.”

The waitress lingered, resting the empty tray against her hipbone. “Where’d y’all travel from?” she said.

“San Francisco,” Dave said.

“Oh my goodness! That’s quite a journey!”

“We didn’t come here just for this place,” Dave said in a sharp tone. “We’re here for a conference.”

The waitress’s smile stiffened, and she moved along. I found the beer gross but forced myself to sip it, imagining it was medicine that would inure me to the sex acts I assumed would unfold later in the evening.

“This was a mistake,” Dave said, staring out the front windows. “It’s weird to show up like this.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you,” I said.

Dave turned to me with sudden urgency. “Is it cool if we pretend like we’re dating in front of Mike?”

“What do you want me to do?” I said, flustered.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just act like you’re into me.” He shifted in his seat, scanning the bar. “That shouldn’t be impossible, right? I’m not a monster.”

I was disturbed by Dave’s frantic mood and decided the best way through was to maintain a posture of agreeability. “I can do that,” I said.

Dave finished his pint quickly and went to the bar for another; the waitress seemed to be avoiding us since he’d snapped at her. I ate the fries, which were pretty good, rough-cut with some skin intact. I checked my phone and found Karina had sent me photos of the wedding venue they’d secured. Anthony stood in a garden outside the chapel, his arms outstretched. Looks amazing! I replied. I wished I could tell Karina where I was. I imagined sending her a pin, revealing I was in Colorado, but I didn’t want to frighten her. I was on my own, as usual.

My eye snagged on movement at the back of the room, where our waitress was talking to a stocky man in a flannel shirt. They conferred, casting worried looks toward Dave—who stood at the bar, unaware he was being watched—as though they were strategizing about the containment of a wild animal. The man walked over to Dave and greeted him. Their mouths opened in exclamations, but I couldn’t hear what they said over the music. They hugged, slappingeach other’s backs, and then Dave led the man to our table.

“Mike, this is my girlfriend, Linda,” Dave said. I was disturbed by how naturally he said this, which made me wonder what else he’d lied about.

“Nice meeting you, Linda,” Mike said, shaking my hand. His broad, flat face reminded me of an A350-900, though his body did not attain the epic proportions of that jumbo jet. He sported a goatee, and his hair was gelled into tufts, reminiscent of the peaks of the Denver airport’s roof.

“I was just heading out,” Mike said. “I wish I’d known y’all were coming by.”

“It was a last-minute thing,” Dave said. “Have a drink with us?”

Mike looked toward the door, clearly longing for escape. I felt the same way. “I’ve gotta pick up some things for the old lady,” he said. “She’s six months pregnant. You know how it is.”

“Come on, five minutes,” Dave said. “It’s been too long.”

Mike demurred, perching on a free stool. “Ashley said you were in town for a conference?” The music seemed to have increased in volume, and we struggled to hear each other over it.

“Yes,” I shouted back, rolling with Dave’s lie. “We work in the field of virtual hygiene.”

“That’s rad!” Mike said, though I doubted he’d understood me.

“You still get out on the slopes?” Dave asked Mike.

“Nah, I slipped a disc in my back a few years ago, so I have to take it easy. Anyway, we’re pretty busy these days with the kiddos. We’ve got two boys plus the one on the way.” On his phone, he showed us a picture of his family. Mike and his wife stood beside a Christmas tree, two small blond boys crouched in the foreground. They all wore matching red checkered pajamas.

As if to compete, Dave brought out his phone and showed us a photo of Gabi, the first I’d seen. She was pretty and lanky, like Dave. In the photo, she wore a soccer uniform and stood on a field, glaring at the camera, her straw-colored hair lying in a single braid over one shoulder.

Mike whistled. “Look at that. She’s all grown up.”

The song that had been playing ended. A moment later, a gentler one began, with acoustic guitar rather than electric. Dave sipped his beer. “You talk to Michelle these days?” he asked Mike.

“Not really,” Mike said, tucking his phone in his pocket. “Once in a while, we’ll chat on Facebook.”

Dave’s face tensed. I remembered he’d said that Michelle and Peter had reconnected online, too.

“You probably knew I was getting divorced before I did,” Dave said.

Mike shook his head. “I dunno, man. It’s really none of my business.”

“I should have seen it coming. She was always kind of an empty person, wasn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I always liked Michelle.” I felt the tension rise between them, and resented Dave for bringing me all the way to Denver for this.

“Yeah, I remember you two were such good friends,” Dave said. “Every time we had an argument, she’d end up at your place. I could smell your shitty cologne on her when she came home.”

Mike smiled at Dave in a way that seemed menacing. “You want to know what I think?” he said.

“What’s that?” Dave said, smiling back.

“I always thought you were a miserable, stuck-up son of a bitch.”

“That’s funny,” Dave said. “I thought you were a dumb hick who wanted to fuck my girlfriend.”

Mike turned to me. “What did he tell you about us?”

“Not much, really,” I said.

“I bet he said, ‘Let’s go visit my old buddy Mike’s bar. We had the time of our lives together in Winter Park, back in the nineties.’ Is that right?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, it was bullshit. We weren’t buddies. We hated each other. He tried to swing on me one night at karaoke, and I laid him out flat. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to, just so he’d leave me alone.” He turned to Dave, jabbing his finger near his chest. “And now you show up here, wanting to talk about ancient fucking history? Some shit that happened when we were twenty years old? I’m glad Michelle got away from you, man. You’re a real piece of work.”

Before he left, Mike glanced at me sheepishly. “Nice meeting you, Linda,” he said.

—

Dave ordered an Uber, and as we rode away from Barley Bros, he told me he’d reserved two rooms at a Hampton Inn near the airport. We’d fly back in the morning. I was angry at Dave, and a little afraid of him. He’d brought me here on false pretenses, claiming our visit was friendly, when actually he wanted to use me as a prop in the settling of an old score. His moods were erratic, like my dad’s had been. My dad was cheerful ninety percent of the time, which made the other ten percent more terrifying, especially as his anger was triggered by trivial events that, in other moments, he’d have laughed off—Al forgetting to bring sandwiches on a boat trip, me spilling orange juice on the couch, my mom failing to remind him of a dentist appointment. Storm clouds gathered in his brain, and you had to stay out of his way until they burned off, speaking only when spoken to, and then only in a tone that would not be perceived as passive-aggressive. Similarly, I went along with Dave’s plan for the night, hoping to weather our remaining hours together until I was safely back in my cube.

We checked in. Dave walked me to my room and waited as I inserted my keycard. Freedom lay on the other side of the door. I looked at Dave and found his former appearance of freshness, when we’d met outside the laundromat, had faded. His blood had receded into his organs, giving his outer shell a pale, wrinkled look. His eyes were sad and hopeful. I knew I should invite him in, but I couldn’t bring myself to utter the words. The prospect of solitude was too tantalizing.

“Make sure you drink a glass of water before bed,” I said.

“I will.” He turned down the hall. “Good night, Linda.”

Relief flooded through me as the heavy door clicked shut. The room was narrow, with two queen beds pushed against an orange wall. In the moment, it seemed like a sumptuous haven. I removed my jeans and bra and lay on the bed by the window, which looked out on the parking lot. I listened to the call of planes flying over the gray building. I perused my flight app and speculated that the plane whose cry I heard might be an A319 departing for Philadelphia, or perhaps a 757 arriving from Washington Dulles.

A text popped up from Dave: Can’t sleep. Up for a chat?

I considered not responding. I could pretend to have fallen asleep, or to have placed my phone out of reach in an attempt to wind down. But I knew Dave was feeling fragile after his reunion with Mike, and we’d only ended up here because of my vision board. I invited him over. I put my jeans back on and hid my bra behind a pillow to avoid a scandalous impression. When Dave entered my room, I watched him make a quick calculation as to where he should sit. He could use the chair, but it was positioned close to the bed whose covers I’d already undone, which seemed too intimate. If he sat there, he’d be stationed at my bedside, like a country doctor tending to me in my sickbed. Instead, he sat on the other, unspoiled bed, his long legs extended before him.

“Are you okay?” I asked, returning to my bed.

“I feel pretty dumb, I guess.”

I searched for the right words, wanting to be tactful, in spite of my annoyance. “I didn’t realize you two had such a complicated history.”

Dave sighed. “I’d kind of forgotten, too. I was feeling nostalgic for Colorado, and he was part of that period of my life. But it’s true, we were never friends. I think Michelle played us off each other. And it seems like she’s still doing it.”

“So you didn’t go there to confront him?”

“No,” Dave said. “I wanted to fly somewhere with you, and I saw there was a flight to Denver, and then I remembered Mike had opened a brewery. I thought I was over it—it was so long ago—but when I saw him, it all came rushing back.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him, but it seemed possible he was unaware of his own motivations. I seized on the first thing he’d said. “So you felt a sudden compulsion to fly with me tonight?”

“I’d been thinking about it all week, but I wasn’t planning on asking you to do it until this afternoon. I was supposed to go to LA, but Michelle asked to switch weekends so they could go camping in Joshua Tree.” He paused. “You wanted to, right? It wasn’t because I pressured you, or anything?”

“Not at all,” I said. “The truth is, I’ve been taking advantage of you.”

He turned to me with a bemused expression. “How do you figure that?”

I sat up and crossed my legs beneath me. The time had come to tell him the truth, or at least a partial version, so that he knew what he’d gotten himself into. “A few weeks ago, I attended a Vision Board Brunch, where participants present a board that conveys their intentions for the upcoming quarter,” I began. “I glued your LinkedIn photo to my board, along with images of planes, and the universe must have gotten its wires crossed.”

“Wow,” he said. He lay on his side, with one hand under his cheek, as though we were at a cozy sleepover. “You put me on your vision board?”

I nodded. “I included you as a figure of authority and success in his field. I also hoped to manifest that raise we discussed.”

“I’m working on that.”

“I’ve learned the universe takes these requests literally,” I went on. “I believe it was because of my board that you’ve become compelled to fly with me, against your better judgment.”

Dave was quiet for a moment. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, and I appreciate that,” he said. “But your vision board isn’t that powerful. I’m responsible for my own decisions.”

“A few months ago, I would have agreed with you,” I said. “But other items from my boards have already manifested. On my first board, I included an image of Guillaume Faury, and then I encountered the man himself at SFO a week later.”

“Guillaume Faury?”

“The CEO of Airbus.”

“Why’d you put him on your board?”

“The point is, I conjured him,” I said, growing impatient. “And now I’ve conjured you. What are the odds we’d run into each other at the club?”

“The club was Charlie’s idea.”

I was annoyed by his obstinacy. “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying,” I said. “My board might be tampering with your free will.”

“Linda, no offense, but you’re sounding kind of cracked with this vision board stuff.” It was the same tone my mom had used that day at the Cheesecake Factory. I felt chastened and crawled under the covers.

“So you put planes on your board?” Dave said. “Is this, like, a fetish of yours? Getting off on the plane?”

“In a way,” I said. I was no longer interested in making Dave understand. If I were ever to reveal myself again, it would be to someone I truly cared about.

“Have you done this with other guys?”

“Never,” I said truthfully. He looked pleased by this.

“I never thought about the erotic potential before, but it makes sense,” he said. “All that horsepower directly under you. The roar of the engine. And the whole getting-off-in-public thing. I’ve always been a bit of an exhibitionist.”

I said nothing, offended by Dave’s interpretation of what we’d done on the planes. He made it sound cheap.

Dave’s eyes had drifted shut. “I like that you put me on your vision board,” he said. “Did you think I was hot?”

I cringed at his use of the word “hot,” which seemed undignified for a man his age. “You struck me as very tall and well groomed,” I said.

“I’ll take it,” he said. His breathing grew steady and soon curdled into a snore.

I couldn’t believe it. He was asleep, which meant the threat of sex had passed. I’d assumed that, at any moment, he would ask to join me in my bed, which I would have consented to, preferring to dispatch with the unpleasant obligation as quickly as possible. As I listened to Dave’s increasingly guttural snoring, I realized that what he wanted from me was more onerous than a simple sexual exchange. He wanted an empathetic ear, someone to listen to his accounting of his life’s disappointments. Dave wanted a girlfriend, or at least someone who’d pretend to be his girlfriend. I didn’t see much difference between the two.

It had been a mistake to fly with Dave again. I could not be a man’s girlfriend if I hoped to be a plane’s wife. I resolved to end our affair as soon as we were back in San Francisco.