The Alpha For Her

Chapter 3

Jennifer hated flying, but not for the reasons that people usually do. She had no problems with the long lines and the security screenings. Indeed, during the seeming interminable waits she liked to people-watch, checking out women’s styles and make-up, cataloging what worked and what didn’t with a very critical eye. Occasionally she would see someone who just sparkled, and she’d either try and sneak a pic, or schmooze the woman, complimenting her, and then asking to take a posed photo. Most were flattered, but then there were the occasional snobs.

Nor did Jennifer mind the airline robbery, flimsily disguised as ‘additional fees’. She, like so many other savvy fliers, had learned the tricks. She would never bring a carry-on, opting instead for an oversized hobo bag that could accommodate her essentials, including her notepad and her precious bottle of Ashwagandha. The herbal medication always raised eyebrows with the security folk. One time one of them had even looked it up online.

“I hate flying,” she would always tell them, “like in, it scares me. And I refuse to take diazepam. My stuff is all natural, and just because you can’t pronounce it doesn’t mean that it’s not legit. You need to understand that I am afraid of flying.”

And that was the thing; Jennifer wasn’t simply afraid of flying, she was terrified. Someone had once spoken of it as being thirty-thousand feet up inside of a balloon with wings. The very thought frightened her. The intricacy of the machine, and the fact that each and every single component had to work flawlessly, boggled her mind. And though well meaning friends had tried to explain the physics of flight, the structural integrity of the aircraft, and how all those ideas were rooted in excellent engineering, mathematics and layers of redundancy, to Jen, it was just spooky. She would have trouble lifting her Volvo with the recommended car-jack when she had a flat; how the hell was a multi-ton airliner packed with people, baggage and fuel supposed to lift off?

But, Jennifer was pragmatic. She knew that to get anywhere she would have to grit her teeth, take her Ashwagandha and so fly. But, in that flying, she would always insist on an aisle seat so that she couldn’t look out the window; the feeling of vertigo made her head spin. And, during take-offs and landings she would virtually hold the plane up by the armrests, viciously claiming the things the moment she sat down, and never yielding an inch.

For her flight to California, Lisa offered to drive her to Hartford. From Bradley Jen had a connection to JFK. From JFK, she had a stop in St. Louis. From St. Louie, it was a straight shot to San Francisco. From there, Dryzek’s people were in charge.

“If I may mention,” Lisa said as she drove them through the bright, New England morning, “you don’t look like you’re going to meet a billionaire.”

Jennifer looked nothing like an up-and-coming fashionista. She wore a baggy, navy blue UCONN sweatshirt, even baggier sweat pants, and sneakers.

“Your standard airliner seat is eighteen inches wide,” Jennifer said. “My butt is bigger, but it will nestle. It’s going to be a long day of sitting, waiting and flying. I dress this way because I want – no, I need to be comfortable. I seriously doubt that Mr. Dryzek will be meeting me with a red carpet.”

“And if he does?”

“He will see me in sweats, and I will walk down his red carpet with all my glory. Part of the philosophy that I try to seed my blog with is that you should dress for the occasion, and, let me tell you, flying is not just an occasion, it’s an event. It’s going to be more than eleven hours before I touch down in San Fran, and most of that time will be sitting. I refuse to sit all that time in a skirt, pantyhose and heels.”

“Well,” Lisa said as they wheeled up to the departure terminal, “at least it’ll be easier when they strip search you.”

“Drop and go,” Jennifer said. “And this is my gate, so you can drop and go. It was wonderful of you to do this for me. I’ll bring you back something cool.”

“Better yet, come back a millionaire.”

“See you, honey. Don’t forget to water my plants.”

“Ciao, baby.”

They leaned over and kissed cheeks. With no carry-ons, Jennifer was cleared for pre-boarding, and so went straight to the security line. She was surprised when the TSA woman held up her med bottle and smiled.

“This stuff is great,” the woman said, opening it, looking and sniffing. “I use it every time I go to my mother-in-law’s.”

The two laughed and chatted about herbal remedies. Then Jen was cleared quickly, and so spent the next ninety minutes people watching. Women never ceased to amaze and confound her. She took out her tablet, and began jotting notes: Spandex should be a privilege, not a right – mascara is to be celebrated, not painted – the trouble with pantyhose is that you cannot see half, and so don’t see how they run.

She wondered about her notes. They were all so negative, and so Jennifer tried to see what worked. But as the time passed, and the boarding call neared, she began to get that feeling in her stomach. She dug out her water and two pills. She wanted to put in her ear-buds and drift away with Biance. But with all that was going on, she needed to be aware of every announcement and every movement of official looking people. She told herself that she was defeating the effects of the Ashwagandha, since she was being hyper aware even as the herbs soothed her. But she also knew that that was how she was, and so sat, jotting negative notes, but still looking for something, anything positive.

“Now boarding flight 521,” the speakers announced in a cool and suave voice. “Rows twelve to eight.”

Jennifer looked at her ticket. She was row four. She thought that must have been a mistake – she wasn’t in first-class. But the boarding went quickly, and when rows four to one were called, and she stepped on the plane, she understood and her heart sank. The aircraft was a twin-engine puddle-jumper, and despite her aisle seat, Jennifer could see the propellers, right and left. She sank low in her seat, seized the armrests, and listened studiously to the flight attendant’s instructions; sitting up and looking back to see that the emergency exits really were there. And when the propellers roared to life, she sank back down and plugged in Biance.