Page 38 of Fake It For Love (Faux Love)
“Do you think you’ll be as big as Spirit or Delta?” I asked with a smile.
“I hope not,” he said. “That’s not my goal. I like the private charters. Smaller planes and smaller travel parties.”
“Your family must be very proud of you,” I said. “Good job. You made your dream come true.”
“My family loves the free flights,” he said. “They like the idea of being flown by trusted pilots.”
“Do you fly them around?”
“Sometimes,” he answered. “The novelty has worn off a bit. Now, it’s like taking them for a ride in my car.”
“I can’t even imagine hopping in a plane to run across the state or country,” I said.
“Or the other side of an island,” he teased.
“The freedom of having your own plane and the ability to fly it has to be pretty cool,” I said. “I remember when I got my first car and the freedom that gave me. A plane has to be a hundred times more exciting.”
“I don’t think I will ever get tired of flying,” he said. “Some people get itchy when they don’t have a drink or chocolate. I get itchy when I can’t fly.”
“How often do you fly?”
“Not often enough,” he said. “I guess that’s the downside of owning a successful business. I’m often stuck doing paperwork or meeting with clients. We have contracts with several companies. We act as taxis in the air. If I could figure out how to conduct business from the cockpit, I would.”
“That would be interesting,” I said. “Are you based in New York?”
“No, not really,” he answered. “I travel a lot. I have a few homes around the world, but I would say my place in California is where I spend the bulk of my time.”
“Let me guess, beachfront,” I said.
He grinned. “Yes. It’s my hideaway. It feels like the one place in the world that’s home. I have an apartment in Manhattan, but it’s just an apartment.”
I couldn’t pretend to know him well, but he always did seem like he had that roaming spirit. Being trapped in the city would be like a prison sentence for him. I could see the difference in him now versus when he first landed. He was relaxed and comfortable. Back in school, he’d been awkward and nervous. Except that night. I was surprised he never brought up the incident. He hadn’t asked about my family. Nothing. Maybe he didn’t remember.
There was no way he wouldn’t remember that night. He might not remember the specifics, but I had been so awful to him. I was sure he remembered.
