A Real Hoot | Mile High Scrub | 5

Boarding Call — Brad

Going down in the elevator, going up in the world

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Brad thanked the staff as he left the lounge: Bruno, the lady on the desk, the fierce doorman. They smiled back, and their eyes twinkled when they saw his hand holding Carrie’s.

Not alone any more. Well, at least for the few minutes it took to walk to the gate. Brad wondered where this would go, if anywhere. Dubai was unlikely, for any number of reasons. He had a two-hour layover there, and maybe he could invite her into the lounge for a meal. Maybe he would look her up when he returned home.

At the very least he needed to get her number.

“Hey,” he said. “Let’s take the lift down. The escalator’s aimed away from our gate.”

Carrie nodded and they looked at each other as they waited for the chime. She had a hunger in her eyes which probably mirrored his own.

The door opened and they stepped inside. He set his bag down and she did the same, coming into his arms as if she had read his mind.

Her lips were warm and soft and sweet. Keep your deconstructed pavlova, Qantas, this is the real thing right here!

The applause that greeted them when the doors opened on the lower level echoed his own beating heart. He smiled and bowed, but his eyes were on Carrie.

As he expected, there was a crowd waiting at the gate. You can’t jam four hundred passengers onto an aircraft in five minutes. The queue for the upper deck, where the First and Business cabins were located, was much shorter.

He turned to Carrie. “This is it, I think.” He opened his arms, and she melted in.

A minute, two minutes passed. Kissing was all very well, his body was telling him, but there was more to love than kissing. Besides, his hands were telling him that there were only so many places he could touch Carrie in public.

“Mmmm, that was nice,” Carrie said. “But not our final moment, not yet. Stay close to me, darling, people are pointing at you.”

He knew why. They weren’t the only ones making a point. He followed her to the line for the upper deck, only a handful of passengers ahead of them.

A warm sun rose on a bleak evening, somewhere inside.

“You’re in Business?” he asked. “This is great! We can hang out at the bar right at the back of the plane. Um, and do other stuff, if you’re up for it.”

Just thinking about what “other stuff” they might get up to was not helping at all. Using her body and his carry-on bag as a shield, he reached down and adjusted himself into a more comfortable position.

Carrie looked down. “You could have let me handle that, you know.”

“Stop it, or they won’t let me onto the plane!”

“You won’t fit through the door unless you calm down a bit.”

She dug her phone out of her bag, swinging it so that it accidentally on purpose brushed against his thigh.

Brad groaned. Any more of this teasing and he was likely to find coherent speech and movement difficult for a minute or two.

Carrie held her phone under the scanner, it beeped, and she went through.

Brad had his boarding pass and passport in hand. Call him old fashioned, but phones had been known to run out of battery power on long flights. Or after a long day at the office, like today. Paper passes didn’t die at awkward times.

“Pleasure to see you again, Mr Reid,” the attendant smiled.

He joined Carrie, and they walked — a little awkwardly in his case — along the jetway. The flight attendants at the door were checking boarding passes. First was to the left, but nobody was heading that way. Of course, the cabin was almost empty, as he’d learnt. Everyone was turning right, into Business. Not that this Business class was second-rate or tired, like some airlines he could name, but it wasn’t a patch on First.

He stopped Carrie, and gave her a brief kiss.

“I’ll come back and see you after takeoff.”

“Make sure you do, Mister,” she said, smiling like an angel. “I’m counting on it.”

She entered the door ahead of him, showing her phone screen to the attendant.

And turned left.

And so we leave the lounge. I’ve taken a few teeny liberties with the Qantas First Class Lounge in Sydney — there is another one in Melbourne, not quite so elegant, but still superb — which I am sure those who are familiar with the place will pick up.

I haven’t been there for a while now, what with the lockdown and not flying to America quite so much which restricts my ability to earn Qantas status. I’m sure it is every bit as excellent as I remember, and once the current unpleasantness is over, I’ll be back.

I’m in two minds over these sort of luxury spaces. First Class lounges and First Class cabins are — or were, rather, God knows what will happen to travel in the future — an increasingly loud alarm about the gaps in society. A few elites get pampered, while the great mass of travelers are squashed in ten abreast with their knees jammed against the seat ahead. In front, it’s champagne and caviar on bone china, in the back it’s warm chicken in a lentil sauce served in a foil tray. With plastic wine to wash it down.

Much as I enjoy the few times I get to ride in the premium cabins, I wish that travel was more of a level playing field. Why should so many have to endure fourteen hours of misery at the back of the bus while those in the good seats wish that the ride could go on for twice the time?

A fresh episode every day. Based on a true story.

Britni

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