A Real Hoot | Mile High Scrub | 1

Bubbly, Please! — Brad

Inside the First Class Lounge

Out of all the first class lounges in all the world, the Qantas Flounge in Sydney was probably the best, Braddon Reid told himself. Not as big and impersonal as that massive Emirates lounge in Dubai, not so full of mean and hurried people as the Concorde Room at Heathrow, and no need to tip the barman like in an American Flagship Lounge.

Not to mention the spa. Three hours till boarding. Dinner, massage, a glass or two of something nice would set him up very well for the long night flight.

The perky young attendant on the front desk checked his boarding pass. First Class to Dubai. “Not a very full cabin tonight, Sir,” she said. “Just two passengers in First. You can sit pretty much anywhere you want. And just reminding you about your spa time, an hour from now.”

“Thanks, do you think you can get me seat 1A? Keeps the rising sun out of my eyes, you see. And could you change my massage to the back de-stress, please? It’s been a long day.”

“Certainly Sir. Hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

Braddon returned her smile. “As ever.”

“This way, Sir.” A waiter had appeared at his elbow, and guided him to a table by the window. “Something to drink?”

“Champagne, please. The Pommery tonight, I think.”

One of the reasons Brad liked this lounge was its position, perched above the International Terminal. The floor to ceiling windows gave him a majestic view over the runway to the Sydney skyline beyond, and when his champagne arrived — the waiter left the bottle in an ice bucket beside him; they knew his habits — he lifted it in salute to the city he wouldn’t see again for another three weeks.

It hadn’t been that bad a day, to be honest, but his shoulders tensed as he remembered the debacle at the security check. It wasn’t his fault that he’d picked up the wrong bag from the belt. They all looked the same nowadays, and he’d put it down immediately on realising the mistake.

But not before some yelling harridan in hiking clobber came running through the metal detector screeching at him to drop it. The detector had beeped, the security guards had sprung into action, and the woman, her bag, and her trail boots had all been sent around for another go. Such language!

He had stood there hesitating, watching as she lashed out at the guards. A poor strategy, he could have told her; they were there for an eight-hour shift, and they were in no hurry at all. The more she swore at them, the longer they could make her wait. She’d be lucky if she escaped with a pat-down search. Passengers acting stressed and nervous could easily get the full cavity treatment.

Perhaps he could have waited and apologised, but would that have really served any purpose? She might have blamed him and began shrieking and swearing once more, and the guards would be forced to take action. Really, he had done her a favour by making a speedy escape to this haven.

Braddon Reid took another sip of the champagne and savoured the moment. Look, there was an A380 superjumbo just landing. Perhaps it was his bird out of here.

Pop a cork, readers! Join me on a First Class flight on a spicy adventure to a land of mystery. Chapter one of a journey we can’t take for ourselves in this year of the plague, so let’s just dream a little.

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

Britni

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