Fly By Night

Fly By Night - The Flight

"Champagne, Madam?"

The air-hostess lowered the tray of glasses into Polly's eyeline.
"Oh, yes... yes please."

Polly opened her handbag, rummaging for her purse. God only knew how much this was going to cost, but if the company was paying to fly her to New York in business class, then she was pretty sure they could stretch to the odd glass of fizz. Her fingers found her Hello Kitty purse, "How much is..?"

But the stewardess had already left the glass and moved on to the next extra-wide passenger in the next extra-wide seat. Polly raised the champagne, staring at the bubbles dancing in the Atlantic sunset. Lead crystal, not like those cheap plastic beakers in economy that bounced.

Oh yes. I could get used to this, she thought.

The passenger beside her had taken the window seat but it didn't bother her, just being in business class was enough. And let's face it, it wasn't likely to ever happen again. He had been asleep when she boarded and hadn't moved since. She didn't think he was dead, but his face was covered by a cowboy hat so she couldn't really be sure. Cowboy hat, hawaiian shirt and bermuda shorts. In the middle of winter. And what was that smell... Sandalwood?

She prayed she wasn't sat next to the token weirdo, but the signs weren't good. At least he was asleep so she didn't have to make small talk and to be honest she could use some thinking time. Despite the M&S fiasco (or perhaps because of it), she had received a wholly unexpected call from leading fashion house Theodore Glass, asking if she would like to present to them. In New York. All expenses paid.

She wouldn't bill them for lifting her jaw from the floor.

Now, the collection was designed; the pitch prepared... just a final flight check and she would be ready for takeoff. Another glass of champers and an hour or so checking her designs, that should do it.

Quietly, she extracted herself from her seat. The ambient lighting was starting to dim in the cabin and people were pulling on blankets and strapping on eye masks. Gently, she squeezed the catch on the overhead locker.

A dozen A3 design boards rained down onto her seat. And the cowboy.
"Oh my god, sorry... I'm sorry"
Cowboy blinked himself awake, "Someone get the number of that truck"

American, then. With a soft southern drawl. He prised his hat back into shape and Polly noticed his tousled, sandy hair. Surfer hair, that figures. Still, nothing that a good cut couldn't fix. She kneeled down, scooping up the presentation boards, "I'm really sorry, I didn't know..."

"Hey, its no problem. Here, let me" he said, picking up the board at his feet. "What are these supposed...?"

And he stopped. Face to face with a cleavage. A cleavage filling the entire board.

"Impressive" he said.

Polly wasn't sure if he was trying to be smart, so said nothing. The picture was an intricately detailed, hand-drawn babydoll in extreme close-up. Antique black lace overlayed luxurious purple silk. The body was boned at the front, hemmed with lace frills and finished with a large, theatrical, golden ribbon bow at each side. Purple and gold - the colour scheme of Theodore Glass.

"These are really good," he said, deciphering her oversized, melodramatic flourish of a signature. "Holly. Is that you? You draw?"
Polly hesitated. She didn't want to get into a conversation but she had just tried to decapitate him with a ton of cardboard. Finally she admitted, "It's Polly. With a 'P.' And yeah, kind of... it's my job."
"You get paid to draw naked ladies? I sure took the wrong class."
"I'm a designer," she angled her stack of design boards towards him, "Lingerie."
He raised a blonde eyebrow over a clear blue eye, "Wow! You in any stores?"
"I did have a deal with M&S," she began. This part was always awkward.
She could have told him about her prestige bridal collection. She could have mentioned the ad campaign with Myleen Klass. She could have ranted about the details of the eleventh hour row with the creative director. She could have told him any of these things.
Instead she said, "...except they didn't like the name. Dropped the whole collection at the last minute. Thanks, but no thanks."

The plane lurched suddenly, sickeningly through a wall of turbulence. Polly held her breath and instinctively gripped cowboy's hand. A feeble shriek echoed from economy, but the plane levelled out and continued on its way. Nothing to see here. Move on.
"Your bridal collection, " said the cowboy. "What was it called?"
Polly knocked back the last of her champers. In for a penny and all that.

"May the Best Man Sin"

Cowboy's laugh caught the whole cabin by surprise.
"Probably not the message you want to broadcast on your big day," he chuckled. But it was a good chuckle, she conceded.
"Oh, and Polly? You can let go of my hand now" She hastily withdrew her hand. But not so hastily that she didn't notice his ring finger was bare.

"Well, that's the handshake out the way. The names Ted." laughed cowboy, breaking the silence.
"So... New York?"
"Yes, job interview!" she replied, a little too eagerly. Ted, eh? Maybe the cowboy was a surfer after all, dude.
"Anyone I've heard of?"
Only the second largest fashion house in the world. Only the most influential clothing designer of the 21st century. Nothing an hawaiin cowboy surfer would understand.
"You wouldn't know them" she scoffed, and instantly regretted it. He might be a walking fashion disaster, but he did seem genuinely interested.
"And this is your portfolio?" If he was offended, he hid it well.
"Yeah... but..."
He watched her page through the boards in her lap; the curve of her wrist, the concentration on her brow.
"But you're not happy with them."

Was she really that transparent?

"Its not that, its just... Suits, I'll be interviewed by suits. Old grey men with old, grey attitudes. They'll cross examine me, I'll fall to pieces. What can I tell them? You can't dress Myleen Klass in a spreadsheet and expect it to sell. Okay, maybe that was a bad example..."
It's fine, I get it."
"I know how to design, but when I have to explain the why, it..."
"Falls apart?"
She nodded, tapping her chest, "It's all in here." Then pointing to her head, "not here."

Ted laid the board flat, "Well I don't think you'll have any problems." he said, indicating a sopisticated purple silk kimono with delicate gold lace detailing. "You obviously know what you're talking about..."
A compliment. Even from a surfing cowboy who knew no better, it was enough. "...and I've done a bit of public speaking..."

Oh, here we go. Polly couldn't imagine any situation where he might have to stand up and give a talk. Surfer convention, perhaps?
"...and I'll tell you what works for me. I know it's a cliché, but imagine everyone in the room with no clothes on. Think naked. "

Yes, thought Polly, that is a cliché.

"Or better still," he continued, "Imagine them in your new underwear. "
"What about the men?"
He nodded conspiratorially, "Especially the men.

"Thats..." she was about to conclude with 'ridiculous', but glanced across the aeroplane cabin at squabbling families and sweaty businessmen. It was easy to imagine them in her new range. Far too easy and utterly ludicrous. She grinned.

"You know... that's actually not bad"

His face lit up, a broad smile that spread from the eyes and made her heart flutter like a trapped moth. Whoa, where did that come from?

"And I believe that's called 'progress'.
He glanced towards the restroom, "Now, if you'll excuse me."
He edged cautiously through the gap between the seats. His waist momentarily drew level with her eye line and unbidden, a cheeky thought sprinted free in Polly's head: Well, Ted... that's hardly appropriate. Not on a first date anyway.

She tried to suppress a giggle but it broke loose and scurried round the cabin shaking people awake.

He looked down, bemused, "What?"
Polly frantically gestured in the direction of her TV, "Oh, its.. I haven't seen this in years...this programme is hilarious."

On the screen, two lions were wrestling an antelope to the ground on the plains of the Serengeti. In slow motion.
"Okaaaaay." With a confused frown, Ted made his way to the lavatory.

Polly watched him go, wondering if Duty Free sold patches for stupidity.

***

He navigated his way through the dimly lit cabin back to his seat, dodging stray outstretched feet and abandoned pillows. Polly's head rested against the shuttered window, eyes closed, mouth open. A light snore escaped her lips. He sat down carefully so as not to wake her, though he wasn't entirely convinced a creaky seat would add much to the roar of four 70,000lb engines. He studied her face for a moment, bathed only in the glow of her TV, furrowed brow even in sleep.

Gently, he pulled the blanket up covering her exposed arms, as the tigers buried their noses into the ragged belly of an antelope. Hilarious. "You're a strange one, Polly," he whispered, and turned off the screen.

***

In the dream, Polly sat awkwardly on an old wooden chair in the interview room.
Naked.
Facing her as far as the eye could see, were old men in grey lingerie. An impassive sea of crimpolene. So much for good advice.

***

She awoke as the plane taxied into JFK. Stewards toured the aisles collecting travel debris and Polly realised she was still clutching the empty champagne glass. The crick in her neck suggested she had slept at a funny angle, but the pillow was soft and smelled good. Another benefit of business class, she thought as she yawned.
Still, the scent seemed familiar. A bit like... sandalwood?

She sat bolt upright and span to face Ted.
"Welcome back to the land of the living"
I'm sorry" she stuttered, staring at the arm that wasn't a pillow.
"Hey, night flights are tough, seemed a shame to wake you."
She covered her mouth, still focused on his shirt, "No, I'm really sorry."

Confused, he looked at his arm. A dark trickle of saliva ran down the shirt. Panicking, she grabbed a napkin and frantically rubbed at the wet patch, only spreading it further.

Somewhere, Polly realised, a village was missing its idiot.

He shook his head, chuckling, "Honestly, it's fine. I've got a jacket, no one will know."

He checked his watch, "Look, I've got a car waiting. I'm going to have to dash. If you're in New York next few days, give me a call. I'll show you what they don't put in the guide books."
He handed her a business card, "...and I'd really like to know how your job works out."

He lifted his laptop out of the overhead locker. Purple case. Nice.
"Oh, and if you get through to reception make sure you ask for Theo. Don't really use 'Ted' much at work."
Theo? Somewhere in the back of her head, a tiny bell was ringing.
"Anyway, " he turned to leave, "Good luck with the interview, and remember: Think naked!"

She waved. But the smile was frozen, her face on autopilot. The tiny bell grew closer and louder.
Her fingers traced the back of the business card. Royal purple with a gold leaf trim.
The bell wasn't tiny now, it was huge and loud. So very loud.

Heart jack-hammering in her chest, she slowly turned the card over and stared.

Theodore Glass

London. Paris. New York
Theodore P Glass CEO
+001 212 555 2000 Glass House. 1 Central Park South. New York NY

Ted. Theo. Theodore...
Theodore Glass - the most influential fashion designer of the 21st Century. And cowboy-surfer.

The champagne glass slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.

It didnt bounce.



***

Thanks for reading... I hope you enjoyed it.

This was envisaged as Chapter One of a much bigger tale of Polly's adventures in New York.
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Have a great Day!
Maddie
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