8. JACK

Just before the workday drew to a close, Paul arrived in the office. I did not see him enter but found him at his desk, going through emails, with a carry-on bag that itself only looked half-full.

“Is that it?” I asked.

He glanced up at me, his big blue eyes immediately warm.

“Is that what?”

I pointed at the bag.

“Have you got two pairs of underpants and a change of socks, and that’s it?”

He shrugged.

“And a book for the plane…” he joked.

We both laughed.

“So, ready for our London adventure?” I asked him.

The mischievous twinkle stayed in his eye.

“Absolutely, Jack. I’ve got my passport and my ‘Made In The USA’ baseball cap.”

“You’ll fit right in!” I said.

He nodded.

“Like locals.”

I leaned against the edge of his desk.

“I am sorta good to go whenever you are.”

Paul stood up from his desk, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Same, I’m just waiting on you.”

At that moment, I felt a sense of camaraderie between us, although, in truth, we hardly knew each other. But I had been on work trips with colleagues before. You quickly form a bond.

“Just give me a second,” I said. “I need to go get my things.”

Paul and I bid farewell to our colleagues, who told us to have a great time and not to let “those limeys kick your asses.” We laughed, hardly even knowing what that meant.

Stepping out onto the street, we hailed a passing yellow cab.

“JFK, please,” I instructed the driver, sliding into the backseat, and Paul did the same.

“Going somewhere nice?” the driver asked cheerfully. I think it was the first time I had been in a yellow cab and the driver had said anything at all to me, except for the odd complaint about me not knowing the correct address.

“London,” Paul replied.

“Huh,” the guy said, as if a New York cabbie couldn’t betray his hometown like that.

The taxi lurched forward, and we began navigating the maze of traffic through downtown. As we settled into the back seat, the thrum of the city faded, replaced by the hum of the engine and the low radio voices the driver was playing. Leaning back against the seat, I let out a contented sigh.

As we headed over to the east side, Paul and I chatted about the project and the first things we had to do. I asked Paul if he was okay with the apartment, and he said, “Sure,” as if it was no problem at all.

Eventually, we made our way off Manhattan, through the tunnel, and up into Queens, then towards the southern edge of Long Island toward the airport, along the endless grey Van Wyck Expressway. The two of us sank into a quieter mood.

Now and then, I looked at Paul as he gazed out the window at the street scene beyond. Each time I did, he turned and looked back at me and gave a small, sweet smile.

***

Arriving at JFK Airport, we made our way toward Departures. Paul and I became two more bodies bobbing on the ebb and flow of a vast, anonymous crowd of travelers, thousands of footsteps tapping the vast polished floors headed to different destinations.

The air hummed with everyone’s anticipation, and a hundred different languages – English, Spanish, Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese, Hindi – as people searched for their destinations on the huge blackboards filled with times and gates.

As we approached the security checkpoint, I couldn’t help but notice Paul’s edgy anticipation.

“I don’t know why this part makes me nervous,” he said, not even looking at me.

“You think they are about to pull you aside and strip-search you.”

“Exactly!”

I shook my head.

“I think you’ll be fine.”

I watched as Paul interacted cautiously with the security personnel. He put his bag on the conveyor belt toward the luggage X-ray, took off his shoes and belt as instructed, and stepped through the metal detector. Nothing bleeped. No SWAT team arrived.

“Okay, sir,” a security guard said blankly, waving us on without any pleasantness at all.

We went straight through into the terminal, heading to the business class lounge. As we went, Paul laughed.

“I don’t normally travel business class.”

I glanced in his direction.

“First only, is it?” I teased.

He rolled his eyes.

“Oh, sure!”

The woman at the lounge door checked our tickets and then welcomed us inside.

The space was all discreet elegance, filled with plush armchairs and low tables. The soft glow of ambient lighting lent a comforting hue to the room that murmured, Relax.

The conversation from its guests was both serious and soft, about business, naturally, with a strange air of entitlement, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter.

“I could get used to this,” Paul said.

“If you fly to London regularly for us, you might have to,” I replied, and I saw the amazement on his face: this might be your life. Everyone has it when you are first introduced to this style of travel.

“Can I find you somewhere to sit and get you a drink, sir?” a smartly dressed hostess asked as we looked for somewhere to sit. I glanced at Paul and winked at him.

“Let’s start as we mean to go on, eh?”

We decided on two high stools at the sleek marble bar and watched the bartender uncork the champagne bottle and fill the two glasses set before us. There was also a selection of gourmet nibbles.

“Shall we toast to our London trip?” I said to Paul, raising my glass.

Paul chuckled, his eyes sparkling.

“To London,” he replied, clinking his glass against mine.

As we sipped the wine, our conversation flowed. We talked mainly about work but in a light way. At one point, Paul recounted a humorous mishap from a previous project. His openness struck me. His laughter rang out, and his eyes became watery with it. I couldn’t help but join him; his good humor was infectious.

I found myself drawn to Paul in an immediate way that I hadn’t completely expected. Despite the potential awkwardness of us living at such close quarters, I settled into a positive mood about the whole trip. I was looking forward to spending time with him.

“Wow,” he said after a while. “I can’t believe I am going to be living in London for a while.”

I shook my head playfully.

“Maybe ‘living’ there is a bit much,” I joked. “It’s back to the grind in New York after this.”

Paul nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Yep, back to my old life. But hey, at least I’ll have some exciting memories to carry us through.”

I chuckled, raising my glass in agreement. “Absolutely! And like I say, there is the possibility of it being a more regular trip. You can be one of those people who say, ‘Oh, I live between London and New York.’”

Paul’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“So fancy!” he cried ironically.

The bartender came over and asked us if we wanted our glasses freshened. I lifted mine up.

“Why not?”

The champagne was poured, and I reached for a food menu, wondering if I could last until the plane’s evening meal was served.

“So, Jack, what about you?” he inquired as I perused the gourmet burgers and “artisanal cheese platters.” I looked up at him.

“How do you mean?”

“Are you heading straight back to Chicago?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, straight back from London. But I’ll be back in New York pretty soon, and I expect we’ll be in touch a lot about the project. It will take several months to get the European operation up and running. It’s very important to me, so I am keeping a personal handle on it.”

Paul’s smile widened.

“Cool,” he murmured.

I wondered aloud if I had time to order some food, but the bartender said the kitchen was behind. I ordered two packets of chips and decided to let the salt, fat, and slices of potato soak up the alcohol.

Soon, it was time to get ready to leave. Together, we raised our glasses one final time, draining the last of the champagne.

***

We headed to the gate. With boarding passes in hand, we went through the final security checkpoint, showing our tickets and passports again. We were directed toward the business-class line, where the airline staff became friendlier. Eventually, it was time to board, and we filed on first.

As we stepped onto the plane, Paul’s eyes widened as we found our seats and settled into them.

“Man, the space!” he cried so openly, like a kid. “Jack, you have a sweet life, traveling like this all the time.”

A stewardess came and handed out menus, showing dinner options, and Paul played with the screen in the seat, scrolling through the movies they were going to offer. He listed some of them as if we might watch them together when, of course, with headphones and an individual screen, we did not need to.

The takeoff announcements began – we were told to buckle up – and the plane taxied down the runway. Then it hurtled forward, that thump of inertia in your bones, as an airplane takes off.

I saw Paul’s demeanor change as his hands gripped the armrest a little. I turned to him.

“You okay?”

He glanced at me, and I saw his nerves.

“No. I’m good.”

“Nervous flyer?”

He grinned sheepishly.

“Little bit.”

“You’ll be okay,” I said.

I tapped his hand once with my fingers. His eyes fell to them just as I pulled them away.

Soon, we were up in the air, and the seatbelt lights went off. A stewardess made her way down the aisle, bright and professional. She stopped by our seats, her eyes dancing with warmth.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said. “Can I get you anything before we serve dinner? A glass of champagne?”

Paul and I exchanged amused glances as if we hadn’t been drinking already.

“No, thank you,” I replied. “We’re all set for now.”

The stewardess nodded, her eyes moving between us.

“Are you going on vacation, sirs? Somewhere nice?”

“London,” I replied.

I didn’t think to say it was a work trip.

“Oh,” she gushed. “How romantic.” She looked very directly at Paul as if they were friends. “I would love to go there with my boyfriend. I hope you guys have a really nice time there.”

As she disappeared from view to talk to the seats behind, I realized what she had implied.

“She thinks I’m your boyfriend,” I laughed. “That’s so funny. Why would she think that?”

Paul watched the stewardess moving away.

“I don’t know,” he said very vaguely. Then he looked at me, and we shared a knowing smile, trying to show amusement at the situation. It was a lighthearted moment, surely. Paul’s smile faded and his eyes tracked the aisle as the stewardess walked back past us.