Page 3 of Grounded (May Hollow Trilogy #1)
By the end of April, rumors of an imminent takeover swirled around TransAir.
According to stories traded in the crew lounge, there were two airlines vying for ownership of TransAir, while the CEO was trying desperately to persuade the stockholders to hold out for another year.
Every day it was a different variation of two stories.
The deal was already done, according to some.
Details were being worked out before making it public.
Others were sure the CEO was preparing the restructure plan so it could be announced in time for the stockholders’ annual meeting next month.
One fact was undeniable: The airline was in trouble and something was about to happen.
Annie’s heels clicked against the tile floor, passing the pilots’ area and into the crew lounge, where their sound became muffled when she hit carpet.
Comfortable chairs were placed in conversational arrangements in one area of the lounge.
On a television in a corner, CNN was presenting breaking news from Turkey, where an apartment fire killed more than one hundred people.
Behind the chairs, vending machines offered snacks and sodas.
A long counter displayed coffee, tea and popcorn.
Employment and work related notices hung on the wall alongside FAA regulation changes.
Filling a Styrofoam cup with coffee, Annie headed to the bank of computers against the opposite wall, greeting other flight attendants as she went.
“Hey, Annie,” one of the pilots called as he stuck his head in the door of the lounge, “you still owe me a dinner!” He pointed his finger at her and raised his eyebrows, affecting an exaggerated frown.
“I know. We haven’t flown together since the Final Four!”
Phillip Miller was from Connecticut and shared a common passion with Annie: basketball.
Unfortunately, they were usually at odds since he rooted for UConn and Annie was a Kentucky fan.
The regular teasing had gone to a new level a couple of weeks before when UConn played Kentucky in the Final Four.
Kentucky lost in overtime, a particularly painful defeat.
Annie picked up her FAA updates out of her mail slot and filed them in her board manual.
She checked the schedule and found no changes.
She was on for the Sunday-Tuesday Rome flight next week, a break from her usual weekend flights.
There was a memo on new price changes for alcoholic beverages and another letter from the CEO saying the airline was working on several options to avoid takeover.
Janice was already in the small briefing room when Annie arrived. She pulled a seat out for Annie.
“What’s happening? It’s too quiet in here,” Annie whispered.
“The union met last night. If TransAir is bought by an airline that doesn’t have a union, there is nothing they can do for us. The new airline can take away our seniority and treat us like new employees unless we are protected in the merger agreement. Or worse, we could lose our jobs.”
“But isn’t it possible they may restructure the company?”
“Not likely now. Everybody is saying Patriot made the deal. The lawyers are drawing up papers.”
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, listen up!”
The two chief flight attendants began the briefing, covering everything from passenger loads to special customer needs and work assignments. Annie was assigned coach on the way over, which meant she would most likely have business class on Tuesday afternoon’s return trip.
The night flight to Rome was uneventful. Once on the ground and finished with their duties on the plane, the crew was shuttled to the Savoy Hotel off the Via Veneto.
The hotel was like a home away from home for the crew: the sparkling clear Venetian glass chandeliers in the lobby, the familiar Carrara marble steps leading down into a breakfast room below the first floor, and rooms so small there was barely space to walk between the furniture and the bed.
Crew members went their separate ways, but not before setting a time to meet for dinner. Each person had his or her own routine. Some stayed in their room, slept and watched television. Others visited favorite sites or shops.
With the Eternal City only steps outside the hotel doorway, Annie couldn’t imagine holing up in a hotel room.
Her routine allowed for a three- or four-hour nap to make up for the lost night’s sleep.
Afterward, she enjoyed viewing historic sites and architecture, people watching on the piazzas and visiting the glorious churches.
Like an illicit love affair, the few hours in Rome were never enough but kept her wanting more.
When Janice worked with Annie, they fell into a comfortable habit of going out together in midafternoon.
Janice’s Italian heritage and fluent language skills helped them find the shops and restaurants only the locals frequented.
But on warm and sunny afternoons such as today, it was hard to resist the popular and touristy Piazza Navona.
Navona was built on the site of a first century stadium used for carnivals and circus games. The shape reminded Annie of a smaller racetrack.
In the middle of the oval, Bernini’s Fountain of the Four Rivers provided a tablelike centerpiece.
While Janice found a table near the fountain, Annie admired once again the baroque statue with four figures sculpted into the square base and a large obelisk shooting skyward from the center with the waters falling toward the four corners of the world.
It was an allegory of grace, she had once read.
The four figures receiving the water represented Africa, Europe, Asia and the Americas as the four corners of the world—grace like a river, flowing for the whole world to receive.
“Here, Annie,” Janice called.
Annie moved between tables and chairs to join her friend.
“Desidera un cappuccino?” a waiter asked.
“Sì, grazie. Due,” Janice said and smiled.
Italians normally didn’t drink cappuccinos after breakfast and were sometimes perplexed at the Americans desire for them at all hours.
Maybe similar to our wonderment at them not wanting ice in their water or tea, Annie thought.
Nothing hit the spot like a cappuccino, unless it was a hot afternoon.
Then Annie craved a dip of creamy pistachio gelato.
Janice and Annie sat in front of the statue, with the church of Sant’Agnese in Agone as a backdrop. Old buildings in faded apricot, salmon and ocher lined the piazza. Vines hung from the iron terraces above, scattered here and there, as if some designer had placed them just so.
Artists sat on folding stools, easels in front of them while they painted.
Finished works showing famous Roman landmarks were displayed near each artist. Annie furnished her apartment with several of the paintings she bought at the piazza.
Stuart had dismissed them as “commercial” and told her she should invest her money in one good painting.
But she had liked them, and if art was to be enjoyed, then they had done the job for her.
As Annie watched people pass by, she reflected on the many Italian afternoons she and Janice had forged their bond of friendship during the past year when they had both been regularly assigned to the Rome flight.
Janice told Annie about Jimmy’s brief affair after the turbulent and traumatic times following September 11, and their struggle to forgive and move on.
Annie told Janice about the difficulty of losing her mother at twelve and barely knowing her father. A friendship was formed and sealed, witnessed by the waiters and notarized by drops of cappuccino or sometimes Chianti.
Annie, the sleeves of her cotton shirt pushed up, felt herself relax, enjoying the silence that lay between them like an old quilt.
Janice lit a cigarette, leaning back in her chair.
“I thought you quit,” Annie said.
“I did. But there is something about these Italian cigarettes.”
The waiter set two cappuccinos on the table. Janice nodded at the young boy and said, “Grazie.”
“Do you think we’ll lose our jobs?” Annie asked.
“I think some of us will. The way I figure, the new airline has got to have a few of us if they’re picking up our routes. I mean, nearly every flight I’ve worked lately is loaded.”
Annie poured a small packet of sugar into the frothy topping of her cappuccino and watched the mound of sugar sink, grain by grain, into the quicksand-like foam.
“They’ll keep you,” Annie said. “You have a language skill, and you’ve been with the airline for almost twenty years.”
“I hope so. With only one year of college, I don’t know what else I could do. They’ll keep you too. You’ve worked hard, taking extra flights. That’s worth a lot.”
“Yeah, but I only have ten years in. There are a lot of people with more seniority.”
Janice took a last drag on the cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray. “What else would you do? If you couldn’t fly, I mean.”
Annie leaned back in her chair, still holding her cappuccino. “Something in hospitality or travel. Maybe lead tours.”
Just then a cluster of people clad in yellow neon vests trod past their table. They followed a tour leader who walked backward, a yellow stick high in the air, while she spoke into a microphone that transmitted her words into small earpieces worn by each tour member.
After they watched the tour march by like penguins, Annie looked at Janice, trying to contain a grin.
“And maybe not!” Annie said, both women bursting into laughter.
In the silence that followed, Annie was drawn in to watching the fountain’s spray.
The water droplets looked like many pieces of crystal shattered and falling to the sea below.
At the base, a young couple leaned on the fence protecting the fountain and stared into each other’s eyes.
The boy traced the girl’s cheek with his thumb, gently lifting her chin and kissing her.