6.24 The Pooka’s Wife
Everyone had been told to buckle up. I already had my seat belt on, of course, so when the steward walked by, checking that every passenger had followed his directions, he gave me a big smile and nodded his head. Strangely, Timothy glared at him. Now, I need to say that I’ve always had a history of being what my grandmother called plump. I also consider myself to be plain as a Chinese dumpling. Yet, Timothy thought I was beautiful. That was strange, but nice. Of course, Simone had given me some enhancements back in the days when I first started dating Timothy. She’d worked on my hair to get it appropriately styled, as she put it, and she’d done something to my cheekbones, as well as giving me eyelash enhancements and who knew what else. (I’d been asleep in the beauty parlor chair at the time.) Anyway, with a little TLC, I guess everyone could brighten up their appearance and more or less turn into a better edition of the original. I would always be grateful for Simone’s assistance in the matter, but the truth is that, I really didn’t see why people kept calling me a “goddess” and describing me as a natural model. Me? That was a laugh. But here this steward had given me his handsome as sin bright-white smile, and Timothy’s eyes were still following the poor man, my husband’s anger tightening the muscles in his face. It wasn’t as if the airline attendant had asked me out on a date for a movie night. Maybe the jealousy bit, was a good thing, except . . . Well, the truth of the matter is that I was suddenly feeling less than par. Was it the water tank that Bob said never got cleaned out on board flights? Was the coffee now churning about inside me complaining that I’d had two cups of it? Or maybe it was that strange pastry sandwich I’d eaten? But Timothy, other than the stern countenance on his face as he watched the steward continue down the aisle, looked fine. I guess I groaned as I reached for the little bag that lay protectively inside the seat pocket in front of me. I opened up the plastic-line, cardboard bag and stared inside. “You’re fine,” Timothy said, soothingly, but I wasn’t, and his reassurance only irritated me, as if he dared to think that my stomach didn’t know the difference between fine — and sick as a dog who’d just foraged in a tipped over garbage can. “Does she need a pill?” Bob called out from the seat behind me. I didn’t look up. If I had, my eyes might have sent Laser Beams at the man. I don’t know why I felt so angry, but I was burning up with it. In fact, I was suddenly dripping perspiration, a steaming glass with moisture pouring out like a . . . I gagged and sank my face inside the bag, but nothing came out. All around me, I could feel people recoiling. No one let out a hiss or a verbal complaint, but it was like a tidal wave in the air that half knocked me off my seat. Or their antipathy would have, if I hadn’t been buckled in. Timothy swung his arm around my shoulder. “Breathe in, my darling. I think you’re just having a bad reaction.” A bad reaction? Reacting to what? The coffee? The sandwich. The blueberry yogurt? The bear claw I wanted but never got? A second heave pushed forth, but nothing upchucked, just misery that slapped me up and down and flapped my stomach about like a gasping, dying fish.
6.23 The Pooka’s Wife
The breakfast bar that they gave us was okay, nothing like the banquet room at the Delta Club where I’d eaten pancakes with honey, but oh, well. I was dining in the sky. That was pretty amazing in itself. The aluminum-covered bar held scrambled eggs and cheese, covered by a pastry crust. There was also a small bowl — a plastic beige bowl, like we’d had the night before. It contained fruit salad, none of it fresh, but the canned, syrupy kind, although not as sweet as the can Grandma used to open on special occasions. She used the contents in gelatin salads, on pancakes, over white cakes, and once over my cereal, which I asked her not to do again. The coffee was the best part of our breakfast in flight, although Bob had told me not to drink any. He said that airlines used unsafe water, but Terry piped up that that story was only a myth. He said the water was perfectly safe and that everyone drank it and no one got sick. I looked around at the people in the seats nearby us, and Terry was absolutely correct. Almost everyone was drinking cups of coffee, except those who were tea-drinkers. And didn’t the hot water come from the same place whether it was tea or coffee the passenger was drinking? Timothy drank all his coffee and asked for more, although he was not usually the coffee enthusiast that I was. I held my cup out for seconds, too. Dying by coffee was a good way to go, I supposed. (Thankfully, Terry was right. No one perished mid-drink or even later as we exited the plane, people looked just fine.) After we finished our egg and cheese pastry with fruit, we also had a yogurt cup. Mine was strawberry. Timothy got blueberry, which was one of my favorites, so we traded. He offered and said he didn’t care which one he ate. The stewardess was just about to take our trays away when the steward from the night before came by with a platter of pastries. I think they were bear claws. My stomach was full, but I noticed that Terry and Bob grabbed a couple of the goodies. I wish I’d known the attendants were going to be offering bear claws. I’d have traded the yogurt for that. But yogurt was better for me, I thought to myself as I inwardly sighed. Breakfast over, coffee drained, bear claws no longer walking the aisles, it was time to prepare for departure. The airline had given us a toothbrush and toothpaste. The latter was the cutest miniature tube you’ve ever seen. I wanted to keep mine as a souvenir, but, instead, I stood up, ready to attempt to brush my teeth in a phonebooth-sized bathroom. (Yes, I remember phonebooths. Superman changed in them, right?) “Let’s wait until we land, darling. The hotel will have an elegant bathroom all properly readied for your face washing and toothbrushing. Okay?” “What about morning breath?” I asked, but I’d barely gotten the words out before Timothy was kissing me. Guess what I learned. Pookas, absolutely, do not have morning breath. Ever.
6.22 The Pooka’s Wife
The hour was late. By the time the empty trays had all been picked up, the passengers were standing up to go visit the WC. I watched the steady stream, thankfully not a push and shove procedure. Bob had earlier explained that the folks in First Class were classy, a statement he hooted over until Terry did the elbow in the ribs treatment to get Bob to stop laughing. I got the pun, but it also seemed that Bob was right. Everyone seemed well mannered and polite. The people around us were softly saying, “Excuse me, please,” and thanking everyone for being equally courteous. It was nice to see. I took my turn when the parade had slowed, Timothy right behind me with Ben and Terry not far behind. I half expected one of them to enter the tiny room with me, but at least the bodyguard business didn’t practice that level of strictness. After we’d all done our business, we made our way back to our places only to find that while we were gone, our seats had gone from vertical chairs to horizontal semi-beds. And we had blankets and pillows. So cool! I snuggled into my bed-chair while Timothy discarded the plastic the airline had wrapped everything in. A steward came by with a large black garbage bag, eager to collect it. Then, Timothy lay down beside me, gathered me close, so that he could fit in my chair-bed, and we kissed a couple of times, then closed our eyes. Almost at once, a steward came by, requesting that we buckle up over the blanket, so they could make sure that we were securely buckled in, just in case of any potential turbulence. “I’m sorry, Sir, but you will need to be in your own seat for that,” the same stew who’d served us dinner explained in a quiet but firm voice. I thought Timothy might argue, but he didn’t say a word and merely moved back into his seat. We both buckled ourselves in, over the blanket, and once more started to close our eyes. Just as we were doing so, I saw the cabin lights dim. It was sleepy time on the airplane. That was pretty exciting, actually. Eating a meal on a plane and now bedding down for a night of snores and . . . When I woke, Timothy was bending over me, telling me that it was time to get up. How could that be possible? I yawned broadly as he helped me return my seat to a normal position. Up at the front, a cart was already bringing coffee down the aisle. That encouraged me not to nod back off in my seat. I smiled at my husband and pecked him on the chin. He growled teasingly and said, “I will soon want more than that, my darling wife.” That’s all it took to make me feel a most wonderful stab of contentment. Married life was going to be A-Okay.
6.21 The Pooka’s Wife
We had plain flatware, not intricately decorated like Timothy’s good set that had been used at the wedding banquet, but they were substantial, not plastic ones, like I’d expected, at least. I picked up my fork and dug into the chicken. Timothy was using a knife to cut his, so I picked up mine, ready to do some cutting. My first bite was a chew and a half. It must be part rubber. I remembered a kid I’d known in grade school who carried a rubber chicken about. He was kind of weird, as we all were at that age. I think he used the chicken to unsettle the adults around him because all us kids just ignored his plopping the thing in our faces. Seen once, what’s to scream about, right? Anyway that rubber chicken might have been cooked and ended up as airplane food . . . oh, geez. The meal wasn’t that bad. I’m being melodramatic here. The green beans, the gravy, and even the chicken were pleasant if not culinary works of art. I glanced over at Ben. He’d passed on dinner and was reading a book. I wondered what genre he liked. Did someone write books about the Fae? Were there Fae mysteries, Fae living on alien planets, and vampire and werewolf Fae books? I took a bite of the bun, the one they’d offered real butter to spread over. I nibbled and then put it down. Grandma would have been irked at my waste, but I didn’t feel like finishing the rest of my dinner. I moved on to the dessert. Eureka. That was a hit. The apples were nicely seasoned with a touch of cinnamon and, I think, cloves. The filling wasn’t too sweet so that after I bite I felt sick. No way. I savored every last bite, enjoying the crumbly crust and the way it so agreed with the apple mixture. I ate it all and then practically licked the bowl. Then when I was done, I looked up. Timothy hadn’t even touched his dessert. He was just sitting there smiling and watching me. “We’re adding that apple concoction to Ben’s TV tray dinners from now on,” my husband said. “I can tell that’s a favorite of yours.” There is nothing more embarrassing than finding out that a spectator was watching your obvious salivation over an apple pie/tart. I felt my face heat as I removed the napkin from my lap and placed it on my tray. “Ok. Eat yours and tell me that it isn’t praise worthy,” I dared him. Timothy reached over and stabbed the bowl with his spoon and dished up a bite. “Yum,” he said, but I think he was just teasing. Timothy never seemed to appreciate sweets appropriately. What was up with that?
6.20 The Pooka’s Wife
Penelope Okay, I was excited to see what the airline was going to serve us for dinner. It wasn’t that I was hungry, exactly, but TV dinners! Wouldn’t Grandma giggle over that! Up in the sky! As the stewards came down the aisle with the trays that apparently held our orders, I craned to see what the meals looked like. There were covers over most of it, so, other than the look on people’s faces when they opened them up, I could see next to nothing. Ah, but the aroma! It was a restaurant of flavors, the air simmering with deliciousness. Suddenly my stomach did a spastic growl of greeting. Timothy smiled. The big lug! How dare he hear my stomach’s rumbles of eagerness. Where was privacy? How did one stop inner parts from salivating with impatience and excitement? I covered my belly, attempting to subdue it, or at least to simmer it down to a tinier roar, but Timothy, apparently picking up on my disquiet, grabbed my hand, picked it up, and kissed it. “I’m glad you’re excited about your first space meal,” he said. “I hope it meets your grandmother’s raves over TV dinner nostalgia. If not, I’ll demand that Ben buy some aluminum pans with dividers, and allow you to experience that when we return home.” “Home?” I hadn’t thought about where we’d be living when we returned from our honeymoon. Timothy had always changed the subject when I’d brought it up. His house was nice, and I knew the apartment where I’d been living would be too small for him, but . . . Before I could address the issue, a male steward politely greeted us, asked if he could drop down our tables, then spread a tablecloth over them, and set down a couple of cloth napkins. He checked his list, verified it with us orally, then served us our orders. Steam rose from the cover as the steward lifted each of them. There were sadly no aluminum dishes with partitions like I’d envisioned. However, there were several beige plastic dishes. One had a chunk of chicken drenched in a pale gravy, which flowed over the green beans on the side of it. I think there were some mashed potatoes under the chicken lump, too. Off to the corner of the tray, sat a small bowl with the apple pie/tart thing I’d wanted. Oh, and a puffy bread roll had its own dish on the side opposite of that. “What would you like to drink?” the steward asked us. I again went for water. I still hadn’t drunk all of mine. Timothy requested another bottle of water since he’d finished his, then asked for a spare, in case I ran out. “No problem,” the man said, reaching down under the cart to grab a couple of bottled waters.
6.19 The Pooka’s Wife
The nosy stewardess had to apologize. I could hear her conversation with Terry, as her supervisor stood, tapping her shoe, her face mottled with disapproval of the blonde trainee she was overseeing. Hearing Terry put in a request for an expensive beer, which he would have gotten free in first class anyway, I removed my attention from the scene going on behind me to study my young bride. Her eyes were shining. She wasn’t the least bit upset from what had occurred during my absence. She was watching the other passengers, while pretending to be interested in the movies she was flipping through on the screen in front of her. “Are we going to watch a romantic, science fiction, or mystery movie,” I asked. That turned her luscious lips in my direction. Penelope forgot she’d been watching the woman three seats over who had her laptop on the tray and was pounding away as if she were writing a book. My young wife sighed. “It’s too late to watch anything, I think?” she said with that cute question mark she always inserted when she was unsure of a statement. “You can’t sleep yet. You’d miss dinner.” “The TV dinner?” she asked, curling her lips so that her perfectly shaped and extraordinarily white teeth exposed themselves. Teeth were something I always noticed. Earlier centuries had not been kind to teeth. Most peoples’ teeth had blackened by the time they were thirty. Most smiles were full of wiggling teeth, and there were many empty spots where reddish gums displayed the careless habits of a pre-toothbrush realm. And bad breath was not just from a diet of onions and garlic, crunched raw to prevent the many diseases of that time period, but from a mouth that stank of uncleanness, with as potent a vile odor as that from their unwashed bodies. Crooked teeth were also rampant. Andrew’s short-term wife had the teeth of a piranha. He’d loved her anyway, but it was a fact that teeth were something to be fond of and to take care of with great diligence. Andrew had tried to get his wife to clean her teeth with chewed off twigs and charcoal powder, but she resisted, telling him it was unnatural. Luckily the Pooka genes had given me flawless teeth, and even Andrew, whose teeth had been yellow and slightly uneven, although his black skin had not shown it as starkly as a white person’s would have — when I’d given him the bite, his body grew healthier, his teeth whitened, and his eyes, which had been slightly feeble, were suddenly a marvel for the time. But I was discussing teeth and how when Penelope smiled at me, full toothed with happiness, I marveled at the display. Of course, now, my sweet darling would never suffer from cavities, never need a dentist, and never have to endure a root canal like poor Arnold, one of the businessmen I’d invited to my wedding, who had just been forced to endure something so painful he was still grimacing and holding his jaw.
6.18 The Pooka’s Wife
I stood up, telling Penelope that I needed to stretch my legs. In truth, I wanted to check on my crew. There would probably not be any incidences on a flight to Florida, but I had enemies like Peters, who deemed me a danger to society. There were even graver issues with the Queen’s Court. The rivalries among the Faerie went way back. When a Queen showed favoritism, that opened the recipient to jealousies and revenge. Bob was sleeping, snoring peacefully. Terry, beside him, having sensed my shift in position, eyed me as if wondering if I needed something. I smiled at him and stretched my arms. In the middle section, in the seat closest to me, Ben was alert and ready to jump up if needed. I suppose I should view Ben as a traitor, his allegiance obviously first to his Queen, but I trusted the Fae. He’d stood by me for many years. Unless Queen Moragana directly ordered Ben to interfere with Penelope and myself, he’d stand by us, and even then, he’d let me know if there was a problem. In the seat in front of my wife, by the window, the other member of my team, Daniel, the Thunderbird, was reading a book. Except the moment he felt my eyes on the back of his head, he turned to scan first me and then the others on the plane. I knew what his eyes were asking. I shrugged and stretched again, letting him know that everything was fine. I watched as he once more lowered his gaze and began reading again. Daniel was sitting beside a rather heavy-set man who bulged out over his seat. Thank goodness I’d been able to get us seats in First Class. Penelope kept raving about how comfortable everything was. She had no idea what it was like in economy class. Daniel’s seat buddy was certainly not someone who looked like he was ready to spring up and scream Vampire Alert in the middle of our skyward cruise. Nor did any of the other passengers surrounding us. It looked like a really calm flight, at least in our section of the plane. My eyes shifted to Ben’s placement. Although the seats were supposedly full, he had no one seated beside him. That was a good thing, I thought, but it made me slightly leery. It had been a long time since I’d really relaxed. Not everything needed to be of a suspicious nature. I sighed, decided to visit the WC, and motioned for Terry to move forward so he could sit beside Penelope. When I returned from that short trip, a stewardess was standing in the aisle, giving Terry a bad time about moving from his seat. Penelope was defending Terry, and my employee was trying to explain that it had just been for a minute, but the attendant was adamant that Terry couldn’t change seats in mid-flight. I gave a head jerk to Terry and said, “Thanks for entertaining my bride while I was in the loo. I’m sorry that it apparently created a situation.” The stewardess sputtered a couple of times, but I gave her a warm smile, despite wanting to glare at her for her interference, then I slid back into my seat and kissed Penelope on the cheek. “Did you miss me?” I asked her, ignoring any further discourse with the surly attendant. I would guess that treating first class passengers as the stewardess had done was not favored by the airline. A second attendant came storming down the aisle, scowling at the first woman. “Is there a problem here, Sir?” the newcomer asked. I shrugged. “No we’re fine. It was just a bit of a misunderstanding about our friend slipping into my seat to chat with my wife while I was gone. No biggie. I didn’t know that such things were against the rules.” “I see,” the woman said, giving the trouble-making attendant a strange look. “This is Barbie’s maiden flight. I’m afraid she’s still learning the ropes. May I get you and your wife a drink or something extra to make up for the trouble?” “Do you want something?” I asked Penelope. When she shook her head, I suggested that my insulted friend might like something. “He was looking pretty irked by the episode,” I said.
6.17 The Pooka’s Wife
I stood up, crossed in front of Penelope and told her I needed to stretch my legs. In truth, I wanted to check on my crew. There would probably not be any incidences on a flight to Florida, but I had enemies like Peterson, who deemed me a danger to society. There were even graver issues with the Queen’s Court. The rivalries among the Faerie went way back. When a Queen showed favoritism, that opened the recipient to jealousies and revenge. Behind the seats were Penelope and I had been sitting, I saw that Bob was sleeping. Terry, beside him, having sensed my shift in position, eyed me as if wondering if I needed something. In the middle section, in the seat closest to me, Ben was alert and also watchful. I suppose I should view Ben as a traitor, his allegiance obviously foremost to his Queen, but I trusted the Fae. He’d stood by me for many years. Unless Queen Moragana directly ordered Ben to interfere with Penelope and myself, he’d stand by us. In front of my wife, in the seat by the window, the other member of my team, Daniel, the Thunderbird, was reading a book. The moment he felt my eyes on him, he lifted his face to scan mine. I knew what his eyes were asking: “Problems?” I shook my head and watched as he once more lowered his gaze and continued reading his book. Daniel was sitting beside a rather heavy-set man who bulged out over the seat. Thank goodness I’d been able to get us seats in First Class. But Daniel’s seat buddy was certainly not Fae, nor someone who looked like he was ready to scream Vampire Alert in the middle of our skyward cruise. My eyes shifted back to Ben’s placement. Although all the seats on the plane were supposedly full, Ben had no one seated beside him. That was a good thing, I thought, but it made me slightly suspicious. It had been a long time since I’d really relaxed. Not everything needed to be of a suspicious nature. I sighed heavily, decided to visit the WC, and motioned for Terry to move forward so he could sit beside Penelope. Maybe, there’d be smooth sailing, or flying, as the case was. I hoped so.
6.16 The Pooka’s Wife
Timothy: How had I gone so many years/centuries without her companionship. She made me laugh. She tickled my insides with her playfulness. Her body called to me, scenting the air with her nectar. I could so easily seize her in a romantic embrace that could infiltrate the emotions of those around us. And would I care? I was kissing my bride with an urgency that surprised me. Where was my calm? How was I losing control? I reminded myself of the guards surrounding us and the people all around us in their rows of self-contained lounge seats. Penelope didn’t deserve the embarrassment my emotional needs would bring her. The Pooka would take over leaving her unable to resist, but . . . I stilled my sexual drive and disconnected from her lips. A guy across the way was eying Penelope hungrily. Did I blame him? No, but I gave him a stern look that sent his eyes back to the book he was supposedly reading. Likewise, a woman nearby him, gave me a grim look. Her face was disapproving, as if Penelope and I were teenagers making out. I wanted to tell the female that I’d just married my lady. Wasn’t I permitted to have some rather x-rated thoughts and desires? The male attendant was walking down the aisle to ask for our dinner choices. When he arrived at our seats, I urged Penelope to make her selection. I thought she’d pick the children’s macaroni and cheese, but her decision to order chicken surprised me. My wife always surprised me. I liked that. I seconded her choice, not to compliment her decision, but because I’d been too preoccupied with other things when I’d instructed Penelope to read the menu options. Frankly, I didn’t care. None of the meals would be good. Cafeteria food at its best, or as Penelope had once described it, TV dinners, a segmented aluminum tray full of preprocessed slops of food. Penelope had informed me that her grandmother missed those dinners. It appalled me that anyone could sink so low, but I hadn’t shared my opinion. Nostalgia often triggered such favorites, allowing remembrances to much better than their reality. But because of her, Penelope loved the idea of TV dinners. Penelope’s grandmother had been someone truly special in her life. So, whatever the woman had told Penelope would, of course be highly praised. I hoped Penelope found the airplane meal to be just like those TV dinners. That would surely bring out her breathtaking smiles of delight. I would ignore the blandness of the food and savor Penelope’s joy at eating compartmentalized sawdust sauce and rubberized chicken.
6.15 The Pooka’s Wife
It was dark down below us, since it was after ten at night, so there were no patchwork quilts of agricultural crops. All we could see out of our small airplane windows were lights, many of them blinking colorful warnings so that the plane would not fly too closely. I guess you could say that tall buildings now wore lighthouses on their roofs. “Are you okay?” Timothy asked, his forehead streaked with worry lines like an old man’s. “Yes, piece of cake,” I told him, only lying the smallest bit to my great surprise, because I was truthfully no longer in panic mode, having adjusted to the noises, the changing air pressures, and the compressed bodies of strangers all around me, all secured in their dentist chair capsules. I gave Timothy a limp smile and sighed deeply. “Does she need a pill yet?” Terry inquired, despite having received a growl from Timothy when the werewolf guard had asked that question previously. Before my husband could snap at him, I responded with an “I’m fine, Terry. Thanks.” “Darn wolves have fallen for you,” Timothy whispered into my ear. “Must you charm everyone?” I was saved from answering Timothy when a stewardess with the beverage cart stopped to ask our drink of choice. Before Timothy could respond, I said, “We’ll both have bottles of water, please.” Timothy snorted, catching on immediately that I was paying him back for being dictatorial on our previous flights. When the stewardess stared at my husband searchingly, Timothy backed me up, saying, “Yes, my wife knows me well. Water it is.” I guess the attendant didn’t like that answer because she offered a list of things he could order, but he continued to shake his head and then repeated that water would be fine. The attendant handed us each a white napkin and placed our waters down. “Almonds?” she asked Timothy, fluttering her long eyelashes at his gorgeousness. The plane had leveled off by then. We were above a cloud bank, and the ground looked like snowy cotton balls. The people around us had removed their safety belts and were stretching. Some even stood up for a minute as if fifteen minutes of confinement had stiffened their legs and they needed to get the circulation going again. Seeing them do so made me want to stand up and stretch. It was like a contagion of yawns. I ignored the urge and opened my water bottle. “Would you have ordered water, Timothy? I’m sorry. I guess I was being mischievous, although it was rude actually.” Oddly, he only laughed and shook his head. “I always order water, and I thought your streak of independence, or should I say, rebellion at my previous control issues was uniquely you. Don’t change, my dear. You delight me with your unpredictability.” “But if I’m always unpredictable, isn’t that predictable?” I joked. Timothy let out a loud chuckle that sent eyes in our direction. He ignored them, lifted up the seat lever between us, and enclosed me with his arm so he could kiss me thoroughly.