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.
6.14 The Pooka’s Wife
We had three choices for dinner, none of which sounded all that great since my stomach was full of what I’d eaten in the Delta Clubhouse, but I figured I’d probably be hungry later, so I chose the chicken meal. It had green beans and rice, plus an apple tart. I chose that selection based on the apple tart. I guess I’d worry about dieting once we reached our destination, although I’d heard that most people gained ten pounds or more on their cruises. As to drinks, I was tempted by the prune juice, which every Star Trek fan knows is the drink of choice for Klingons, but, joking aside, Timothy was right that water seemed the best bet. I’d heard that diet cola is the stewards’ least favorite drink order because it was impossible to pour without waiting for the bubbles to calm down. I’d also read that carbonated beverages were bad for stomachs in flight. All that bobbing around on a plane was equivalent to the “volcano” that kids made for their science project using vinegar and baking soda. That was an explosion I wouldn’t want to have while flying. After my decisions about my drink and dinner had been made, it was time for lift off. I’d been aware while pondering my choices that we were moving forward (having tried to ignore the fact that we were speeding down the runway with the plane’s motors doing their high volume roar,) so I was about to close my eyes and shut out what was happening, except I couldn’t. I needed to see. If you removed the worry about airplane crashes at one of the two most dangerous moments of the flight, it was rather interesting to watch a departure. Despite the fact that pressure was securing me more tightly to my seat, the view from the plane’s window actually looked like the ground was leaving us behind and not the opposite. As we pushed upwards, the airport seemed to run away, the road beneath us fled, and the ocean itself hid under our shadow. I thought about all the whales, dolphins, and seals, not to mention the birds and beneath the waves the fish, who were probably either accustomed to huge objects passing over them or unaware of us. Did they ever look up and wonder about the immensity of the bird flying over them?
6.13 The Pooka’s Wife
The seats were lush and comfortable. We had a care kit, a blanket, and pillow. The moment I was buckled in, I began inspecting the little pouch they’d given me: an eye mask, ear plugs, a toothbrush and the cutest miniature tube of toothpaste. Timothy didn’t even inspect his kit. He said I could have his, too, but why would I want two kits? I took his, just in case. The airplane was stuffy and hot inside. It was also making all the noises that the San Diego planes had made: the air flaps shifting up and down, the racing motors that sounded like teen drivers daring each other to be first on the drag strip, and the undercarriage that reminded me of a very hungry robot, complaining about its boring diet of oil. “Penelope, do you want a sleeping pill?” Terry said, leaning forward from the seat behind me. “No, she doesn’t,” Timothy growled. “We haven’t even lifted up yet.” I placed my hand over his, reminding him to be nice. “Sorry,” my husband said, but whether that apology was for me or for Terry, Timothy didn’t say. A flight attendant stood up in the front and gave a lecture about exits and seat belts. I didn’t pay much attention this time. I knew it was just a regulation the stews had to go through with the passengers and not a forewarning of problems, at least, I hoped it didn’t predict something horrible. I leaned back against my seat and thought about whether I wanted that sleeping pill that Terry had offered. A pill that put me to sleep would remove all my qualms, but I’d miss any emergency directions, if something bad happened. A pill would probably also make me groggy the next day, too. I wanted to see Fort Lauderdale. I wanted to be conscious every moment. “You might want to choose what you’d like for dinner,” Timothy said. “And the attendants will want your drink order once we lift up. Cranberry juice again?” he laughed low, his voice not mocking me, but instead sending signals throughout my body telling me I’d like to do certain bed acts that I assumed airlines frowned at. I wanted to ignore Timothy’s suggestion, just because I needed to curb his need to give dictatorial demands, but then that would be silly, right? I reached for the airline’s booklet and started scanning my choices.
6.12 The Pooka’s Wife
The quiet in the Club was appreciated, especially as it came after the drama of meeting a Faerie Queen in the middle of my wedding, as well, as a nice break coming before having to get on a scary as heck airplane. The trip to San Diego hadn’t actually been that bad, but it was a short trip. How long was a flight to Florida? “Our flight takes off around ten at night, Penelope. Then we’ll all go to sleep and wake up in the morning, and ,presto, we’ll be in sunny Florida.” “What time will we get there?” I asked, not sure how sleeping on a plane worked. “If the flight’s on schedule, about nine in the morning, just after we’ve been given a nice breakfast with coffee and orange juice,” Timothy said, smiling at me. “You’re not worried about flying are you?” Of course, I shook my head and denied such a thing. It might have worked to convince everyone if Bob hadn’t snorted loudly in disbelief. The guys all got up for dessert. I kind of wanted some of that soft serve ice cream, but the idea of eating anything more than I’d already had didn’t sit real well. Pancakes and omelets, plus ice cream? Even the coffee was curdling in my stomach. I watched the guys shoveling in the gooey and sweets they’d just gotten, but I remained firm about having eaten my full. Even the chocolate chip cookie that Timothy had brought me remained on its plate until Bob asked if he could have it and then gobbled it up. It must be nice to have a wolf constitution that enabled unlimited eating without its doing more than increasing his already bulging muscles. *** Since I was an experienced flyer now, as Timothy put it, I carried through with the boarding process with great aplomb. No worries over the passport and my ticket, no anxiety over a plane that seemed hidden behind a bunch of carboard walls, and no resentment when the stewardess openly flirted with Timothy. (I did lift up my hand and flash my ring a bit, but she probably didn’t notice, since her eyes were glued to his handsome features.)
6.11 The Pooka’s Wife
I already mentioned the comfortable chairs. Did I say the area was quiet as a library? People were kicked back, feet up on the coffee tables, reading newspapers and books, all of them, according to Timothy, calmly waiting for their flights. As we entered the rooms — yes, more than one room — we saw a huge buffet with silver capped dishes and platters of everything imaginable. Servers were supplying the empties with fresh, hot food. There was a section full of sliced meats, a different area with fish dishes, and every vegetable you could image, plus fancy breads and crackers with cheeses. Over at the end, there were salads, not just the green kind, but potato salad, carrot salad, macaroni salad, and salads I really couldn’t name. (Terry later praised the crab salad, but if you ask me that sounded icky.) Before grabbing a plate, Timothy and I, plus the others, had all done a tour of the offerings. We discovered a table full of caldrons of soups and stews. Another section held desserts, including soft serve ice cream. There was a beverage section with a choice of fruit juices or bottled drinks. Even champagne and wines were being offered! A chef stood ready to cook up omelets and offered to make pancakes or waffles for us. The most difficult thing was deciding what to eat! Timothy and I hadn’t done more than taste a few things at our wedding buffet. We’d only nibbled at the cake Clara and Sammy brought us, or was it Simone? My mind seemed rather hazy about such details. The guys started in on their selections, grabbing up plates as if they were starving. I passed the long lines of exotics and the platters of meat, potatoes, and salads, and headed for the chef where I put in a request for a cheese omelet with some pancakes on the side. When the white capped, uniformed man showed me the toppings provided for the pancakes (whipped cream, six different syrups, fresh fruits and compotes, and honey butter, there was no difficulty choosing. I am definitely a honey enthusiast. Timothy decided on lasagna and told me he was going to fill his plate with a variety of other goodies, but he first walked me to the area we’d claimed, sat me down beside Ben and Daniel, who’d already chosen their choices, although their plates seemed rather sparsely filled. Of course that didn’t really matter since I’d been told that this was the kind of place where there were unlimited go backs, and each time a person returned to the buffet, he or she received a shiny, clean plate. My omelet was delectable, but I had little room for the pancakes. Besides, when Bob came over and sat down with us, he reminded me that I’d be on a plane in a couple of hours and he didn’t want me to vomit on the seat in front of him. I didn’t know whether to throw something at Bob or thank him for the reminder. Not saying anything, I pretended to ignore him and took another bite. However, I decided that honeyed pancakes weren’t really that great of an idea for free flight eating, so I only took one more bite and quit. By the time Timothy came over with his heaping plate full of salad dressing running into his meaty lasagna, I’d already pushed my plate away and was limiting myself to drinking coffee.