Flying Too Close to the Sun, George Jehn [freda ebook reader txt] 📗

“A little over three years. Right now I’m using it to supplement my Shuttle Air pay.”

“She also mentioned you fly for Shuttle Air. From what we’ve read, the airline’s future looks promising.”

“In fact, I saw your picture I saw in the New York Times the other day,” Sal broke in. “Everyone quoted said Mister Preis did a great job handling the emergency. I love the way everyone in their stories is always called Mister or Miss, never John, Erik or whomever. I still have a copy around here, somewhere,” he muttered while sliding a pile of papers around.

A smiling Erik replied, “I’d heard there was a piece, but didn’t know there was also a picture. I just did my job like I was taught. Captain Shepard was the person who landed safely in the lousy weather.”

Carol broke in. “She was attractive and had her arm around you.”

“She was real happy with the way I did my job,” Erik replied. “Lots of passengers hugged us as they deplaned. They were really scared.”

“Carol was very proud of you,” Anita interjected. “She called her friends and told them you were famous.”

“That’s better than having Mister Preis’ mug shot hanging in some post office,” Erik joked.

Sal pointed to his watch and told Anita, “We’re due at the party in only a half-hour. We’d better get moving.”

“Whose party are you going to?” Carol asked.

“Mom and I were invited to Aunt Pauline’s house for a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary get-together. Where are you guys headed?”

She looked at Erik, not really certain.

“I figured we’d go for dinner at a French restaurant in the city. I’ve been there a couple of times and the food is great.”

Erik was dressed in a charcoal-colored, lightweight sports jacket that fit nicely and went with his black trousers and leather loafers. But, it was his crisp, light green shirt and striped tie matching his eyes that caught Carol’s special attention. “Is that why you wore a jacket and tie?” she asked.

“It’s a bit on the fancy side.”

“Then I guess I’d better change.”

“No! You’re fine.”

They all departed together.

While driving, Erik told her, “I was really flattered by what your parents said. And thanks for the tee.”

“You really are an honest-to-goodness hero. There aren’t many around these days. Your parents must have been thrilled.”

Erik nodded his head, but couldn’t bring himself to tell Carol neither parent had uttered a word.

They were headed to Chez Nous, a small French bistro on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. The owner was Monsieur Jean DuBois. His son Peter, From the Woods, aka Woodsy was a close friend of Erik’s. Because of their friendship he and Carol would probably receive above and beyond treatment. When making the reservation Erik made certain Mr. DuBois knew he would be coming with a girl on their first date.

They drove in Erik’s blue Chevy, making light conversation enroute. Upon entering the crowded eatery, he was surprised when Monsieur DuBois personally greeted them and ushered them to a flawless center stage table surrounded by stylish art nouveau and urns of lush, exotic plants awash with colorful flowers like peace lilies. Pointing to Carol, DuBois inquired, “And who is this stunning young lady?”

“She’s a very good friend of mine, Carol Rodriguez.”

The owner kissed her hand, in the process mentioning Erik was fortunate to take such a lovely young woman on a dinner date.

God bless the French. They certainly know how to make you feel important.

First came two glasses of smooth champagne. They clinked glasses and spoke in whispers in the soft light, mostly about flying. As she twirled the stem on her champagne glass and inspected the menu, both decided on the Steak Diane. Next came a bottle of fine Chateau Latour served in fluted glasses. Usually a beer man, Erik found the smoothness and fine taste of the red wine a bit bewildering. They enjoyed a leisurely dinner served in individual sterling hotplates, along with escargot. A delicious orange soufflé dessert rounded everything out beautifully. The cultural differences between them quickly vanished in the flood of tasty food and wine. Finishing up their café-au-lait, Erik requested the check and was informed by the maitre d’ that the dinner was courtesy of Monsieur DuBois.

“You must be pretty important,” Carol cooed. “We come to this fantastic place and don’t even have to pay. Not too shabby.”

“It’s probably because Monsieur DuBois’ son, Pete and I were friends throughout high school, actually closer to brothers.”

“You’re so unassuming. It’s probably because he saw your picture in the newspaper.”

Erik left a nice tip for the waiter and as they were leaving, DuBois stopped them and offered in a heavily accented voice, “I hope you enjoyed your meal.”

“Everything was fabulous,” a beaming Erik replied, as Carol shook her head in agreement. “And thank you so much.”

“It was the least I could do. I immediately recognized your picture in the Daily News, and read about how you helped save the planeload of people.”

“It was nothing.”

“Ah, but it was,” DuBois offered, shaking his finger.

“And, how is my friend Woodsy doing?”

“He is fine. He’s working as a junior member of an accounting firm here in Manhattan. Sometimes he stops in for lunch, but I usually do not see him often because he is so busy with work. He said he eventually wants to become a CPA and a partner in the firm.”

“That’s great! Please, tell him I said hello.”

“Where can he reach you?”

“I’m still living with my parents,” a suddenly deflated Erik replied. “They have the same phone number.”

“I will tell him to call.”

Erik made a mental note to write a thank you note to DuBois for the dinner and red carpet treatment.

.     .     .

It was a clear and warm evening on the crowded Manhattan streets with couples strolling and a sky full of twinkling stars visible, even from the sidewalks in the mostly residential East Side. While the city lights burned brightly on Fifth Avenue and the cabs’ muted horns could be heard off in the distance, Erik said, “Where to now? Wanna