Two hours? That is funny, George thought, then began to laugh, and so did Trisha Boyle. But contrary to him (or any other person he’d ever met), she actually pronounced the laughter. A loud series of “H”s and “A”s echoed in the car. George began to wonder if Trisha Boyle was experiencing some sort of seizure. He stopped laughing and looked at her vigilantly.
Suddenly, Trisha Boyle stopped laughing. “You’re not offended, are you, George? Because I didn’t mean to imply Asian people suck at driving, or anything.”
To George’s relief, Trisha Boyle had resumed normal breathing, and no longer seemed to require a trip to the emergency room.
“No, of course not,” he said, and made sure to smile. “In fact, I think my mother might have invented that stereotype. That’s probably why I’m such a cautious driver, I’m still traumatized from riding in a car with her as a child. Still to this day, she stops the car in the middle of the intersection whenever she’s making a left turn.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“She stops in the middle of the intersection?”
“If the intersection has a traffic light. You see, when the light turns green, my mother turns left. But once she’s on the road she’s crossed to, she stops, because there, the light is red. Then, she waits for that traffic light to turn green as well.”
“Where did she learn how to drive?”
“Her parents are from China, but she was born and raised in America. My father was born and raised in Japan, but he doesn’t drive that way. Except for when he’s driving with my mom. Then he stops in the intersection to avoid her yelling at him—red means stop,” he said in an elderly female voice.
“I’m Scotch-Irish by the way,” Trisha said. “This basically means that I’m constantly drunk.”
George felt a bit surprised by the sudden remark and didn’t know how to respond, except to nod his head slightly and smile.
“I’m drunk right now. Can’t you tell?” Trisha bit her lower lip.
“Well, that would explain all the talking.”
George braced himself for another series of laughter. But to his surprise, Trisha didn’t laugh at his clever remark. Instead, she looked the other way.
“Fine, I won’t say another word for the rest of the trip, I’ll just sit here, and be totally quiet,” Trisha said, and then crossed her arms.
George tried to think of the best way to apologize, but before he could, Trisha Boyle rendered his attempt unnecessary.
“Okay, I was bluffing,” Trisha said in a tone of defeat. “One of us has to say something, and until a few minutes ago, you hadn’t said anything at all.”
George Stanton restrained himself from explaining the reason why.
“If you think I’m talking too much, then you should meet my mom. She talks a lot more than I do,” Trisha told him. “Whenever we have dinner, the food usually gets cold before we finish eating.”
“Well, that would explain why you’re so thin,” he said, and winked.
“Oh, nice save, mister.” Trisha tilted her head. “You’re one of those smooth talkers, aren’t you? You think you can talk your way out of anything, am I right?”
For a brief second George felt exposed as he was somehow caught in the act. “Well, I am the public relations manager, so I have—”
“Oh, is that what you are? Mike never told me what you did. I thought you were some kind of lawyer or something,” Trisha said, and smiled. “I’m glad to go on this trip with you, George.”
He was taken aback by her tone of voice. Trisha Boyle made it sound as if they were on a vacation getaway.
“Getting out of the office feels good. My head is still numb from all those phone calls, and I’m glad Mike didn’t send me to Yellowknife. I’d much rather join you in Paradise,” Trisha added and kept staring at him with an amused smile.
George was well aware that the crisis team had ignored his advice against escorting the passengers’ families to Yellowknife, and their doing so still annoyed him.
“Did all the families accept the invitation to Yellowknife?” he asked even though he knew the answer.
“No, most of them declined the offer.”
“I wonder why,” he mumbled and shook his head.
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re too upset to travel, it could—”
“No, I meant, why would they want to travel to Yellowknife?” He cut her off.
“To be near the crash site,” Trisha replied, and sounded slightly insulted.
“What crash site?”
“The lake,” Trisha said. “Yellowknife is right by the Great Slave.”
“But no one knows for certain that the plane crashed into the lake,” he argued.
“The plane has to be in the lake, George. Where else would it be?”
George thought of the German plane that had crashed into the French Alps, and how the entire plane had simply crumbled after the explosion. The debris from the plane had appeared as ordinary garbage spread across the mountainside. Looking at the landscape, no one would have guessed that a plane crash had ever taken place there.
“Just because the plane dropped below radar near the lake, that doesn’t necessarily mean it crashed into the lake,” he said. “It could have kept going. Perhaps it crashed into a mountain.”
“But someone would have noticed the debris by now,” Trisha argued.
George didn’t see the need to bring up the German plane.
“Besides, what are the families going to do in Yellowknife?” he asked. “Except stare at the lake, I mean.”
“Perhaps they’ll find comfort in being around other victims’ families,” Trisha said. “And maybe they’ll feel a sense of relief at being close to the crash site.”
What crash site? he thought, and then imagined a scene in which the families had scattered flowers across the shore and said their goodbyes to their loved ones, only to learn that the actual crash had occurred at an entirely different location.
“Either way, it can’t hurt,” Trisha added.
It can’t hurt to have the victims’ families running around a potential crash site? Then he imagined another scene in which the families stumbled across the remains of their relatives scattered across a nearby mountain.
“No, it can’t hurt,” he said, and tried his best to disguise the sarcasm in his voice, as he had no desire to argue further.
George wondered if the dangerous idea was a result of people in general not thinking rationally in a time of crisis, or if the airlines company itself was the problem. Either way, he thought the company had catastrophe written all over it, and a guided tour to a potential crash site for the families—who were to be plaintiffs in a future lawsuit against the airlines—only emphasized the problem in management. Even the name Fare Airlines was a stupid one, not to mention the contest that had led to the name.
“Wait a minute!” Trisha twitched and suddenly pointed at him, her eyes wide. “You’re the one who came up with that naming contest.”
George sighed internally.
“That was totally awesome. I love the way you tricked the media into giving the company millions of dollars’ worth of advertising. Do you have any other strategies lined up?” Trisha asked, radiating enthusiasm.
The actual contest had never been George’s idea. He was just left dealing with the repercussions of what must have been the dumbest contest ever in American corporate history. However, he didn’t feel the need to set Trisha Boyle straight.
“Nope.”
“I have an idea,” Trisha said. “But you have to share credit if you use it, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You could announce to the press that from now on female passengers will get a discount based on their cup sizes.” Trisha gesticulated with her hands across her chest. “If you got double D’s, then you’ll get the double discount. Can you imagine the billboards, George?” Trisha asked, before she had a minor “seizure” while stuttering, “D.D. as in double discount. Get it, George?”