“Your hair looks fine,” he lied.
Trisha extended her arm and appeared to be taking a photo of herself; holding the cocktail glass close to her mouth. Then, she resumed typing, only to suddenly stop.
“You want me to tag you?”
George was very familiar with that particular question. “I don’t have a profile.”
“Of course, you don’t… You’re a strange man, George.”
George didn’t appreciate being called strange. He was, however, used to being referred to as boring, but that didn’t bother him at all. His father was a strange man. Was he turning into his father? Was that how people saw him? George felt the sudden urge to defend himself.
“I don’t need a profile.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“Nobody needs…” Trisha’s comment trailed off, and she shook her head slightly. “Why don’t you have a profile, George?”
George still felt the urge to defend himself.
“I guess I don’t have self-esteem issues,” he said, flat out lying to her face. The truth was he didn’t have a profile, because he hardly had any friends.
Trisha put her phone down and looked at him with the same sad, puppy eyes as before. He immediately regretted his comment.
“Why would you say that, George?”
Yeah, why would you say that, George?
George felt as though he’d painted himself into a corner and tried to think of another lie.
“I think people who have low self-esteem are more likely to post on social media,” he said and shrugged.
That’s not even a lie, George. You only made things worse.
“Why would you say that?” Trisha asked, and looked even sadder.
“Well, they seem so eager to let other people know whenever something good happens in their life,” he said. “Like they need the validation from others in order to feel good about themselves.”
Trisha glanced at her phone. “I only use it because I think it’s fun.”
George Stanton made sure to bite down on his tongue.
“Pretty much everyone has a profile these days,” Trisha argued.
Wonder why that is? he thought, and made sure to keep biting down on his tongue. Wait, is that why I’m single? Because I don’t use social media?
After a few minutes of awkward silence, Trisha finally broke the deadlock.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your phone call. But why did you thank Mike so much? Did he give you a raise or something?” Trisha asked with a smile. “Because, if he did, then I totally want one too.”
George felt relieved to see Trisha smile again. “He expressed his concern for my sister, who’s in the hospital… She recently was involved in a traffic accident.”
“What?” The sad, puppy eyes had returned.
“She was hit in a head-on collision when she tried to pass another car.”
“You should have stopped me, George.” She gave him a sad and guilty look.
“It’s just the way I drive, Trisha. It’s not because of the accident,” he said in a soft voice. “Besides, I was going the speed limit.”
Trisha pronounced a chuckle. “Yeah, sure you were.”
“No, I’m serious. I always set the cruise-control to whatever the speed limit is.”
Trisha looked at him as she waited for the punch line.
“I guess, I’m the lunatic, then,” Trisha muttered. “So, what did Mike say?”
“About what?”
“About the celebrity on board the plane.”
“He thought it could just be a coincidence. I imagine, Sharon Stone is quite a common name.” He shrugged.
“Do you believe that, George?”
“No, I think it’s too much of a coincidence that a random passenger just happens to share the same name as the captain’s ex-wife,” he said, and shook his head. “I’m afraid your theory is correct.”
“How so?”
“The captain was going through a bitter divorce, and his ex-wife was on—”
“No, I meant, why are you afraid my theory is true?”
“For obvious reasons.” He hesitated and felt confused.
“But either way, the liability will cover the lawsuits and damages? Won’t it?”
George got the impression Trisha Boyle was worried about her job. At first, he thought her chain of thoughts was a bit selfish, but a second later, he actually felt sorry for her. Something about a single mom always produced a sense of empathy in him. He hesitated as to whether he should lie to her or simply tell her the truth. If, in fact, Captain Daniels had crashed the plane in order to murder his ex-wife, then the company would have no chance to ever recuperate from such bad publicity, and Fare Airlines was likely to file for bankruptcy within the near future.
“I don’t have that information.”
Trisha pronounced another chuckle. “You’re starting to sound like him.”
“Who?” For some reason, George thought of his father.
“Mike… I don’t have that information,” Trisha added in a silly voice.
George made a mental note to himself not to use that particular phrase in the presence of his boss, CEO Michael Williams.
“I’m going to get us some more drinks,” Trisha said and got up from her chair. “This time, something less sour.”
“None for me please.”
“What?” Her puppy eyes prodded at him again.
“I shouldn’t drink any more. I mean, one of us has to drive in the morning.”
“Mike gave us the day off, remember? I thought we could have lunch, and enjoy Paradise before we leave. Besides, it’s a free bar,” Trisha said, and winked, while she waved the same credit card that she’d so enthusiastically used all day.
As George watched his younger colleague eagerly order another round of drinks, he felt a growing sense of concern. But he found some comfort in asking himself how much a woman of Trisha Boyle’s small stature could possible drink?
A few hours later, George Stanton was shocked by the answer to that question. He wondered if perhaps Trisha’s humorous remark about her ethnic descent was actually a cry for help. Perhaps she was constantly drunk. George felt as if his hotel room was spinning, and as he sat on the edge of the bed, he deliberated whether it was cautious or lazy of him, not to brush his teeth before going to sleep. Suddenly, he heard a strange noise coming from the hallway.
George got up and looked through the glass peephole where he saw his younger co-worker kicking the hotel door with the tip of her boot. When George opened the door, Trisha Boyle didn’t wait for an invitation. Instead, she entered his room as soon as he opened the door, her hands full of miniature bottles.
“You found more alcohol.” He sighed internally.
“It’s a free mini bar. It comes with the room,” Trisha claimed. “We’d be fools not to take advantage of it.”
Trisha opened several bottles of a well-known whiskey from Tennessee, and poured them into a glass she’d picked up from the table near the window.
“It’s our duty to empty both mini bars. If we don’t, then my ancestors would turn in their graves,” Trisha said with a witty smile.
Trisha kicked off her boots, casually climbed onto the bed, and rearranged the pillows to her liking, the drink still in her hand.
George saw his chance and pretended to pour one of the empty whiskey bottles into a coffee cup, only to fill the cup with soda.
“Jack and Coke,” Trisha said. “Good choice, mister.”
He raised his cup to salute his deceitful plan. He felt only pride in his invention, and no shame.
“So, how old are you, George?”
“I’m thirty-two.”
“Then we’re practically the same age.”
He thought Trisha Boyle looked as if she were in the middle of her teenage years, but for obvious reason, he assumed she was older than she appeared.