Mixed Metaphors XIII

It was Tuesday, a quarter to four in the morning. Tony, Becky and Diane were the first to arrive at the private airport just outside the New York City limits. While Diane and Jake were saying their goodbyes in the limousine, Tony and the love of his life went into the customer waiting room. The inside of the building was plush, compared to the outside of painted cement brick.

Becky hadn’t slept most of the night due to being nervous about the flight. She looked like a racehorse that had been ridden hard and put away wet. Her eyes were only half open due to her lack of sleep. It had never come up before, but this was to be Becky’s first time in an airplane.

Had Tony known, he would have taken her on a short flight around New York City to get use to the feeling of being in the air. A nine-hour trip was a little long for a novice passenger, but it was too late now he thought. She is so tired, poor baby; maybe she will sleep during the flight.

A pretty young oriental girl, about twenty-five with a nametag that read “Simi Omagato”, sat them down on a plush couch adjacent to a wood-burning fireplace, and asked if they would like some coffee. Tony told the girl he would take his coffee black, and to bring Becky a cup of cappuccino.

The girl returned in five minutes with the coffee, some warm Bruschetta, which like most Italian cuisine consists of a food dish, in this case grilled bread rubbed with garlic and topped with extra-virgin olive oil. She also brought sliced Japanese Apple Pears. The sweetness of the fruit complemented the black coffee and the Bruschetta with an almost perfect balance of flavors, thought Tony.

As the airport was close to the ocean, the tarmac was wet with moisture from the bay, and as it was a private airport, there was little activity at that time of the morning. The flight plan had take off time as six am, however as it was a charter flight, the time was tentative.

The flight would take about nine hours. They would fly north to St. Johns, Newfoundland then east toward Europe, south of Iceland across Ireland, Scotland and north of France. It seems that few American charter flights wish to deal with the French government, so they fly threw Germany air space instead. Strange, but a half century earlier it was the other way around, with the United States assisting France in their war with Germany.

From Germany, they would travel south across the Alps and then continuing south along the western edge of Italy, to Naples. Although the trip was only nine hours, due to the rotation of the Earth they would not arrive in Naples until past six in the evening. This was OK with Tony, as he wanted to eat dinner at what he believed to be the best pizza restaurant in Naples. It is located on Via Provinciale Di Caserta, about two miles north of Naples airport.

They sat in the customer waiting room, sipping coffee. Becky had a cup of cappuccino, which was mostly milk and wasn’t bad when you add six teaspoons of sugar. Tony sat by the window and watched the pilot and co-pilot do a walk around of the aircraft. They checked the ailerons, landing gear, flaps and Pitot tube, along with all of the other safety devices.

The cobalt blue lights of the runway cast an eerie luminescence on the underbelly of the fuselage, causing a mirror like reflection on the wet tarmac. At four-thirty, two limousines pulled up in front of the air charter company. The photographer and his assistants had arrived.

Diane walked into the waiting room, a wide smile on her face. Although it wasn’t required, Jake had volunteered to help the other drivers, unloading their limos and loading the gear onto the aircraft. It was ten minutes to six and as the sun came up, the mid-sized jet taxied out onto the runway. They sat there a few minutes as the pilot went through the pre-flight checklist.

Tony looked at his watch as the airplane began its take off roll down the runway. The time was exactly six am. The plane almost leaped into the air pressing all of the passengers back into their comfortable first class seats. The aircraft then began a forty-degree bank, to the left and headed north toward Canada. A strong deep, voice came over the cabin speakers,

“Good morning … this is Captain Richards … our flight will be non-stop to Naples International Airport … we will be flying 500 miles an hour at 30,000 feet across the Atlantic Ocean. The outside temperature at that altitude is approximately sixty degrees below zero, so please do not roll down any of the windows.”

Becky glanced at Tony with a terrible look of fear in her eyes and whispered,

“You can’t roll the windows down … can you Tony?”

“No baby … why don’t you adjust your seat and try to get some sleep. Everything will be fine.”

Captain Richard’s voice came over the speakers again.