Derry, Northern Ireland

Derry, Northern Ireland
A book I'm working on is set in this town.

Monday, January 16, 2017

A bit more of A65

Chapter One turned into 2 chapters, after reworking some things. This continues from the point where Adam and Vincent head up in the elevator.


Adam had planned to wear a suit on the flight, but his mother talked him into a nice shirt, neat trousers, loafers instead of Oxfords, and a light jacket. She had been to Los Angeles so convinced him by pointing out, "This is considered upscale form, there."

"Well ... if I put a tie with it ... " he said.

"Adam, you're not meeting with anyone in their office or at a bank. You're not even leaving the terminal, right?"

Adam nodded. "They're bringing the book to me, there."

"Then casual is best, and will look better on arrival. When do you arrive?"

"One-thirty, and the flight back is at eight-fifty-five."

"That's a long time at the airport."

"I've got my laptop and an adaptor. Some articles I want to read. I hear they even have food and drink. And plenty of security. Let someone try and take this book."

"Too bad you won't see any of the town. Los Angeles is lovely. Haven't been there since the Olympics, but I'm sure it hasn't changed that much."

"I'll post you a card."

She dropped him off to Heathrow, the next morning, and he was soon ensconced in a slightly more space seat on the aisle of his flight, next to a pleasant punk couple and their punk toddler ... who smiled like an angel under his blue-spiked hair but had dark eyes filled with danger. The couple were tattooed, pierced, semi-spiked of neon-green hair, had bubbling personalities and, to his surprise, were husband and wife. Not at all what he expected ... but then, he'd never met anyone punk before. David, his oldest brother, was the closest and his version of punk was more a middle class way to "bed the birds who love a bad lad," as he put it. Now that he was married and with children, his head was shaved, his shirts had collars, and his pants had belts instead of braces, albeit in a casual truck-driver mode.

So Adam expected the flight to at least be pleasant. His laptop computer rested in his lap, Vincent's DVD of Ilithium 4, in hand -- an action Sci-fi movie whose cover conveyed more the world of Star Wars than the thought-provoking journey of a boy and girl seeking a new future after the conquest of their home by corporate raiders, only to be caught up in war and adventure.

Needless to say, Adam was not at all sure about this, but hoped they would at least be attempting to emulate the reworking of Battlestar Galactica in place of another space opera. Well, as he said to himself, consistently since being shanghaied into taking the trip, "It's for the Alice ..."

Then a flight attendant touched him on the shoulder and said, "Excuse me, sir, you'll need to put those things under the seat in front of you. Doors are closed and we're about to taxi out."

He nodded to her and smiled to the punk child, next to him, who smiled even more sweetly. Then Adam bent down to slip his laptop bag under the seat --

And the child vomited on his back!

He yelped and bolted from his seat and was about to remove his jacket when another flight attendant who was next to him held his head down. "Don't straighten up," she cried. "You'll get it everywhere and we're on an eleven hour flight and it already smells something awful! Remove your jacket."

"How?" he choked out. She had his head held practically between his knees. He could barely breathe. Needless to say, it was not the most comfortable positions to be in.

"Hold out your arms," she said. "Straight out."

He did as she asked, taking a sort of diving position. The first flight attendant scurried over to awkwardly roll the jacket up his back and over his head so they could pull it off by using the sleeves. Then she shoved it in a garbage bag.

That is when a male attendant stormed up to snap, "Why are you out of your seat? We're taxiing."

The second attendant patted Adam's arm and said, "We'll clean it best we can and return it to you once we're airborne. Now please be seated. Buckle up."

He nodded and sat, casting the Punk Child a wary look ... who looked back at him, still smiling.

His mother leaned over, also smiling. "Sorry, luv. It's his first plane ride and his stomach's already weak." Then she tickled the little beast and said, in a sing-song, "But we're going on the Hollywood Death Tour, going on the Hollywood Death Tour, going on the Hollywood Death Tour, right, sweets? Get your tummy toughened up."

The child laughed.

Adam forced himself to smile then buckled up and settled in, using one of his Mother's karmic mantras to try and calm himself.

I prefer to live with ease.
Stress is no one's friend.
If I smile it brings me joy.
Breathe and breathe, again.

Which did nothing for him. So he just closed his eyes as the pilot came over the intercom to say, "Attendants, please be seated. We're cleared for takeoff."

A moment later the jet turned, they started down the runway ... and the brat let loose into his lap!

So much for the idea this would be an enjoyable flight.

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