Love at Spain's Iron Cross

14 - France

14

France

Sunday, May 30

The red-eye from Seattle to Dublin took around ten hours. Makena's emotions rode up and down like a rollercoaster. Celeste LeBlanc had given each of them a couple of sleeping pills. It took a while for them to kick in, but Makena got some sleep. When she woke up it was dark outside, but the six-hour nap helped. Bayou was still asleep by the window. Delta was awake, sitting on the aisle, jotting down something on a notepad.

Makena whispered, "What are you writing?"

"I'm feeling inspired by our flight attendant. I'll let you know when I'm done."

The steward came by and silently held out cups of coffee. Makena took one, along with the proffered cream and sugar. Delta had slid a shapely long leg out from the seat in front of her, not blocking the aisle, but offering a good look at her form. As she nodded yes to the coffee, she batted her eyelids and smiled, then licked her lips, perhaps in anticipation of the hot beverage. The attendant either didn't notice or chose to ignore her.

"Delta, you're terrible. The poor guy is gonna have a heart attack."

Her friend giggled softly. "That's the idea. But you gotta admit he is good-looking."

Makena glanced up at him, as he offered beverages to the next row.

Fit, tall, interesting face with a three-day beard. Okay, he's attractive. Guess I'm still into men.

Makena looked at Delta, nodded, and smiled.

Bayou woke up and stretched a bit. "Mmmm. I had the best dream about our cute flight attendant."

Delta and Makena giggled.

"It was G-rated, of course," said Bayou.

"Oh, we have no doubt," said her sister. "His name tag says 'Paul'. I've been inspired while you slept."

"Are you going to share what you wrote with us now?" asked Makena.

"Certainly," said Delta. "In their flight magazine, it says that Aer Lingus, the airline's name, is Celtic and means 'air fleet'. A logical name for our ride to Dublin. My literary efforts are suitably inspired."

Bayou asked, "You want us to believe that you are capable of prose suitable for public consumption?"

"Of course. But a poem, not prose. And what better form of poetry on an Irish airliner than a limerick?" Delta winked, then leaned over in Makena's direction so that only she and Bayou could hear her whisper:

An attentive steward on Aer Lingus

Asked was there anything he could bring us

This gent was so fine

Delta said please be mine

So he became her cunning linguist!

Makena and Bayou dissolved into laughter, both holding hands over their mouths to stifle the volume, so as not to wake slumbering neighbors. Delta beamed, delighted with their reaction, and chuckled softly herself. "Based on your reaction, this poem is ready for public display. I think Paul would appreciate it."

"No, Delta, you can't tell him!" Makena shook her head. But she knew Delta just might do so.

Bayou said, "I disagree. I mean, what's the point of producing quality work? The public must know!"

Delta broke up. "Well, we have a couple of more hours until we land. I will plow the field, so to speak, with Paul. He and I have been communicating a bit while you two slept. Friends should share, don't you think?" Makena opened her eyes wider in mock alarm. Bayou nodded in agreement. "In the meantime, I recommend that we imagine Paul attending to each of us in such a linguistic capacity."