Window Seat
The stewardess returned holding a transparent plastic cup filled with water. She pulled down the tray and placed the cup down. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she were to have fastened a bib round Frederick too. She spread her blood-red lips across her orange face and smiled before rushing off to aid another ailing passenger.
“I don’t know what it is,” Frederick began, staring at the cup, “but even though they might look funny, I’d still love to give 'em one!”
I didn’t know what to say. He glanced at me probingly and grinned. I felt uncomfortable.
“I mean,” he continued carefully, “you’ve got to admit, she was no princess, but you’d love show her a bit of the old hokey-pokey, eh!? Mile High Club right?”
He was now looking at me. I turned to the window, hoping to break it off there. I had no desire to talk with the man, and to be honest, I found him offensive in both demeanour and character. I had suffered his unfortunate display of prolonged puking, and now I was being subjected to the inside of his insidious mind. I wasn’t interested. But the terrible thing was: I knew exactly what he meant.
“Why is that, do you think?” Frederick asked suddenly, fixing his beady eyes on me.
“Why is what?” I couldn’t help myself.
“Why is it that we want to pork these women?” he motioned with his hand down the aisle. Two stewardesses rolled a trolley past oblivious. One bent over to pick something up off the floor. Her skirt tightened.
“Don’t include me in your lecherous observations,” I said.
