TOWNLEY'S TRIP, PART ONE

1975, on a LAN Air red-eye flight from Santiago de Chile to Washington, D.C. MICHAEL VERNON TOWNLEY, a Chilean-US dual citizen, is seated in first class. The cabin is dimly lit following dinner service. A muted bell tone rings to indicate the beverage cart will make one last round before the scheduled movie. MVT is reading a book under the light over his seat. A stewardess approaches slowly pushing the cart. She wears a snug-fitting two-piece dark navy uniform with bright red piping and oversized brass buttons. The skirt's hem hits mid-thigh. Her dark brown hair is tightly pulled back in a high bun. She stops and kneels beside his seat. He briefly looks up. Their conversation is solely in Spanish.


S (stewardess): Sir, can I interest you in something to drink? Coffee or tea? Perhaps a refreshing cocktail?

MVT: Tonic on the rocks, please.

S: Tonic water?

MVT: Yes, on ice.

S: Only tonic water? [puzzled]

MVT: Yes.

S: Can I add lime juice? Maybe gin, or vodka?

MVT: I don’t drink alcohol at high altitudes.

S: Oh, I see. OK. How about orange–

MVT: [overlapping conversation] Because–

S: –juice. Oh sorry, I am interrupting you, but–

MVT: –it’s very dehydrating and I–

S: –my goal is to make you as comfortable as possible. I was going to suggest tonic and orange juice. We give it to children who want to feel grown up.

MVT: But I am not a child.

S: [laughing] Of course not! But it is something we do.

MVT: [sighing wearily] If you insist, please add lime juice.

S: [enthusiastically] Yes, I will do this. [she searches the drawer in the drink cart, removes a small glass bottle of tonic water, and pours it over a tall glass filled halfway with ice. She takes a section of lime from a tall glass on the top of the cart and squeezes it into his glass, then adds a thinner slice to the rim of the glass and sets it on MVT’s lowered tray table] There [pleased with her handiwork and small victory].

MVT: Thank you. Perfect. well done.

S: Thank you, sir. [she resumes slowly pushing the drink cart down the aisle with a sashay in her step]

[MVT returns to his book after watching her shapely backside switch down the aisle. He takes a sip of tonic water and puckers his lips from the lime.]

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[The plane lands at Washington National Airport as the sun rises. MVT descends the stairs onto the runway with the other passengers and walks briskly, squinting into the sunlight and blinking rapidly. The same stewardess walks briskly behind him with two flight attendants.]


S: Sir! Wait! Wait! [holding a pair of women’s sunglasses, she runs ahead of the others as her LAN Air shoulder bag slaps rhythmically against her knees] You’ll need these, take them!


[MVT pauses and turns around to face her.]


S: Take my glasses. Dior. Very expensive, from Madrid. [she offers the glasses to him with an extended hand]

MVT: [waiting a few beats before speaking] These are women’s sunglasses.

S: [giggling] I know, but you need them. Take them, it’s so bright! Stop squinting! [her friends titter behind her as they hang back]

MVT: Thank you. I’ll give them to my wife.

[She skitters past him toward the terminal, teetering on high-heeled pumps, giggling loudly with her fellow flight attendants.]


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MVT enters an older low rise apartment building in a slightly seedy DC neighborhood. He fumbles for the keys, enters a small studio apartment, and tosses his small suitcase on top of a neatly made twin bed before flopping onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. He hears the muted sounds of a couple arguing and a baby crying in the unit above and audibly sighs.