Crash Position

SIXTEEN

  I began planning my escape. There was nothing to keep me at the airline. I could break the contract and forfeit the bonus that came at the end of the two years. I could leave and take enough holiday and sick pay to cover my expenses while I found a new job. I had helped save Tanya and Simon from losing their jobs during the ‘pigs in economy’ episode. They at least owed me a dignified exit from the company. All I owed was the cost of Simon’s stash I flushed, and we would be even.

  I announced my plans to my manager whom I rarely saw. Just as I was leaving her office, Tanya was entering. I hoped she wouldn’t tell her my plans.

  On the beach in Bali, Tanya confronted me. She sat down beside me spread out her straw mat on the sand and made herself at home.

  “We need to have a talk.” Tanya said in her calm, monotone voice.

  I closed my eyes, frustrated by the inability to escape the crew. I had deliberately chosen to avoid the pool bar area, and head out onto the public beach where the sand was near uncomfortably hot, and where I would be hounded by locals, soliciting their wares and services. The sacrifice didn’t pay and I had been followed. I had surrendered to the local smile of a local lady who offered me a competitive price on a foot massage, and she was busy manipulating my feet, as I tried to concentrate on nothing but the sound of the ocean. That was until the unwelcome shadow stole my attention.

  “Yes, what is it?” There was no pretence of niceness in my voice.

  Another smiling lady appeared in front of Tanya, and began massaging her feet, only moments after she made contact with the sand.

  “You are not how I first thought you to be, Liz. You play the nice girl very well. What I mean is, I am sure you have ‘nice’ in you. When it suits you. When it works for you. When it pays to work you.”

  “I am nice. I don’t like hurting people. It brings me no pleasure. And yes, I will be nice.. and pretend to be nice.. if it helps. If it helps me or helps those around me feel better.”

  “That’s right my dear, you are quite the Chameleon. Perhaps that why Jurdan named you Lizard.” That was the first she, or anyone else had mention Jurdan since he died. The way she said his name, did not show sadness or any even fondness in recollecting his memory.

  “I started to realise you were not quite the innocent girl next door, when you showed an act of kindness to Jurdan at the bar in Lagos. You know when you–”

  “I know what you are talking about.” I was growing impatient at her preface, and wanted her to get to the point. I wanted her gone. I wanted every minute during the layover away from her, until we were back on the bus to the airport.

  “Well my first impression, was that you were naive. But you are just as calculating as anyone else.”

  “Well, Tanya, that’s the thing about first impressions. They’re usually wrong.”

  We were arguing without so much as raising our voices. The locals still working away at our oily feet seemed none the wiser to the verbal cat fight of calm, near whispers, unfolding in front of them.

  “You’re not a good girl, Liz. You’re anything but. And you’re in no position to judge us, or me. We do what we do because it works for us. It’s what we have to do.”

  I sat staring straight at her, lost for words. I was not perfect. I had slipped up many times in recent memory. My attitudes were changing. My behaviour was less than pious, I thought. But there’s no way that I was the equivalent of Tanya Balfour.

  “I’ll get to the point…”

  “Good!” was the only thing I could think to say.

  “You know I’m getting married?”

  “Yes.” It’s all that everyone had seemed to be talking about recently.

  “Which means I’m leaving the company. I won’t need to work with my husband’s salary. And I know that you want to leave too.”

  “I knew you would have to find out.” I said.

  “The thing is I need you for one last haul, and I know you need your entitlement payout. You have a rather large debt to pay back to Simon for your careless actions in Singapore. And no doubt you have other expense back home.”

  I was confused and getting worried now.

  “Now, your indebtedness to Simon alone could not persuade you to work with me on this, but something will.”

  “Hah?”

  “Behind you.”

  “What?!”

  I turned around and saw nothing.

  “There, on the back of your shoulder! That’s what!”

  Fuck!

  My tattoo had been done soon after I turned eighteen. A silly, flippant moment when I thought I needed it as proof of my ability to exercise free choice. I immediately flashed back to the words of the tattoo artist, her raspy voice dispelling any doubts I had, telling me: “Girl, you will never regret this.”

  I felt as if I was sinking in the sand. It was not even a tattoo I particularly liked, but already it had sentimental value. It was my only ink and I had no plans to remove it.

  “So, as I’m sure you know, the ‘no tattoo’ policy is taken very seriously by the company. You know this because you were asked about tattoos when you applied. And you lied. And you know that crew have been terminated for lesser crimes than that. And if they find out about your tattoo, you will lose your entitlements and be sent home the same day. So just work with me on this. You’ll thank me later”

  I handed over cash to the lady who had finished my foot massage, unsure how much I gave her. She nodded her head over and over in gratitude as I watched in stunned silence as Tanya made her ultimatum. By now the fruit lady was standing in front of me, reaching up to her head where she had perched the colourful arrangement of reds, greens and yellows, punctuated by brown, reddish things that I assumed were lychees. I stood up, bewildered and collected fruit from the enormous sombrero-style hat that served as her portable fruit market. Stunned at her brazen proposition, I handed over more cash to the fruit lady from my bag, again unconcerned with how much. I helped the lady put her arrangement back on top of her head, as was part of the beachside custom, and she was on her way. The picturesque, tropical setting and multitasking during our calm confrontation made the situation bizarre and dreamlike.

  I had until now always worried about her opinion of me. But now, I no longer pretended to be nice. I wanted her to know how much I despised her.