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I find myself in a room. It’s her room, the mysterious friend I occasionally speak to. The room in itself somehow has very little detail in my imagination but on the one side a large comfortable leather chair sits waiting for her. This dark leather chair can tell stories I am sure. If only I could talk to it I may fathom the secret desires living inside the occupant of the chair. In this room it is always night and the moonlight washes into the room and fires up the imagination with possibilities. I watch her come into the room. Her gown hides her body but I can see she takes good care of herself. This is her secret sanctuary where dreams are fulfilled and fires ignited. Here I am the intruder and to her I do not exist. She walks into the drawer and takes out her companion for the moment. She turns around and I watch her face and the way she walks to the leather chair. She stands for a moment by the chair and looks down at the chair and then though the open window. She opens her gown. She had to be scared out of her ever living loving mind, but she smiled. I didn’t do anything to keep that smile at bay, or stop it, either. I signed for the plane, they made sure the bank draft went through, I went over it with their ground crew, did the preflight by the book, then strapped her in next to me, still dumbfounded, got myself hooked up, and headed for home.When I pulled back on the yoke, and we were airborne, I’m pretty sure she said, “What the fuck did I just do?”“Sorry, your name, please? I’ll need it for the manifest and log.”She laughed, heartily. Tiffany. Tiffany Williamson. Yours?”“Charlie. Charles Constant. The third, if it matters.”“Of course it does, Mr. Constant. Someone went to the trouble to put that there, let’s celebrate it.”“Tiffany, can you just call me Charlie? Just call me Charlie, for now, OK? Mr. Constant seems a bit formal for this little getaway.”“OK. Charlie. You said I could use your phone?”I took it down and handed it to her. It was an old-style.
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