Chapter 20: Hospitality

October 17, 2001, Aboard a flight from ORD to LAX

🎤 Steve

As I’d feared, American Airlines was strictly enforcing the rules, and despite a mild protest that the shoulder bag was the equivalent of a purse, I had to check my weekender. That would create a small delay in leaving LAX, but given I had nothing to do except get to the hotel, I wasn’t too bothered.

“3B,” I said to the stewardess, whose name tag read ‘Chloe’, as I walked onto the plane, and showed her my boarding pass.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Adams,” she replied with a smile.

“Thanks.”

I put my shoulder bag with my laptop in the overhead bin, then accepted an offer of a drink, asking for sparkling water. The flight was just over half-full, so I hoped I didn’t have a seatmate.

“3A,” a very pretty teenage girl who I guessed was about seventeen, said, coming onto the plane about five minutes later.

Of course, a seatmate might not be a bad thing!

“23A,” Chloe corrected, examining the girl’s boarding pass.

I almost laughed out loud, but didn’t, as the girl moved down the aisle, making eye contact and smiling.

“Sorry,” Chloe mouthed with a wink.

I smiled and shrugged. Passengers continued boarding and I was very happy when the doors were closed and seat 3A was one of the three empty first-class seats. The safety video was no different from what it had been the numerous other times I’d flown, and I could basically repeat it from memory. We taxied and took off without delay, something which was all too rare at O’Hare.

“You ordered a special meal?” Chloe asked.

“Well, my travel agent did, yes.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Bourbon, neat.”

“Jack Daniel’s or Maker’s Mark?”

“Maker’s, please.”

She went to the galley and returned with an airline bottle of Maker’s Mark and a plastic cup. She leaned close to speak quietly.

“Sorry about your jailbait!”

“Don’t worry about it,” I chuckled. “It could only get me into trouble!”

She smiled and moved on to the next passenger. I stood up, got my bag from the overhead compartment, and took out my laptop. I put down the tray table from 3A, moved my drink to it, and booted up my Titanium PowerBook G4. Mac OS X 10.1, ‘Puma’, was significantly faster than the previous version of OS X, ‘Cheetah’, and had other improvements. I strongly preferred OS X to MacOS 9, as it had a Unix core, and thus a terminal with all the normal Unix commands.

I fired up BBEdit, which I used for my journal, decrypted the disk image where I kept my journal, and opened the file for Volume 3, Book 3. I was a few days behind, and caught up on my time with Hope, my talks with Sarah, and Leigh’s request to take her around the world, which I’d gladly fulfilled. Karate had given her excellent muscle tone, and she nearly rivaled Katt in terms of a tight fit.

Chloe brought my meal about twenty minutes later.

“Plasticware in First Class?” I asked.

“No metal utensils after the terrorist attacks,” she said.

“I couldn’t mug a toddler with a butter knife!”

Chloe laughed, “You don’t look like you need a knife. What do you do to stay in shape? Gym rat?”

“No. Karate instructor, but I also run five times a week.”

“Mind if I ask how old you are?”

“Not at all; I’m thirty-eight.”

“Wow! I would have guessed closer to thirty.”

“If I were to shave my beard and mustache, I’d probably look like I was in my twenties. My dad is eighty-four and doesn’t look a day over fifty.”

“Eighty-four? Wow! You’re the youngest?”

“Eldest. He didn’t marry until he was forty-four. My mom was twenty-five.”

“Wow!”

She moved on to other passengers and I drank my coffee and continued writing in my journal. The offered movie was Spy Kids, which I had no interest in seeing, so I declined the offered headphones. I got my noise-canceling headphones, my Discman, and put on the first disc of Billy Joel’s Greatest Hits and took out Omertà by Mario Puzo. About fifteen minutes later Chloe asked if I wanted another drink, which I did. Ten minutes after that, Chloe tapped my shoulder, her lips formed into a sly smile.

“Your jailbait asked if she could come to First Class to talk to you,” she said once I’d removed my headphones.

“Seriously?”

“She asked Lily, the stewardess in coach, who told her it was against the rules.”

I considered for a few seconds and nodded, “And let’s keep it that way, please.”

Chloe nodded, “Probably the wisest course of action. I can’t imagine she’s worth twenty years in prison! Let me tell Lily.”

I put my headphones back on and returned to reading my book. Perhaps thirty minutes later, after I’d replaced the first disc of the set with the second, Chloe came to check if I wanted another drink.

“Do you have any tea other than Lipton?” I asked.

“No, unfortunately.”

“Then coffee, please.”

She leaned close, “Or the third option? I have a layover in LA.”

I wanted to laugh at the ‘Coffee, tea, or me?’ reference, and at how Loki continued to mess with me. Chloe was nice looking, obviously available, and I was sure that the universe had conspired such that she’d had the requisite STI test and wasn’t in a relationship. I was mildly tempted, but quickly decided against it, because I wanted to get a good night’s sleep and keep the LA trip uneventful.

I held up my left hand to show my wedding band, smiled, and said “Under other circumstances...”

She nodded, “Let me get your coffee.”

She brought me the coffee, I thanked her, put on my headphones, and settled in for what turned out to be an uneventful remainder of the flight.

October 17, 2001, Los Angeles, California

When the flight landed, we taxied and arrived at the gate about ten minutes past the scheduled time. One of the major advantages of being in First Class, besides being guaranteed overhead storage space, was not having to wait for many other passengers to deplane. In my case, I was fourth in line, thanked Chloe as I moved past her, and quickly walked down the Jetway, being able to pass the three passengers who were in front of me with ease.

I walked the fairly long distance to the baggage claim, and, as I’d expected, the bags weren’t yet on the baggage carousel. I stifled a laugh, remembering the scene from Airplane where passengers had been on the carousel. I glanced around, and did see people handing out leaflets, and strongly considered the approach to dealing with them shown in the movie. Of course, while other passengers might applaud, the heavily armed police in the terminal might not find it as amusing.

“Hi!” the jailbait exclaimed, coming to stand next to me to wait for her bags.

“Hi,” I replied.

“I tried to come talk to you on the plane, but they wouldn’t let me.”

“It really shouldn’t be a surprise that they’re strictly enforcing the rules.”

“No, I suppose not. I tried to sit by you, but that didn’t work, either.”

“So it wasn’t a mistake when you said 3A?” I asked.

“I heard you say your seat number when you got your boarding pass! I asked the agent if the seat next to you was available, which it was, but I decided I’d get in far too much trouble if I tried to use my mom’s credit card to upgrade!”

“Why?” I asked, suddenly wary of my teenage stalker.

“You obviously don’t recognize me, but I know you. You’re Jesse Block’s dad; I’ve seen you at his hockey games and you teach karate at the school on Hyde Park Avenue.”

“Just out of curiosity, what are you doing flying to California during the week when school is in session?”

“My grandfather’s funeral is tomorrow. My parents are divorced, and mom didn’t want to see my dad or his relatives, so I flew out alone. I’m actually flying back tomorrow night so I only miss one day of school.”

“Quite the whirlwind trip! Is your dad picking you up?”

“Yes, but he’s running late. He’ll be here in twenty minutes or so, which isn’t bad because he said it takes forever for the bags to arrive.”

She had a point, or her dad did, about LAX. It was one of the slowest to deliver bags of all the airports I’d regularly used.

“True. Mind if I ask what your dad does?”

“He’s an attorney.”

“What firm?” I asked.

“Ford, Jackson, and Finch. My grandfather was David Finch.”

“Whoa!” I gasped. “When did he die?”

“Yesterday morning. You act as if you knew him.”

“Ford, Jackson, and Finch is one of my company’s most important clients.”

I pulled my mobile phone from my pocket and turned it on, something I usually remembered to do as soon as I left the plane, but for some reason had forgotten. I had two messages, so I excused myself and played them. The first one was from Andy, confirming he had made reservations for our meal on Thursday evening. The second was from Kimmy, asking me to call, which I did.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You received a notice that David Finch passed away yesterday.”

“Someone called you?”

“I ran into his granddaughter on the flight.”

Kimmy laughed softly, “Of course you did! Anyway, Megan called right after your flight boarded and asked if you could be in their office at 7:00am tomorrow for your meeting, and also invited you to the funeral. She left her mobile number.”

The only reason I could imagine such a quick sequence was that he was Jewish, and the goal was always to bury the deceased as soon as possible after death.

“OK. Make sure we send a nice floral arrangement, and please let me have the number Megan left.”

I pulled my notebook from my pocket, along with a pen, and took down the number. I thanked Kimmy, then called Megan, who answered right away.

“I just spoke with Kimmy,” I said, not wanting to get into a discussion about Finch’s granddaughter. “I’m sorry to hear of his passing. The timing for the funeral is going to be tight, because I have meetings tomorrow afternoon.”

“We totally understand. I do need to move our meeting, though.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be in your office at 7:00am. Did you get hold of Ben?”

“He’s in Kuala Lumpur. There’s no way he could make it back, obviously.”

“Obviously. My condolences to everyone, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

We said ‘goodbye’ and I hung up.

“May I ask how he died?”

“I’m not sure,” the jailbait replied. “My dad said the Medical Examiner would have a report this afternoon. Then the men from the synagogue will take over.”

“I’ve never been to a Jewish funeral.”

“Me, either. But it’s at the cemetery not at the synagogue, like Christians do for their funerals.”

The buzzer sounded and the red light flashed to indicate that the baggage carousel was about to start.

“What grade are you in?” I asked.

“Sophomore, same as Jesse.”

Which meant she was a bit younger than I’d first thought - either fifteen or sixteen.

“Sorry, I don’t even know your name!”

“Juliette Finch,” she replied.

It was all I could do to avoid laughing, but I managed, just. She was Libby’s girlfriend, so ‘jailbait’ or not, she was decidedly NOT interested in me for the usual reason girls were interested in me. I tried to remember if I’d seen her at the games, but I couldn’t remember. That didn’t surprise me because she and Libby kept their relationship on the ‘down low’ and the only reason I knew about it had been a conversation with Jesse about relationship dynamics and one comment from Libby.

My bag arrived, I grabbed it, but waited until Juliette’s bag arrived to grab it for her.

“I’ll wait with you until your dad arrives,” I said.

“Thanks.”

Her dad walked up to us about five minutes later and Juliette hugged him.

“Mr. Finch,” I said. “I’m Steve Adams, from NIKA Consulting. My condolences.”

“Thanks,” he said. “You can call me Joshua, please. I see you’ve met my daughter.”

“She goes to the same school as my eldest son,” I replied. “She recognized me from attending my son’s hockey games and introduced herself when we got off the plane.”

“He stayed with me until you arrived.”

Joshua smiled, “Thanks, Steve. Did you fly out for the funeral?”

“No. I had a meeting scheduled with Megan in the morning, as well as other customer meetings in the afternoon. Megan did invite me to the funeral, but the timing is tricky.”

“I fully understand. Do you need a lift into the city?”

“I was about to call for my car, which was already arranged.”

“OK. Then we’ll let you go. It was good to meet you. Dad always had great things to say about you, including your repertoire of lawyer jokes!”

I chuckled, “He had a good sense of humor.”

“If you can’t laugh at yourself, you’ll have a miserable life.”

“I agree completely!”

We shook hands, parted, and I pulled out my mobile phone to call for my car, which happily was less than five minutes away. I walked out of the terminal to the waiting area, watched for the black Lincoln Town Car, saw the car with the number placard in the window which matched my reservation, and signaled to the driver. He pulled up, got out, took my bag, and put it in the trunk, then opened the back door for me to get in. Once I was in, he walked around to the driver’s door, got in, and we were on our way to the Omni Hotel in California Plaza.

October 18, 2001, Los Angeles, California

When I woke very early on Thursday morning, I was doubly glad I hadn’t taken Chloe up on her offer so that I could go to bed immediately after speaking to my wives, daughters, and Albert. I put on shorts, socks, a t-shirt, and my running shoes and went to the hotel gym to run on a treadmill. When I finished, I went back to my room, showered, dressed, and went down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. I ordered a two-egg breakfast, half-links, half-bacon, and was able to substitute a bowl of mixed berries for the usual choice of toast or pancakes.

I read the Los Angeles Times as I ate, with the lead story being about the ongoing anthrax attacks. There was nothing new to report since the revelation that an aide to Senator Tom Daschle had opened a letter containing anthrax spores on Monday, and that mail services to anyone in government in DC were still shut down, pending the development of a screening and sterilization procedure. Fortunately, so far, the attacks had been limited, and there hadn’t been a spate of other terrorist activity, at least in the US.

The same was not true for overseas, as there was an article about the assassination of Israeli tourism minister Rehavam Ze’evi. He was the first Israeli minister to be assassinated in a terrorist attack, and so far, details were limited, but he’d been shot multiple times at point-blank range in the head. The PFLP - the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine - had claimed responsibility, and said it was in retaliation for the killing of the PFLP leader Abu Ali Mustafa by Israeli forces back in August.

I didn’t have much time, so I turned to the sports section, checked the hockey scores, finished my coffee, and then headed to California Plaza. I rode the elevators up to the 41st floor, and walked through the double glass doors. A large, framed painting of David Finch stood in the lobby, with a black sash draped over it as a sign of mourning. As usual, I was greeted by a stunningly beautiful receptionist, this time an Hispanic girl with flowing black hair and gorgeous brown eyes.

“Steve Adams to see Megan Burch.”

“She’s expecting you, Mr. Adams. Do you know where her office is?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then just go on back; I’ll buzz you through.”

“Thanks, Rosa,” I said, reading the name plate on the reception desk.

I walked to the door, heard the buzzer, and pulled it open, then walked down the long hallway to Megan’s office. She got up from her desk and came to greet me with a quick hug and a ‘society’ kiss, where we just touched cheeks.

“Different choices thirty years ago...” she teased.

I chuckled, “Take it up with my parents! That said, you would never have tolerated my ‘shenanigans’ as some have called them.”

“I believe a smoking-hot redhead might have kept you in line!”

“Perhaps! How are things?”

“Health-wise? I’m fully recovered with no permanent damage to anything. As for the firm, obviously, things are going to change. There’s a partnership meeting on Monday, though I don’t know for sure what Jonathan Ford is thinking at this point. There was going to be a change because of Ben’s retirement, but now this has made it more urgent.”

“Do you know the cause of death?”

“Undetected aneurysm,” Megan replied. “He was about to leave the house and literally dropped dead in the foyer after having breakfast with his wife. He’d complained of a mild headache when he got out of bed.”

“That is the classic sign, and because we all get mild headaches so often, it’s missed. It’s one of the things that most frustrates the doctors I know because there is literally nothing that can be done to detect or prevent it, because it’s only really detectable by diagnostic imaging. And they only do that when there are obvious symptoms of an illness which might require it. I take it he didn’t have recurring headaches?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I can’t recall the last time he wasn’t in the office because he wasn’t feeling well, and he went to the gym three days a week.”

“My father-in-law had a heart attack with no signs or symptoms before it happened, and no family history. It’s just one of those things.”

“Jessica’s dad, right?”

“Yes. Shall we get down to business?”

We spent two hours going over every facet of our relationship, from our software to our joint security practice, as well as the lawsuits in Ohio, which Jocelyn had called Megan about to pick her brain, given Megan was the expert in IT law, just as Ben was the expert in entertainment law.

“I need to leave for the cemetery,” Megan said just before 9:00am. It’s about ninety minutes away, so unless you can spare four or five hours, I’ll say ‘goodbye’. And, rest assured, nobody will hold it against you.”

“Canceling my two afternoon meetings on short notice isn’t really possible. Well, that’s not true, but you know what I mean.”

“I do. If you’d had a relationship with David Finch beyond just a few meetings over the past fifteen years, that would be different. And Jewish funerals are almost always short notice, from what I’m told.”

“That was my impression as well. I did run into Joshua Finch at LAX last night, and expressed my condolences.”

“How did THAT happen?”

“His daughter Juliette was on the flight from Chicago. She recognized me, though I didn’t recognize her until she told me her name. She’s friends with my eldest son and his girlfriend.”

“One of those strange coincidences in life. Joshua and Sarah divorced about four years ago, and I think Sarah remarried. Sarah was an associate here, and left when she and Joshua separated.”

“Do you know what firm she’s with?” I asked.

“Taylor and Associates; they’re a boutique firm specializing in employment law.”

“Any word on the Chicago office?”

“Finch was the driver behind that, so I’m not sure if anything will change or not. We’re still on track for January, as far as I know. When will you make it to LA again?”

“I’m not sure. The main reason for this trip was to reassure Aisyah that NIKA won’t tolerate any kind of bigotry. I’m visiting her imam tomorrow to make the point. Cindi will write about it in our quarterly newsletter.”

“Ballsy, but I’d expect nothing less from you.”

“To be honest, a customer who is bigoted is not one whose opinions carry ANY weight with me, or the executive team.”

“As it should be. The bastards who planned the attacks need a bullet to the back of the head, but Muslims in general, at least in the US, are not any different from the rest of us, except culturally, and the melting pot here USED to be able to handle it.”

I chuckled, “Tell it to the Irish, my red-headed, green-eyed friend!”

Megan laughed, “A good point, but you know, in general, that the children of immigrants were generally accepted into society, while they retained some of the traditions of the Old Country.”