Christine In Flight

Christine, a pleine air artist, who looks 35 but is really 62, reads romance novels in her free time. Last Tuesday she took Southwest Airlines out of L.A. to Nashville, TN, reading Gore Vidal's "Burr". Too bad she had a window seat. Someone else might have appreciated the view.

The plane sat on the runway for over half an hour. "Burr" is a riveting novel, so no problem. Once in the air, turbulence kept her seat-belted in place, and time, literally, flew by as she read. But, upon arrival in Dallas for her flight change it was too late to run to the ladies' room. Again, turbulence kept the seat-belt light on. This is when Gore Vidal's strength as a writer really helped her maintain a lady-like although very uncomfortable presence. Finally, she stood up, book in hand, and marched (really that is what it looked like) to the first class 'facility'.  

Not realizing how engrossed she became in the novel, it wasn't until someone knocked twice, probably with their knuckles by the sound of it, on the door that it startled her into leaving the 'necessary' as they used to call it in the South. Staggering (turbulence, turbulence) back to her seat, she noticed no one else was reading. Gamers, sleepers, drinkers, and crying babies seemed the norm. Well, one military fellow studied a book on explosives.

If only she had a canvas about now. Gore, for all his virtuosity, failed her. She tucked the book in the back pocket of the seat in front of her and pondered her upcoming visit in the town of Andrew Jackson and Taylor Swift, one a man of substance and cruelty--the other a girl of flirty charm and simplicity. 

Christine longed for an ice cream sundae, imagined a plate of hot pancakes, and finally accepted a diet Dr. Pepper and teeny-tiny bag of very salty nuts. She felt her age and hoped the bags under eyes would dissolve shortly after arrival. Her daughter, a plastic surgeon at Vanderbilt, would be disappointed if she abused her health, which she had just done. 

Then she remembered Gore Vidal's description of Aaron Burr's second wife who had been kept by Frenchmen before they married. When the wife became tired or tense she found her way to affectation and worded her conversation in what she considered sophisticated French. This refreshed Christine. Upon arrival, she would breath deeply, stand up straight and with all the sophistication she could muster, be the youthful stunning woman she had so long studied to become. She would be that delicious and delightful ice cream sundae.

And that is the truth. To some extent.