A Star of Television and the Silver Screen

I’d booked the flight the day before, and so had to spend about a third of my total savings.  It was not a decision I made lightly.  But I’d done it.  Under the circumstances there didn’t seem to be much of a choice, and although if it happened today I almost certainly would’ve just stayed at home, I was a different person then, so I threw a third of my savings away on a flight from Cleveland to Los Angeles and found myself strapped into the aisle seat of a 737 at some ungodly hour of what was otherwise probably a pretty decent spring morning, watching the flight attendants do their preflight here are the emergency exits, these are the oxygen masks dance. 

            In the seat next to me, the middle one, was a man of around seventy, next to him, in the window seat, his wife.  The man had nodded and given a perfunctory smile when I’d sat down, but didn’t say anything, and didn’t seem to be interested in striking up a conversation, which suited me fine.  I wasn’t in the mood either to hear someone’s life story, or be expected to tell mine. 

            After the safety instructions the captain came on the p.a. and informed us that this flight was for Los Angeles with a stopover in Denver, of our flight times, the weather in Denver and Los Angeles and so on and so forth.  Just before the part where he normally would say thanks for flying with the airline and he hopes we have a pleasant flight, he made a different announcement.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re particularly pleased to have a special guest flying with us today, star of television and the silver screen—” And here he said the name of some actor, or actress, I supposed, but I couldn’t be sure because it sounded muffled, or at least I didn’t understand.  A few people clapped.  Heads began to turn around, looking for this celebrity, although why they thought he or she would be sitting back in economy class, I don’t know.

            The man turned to me.  “Who did he say?”

            I shrugged. “Didn’t catch it.  Probably don’t know him anyway.”

            “Oh, good.  I thought it was just me.” He chuckled and turned back to the spy novel he’d pulled out during the safety instructions.

            We’d taken off and reached cruising altitude, and the captain had turned off the seatbelt sign, when the star of television and the silver screen started making his laps.  People had settled in, chewing gum and yawning to unplug their ears, and were flicking through the airline magazine or striking up those conversations people have with the strangers next to them.  Across the aisle, a girl was beginning to elaborate on the various woes of being a medical student to the middle aged businessman next to her, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his eyes kept darting to her breasts.  Two rows in front of me, a mother was trying to tell her two daughters, both of them less than eight years old, to be quieter, although they were only making their dolls sing “Old MacDonald”, and not that loudly.  A few rows ahead of the singing girls the curtains that separated first class from the plebs twitched, then parted.  I’d hoped it would be the flight attendants, pushing the drinks trolley, because I was itching for a coffee, but instead the star of television and the silver screen strolled through.

            “Heh,” he said, “Just need the old loo,” as though anybody on a plane from Cleveland to Denver and Los Angeles really uses that term.  I didn’t recognize him.  He was probably around fifty, had large jowls and wore a cowboy hat, and the combination made me think maybe he was somebody from Dallas, but that didn’t seem likely.  He grinned from seat to seat, like he was mugging for a camera, but nobody was paying much attention at first.  As he began to make his way to the back, still grinning at each seat he passed, a few people glanced up, then returned to their reading or conversation.  One or two said hello and he responded by reaching out to grasp their hands as though he were a politician, and although they didn’t necessarily reach out to shake his.  To people by the windows he would touch two fingers to the brim of his hat in a little mock salute.

            My neighbor looked up from his novel.  “You recognize him now?” he asked quietly.

            I shook my head.  “I thought maybe he was somebody from Dallas.”

            “Nah.  That’s been off the air for ever.  And the wife would recognize him, then.”

            “Must just be the cowboy hat,” I said.

The star of television and the silver screen passed our row just then, and looked down and winked at us, making a little clicking noise as he did.

            “How’s a cowboy hat like a hemorrhoid?” the old man asked.

            “James!” exclaimed the wife, slapping him lightly on the shoulder.

            I shrugged.

            “Sooner or later, every asshole gets one.” He chuckled, and I laughed with him while his wife made some disapproving noises.

            “Aren’t there toilets in first class?” I said.

            “Exactly.  Nobody knows who this guy is, so he’s gotta come running back here to let us know he exists.”

            “Somebody on this plane must know who he is.”

            The old man shook his head.  “Nobody’s paying mind.  The pilot knows, anyway.”

            About five minutes later, the celebrity made the return journey down the aisle.

            “Excuse me,” I said as he passed my seat.

            He stopped, and turned on heels to face me.  “What can I do for you, partner?”

            “It just that I’m a big fan, and I was wondering if you could sign an autograph, maybe?”  I reached for the magazine that was clapped into the mesh netting of the seatback in front of me.

            “No problem,” he said, taking the magazine and reaching into the inside pocket of his sportcoat, from which he produced a pen.  “What’s your name, partner?”

            I told him, and he scribbled something on the contents page of the magazine and handed it back.  I thanked him, and he stood smiling at me for another moment, waiting for me to say something more.  After that awkward moment he nodded and smiled—it looked more like a wince—and continued down the aisle.

            “I thought you said you didn’t know who he is?” the old man said.

            “I don’t.  I thought if I got an autograph I’d find out.”

            The old man nodded slowly.  “Clever.  Well?”

            I opened the magazine.  On the table of contents page was written: To Dan the Man, thanks for sharing the flight to L.A. with me.  Best Wishes, — and here was written his name, but it was unintelligible.

            “I thought you said your name was David?”

            “It is.”

            Another ten or fifteen minutes passed. The flight attendants served drinks.  After everyone had been served, the curtains parted and the star of television and the silver screen made another appearance.

             “Heh,” he said, “Must’ve had too much coffee,” even though nobody was paying attention.  He started another slow walk down the aisle, and this time nobody said hello to him, no matter how many little coughs or tips of his cowboy hat he made.  The medical student across the aisle rolled her eyes as she lifted the little plastic cup and tipped an ice cube into her mouth.

            The old man glanced up from his book as the star of television and the silver screen passed.  “Schmuck,” he muttered.

            The star of television and the silver screen stopped and looked at the old man.  “What?”

            The old man ignored him.

            “Hey, partner, did you say something?”

            The old man slowly turned the page, then closed the book, his finger holding the spot where he’d left off.  He looked up at the star of television and the silver screen.  “What?”

            “I said, did you say something?”

            The old man shrugged.  “I don’t think so.”

            “Because I thought I heard you say something disparaging about me.”

            The old man pursed his lips as though he were a toddler making a kiss and shook his head.  “Nope.  Just reading my book here.”

            The star of television and the silver screen pushed back the brim of his cowboy hat with his forefinger, and stared at the old man.  “Okay,” he said, drawing the word out and nodding slowly.  “I’m going aft.”  He continued his walk towards the back of the plane.

            “‘I’m going aft,’” I mimicked.

            “Like I said, a schmuck.”  The old man shook his head and reopened his book.

            After several minutes the star of television and the silver screen came back down the aisle.  He glanced down at the old man as he passed, but didn’t say anything.  As he passed the girls who’d been singing “Old MacDonald,” one of the dolls flew up and hit the brim of his cowboy hat, knocking it off.

            “Goddamnit!” The star of television and the silver screen whirled and glared at the old man.  He knelt and picked up the hat, ignoring the doll that lay next to it, and put it back on his head.  The girl whose doll had committed the crime began to cry.  The star of television and the silver screen strode back down the aisle and stopped next to my seat.

            “What the hell is that?” he demanded of the old man.

            The old man shrugged.  “I was just reading my book.”

            “Reading your book, my ass! You knocked my goddamn hat off.”

            The old man closed his book over his finger.  “No.”

            “What do you mean no?”

            “I didn’t knock your hat off.  I was sitting here reading my book.”

            “What are you playing at, old timer?”

            The old man turned to me, then looked back up at the star of television and the silver screen.  He shook his head slowly a couple times and reopened his book.  The little girl was still crying for her doll.

            “Hey, goddamnit,” said the star of television and the silver screen.

            “Why don’t you just shut up and go back to your seat?”  This was the medical student across the aisle.

            The star of television and the silver screen spun on his heel and leaned towards the medical student.  “You stay out of this you little bitch,” he hissed.  The medical student’s face went blank.  The star of television and the silver screen turned back to the old man.

            That’s when we hit the turbulence.  The fasten seatbelt sign blinked on and sang bong-bong-bong.  A few people gasped.  A few children started crying.  The star of television and the silver screen stumbled but caught himself against the seatback in front of me. His hat tumbled onto the head of the person in that seat and he snatched it quickly back before turning to glare at the old man once again.

            The captain came on the p.a. and asked everyone to return to their seats, that we were experiencing some particularly bumpy turbulence and we’d be through it soon, but in the meantime everybody should put on their seatbelts for their own safety.  The star of television and silver screen had recovered by the time the captain had finished, and made a couple steps towards the first class part of the cabin, which was when the plane dropped.

            I felt my seatbelt crush down on my bladder as I lifted out of the seat, and the next thing I noticed was the yellow mask bouncing in front of my face.  I surprised myself with the clarity and calm with which I pulled sharply on the mask to start the flow of oxygen, then fixed my own mask before looking around to help small children and others around me.  The plane was a container of yellow-masked, panicky people.  We’d dropped a couple hundred feet in one second.  The captain would explain later that this was unusual but not unprecedented, nor in any way was it dangerous beyond some mild discomfort, if you were strapped into your seat.

            The star of television and the silver screen was not strapped into his seat.  When the plane dropped he became weightless.  His feet lifted off the floor and his head slammed into one of the overhead compartments.  His cowboy hat  flew several rows forward.  He landed, unconscious, in the aisle.  The plane stabilized.

            At some point, and I don’t think it was too long after the plane had evened out and started climbing again, the captain came on and said that the oxygen masks were unnecessary, because the pressure in the plane had readjusted. It was hard to hear because my ears were still plugged from the drop. I kept yawning and swallowing to try to make them pop back open.  But even before the captain had made the announcement the medical student had sprung into action.  She’d unclipped her seatbelt and was already holding the star of television and the silver screen in a sitting position, having checked to make sure he was breathing, and was pressing a wad of cocktail napkins to the cut on his forehead. As my ears unplugged I realized she was barking for someone to get some water.  The star of television and the silver screen began to revive, slowly, his eyes blinking rapidly as he began to reorient himself.  The medical student was still supporting him, her hand pressed against his forehead, and she was cooing softly, almost like he was a baby.  His face was pale and I noticed for the first time, perhaps because of the way in which she was holding his head, that his combover was particularly unconvincing.  Strands of hair, no longer covering his bald spot, hung over one side of his face.  One of the flight attendants came and handed the medical student a cup of water, which she held to the star of television and the silver screen’s lips.  He looked startled at first, his eyes looking side to side and up and down, but he began to drink small sips.  Someone retrieved his cowboy hat and placed it on his lap and he held its brim as though it were a teddy bear.  After a few minutes the bleeding had stopped for the most part and the medical student had affixed a bandaid to his forehead, and gotten ice and a cloth to hold against the bruise.  He squeaked a meek thank you as the flight attendant helped him back up the aisle and behind the first class curtain.

            The yellow oxygen masks dangled from their cords for the rest of the flight to Denver.  When the wheels touched the runway, some of them rattled into each other like plastic windchimes.  When the plane had stopped at the gate we were asked to stay seated so those with minor injuries could leave the plane first and be treated by the team of paramedics that was waiting for us.  The plane would not be traveling on to Los Angeles due to inspection regulations, but we would be booked onto the next available flight, and given vouchers worth $200 for any future flight with the airline.  As these announcements were being made I realized my trip was for nothing, my expense was for nothing, because now I wasn’t going to make it to Los Angeles in time.  I began to think about whether I should just stay in Denver, and wait for the return flight to Cleveland.  When we got out of the plane I wished the old man and his wife a nice stay in Denver and made my way into the terminal.  I never saw the star of television and the silver screen again, not even on television, nor on the silver screen.