Джордан Шор - The Search

“How so?”

“The captain was going through a bitter divorce, and his ex-wife was on—”

“No, I meant, why are you afraid my theory is true?”

“For obvious reasons.” He hesitated and felt confused.

“But either way, the liability will cover the lawsuits and damages? Won’t it?”

George got the impression Trisha Boyle was worried about her job. At first, he thought her chain of thoughts was a bit selfish, but a second later, he actually felt sorry for her. Something about a single mom always produced a sense of empathy in him. He hesitated as to whether he should lie to her or simply tell her the truth. If, in fact, Captain Daniels had crashed the plane in order to murder his ex-wife, then the company would have no chance to ever recuperate from such bad publicity, and Fare Airlines was likely to file for bankruptcy within the near future.

“I don’t have that information.”

Trisha pronounced another chuckle. “You’re starting to sound like him.”

“Who?” For some reason, George thought of his father.

“Mike… I don’t have that information,” Trisha added in a silly voice.

George made a mental note to himself not to use that particular phrase in the presence of his boss, CEO Michael Williams.

“I’m going to get us some more drinks,” Trisha said and got up from her chair. “This time, something less sour.”

“None for me please.”

“What?” Her puppy eyes prodded at him again.

“I shouldn’t drink any more. I mean, one of us has to drive in the morning.”

“Mike gave us the day off, remember? I thought we could have lunch, and enjoy Paradise before we leave. Besides, it’s a free bar,” Trisha said, and winked, while she waved the same credit card that she’d so enthusiastically used all day.

As George watched his younger colleague eagerly order another round of drinks, he felt a growing sense of concern. But he found some comfort in asking himself how much a woman of Trisha Boyle’s small stature could possible drink?

A few hours later, George Stanton was shocked by the answer to that question. He wondered if perhaps Trisha’s humorous remark about her ethnic descent was actually a cry for help. Perhaps she was constantly drunk. George felt as if his hotel room was spinning, and as he sat on the edge of the bed, he deliberated whether it was cautious or lazy of him, not to brush his teeth before going to sleep. Suddenly, he heard a strange noise coming from the hallway.

George got up and looked through the glass peephole where he saw his younger co-worker kicking the hotel door with the tip of her boot. When George opened the door, Trisha Boyle didn’t wait for an invitation. Instead, she entered his room as soon as he opened the door, her hands full of miniature bottles.

“You found more alcohol.” He sighed internally.

“It’s a free mini bar. It comes with the room,” Trisha claimed. “We’d be fools not to take advantage of it.”

Trisha opened several bottles of a well-known whiskey from Tennessee, and poured them into a glass she’d picked up from the table near the window.

“It’s our duty to empty both mini bars. If we don’t, then my ancestors would turn in their graves,” Trisha said with a witty smile.

Trisha kicked off her boots, casually climbed onto the bed, and rearranged the pillows to her liking, the drink still in her hand.

George saw his chance and pretended to pour one of the empty whiskey bottles into a coffee cup, only to fill the cup with soda.

“Jack and Coke,” Trisha said. “Good choice, mister . ”

He raised his cup to salute his deceitful plan. He felt only pride in his invention, and no shame.

“So, how old are you, George?”

“I’m thirty-two.”

“Then we’re practically the same age.”

He thought Trisha Boyle looked as if she were in the middle of her teenage years, but for obvious reason, he assumed she was older than she appeared.

“I seriously doubt that.”

“I’m twenty-three, get it?” Trisha had a big smile.

“You look younger,” he said, and felt a tension in his chest as he began to wonder if Trisha had passed the age when appearing younger was considered a compliment.

“Yeah , I get that a lot,” Trisha said, and sounded disappointed. “You know, you don’t look like a George.”

“Yeah , I get that a lot.”

Trisha pronounced a short laugh. “You don’t look like a Stanton, either.”

“Actually, it’s just a random name my father selected when he immigrated to America. The person who handed him the form had a name tag with Stanton written on it,” he said, and shrugged. “That’s my family legacy, right there.”

“Really?” Trisha frowned. “Did he change his first name too?”

“He changed it to Robert, on account of Robert Redford. My father…” George restrained himself from calling his father a lunatic. “…is a strange man.”

“You’re a strange man, George.”

Again, George didn’t care for being associated with his father.

“If you think I’m strange, then you should meet him.”

“I love to meet your father.” Trisha looked sincere.

He swallowed once, and tried to come up with an appropriate lie. But before he could come up with a decent excuse, Trisha Boyle released him from her wicked spell.

“I’m just messing with you,” Trisha blurted out. “But I totally got you, didn’t I?”

George made sure to smile her way, even though he felt the whole scene was more horrifying than amusing.

Trisha had her back against the headboard and her arms stretched out on top of the many pillows; her drink was on the night table. George sat at the nearby desk.

“Are you always on autopilot, George?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you ever let loose, and just go with it? You know, just ignore social protocol and so on,” Trisha said and slapped the palms of her outstretched hands against the many pillows on the bed.

“No, I’m pretty much boring all the time.”

Is that why I’m single? Because I’m such a boring person?

“You’re not boring. You’re just shy.” She gave him a wink.

Again, George felt puzzled by Trisha’s perception of him. He never considered himself as shy. If anything, he was more ignorant than most people. He didn’t talk much because he didn’t have much interest in other people’s lives.

Is that why I’m single?

“When was the last time you did something outrageous, George?”

“I spent a night in jail once.”

“Really?” Trisha looked astonished.

Then, Trisha pronounced a tremendous laugh, rolled around on the bed, and gasped for air. She appeared as if she was trying to speak, but she was laughing too hard to utter a word. George began to feel uncomfortable and was curious what had brought out her reaction.

“For driving too slow?” Trisha eventually said and then her face twitched and twisted before she began laughing even harder.

George couldn’t keep himself from laughing as well. But this time he didn’t feel bad for laughing at her rather than with her. He did, however, restrain himself from bringing up the cruise control again.

Trisha’s distinctive laughter eventually faded away.

“That’s good stuff.” Trisha wiped the tears from her eyes. “Go on then and tell me what you were in for.”

“I flipped over a cop car.”

“Really?” Trisha’s jaw dropped. “Were you in a gang or something?”

He felt confused. “No, I acted on my own.”

“Did you use a forklift or something?”

Why would I use a forklift?

“No, I didn’t flip over a cop car. I flipped over a cop car…”