Dalia’s Cessna leveled out to a steady altitude. She feathered the throttle to a cruising speed and exhaled a sigh of relief.
“Well, that was as close as it gets,” Dalia said into the microphone. Everyone in the cabin had on teal headsets. She turned and looked at Grigsby. He’d gained a few pounds since they last saw each other in Paris years ago, but he still looked dashing. “Good to see you, Grigsby.” She said.
Grigsby was looking out the window at the ground a thousand feet below. He stuck his middle finger to the country of Ethiopia and looked back at Dalia and smiled. “I cannot thank you enough, poor Ira was almost the lunch special.” He chuckled.
Ira frowned. He didn’t find it funny. His Upper West Side therapist will never hear the end of this one. “Thank you, Dalia.” He said quietly into the microphone.
Clouds shifted and let in the afternoon sun. Dalia’s dark eyes glistened behind her her gold and black aviators which sat amongst a riot of curly hair. Grigsby found his mind drifting. It was like he was looking into the past. A flush of memories from their time in college and Paris came rushing in. The adventures they had were unlike any other college relationship. From flying around New England during weekends to getting kicked out of French museums. They were like Bonnie and Clyde but without the bloodlust. Grigsby thought about reminiscing but didn’t want Ira or Ryūki to overhear it, he’d have to wait.
“How far are we from the coffee plantation?” Grigsby asked.
“Three hours,” Dalia said, “Check the bag at your feet.”
Grigsby looked down and heaved out a massive pot of spaghetti and bolognese. “You’re an angel Dalia.”
“Just make sure you and Ira get working on these,” Dalia handed him a manila folder with invoices and contracts.
“Of course,” Grigsby said tossing it at Ira. He dolled out small bowls of spaghetti for everyone and then ate from the pot. Grigsby noticed an iPod connected to the radio system. He scanned through the songs and blasted Toto’s Africa at full volume for the rest of the flight.