Anika could see he was going to be trouble before he even boarded the plane. A technical problem had delayed their takeoff from Singapore and his flushed complexion betrayed the fact that he’d spent the entire two hours in hospitality. The look in his bloodshot eyes as they rested on her pretty young colleague, Pavana, gave Anika the shivers. Without doubt, the sweaty, overweight man lumbering up the steps was shaping up to be a first class passenger in every way; first class idiot, first class letch, first class bore. Lurching onto the plane, he insinuated himself between the two stewardesses, arms draped heavily about their shoulders and grubby fifty dollar bills dangling from between his chubby fingers. “Now, ladies,” he said in an oily voice, flicking the notes in their faces, “here’s the deal. I’m Douglas ‘Dougie’ Douglas and I want you to take extra good care of me, if ya know what I mean.” The girls knew exactly what he meant. With fifteen years experience between them they’d dealt with just about every kind of passenger, from nonchalant to nervous, and from nice to downright nasty, and of the latter category Dougie Douglas was shaping up to be a prime example. Ignoring the money, Anika deftly sidestepped the millstone of his arm and pointed him in the direction of his seat. His first complaint reached her before she’d even had time to greet the next arrival. “This ain’t no window seat. I told them at check-in I wanted a window seat.” Shooting Pavana a look, Anika made her way along the aisle. “Is there a problem, Sir?” she asked. “There sure is. What’s the point in me payin’ a king’s ransom to fly Business Class if I can’t see out the window?” Anika confined herself to a small murmur of sympathy. “Well, Sir, fortunately we’re not full today,” she said soothingly. “So, if you’d care to wait a few minutes, I’ll re-seat you once everyone has boarded?” Grudgingly he lowered his considerable backside into the aisle seat, the vast rolls of fat around his middle spilling over the arms like bread dough overflowing the confines of a baking-tin. No sooner had he settled himself than he began pouring out his frustrations to his elderly neighbour, possessor of the view Dougie Douglas plainly regarded as rightfully his. The tiny man, bespectacled and balding, sat transfixed, blinking at Dougie like an animal caught in the headlights of a speeding car. With just the tiniest tweak of conscience, Anika made her escape. When she returned fifteen minutes later to escort Dougie to his new seat she found him sleeping like a baby. Her relief was clearly shared by the elderly gentleman, who shot her a look of such mute entreaty that she felt her heart squeeze. She became aware that Dougie was conscious again somewhere over the Bay of Bengal. She was reversing along the aisle dispensing refreshments when she felt a hand brush the back of her leg. Such behaviour wasn’t uncommon on budget flights, where passengers were known to get a little frisky on occasion, but it was rare on Business Class and caught her off-guard. For a moment she froze, trying to decide how to proceed. Chastisement of errant passengers, particularly affluent ones, could be something of a minefield. Some Captains blithely dismissed such antics as mere high spirits, deserving of nothing more than a smile and a polite request to desist. Others accorded it the disapproval it deserved and spoke firmly to the passenger, warning them that any further such liberties would warrant radioing ahead to arrange for their arrest upon arrival. Today’s Captain being new to the route, it was impossible for Anika to predict which way it would go. “Would you like to make that move now, Mr Douglas?” she asked. She mentally kicked herself for the opening she’d just given him and waited for the inevitable response. “Anythin’ you say, darlin’,” he chortled, moving his fat, freckled fingers back towards her leg. “Your seat, Sir,” Anika clarified, stepping away and fervently wishing she could slap that flabby, red face, “I was referring to your seat.” “Nah, think I’ll stay put now,” he beamed, eyeing her up and down. “I know I booked a window seat but these aisle ones ‘ave their compensations I reckon.” “Then can I get you anything?” she asked, holding fast to professionalism. “‘Ow about excited?” he leered, his vast belly wobbling with mirth. “I’ve heard about you trolley dollies and this Mile High Club.” “Club soda? Perrier? Black coffee?” Anika persisted, her smile hardening faster than quick-setting cement. The irony was wasted. “Ugh,” said Dougie disgustedly. “Call them drinks? Sweet water, fizzy water an’ muddy water? I’d rather go without.” “As you wish,” Anika said, already moving away. “Hey, missie, not so fast,” cried Dougie, calling her back. “What I will ‘ave’s a large Southern Comfort on the rocks, if ya please.” Reaching into the trolley, Anika opened the bottle and upended it, pouring his drink in practised style. She was handing him the glass when suddenly he grasped her arm, stroking the inside of her wrist with a stubby forefinger. “Heck, but you’re a fine lookin’ filly,” he murmured throatily. “I wasn’t joking just now, you know. If there’s any other sort of comfort on offer…” Anika snatched back her arm. “Would Sir like a PILLOW, perhaps?” she ground out. “He’s a pig!” she informed Pavana in the galley a few moments later. “No, that’s an insult to pigs. He’s the lowest form of life imaginable, totally amoeboid.” “Ameboid!” Pavana echoed. “Surely there’s no such word?” “There is now and he’s it,” Anika insisted. “How do such people get their money? His clothes may be loud and tasteless but there’s no question they’re expensive. And this isn’t exactly a rickshaw ride to Mumbai.” “Gambling, or inheritance maybe,” Pavana suggested, crouching to retrieve the pieces of paper towel Anika was systematically shredding. “The point is, you don’t have to put up with it. If he’s getting out of line, why not get Murali to have a quiet word with him. You know, man to man?” “Man to man?” Anika spluttered. “Murali!” The softly spoken air-steward was not exactly known for his hairy chest and bulging biceps. “Hmm, I see your point,” Pavana grinned. At that moment the modesty curtain whipped back and Dougie’s moon-face appeared in the gap. “Ah ha! So this is where you’ve been hidin’, is it?” His eyes were glazed and his lips had the purplish hue of the very drunk. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the greasy banknotes once again, sliding them back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. “Lishen girls, how about persuadin’ the Cap’n to let Dougie boy have a peek at the jolly ole flight deck, what?” As he spoke his voice became a sneering parody of the upper class accents of pilots of old. “I, er, I’m not...” Pavana began. “I’m sorry, Sir,” Anika interrupted smoothly, “Captain Khan doesn’t permit it. On the grounds of safety, you understand. It’s very cramped up there.” “Don’t permit it!” Dougie echoed, the ingratiating manner abruptly giving way to something much less pleasant. “Lishen, girlie, this is Dougie Douglas, king of scrap metal you’ve got ‘ere, not some runny-nosed school kid. So you jus’ run along and tell Mon Capitan up there that one of the passengers, one of them what pays ‘is wages, would like to see exactly what ‘e’s payin’ for, there’s a good girl.” Anika raised her hand. “Very well, Sir,” she said evenly, “if you’d like to wait here, please, I will enquire.” She returned a few minutes later, shaking her head with apparent regret. “I’m sorry, Mr Douglas, but Captain Khan informs me that visits to the flight deck are impossible this trip. Perhaps on your next...” She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before Dougie was pushing past her and heading up the aisle. “He’s going anyway!” Pavana squeaked. “Yes,” Anika said calmly, following his haphazard progress towards the cockpit, “I rather thought he might.” The two women watched as Dougie wrenched open the door and thrust himself through the gap. It closed behind him with a muted thud. “Should we go after him, do you think?” Pavana wondered out loud, chewing on her lower lip. “No need,” Anika smiled. “I’ll give it thirty seconds - forty, tops.” In the event he was out in twenty, throwing himself back through the door and down the aisle as though the hounds of hell were after him. The girls stepped helpfully aside to let him pass. “I get the feeling he won’t be troubling us any more,” Pavana said, watching his mountainous backside wobble away. Anika nodded. “The phrase ‘tail between his legs’ rather springs to mind, doesn’t it!” As Dougie resumed the safety of his seat Anika made her way to the flight deck. “Thanks for that, Captain,” she said, stepping lightly over the threshold. “Whatever you said to him, it certainly did the trick.” Captain Khan turned to face her. “I might have been the tiniest bit rude,” the Captain admitted. “I told him that unless he got his fat rear back to his seat and stayed there, I was going to take his fifty dollar bills and stick them where the sun don’t shine, then strap him in the ejector seat and press fire! After all,” Priti Khan chuckled, “we girls have got to stick together, haven’t we!”                                                  The end cd