"What did you say to me?" Vanessa shrieked, forgetting all pretense of quiet. "What did you just say?"
At that exact second, the aircraft hit an abrupt pocket of sinking air—a sharp, sudden drop of twenty feet that made everyone’s stomach float for a fraction of a second.
Vanessa, who had unbuckled her belt against federal regulations to lean across the console, lurched sideways.
Her hand caught the edge of her half-full glass of champagne.
The heavy crystal glass overturned.
The sparkling liquid didn't splash onto the leather or the carpet.
It poured in a direct, soaking wave across the quiet woman’s lap, soaking into the faded olive canvas of her tote bag and drenching the frayed cuff of her jacket.
The entire first-class cabin went dead silent.
Even the executive in row 3 lowered his tablet completely, staring with wide, horrified eyes.
Vanessa froze for half a heartbeat.
Then, instead of apologizing, instead of showing even an ounce of shock or human decency, she leaned back into her seat and let out a cold, deliberate laugh.
"Well," Vanessa said, picking up a cocktail napkin and casually wiping a single drop from her own cashmere sleeve, "look at that. Maybe the alcohol will kill whatever bacteria was living in that rag."
My blood ran cold.
I unbuckled from my jumpseat, ignoring the captain’s turbulence light, and lunged forward with a handful of clean galley towels.
"Ma'am, I am so sorry," I said, dropping to one knee beside seat 2A. "Please, let me help you with that. Let me get you a blanket, let me—"