IN WHICH I DO SHOTS, WITH THE ULTIMATE INJECTION IN MIND.
The flight would be delayed one more hour, and Apollo suggested we have a drink at the bar. I don’t usually drink alcohol before or during a flight because the dehydration is severe — and the hangover equally bad. But the shot of ouzo he proposed to kick off a Greek vacation wouldn’t hurt. Besides, our budding flirtation would be ended abruptly when boarding started, and I had to carpe diem now so I could carpe hot Apollo when we landed.
But as we sat at the bar, Apollo — and he did have a different name, though naturally I can’t use it here — and I hit it off so thoroughly, when the flight was delayed again it seemed right and proper to have a second shot, and then a third. “I’ll drink a ton of water on the plane,” I reasoned to myself.
Apollo, an olive oil exporter, was on his way back from meetings with Whole Foods and other clients. He’d gone to school in America and spoke excellent English, which was good, considering Greek is all Greek to me.
The ouzo was having its way with me, a not so subtle metaphor for me succumbing to a bigger temptation. Apollo seemed to feel it, too, pressing his thigh against mine and putting his face so close, I felt he might just kiss me in the middle of JFK! My lips parted involuntarily, and he stared at my mouth as he talked. When he murmured in my ear that he wished we’d be sitting together on the long trip, his hot breath sent a shiver up my spine.
The boarding was called, and he produced his pass — first class. Mine was coach, of course, since I never blow my budget on what I consider to be one of life’s more outrageous ripoffs, when I can use that money for fun and splurging the rest of my trip.
Apollo looked at my boarding pass and frowned. “I want you next to me. When we get on the plane I’ll see what can be done.”
As we walked to the gate he hung behind me, and I knew he was an ass man. Note to Self: Good call doing those squats and lunges five times a week for the last year.
Because the ouzo may have busted my Puritanical inhibitions, but my Protestant twerk ethic remained.