White Man's Problems (22 page)

“Hi, Doug? It's Dana Barlow. You just left and we're here with the kids at the security gate. They won't let us through because you're not here. They say you are part of our economy ticket allotment and they can't put us through till we're all here. If you get this, please call me.”

It didn't come as a complete surprise. He knew his assistant was having trouble rebooking the ticket, and now he remembered he had said, “Just get me my own ticket in First Class.” He listened to the other two messages. The last was from 7:20 and Dana was clearly starting to worry the group would miss the plane. Hansall began to dial the number, but he stopped. There were no unoccupied seats in the waiting area. He headed to an empty floor space near an electrical outlet. He found his charger and plugged in his phone.

At 7:45, he saw Linda's daughter and several other girls coming down the terminal corridor. Then the others, like so many wagon trains drifting along. Mrs. Coyle walked alongside Will, Jobie, Declan, and Harry. Hansall ran toward them.

“What happened? Where were you guys?” Hansall asked, pretending to be worried.

Mrs. Coyle said, “Dana tried to call you, didn't you get the message?”

He pointed at his phone in the wall. “Oh man, I've been out of juice.” He opened his hands, asking for an explanation.

“They wouldn't let us in without you,” said Mrs. Coyle. “Some security thing. Did you not get rid of your other ticket?”

“They wouldn't let me buy a coach ticket…” he lied. “That was the problem. That's why I had to go in first.”

By then, the whole group had walked past and was on to the gate area. Hansall said to Mrs. Coyle, “Well, at least we made it,” and headed for the boys, who sat on the floor and pulled out their phones.

Jobie went to Mrs. Coyle and tugged her arm. In turn, she looked at Hansall. “Doug,” she said, “will you take him to the bathroom?”

“Sure. C'mon, Jobie.”

As he walked Jobie toward the men's room, Hansall said, “Did you have a fun trip?”

“Oh, yes,” Jobie said. He was calmer than he had been before. Hansall wondered if it was from exhaustion. When they started back to the gate, Jobie spied a concession stand. “Mr. Hansall,” he said, “can I get a Coke?”

“Sure,” said Hansall. They waited in line without saying anything, the little boy standing next to him. When the cashier handed Hansall the soda, Jobie started to dig in his pockets to pay. Hansall said, “I got it, man. Remember? I've had all your money. Put your change away.”

“Oh.” Jobie seemed genuinely touched. “Thank you.” He clicked open the Coke can and drank lustily as they started back to the gate. It struck Hansall that Jobie's had gained an air of confidence that had not been present before. Jobie wasn't nervous, or preoccupied with not getting lost, and instead surveyed the comings and goings of the airport like a scientist looking for patterns. Just as they were returning to the group, he looked up resolutely and said, “Mr. Hansall?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for being my parent chaperone.”

“Hey, no problem,” Hansall said. “No problem at all. Thanks for being such a good boy.”

The gate attendant announced boarding for first class and any uniformed military service people. “Ok, guys,” Hansall said to the boys, who were gathered by a wall outlet, watching Declan play FIFA World Cup. He motioned to the boarding area. “I have to get on now—they're making me get on. Be good on the plane, I will come back to check on you after we get in the air.”

He headed down the Jetway. When he arrived at 3A, he removed his iPad and a plastic pill bottle preloaded with Xanax and Ambien from his bag. A male flight attendant came to him with a tray of orange juice and champagne.

Hansall was just settling into a profile of a billionaire hedge-fund manager who was now revitalizing the Salvation Army when he noticed that the gate attendant, a natty man with a blue V-neck sweater over his shirt and tie, had boarded the plane and was talking with one of the female flight attendants. They looked at a computer printout and then approached Hansall.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hansall?” said the man.

“Yup.”

“May I see your boarding pass?”

“And your reservation number or any other paperwork you have,” said the stewardess.

Hansall stood and retrieved his bag from the overhead department. He handed them his boarding pass. “I don't really have anything else.” While they conferred over the boarding pass, Hansall said, “I think I know what this is about. I may be double booked. My assistant had to route me through New York, and I got a separate ticket from the group I'm with…”

“Right, the school group,” the gate attendant said, and looked at the woman. “He must also have a seat in first.”

“Is there a problem?” Hansall said.

A line of passengers was stacking up behind them trying to board the plane, so the pair stepped into the row in front of Hansall and leaned over the seats to continue speaking to him.

“Well,” said the man, “we have someone under your name in two separate seats. That sets off all kinds of bells.” The line of passengers flowed past them toward the economy section. “The security system gets fouled up when someone takes two seats.”

“Hi, Dad,” said Will, making his way past Hansall to his seat, with Declan, Harry, and Jobie in tow.

“Oh, hey man,” said Hansall. “Go along back there to your seat, don't hold people up.”

“Are you in trouble or something?”

“No, no. Just get going.” Hansall turned back to his interrogators. “My son,” he explained. “I'm with his school group.”

“I know,” said the woman. The kids and mothers were all walking by now. Ms. Barlow passed him and lifted her eyebrows. Linda ignored him.

After another moment looking at the printouts, the gate attendant seemed to have an idea. “Mr. Hansall, do you want to sit in the back with your group? We have several requests for upgrades…That could make it easy.”

“No, of course not,” Hansall shot back. There was an awkward moment before Hansall said, “Don't you have standbys? Just give the other seat to someone going standby.”

They shook their heads. “Not that easy,” said the woman. They continued to stare at the printouts, until the man finally said to the flight attendant, “Well, it's up to the captain. It's his call.”

After ten minutes, the plane was fully boarded, but the door had not been closed. Hansall said yes to another glass of champagne and downed it. The man in the v-neck lingered on, making small talk with the two flight attendants.

The door to the cockpit opened and the captain emerged, bending his head to get through the door, and then uncoiling to his full height. Peeking from his seat, it looked to Hansall like he was six three or six four. He listened as the gate attendant showed him the printout. Eventually Hansall heard the captain say, “Where is he? Show me.” The female attendant pointed to Hansall, who stared down at his New Yorker but was able to peek back up and see the captain mumble something to the other three workers before ducking back into the cockpit.

Hansall began to muster his argument against any direction from the captain that would result in an attempt by the airline to put him in the back of the plane. He tried to remember the last time he spent six hours in coach. If they sent him back now, he sulked to himself, he would almost certainly have to sit in a middle seat. He might not even be able to trade with Will or one of the other kids since the plane was readying to take off.

And then miraculously the door of the plane was shut and Hansall was relieved of his worries. Takeoff announcements were made. The male flight attendant made one last pass through the cabin, taking glasses and making sure cell phones were turned off. As he reached down to take the champagne glass, Hansall said, “What did the captain say about my situation?”

The flight attendant leaned down to whisper in Hansall's ear. “He said it was up to you.”