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RESTLESS

The albino sitting next to him tried to start a conversation. Gershon answered politely but didn’t open up. He’d flown enough times to know the dynamic. There are some people who are just open and pleasant, and there are others who try to develop a little intimacy with you just so that, after takeoff, when they take over the armrest you share, you’ll feel embarrassed enough to let them have it. “My first time in America,” the albino said. “I’ve heard that the police there are completely crazy. They’ll throw you in jail just for jaywalking.” “It’ll be fine,” Gershon answered curtly, and closed his eyes. He pictured himself entering the office of the Global Toys CEO, giving the silver-haired man standing in front of him a warm, firm handshake, and saying, “You have grandkids, Mr. Lipskar? Let me tell you what they’ll be playing this summer.” His left leg kept banging against the side of the plane. He had to remember not to jiggle his legs during the meeting, he told himself, it projects a lack of confidence.

He didn’t touch the meal they served on the plane. The albino devoured the chicken and the salad as if they were gourmet food. Gershon glanced at his tray again. It all looked bad. The cellophane-wrapped chocolate cake reminded him of the dog shit in his wife’s dream. But the apple looked relatively okay. He wrapped it in a napkin and put it in his completely empty attaché case. I should have put a few brochures in there, he thought, what if my suitcase doesn’t arrive?

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