The Sleep Charm

Melanie took her seat, slipping her carry-on bag expertly beneath the seat in front of her. She’d been nearly the last one on the plane and the seat next to her—the middle one—was empty so she had a moment of hope that it would remain that way. That was quickly dashed when she saw a flight attendant directing a man to it.

“There must be a mistake,” the man said. “I requested an aisle seat.”

“I’m sorry sir. We’re booked solid. That was the last seat available.” The attendant’s patience was admirable. “Please take your seat. We are preparing for departure.”

Melanie stood, making room for the man to get to his spot. She knew the inevitable request was coming and steeled herself to politely refuse to trade seats.

“I don’t suppose you’ll swap seats with me?” the man asked—but the question wasn’t directed to Melanie but to the man in the row next to the emergency exit. The other man shook his head. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars.” This declaration was met with a snort from the other man who also stretched out his legs in a clear non-verbal refusal.

“Please take your seat, sir,” the attendant prompted. The man sighed and turned towards Melanie. “I’ll give you five thousand to swap.”

Melanie rolled her eyes. The man wasn’t that tall-- maybe 5’11. There were plenty of other men just as tall who crammed themselves into these seats. She saw the flight attendant was starting to show annoyance under the careful mask of professionalism. Other passengers were grumbling too. She clenched her jaw and took the middle spot, earning a spatter of appreciative applause.

“Thank you,” the man said as he sat. His feet hit her carry-on bag. “Oops, sorry…”

“No worries,” she said, bending to reach for it just as the man did the same. Their heads collided and then hers rebounded into the back of the seat in front of her. “Ouch! Son of a…” she swallowed the expletive.

The man apologized again. “Why don’t we just leave your bag there. It’s not like it’ll give me any more leg room anyway.”

Melanie’s head was still throbbing, and she didn’t trust herself to speak without swearing.

Seeing her expression, the man pulled out his wallet. “Ah! I almost forgot.” He pulled out five bills. “Here you go.”

She took the money, and her eyebrows raised in disbelief. Thousand-dollar bills? Impossible. “Where did you get these? A novelty store?” She looked them over. “Aren’t they supposed to have ‘not legal tender’ in big bold letters all over them?”

The man seemed amused. “Why would they? They’re real. They are actually worth more than face value since they are so rare and not in general circulation.”

“Ha! If you’ve got this kind of money to throw around, why are you flying coach?”

He grimaced. “Only way to get from point A to point B. My private jet hit some weather coming back from the east coast so it wouldn’t be here on time to pick me up and commercial was the only thing available—coach at that. But at the time, anything seemed better than getting stuck here in Las Vegas for a moment longer.”

Melanie turned her snort of derision into a cough. This guy was something else. She decided she didn’t want to play along. She handed the (possibly counterfeit) money back to him. “Keep it. You can tip your limo driver.”

The man quirked an eyebrow at her. “Why would I need to tip my own limo driver? I pay him above average wages.”

She chose to ignore the comment, buckling her seatbelt. The man did likewise, although he somehow managed to drop the end between them twice and brushed his hand along her leg awkwardly in his attempts to retrieve it.

Melanie wanted to forget that he was even there and reached for her headphones only to realize she hadn’t gotten them out of her carry-on. She would be damned if she would ask the annoying man to get into her bag to get them for her. He was watching her, so she pulled out the in-flight magazine pretending as if that was what she’d been reaching for in the first place. She turned to the meal section even though she had no intention of buying anything.

The man leaned over to see what she was looking at. “Fifteen dollars for a sandwich? Are you sure you don’t want this five thousand?”

“No thank you. I’m not hungry anyway.” She put the magazine away. “It’s only a three-hour flight. I’d rather get some sleep.” She deliberately closed her eyes and turned her head away from him, hoping he would take the hint.

“I don’t know how anyone could sleep in these seats. It’s torture just to sit in them.”

Melanie turned to glare at him. “Why don’t you close your eyes and try? You might surprise yourself.”

“I doubt that very much. I can’t even sleep in my own bed. I have acute insomnia. The only sleep I get is medically induced.”

She was skeptical of this pronouncement but held her tongue. If it was true, it was a horrible condition to suffer from. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, although her tone didn’t convey much sympathy.

He tilted his head. “Sleep is overrated in some ways.” He held out his hand. “Since I’m going to be keeping you awake by continuing this conversation, I should at least introduce myself—Max Hathaway.”

“Melanie Greenwood,” she answered, automatically accepting the handshake. She regretted the reflex politeness; she’d never be able to get out of talking with him now.

“And what do you do for a living, Miss Greenwood?”

“I’m a librarian and assistant researcher at the University of W--”.

“A librarian? Hmm.” Melanie was used to this reaction and hoped this might put him off but it didn’t. “What made you become a librarian?”

She told him, at length, hoping to bore him into leaving her alone. She began, “You know how in English class, you have to write all those papers where you’re supposed to pick a topic, do a bunch of research on it, then come up with a thesis and write a paper based on those things you’ve read?” He nodded. “Well, I always did it the other way around. I’d write the paper and then try to come up with sources to support my thesis.”

“I think most students have done that before.”

“Yes, but most students don’t ever come up with an original idea. I always came up with an angle that no one had ever written about—or at least, never been published in any source available in academia. All my professors hated to grade my papers because I made them think through my logic rather than looking at the same rehashed material they’d been reading for years. I only had one professor who appreciated my work—and now he’s my boss at the university. My job is to research to prove a theory or thesis hasn’t ever been published before.”

Usually, at this point, the person she was telling this story to would be semi-comatose, but at the end of it, Max smiled and said, “Fascinating,” like he meant it.

Grudgingly, she returned the question. “And what do you do, Mr. Hathaway?” The name triggered a dull familiarity, but she couldn’t think of why.

He grinned. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

“Okay. Well, I am the CEO of CyberRenitence the global software company and own numerous smaller startups, plus a handful of computer hardware manufacturing plants. Oh, and of course, ExtraTerra, a research and development center for extraterrestrial equipment.”

Melanie blinked. He couldn’t be—that Max Hathaway—the multi-billionaire. In a commercial airline seat... next to her... in coach. Ha! She stared at him and suddenly she did recognize him. How could she have not? She’d just seen his face on the cover of the Time magazine in the airport bookshop before she’d boarded the plane. His eyes were an indeterminate shade of gray-green that almost looked blue in certain lighting. His hair was brown with just the first signs of gray at the temples. And then it hit her—he wasn’t wearing his signature baseball cap—the one he wore even at swanky charity events where a ticket cost more than her house. She blurted, “Where’s your hat?”

He burst out laughing, much to the annoyance of the other passengers who also hadn’t recognized this world-famous man sitting in their midst. “It’s in my checked-bag,” he answered. He leaned over towards her, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I’ll let you in on a secret—I actually hate baseball hats, but I found out that having something that people expect to see me wearing makes it harder for people to identify me when I’m not wearing it. It makes it easier for me to melt into the crowd that way.”

Strangely, that made sense. She could think of several celebrities that had some ‘signature’ look which tied directly to their publicly recognizable identity which had nothing to do with their physical features. It was funny because Max was handsome enough to be recognizable despite the hat, but she’d never would have seen it as obvious until she was forced to take notice.

“I’m betting you are wishing you’d kept the five thousand now?”

She couldn’t think of a reply that wouldn’t sound self-righteous or like a lie, so she changed the subject. “Remind me—why is it you are on a commercial fight—and in coach?”

Max smiled. “Funny story actually…” And as he told it, Melanie was surprised to find it was actually quite amusing, in an unbelievably sitcom type way, that she laughed out loud a few times. “Well, originally, I was supposed to meet a group of investors for my extraterrestrial equipment company, ExtraTerra, in New York. I flew there as we arranged but then they changed their minds and wanted to meet in Las Vegas because they were taking part in a poker tournament. So, I hopped back on my plane to meet them there. They insisted that I take part in one of their games– that’s where I won the thousand dollar bills– which didn’t earn me any friends–but during that, they decided that they wanted a demonstration of the robot, but back in New York. I sent my plane back to ExtraTerra to pick up the robot to take it to New York. Then at the end of the poker tournament, the investors decided they didn’t really need to see the robot and I didn’t have to go back to New York at all. But my plane was already on the way and a late snow storm hit and my plane got stuck over there. I was so fed up with the whole situation that I booked the first commercial flight out.”

The woman next to her coughed meaningfully, signaling her annoyance and Melanie sobered. It reminded her that only half an hour ago, she had been annoyed by this man too. She wondered if learning he was a billionaire had turned her head or if she had genuinely changed her opinion.

An expression must have crossed her face because Max said, “Uh-oh, you’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The guilty look of a woman who is debating whether learning I’m unbelievably wealthy has clouded her judgment.”

Melanie opened her mouth to deny it but stopped. “You’re right. I was. I’m sorry. You must get tired of evaluating people’s motives and trying to figure out if they like you or just your money.”

“Oh no. I gave up trying to weed out sycophants years ago. If I like them, they stay, if I don’t,” he gestured with his thumb over his shoulder, “I kick them to the curb.”

Melanie thought that was a rather cold and unhappy way to live, but it wasn’t like he’d listen to her, a common middle-class person.

“You don’t believe I could be happy with that sort of attitude. You think I’ve got a lonely, sad, friendless existence.”

She was disconcerted to have him read her face and thoughts so plainly. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who has thought that.”

“You… and others… aren’t entirely wrong. But really, what could I possibly do except go back to worrying whether people are genuine or not?” He smiled, “Besides, every once in a while, I do get lucky and meet someone worth knowing. I’m sitting next to a woman who turned down five grand but switched seats with me anyway. That is the sort of compassion that restores my faith in humanity.”

Melanie blushed and looked down, pretending to adjust her seatbelt.

“I embarrassed you with a compliment, I see. I’ll change the subject.” The flight attendant came with the drink cart and Max said, “Ah, saved by the booze. What is your wine selection?”

“Selection? Red or white.”

“Red.” The flight attendant held out the mini bottle and plastic cup. Max took it. “I see. The selection is—red or white—not winery and year.” He added, “And it even has a screw cap. How delightful.”

The attendant barely managed not to roll her eyes. “And for you ma’am?” she asked Melanie.

“Just water, thank you.”

“Probably the smart choice,” Max commented. “I think this wine is Welch’s grape juice that went off.”

“Did you really think there’d be a wine selection in coach? I don’t even think they have a selection in first class—although I wouldn’t know since I’ve never flown first class…”

“I don’t recall the last time I flew first class, if ever,” Max replied. “I sort of went from not flying anywhere to having a private jet to take me where I needed to go. It certainly has been an eye opener to fly commercial. Do you always have to take off your shoes and belt and everything to get through airport security?”

“Most of the time, yes. Although I think if you have the TSA pre-approved status, you get to skip all that and only have to send your bags through the screening.”

“That would explain why people are so abysmally rude in airports. Between having to get half-undressed and running across the terminal to catch connecting flights—it’s no wonder people lose their tempers at the drop of a hat.” Max mused, sipping his wine, “I’ll have to make a mental note to fix all that one of these days.”

Melanie thought he might just manage to do it if he really set out to. Max seemed to be lost in his own thoughts for the moment, so she took out her phone to read a bit. She was surprised a few minutes later by a snore coming from close by her ear. Max’s head had lulled forward and his body was gradually slumping towards her so that his head ended up resting on her shoulder. She wanted to push him away, but it would have been awkward and she might have ended up bumping into the woman on her other side.

Melanie sighed. Good thing it was a short flight and she didn’t have to use the restroom. She muttered under her breath as Max let out another snore, “Insomniac my ass!”

Melanie came close to forgetting the billionaire who was sleeping on her shoulder, losing herself in the well-crafted plot and superior writing style of the historical novel she was reading. It wasn’t until the flight attendants were making their final checks in preparation for landing that she realized Max was still asleep. She nudged him gently, “Mr. Hathaway, we’re going to land soon.” He merely let out a small snore and moved his head a fraction on her shoulder.

She frowned. The flight attendant was hovering to collect garbage so Melanie cleared up Max’s things, throwing the plastic cup and mini bottle in the sack but snagged the packet of coffee biscuits for herself. She put the tray table up and checked to make sure his seatbelt was secure. Melanie had a fleeting feeling of protective jealousy when the flight attendant double checked it, but it faded when the attendant said, “You’re a saint to put up with this one. I’ve had my fair share of difficult passengers, but he was just charming enough that I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss him or kick him.” She added. “He’ll wake up when we land. It’s unpleasant, but he deserves a shake up.”

Melanie smiled in response.

But somehow, incredibly, Max Hathaway slept through the landing—and the noise of the passengers banging around getting their carry-on luggage out from under the seats and overhead compartments. At first, Melanie wasn’t worried since they were more than halfway to the back of the plane and it always took ages for people to get going. However, when the people two rows ahead were already making their way off the plane, she started to try to nudge him awake again.

“Mr. Hathaway, we’ve landed. It’s time for us to get off the plane.” The people across the aisle and behind them were getting up and moving. “Mr. Hathaway, wake up.” She was really annoyed now. “Max!”

He finally opened his eyes and sat up, startled. “Did I fall asleep?” he asked surprised. He turned to her, his elation clear upon his face. “I actually slept, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” Melanie sighed. “Now could you get up so we can get off the plane? We’re the last ones and I’m sure this lady next to me would like to leave too.”

Max apologized beautifully and sincerely to the woman, slipping her one of the thousand-dollar bills as he handed her luggage after retrieving it from the overhead compartment. The woman looked slightly less disgruntled but didn’t linger to thank him for the cash-lined apology.

“Now I owe you much more than the grand I gave her,” Max said to Melanie as he retrieved her carry-on from beneath the seat. He proceeded to carry it off the plane for her despite her protests that she would prefer to handle it herself.

“If I surrender it to you, then I have no way of ensuring you won’t run off before I’ve had a chance to thank you for your saintly forbearance and caring for me on the plane.”

Melanie’s eyebrow twitched at his use of the term ‘saintly’, wondering if he hadn’t been so sound asleep as he’d appeared and had overheard the flight attendant’s comment. “Really, it’s alright. You don’t owe me a thing. Just promise me that you’ll never fly commercial again.”

Max laughed. “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure of that!”

She had no choice but to follow him through the terminal out to the front area. When they reached the doors to the passenger pickup/drop-off area, she sought to divert him so that she could retrieve her bag from him. “Don’t you need to go to the check baggage claim?”

“I didn’t actually have any. I left my luggage with my security detail to bring along later.”

She was forced to beg. “May I please have my bag now? I really need to catch a bus to get home.”

“Bus? Oh no, not if I can help it.” His phone pinged. “Ah yes, my limo is right outside. Perfect timing. This proximity app I designed is working perfectly. And there’s Jarvis getting out now.”

“Well then, unless you’re planning to steal my luggage, you’d better hand it over before getting in your limo—otherwise I’m going to have to humiliate myself and tell airport security that a billionaire stole my carry-on. I can hear the laughter already.”

“I wouldn’t be stealing it because you’ll be in the limo with it.” Max raised his eyebrows. “I did say I’m offering you a ride?”

“Not explicitly, no,” Melanie replied flatly.

“Well then, Miss Greenwood, would you please accept an offer of a ride home—after I treat you to dinner?” He raised his hands to stop the refusal forming on her lips. “Strictly as a ‘thank you’ for being such a gracious next seat neighbor on the plane.”

Melanie hesitated. She really didn’t relish taking the bus and she was hungry—starving in fact—since it had been six hours since her last meal. She bit her lip. Last meal. It was an ominous thought. This man was a complete stranger even if he was a billionaire. Would they make a TV movie if he turned out to be a serial killer? Who would they cast to play her?

She realized Max was patiently waiting for her answer. “Okay,” she said before her imagination could run any further down the morbid path. “But if some tabloid ends up with a picture of me on the cover and labels me a hooker, I’m suing you.”

“Fair enough,” Max grinned. He ushered her out to the waiting limo and introduced her to the driver. “Miss Greenwood, this is Jarvis, my personal assistant slash butler slash right arm. Jarvis, Miss Melanie Greenwood, formerly of seat 36B—well, actually 36C, but she kindly swapped places with me so I could have the aisle seat. Miss Greenwood will be joining me for dinner.”

“Very good sir. I’ve reserved your usual table at Plus,” Jarvis responded, giving the restaurant its French pronunciation “plew-s”.

“Excellent,” Max replied. His phone pinged and he turned around to look at it.

Melanie smiled self-consciously at Jarvis “Wow, a regular table at Plus. I can’t even afford to walk on the same side of the street as that place.” She remembered that she was in her travel-worn slacks and blouse that was probably smelling a little less than fresh. “Hope there isn’t a dress code,” she joked with a nervous laugh.

“I’m sure they’ll make an exception considering with whom you will be dining,” Jarvis answered with a tiny hint of condescension.

Max finished texting or whatever he’d been doing on his phone. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” She added under her breath, “Much to the horror of the audience who shouted ‘don’t go Melanie! He’s a serial killer!’”

Jarvis heard her and raised an eyebrow.

“He’s not really… is he?”

Jarvis, impeccable assistant as he was, did not answer.

***

Max

I feel like something of astronomical significance has happened to me– I’ve met the love of my life. Or rather, I’ve been hit with a feeling so powerful, so divine, that it can only be love.

I met her on a commercial flight– my private jet was stuck on the east coast and I had to get out of Las Vegas or else go insane. I regretted my decision almost the moment I stepped on the plane. I felt so claustrophobic that I thought I was going to pass out. I was assigned a middle seat and I offered a grand to a man on the aisle seat of the emergency exit row to swap with me, but he turned me down.

Then I saw her. She was standing in the aisle waiting for me– or to be more accurate, standing so that I could get to my seat in the middle of the row– but my heart beat a little faster all the same. She was petite, without being fragile, maybe five foot five, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Her expression was of polite patience. I wasn’t sure what prompted me to make the ludicrous offer to give her five grand to swap seats with me. She rolled her eyes but obliged, although I think it was more due to the fact that she wanted to appease the other passengers who were getting angry at my delay.

I thanked her as I sat down but my feet hit her carry-on bag. I apologized and went to retrieve it and our heads collided as she bent over at the same time. She swallowed an expletive which I found adorable. I was reminded of one of my favorite movies where one of the characters said that true loves always end up bumping heads when they both go to pick up something from the floor. I decided then that I needed to do everything in my power to get to know this woman, Melanie Greenwood.

She turned down the money although I think she suspected it was counterfeit. She didn’t recognize who I was even after I gave my name. It wasn’t until she asked me what I did for a living and I told her that the realization hit her. I waited for the gushing idolization or else the scathing disdain. But incredibly, she remained neutral, only asking me to explain again why I was on a commercial flight in coach. I tried to make the story as entertaining as possible, and she actually laughed a couple times. We conversed about the airport experience. I’d never felt so at ease with a woman before. It was a novel feeling. I was musing on this fact when, incredibly, I fell asleep.

I awoke to her shouting my name. I was ecstatic. I never sleep on planes– not even on my own private jet. I marveled at how this had happened. Had it been because of this beautiful woman who had, with strained patience, let me sleep on her shoulder?

I asked her to dinner, which she accepted, really for the fact that I held her bag hostage until she did, but it gave me an opportunity to continue talking with her. It also gave me time to get Jarvis to do a background check on her. I may think I’m in love, but once burned, next time I’d have an oven mitt.