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managed, yet never offering up a solution. He would drone on about how everyone else around him was always wrong. Of course, the other pilots thought I was sleeping with him, but I think his ego made flying with other men extremely agonistic.
    Part of my job description as woman pilot was the task of being accused of sleeping with every pilot I ever flew with. It was a perpetual joke, and the only way to deal with it was to just join in. If another pilot thought I was getting more flights than the next guy, they just wrote it off to the fact that I must be sleeping with someone. Line guys said it. Front office girls said it. The owner even alluded to it. I got so used to the taunt and underlying tone, that one day as I was preparing my plane for departure, a group of pilots and line guys were talking smack about which pilot I’d be “flying” with today. I smirked and quietly whispered to the group as I walked by: “Yep, that’s right, boys. It’s my turn to ‘fly’ (yes, with air quotes) with him this week...” It was particularly funny because the pilot in reference was outlandishly gay. I didn’t sleep with him, either. They knew it, but it was their way of dealing with a woman taking their flight hours. However, having Geoffrey constantly request my pilot services definitely stirred the rumor mill.
    After a few months, and much to my thrill, they traded in their King Air for a Citation (went from a twin turbo prop to a corporate jet). At this point, I had already earned my type rating in a Citation II (typed for all CE-500 series), so my value was intensified because there were only a few of us typed in this jet.
    I flew with Geoffrey off and on for over a year and hundreds of hours, and during all that time, he would never let me land the airplane. I’d logged hundreds of landings in corporate aircraft, but all he’d let me do was run the radio and read the checklists. He let me land during repositioning flights, but he wouldn’t let me land with passengers on board. It was weird and to the point where it was unsafe because he would just take control of the airplane away from me without any notice. I’d be flying on approach, and then all of a sudden he’d say, “Okay, I’ll take it from here.” The best part is that I would fly a perfect approach, perfectly configured, perfect airspeed, and at five hundred feet he would take over and land.
    Finally, one afternoon we were flying into the airport at Napa Valley with Geoffrey’s boss onboard. “Erika,” he said, “I told the boss I was going to let you land the plane today, so don’t screw it up.” Geez, no pressure.
    I had one chance to get it not just right, but perfect. To date, it is the best landing I’ve ever made in any aircraft. There was literally no transition from air to earth. Those wheels kissed the pavement like the gentlest lover. I acted all cool and nonchalant, like I always land it like that. When we were parked at the terminal, the boss came up, slapped Geoffrey on the back and said, “See, I told you she could land better than you! I win the bet!” Geoffrey was a lovely shade of crimson.
    Of course, on the next landing with the aircraft empty, I smacked it unceremoniously into the runway, but at least the boss wasn’t on board, and it gave Geoffrey a chance to reset his ego. After that day, he let me do something other than just perform the Before Taxi Checklist. He let me fly every other leg.
    Building jet time and with even more resolve, pilot in command jet time, had been my new preoccupation, and as any pilot knows, it is the key to the next level. I was valuable now because I had a lot of money tied up in my brain, and I was getting inquiries about a possible switch of employers. Sharon at the Evil Empire knew the value, too, so she made me sign a training contract every time I went to flight training schools. She would get a loan from the