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Authors: Karina Halle
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beside me, taking the dreaded middle seat and granting me the window. Not that I hadn’t been assigned it anyway, but I could totally have seen Max pulling some kind of ranking or seniority bullshit about it. Instead he was strangely gentlemanly.
And, as the plane filled up with more people and we started talking, I discovered that there was something strangely gentlemanly about him in general. From his “little lamb” to his “shucks” and “I reckon,” I felt like the redheaded giant was transplanted straight from the late 50s. His Elvis-like wave at the front of his head didn’t help, either.
“So tell me about your job,” I said to Max, shoving peanuts into my mouth from the little silver packet that the flight attendant had handed me. I chewed anxiously—even though we were at cruising altitude, I still felt nervous, both because of the whole flying in the air thing, as well as my new company.
He was flipping through a magazine, and the cigarette dangled from his lips as he spoke. “Not really much to say. Loved photography as a kid, used to want to take photos for that National Geographic magazine before I discovered rock and roll. You know, I play bass in a band back in Brooklyn.”
Nowadays it seemed any guy who had escaped the Vietnam War was playing in a band somewhere. I raised my brow. “Oh yeah, you guys any good?”
“Sex City,” he said. He noted my blank expression and went on, “The name of the band. And no, we suck. Wickedly. So I stick to my day job. Sometimes it has its perks.”
“Like going to Europe?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been a lot. I’ve been everywhere. I come from the south, but I’ve traveled the world. Many times.”
I leaned in closer, examining his eyes. They were such a vivid bright green, almost as nice as Sage’s grey-green ones. He didn’t have any lines around them and his heavy lids suggested youth, but there was something…wise…about them all the same. Like he’d seen a lot.
“How old are you?” I questioned.
He stared back at me and wiggled his brows a bit. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“It’s why I asked.”
“I’m ageless,” he said after a beat and a puff of smoke came out of his mouth, dancing toward my face. He went back to his magazine. “And you’re infamous.”
I gasped and a piece of peanut flew out of my mouth. “I’m infamous?”
He pretended not to notice the flying food and just nodded. “Sure are. After what you experienced with Hybrid…no journalist has ever covered quite that story.”
“The collapse of the band at the start of their stardom?” I asked, my go-to line.
He shook his head slightly and popped up the ashtray on the armrest between us. “Plenty of writers have covered that. I mean the whole thing about the band doing the deal with the Devil and the Devil coming back to take what was his. And by band, I mean Sage. I know it was all Sage’s dealings.”
I studied him for a few moments, unsure if this burly man was pulling my leg or not as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “You know I made that all up, right? It’s a metaphor.”
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve got quite the imagination, then.” I wasn’t sure if I saw disappointment on his brow or what, but there was definitely something there, something else he wanted to say.
I bit the bullet. “So tell me if my backwoods instincts are correct or not, but you’re not really here to cover Sage Knightly’s solo tour, are you?”
He smirked appreciatively. “You insulting my photo-taking skills now? Of course I’m here for that. Why else would I be here?” I could have sworn his gaze intensified, like I’d added fuel to a fire.
“Because…I’m a fluke.”
“A what?”
I sighed and started popping more peanuts into my mouth, munching them hard before I spoke. I hadn’t admitted this to anyone yet and wasn’t sure why I was picking Max as the first one. “I’m a fluke. A fraud. I
And, as the plane filled up with more people and we started talking, I discovered that there was something strangely gentlemanly about him in general. From his “little lamb” to his “shucks” and “I reckon,” I felt like the redheaded giant was transplanted straight from the late 50s. His Elvis-like wave at the front of his head didn’t help, either.
“So tell me about your job,” I said to Max, shoving peanuts into my mouth from the little silver packet that the flight attendant had handed me. I chewed anxiously—even though we were at cruising altitude, I still felt nervous, both because of the whole flying in the air thing, as well as my new company.
He was flipping through a magazine, and the cigarette dangled from his lips as he spoke. “Not really much to say. Loved photography as a kid, used to want to take photos for that National Geographic magazine before I discovered rock and roll. You know, I play bass in a band back in Brooklyn.”
Nowadays it seemed any guy who had escaped the Vietnam War was playing in a band somewhere. I raised my brow. “Oh yeah, you guys any good?”
“Sex City,” he said. He noted my blank expression and went on, “The name of the band. And no, we suck. Wickedly. So I stick to my day job. Sometimes it has its perks.”
“Like going to Europe?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been a lot. I’ve been everywhere. I come from the south, but I’ve traveled the world. Many times.”
I leaned in closer, examining his eyes. They were such a vivid bright green, almost as nice as Sage’s grey-green ones. He didn’t have any lines around them and his heavy lids suggested youth, but there was something…wise…about them all the same. Like he’d seen a lot.
“How old are you?” I questioned.
He stared back at me and wiggled his brows a bit. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“It’s why I asked.”
“I’m ageless,” he said after a beat and a puff of smoke came out of his mouth, dancing toward my face. He went back to his magazine. “And you’re infamous.”
I gasped and a piece of peanut flew out of my mouth. “I’m infamous?”
He pretended not to notice the flying food and just nodded. “Sure are. After what you experienced with Hybrid…no journalist has ever covered quite that story.”
“The collapse of the band at the start of their stardom?” I asked, my go-to line.
He shook his head slightly and popped up the ashtray on the armrest between us. “Plenty of writers have covered that. I mean the whole thing about the band doing the deal with the Devil and the Devil coming back to take what was his. And by band, I mean Sage. I know it was all Sage’s dealings.”
I studied him for a few moments, unsure if this burly man was pulling my leg or not as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “You know I made that all up, right? It’s a metaphor.”
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve got quite the imagination, then.” I wasn’t sure if I saw disappointment on his brow or what, but there was definitely something there, something else he wanted to say.
I bit the bullet. “So tell me if my backwoods instincts are correct or not, but you’re not really here to cover Sage Knightly’s solo tour, are you?”
He smirked appreciatively. “You insulting my photo-taking skills now? Of course I’m here for that. Why else would I be here?” I could have sworn his gaze intensified, like I’d added fuel to a fire.
“Because…I’m a fluke.”
“A what?”
I sighed and started popping more peanuts into my mouth, munching them hard before I spoke. I hadn’t admitted this to anyone yet and wasn’t sure why I was picking Max as the first one. “I’m a fluke. A fraud. I
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