THE TRANSIT WORKERS Association was the largest union in the world that covered railroad, aviation, and trucking workers. Its International Headquarters was located in Jamaica, Queens. Having never actually been to Queens - except to the airports - this was an adventure for me. I even took the subway, just to make it that much grittier.

My appointment at the TWA was for 2 pm. I had made it under the name Nancy Flanagan, because I didn't want people from TransGlobal to know I was going to visit the TWA on behalf of my oppressed flight attendant colleagues. I also made it under the name of Nancy Flanagan because I saw that she was on the TransGlobal cut list. I knew that she was on the TransGlobal cut list because I had stolen the TransGlobal cut list when we were at the congratulations party. When Tad was dancing an awkward white man's version of the Lambada with Valentina, I stole it and took a picture of it with the second phone I had always had hidden in the lining of my purse.

I also chose the name Nancy Flanagan because someone had written next to her name 'obese' along with the doodle of a cartoon pig. I thought it was absolutely hateful. I don't like it when people are hateful. It makes me feel hateful, and when I feel hateful, I do hateful things.

It's a flaw.

Anyway, even though it was late September in New York, it was still as hot as hell. This meant I was sweating profusely when I discovered the TWA offices. I was fairly sure my hair had bushed out to the point it was horizontal when I walked up to the receptionist. She was on the phone, which she had on one of those shoulder thingies so she could keyboard and talk at the same time. I noticed she had a strong Puerto Rican accent.

She scowled at me while she filed her nails. "Mira. You don't call them, you don't use them, I don't know what you want me to do." She dramatically slammed the phone down, then resumed filing. "Mira. I like your hair. Is it real?"

"Yep."

"You know. I've been thinking about going red." She pulled a mirror out of her desk and stared at herself. "What do you think?"

"I think you'd look like you with red hair."

She considered. "You're right. I should do it." She put the mirror away as a nice looking guy in his thirties came out of his office and holding a coffee mug.

He shook his mug. "Hey Carmen, is there coffee?"

She nodded. "Over there." As she pointed, I noticed that her nails were richly painted with an Island scene. "I'm leaving for the day," she told him as she took a faux Michael Kors purse out of a desk drawer. "Doctor's appointment."

The man looked confused. "But it's only 2?"

"It's okay. I'll be here tomorrow." She teetered past me on a pair of bright pink come fuck me pumps that matched the tightest pink skirt in the history of female fashion. This was combined with a black silk halter top and a black cropped sweater. I ogled her. I couldn't even help it. Damn, Stan. I didn't know if I wanted to do her or to be her.

The dude and I watched her breeze out the door, a cloud of Michael Kors cologne following behind. into her phone.

"How do you get anything done with that around?" I asked the man.

"We don't," said the man, thin lipped and disgruntled. "Are you Nancy?"

I nodded.

"I'm Paul Rutherford." He extended his hand and I shook it. "I'd offer you some coffee, but I'm not sure there is any."

"No worries. I'm good."

"Come on back." He led me to an office stacked with boxes and papers. "Forgive the mess. We're digitzing."

I shrugged. "Not a problem, Paul." I found a chair with only one box on it and placed in on the floor as Paul sank down into his office chair.

"So, Nancy, I'm intrigued. What brings you here to the TWA today?"

"I'm a conditional employee for TransGlobal, and I'm interested in helping bring in representation to the oppressed flight attendants of TransGlobal Airlines."

He stared at me for a second. "As noble a goal as that is, Nancy, I'm not going to lie- you don't mind if I call you Nancy, do you? - but we've been trying to organize TransGlobal for a while now. They've been really good about keep us out."

"Not to worry, Paul. You got me. I'm all about helping you now." I reached in my purse and pulled out a file. "Now, I'm just a conditional employee, so I can't sign a union card or help you start active recruitment, but I can help you start irritating them. Specifically, I have evidence that proves their hiring practices violate state and federal labor laws."

He took the folder while shaking his head at the same time. "Yeah, well, I hate to get your hopes up on that angle, Nance, but as long as TransGlobal's got a neutral and unbiased reason for their hiring practices, there goes any cause of action."

I pointed at the papers. "Go ahead and open the file there, Paul. You'll see notes dated and signed by TransGlobal personal that include images of pigs and words like 'obese' and 'ancient.'" I paused to give him a chance to look.

His eyes got wider and wider as he read. "Holy shit...pardon my language. How'd you get these?"

I smiled.

"Well, it doesn't matter. You're Nancy, right?" He looked down at the paper and then at me. "It says here that you're obese and you were cut."

"I'm calling myself Nancy, but that doesn't mean it's my name."

He nodded. "That's smart. You got anything else?"

"Not at the moment. But I'll let you know when I do."

"Thanks Nancy. I hope you manage to make it through probation. We really could use a supporter like you on the inside."

"Don't you worry, Paul. I got this," I told him as I stood up. He stood up as well and walked me back out to the front.

"You know, I feel obligated to tell you that union organizing's dangerous," he told me as we walked to the door. "You're not only risking your job, but you can also get physically hurt."

"Thanks, Paul. I appreciate the concern. But I'll be okay. I've got a good feeling." I raised my fist. "In solidarity."

"In solidarity," he repeated with a raised fist as he got the door for me.

I got to say, at that moment I was feeling pretty good about myself. It felt nice to be doing something for other people for a change. I headed towards the subway with a spring in my step and song in my heart.

"Well, don't you look pleased with yourself, McIver."

No way. I knew that familiar, sarcastic, smug ass, law enforcement voice.

I turned slowly towards the street. Sure enough, there stood Special Agent Donnelly, leaning against a black Ford Mustang, arms crossed, sardonic smile on his face.

"Did you get off at the wrong stop?" he called. "You know you can download a subway map app."

I stared at him. "Why are you here? How are you here? Whoa, dude. What happened to you?"

Instead of the typical black suit, he was wearing black sweat pants and a white polo. This he had accessorized with a cast on his left leg running from his ankle to his knee.

"That's a lot of questions, McIver," he grinned. "Which one you want me to answer first?"

I walked over to him. "Is that a broken leg?"

"It is."

"That looks like it hurt. Did it hurt?"

He nodded. "It hurt."

"Wow. That sucks, buddy," I sympathized. "I've got a cast, too." I showed him my cast. "We're cast buddies."

"How about that." He pushed up his Ray Banns. "So what are you doing out here, McIver?"

"I'm starting a collective bargaining unit at TransGlobal." I looked him over closely. Besides the leg, he was bruised black and blue all over. Altogether he looked rode hard and put away wet. "You look like crap. How'd you break your leg?"

"Got hit by a car," he replied.

"Huh," I grunted. "I bet that hurt."

"Oh, it hurt." He paused. "So you're starting a union. McIver, do you know you're a one percenter?"

"It's because of that I can manifest change," I explained. "So. How'd you get hit by a car?"

"A car ran into me and I got hit."

"No! Really?" I grabbed his face and turned it to the side. "Is that roadburn?"

He winced. "Ow, watch it...yes, yes it is."

I gave his cheek an extra squeeze the let go. "Man up, buddy. Didn't your mommy teach you to look left, look right, look left again?"

"There's only so much you can do when it's barreling around a corner at close to a 100 miles an hour."

"Really?" I asked, impressed. "But aren't you a special agent? Don't they train you to jump over speeding cars or something?"

"I was out sick that day. Never made it up."

"Well, that sucks for you." I crossed my arms. "You should know I broke up with Alex."

"Does break up mean something different to you then other people? Because as far as I know, you're still living with him. Unless by living with him, you mean break up. I'm just saying."

"I mean I broke up with him." I sighed, frustrated. "It didn't take, though. I mean, he was like, just because you're interested in Donnelly doesn't mean he's interested in you."

He smiled a little; it was strange, because it wasn't his typical smirk or leer. "You were breaking up with him over me?"

I looked down at the cement. "Maybe."

"So. You really do like me."

"Maybe. At least, I thought I did until you, like, disappeared." I hit him in the shoulder, and he groaned. "Why didn't you call, at least?"

"I was in traction."

I glared. "That's not an excuse. If you love..." I stopped, gasped, and covered my mouth.

"Love?" he outright grinned. "Did you say love?"

"No."

"You did, too. You love me."

"I do not. That's stupid. You're stupid."

"Ah, McIver," he grinned, "it's just like when you called me from that stolen Porsche. You are so hot for me. Just admit it. You want a piece of this." He waved his hands up and down, then almost fell over from loss of balance. "I don't blame you. If I were you, I'd want a piece of me, too."

I couldn't think of anything to say, so I walked up to him and kissed him. Smack on the mouth, tongue on tongue, full on kiss.

It was a good kiss. What made it better was that he kissed me back.

"So it's like that." He pushed my hair back and smiled.

"Dinner and sex, Donnelly. You promised."

This time he kissed me. Full on, deep, tongue on tongue, perfect in every single way kiss.

Then he pulled away and muttered something I didn't catch. Then he kissed me on the forehead. "Let's do this like I told you we'd do this. I'm going to take you out to dinner."

"I could eat - " I looked at my watch " - but it's a little early."

"Come on, McIver," he smirked. "It's never too early to eat."

As he hobbled over to open the door for me, butterflies started shitting all over my stomach. For some reason, I felt like I was getting dumped.

He climbed in and started the car. "Are you dumping me?" I asked him.

"Dumping?" He raised an eyebrow. "McIver, we're not a couple. We don't date. I can't dump you because we don't actually go out."

"Then why do I feel like you're dumping me?"

He patted my knee. "You'll feel better after we eat."

_____ * _____ * _____ * _____ * _____

Siobhan has to make trouble. Like bringing a union into a non-union airline. And Donnelly finally shows up... about freaking time. How are you supposed to date if you don't see each other?

Thank you so much for taking time to read Siobhan's story! I look forward to your comments, and if you liked it, please remember to vote!

©Copyright Liz Charnes May 2018

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