Making friends in high places

I love to travel. Sometimes you meet truly unforgetable people. I certainly have. I’m normally quite shy. But put me on an airplane or train and I make friends easily. Ok, ok, fill me with enough alcohol I make friends easily, airplanes and trains have nothing to do with it. But I digress.

She caught my eye while I was self medicating waiting in the BA lounge at JFK. I had arrived at the airport at 9:00pm for my 10:30pm flight. But the flight had been delayed 2 hours which meant I had put a serious dent in the stock at The Wine Bar time to read my magazine. I hate all flights over an hour long and the NY-London one is seven hours and a bore. I prefer to sleep the entire flight if possible and usually take a sleeping pill melatonin as soon as I board. But I had forgotten to bring any with me this time so Plan B was to drink enough to pass out read until sleepy.

I saw her enter the lounge and was immediately intrigued. I pegged her age at about 60. Her hair was tightly permed and her lipstick was just a red gash hastily applied. She was in full cowgirl drag. She was wearing a flared denim skirt, matching vest, short white boots, and a cowboy hat hung from her neck, down her back. Something about her looked terribly familiar. She looked around nervously and then hurried out the door.

Finally the boarding call for BA0182 was announced. I swallowed my umpteenth glass of wine soda and lurched headed toward the gate. They were already boarding first class when I arrived so I handed the agent my ticket and sloshed sauntered onto the plane. The cabin was empty except for one other man. Just before takeoff one more passenger entered. It was my friend from the lounge. She asked the flight attendant where to sit. Since the cabin was basically empty she was told to take any seat she wanted. She chose the seat next to me.

“This is my first time on an ‘aer-oh-plane’. I’m so nervous. Can I set here? ” she drawled. “Sure. Have a seat” I slurred told her. She stowed her cowboy hat in the overhead bin and her purse under the seat. Our flight attendant asked for our drink orders before takeoff. “Whiskey. Tall. Straight up” she answered. It was then that I noticed her headlights accessories. Sure I had seen the diamonds in her ears, on her fingers, and around her wrist. But I had missed the large diamond studs stuck on either side of her vest centered over each nipple like pasties. I admired her balls sense of style.

Once we were in the air our drinks arrived. She took a huge gulp and then grimaced. “Honey, I ordered whiskey. This ain’t whiskey” she told the attendant. Her drink was whisked away and another brought in its place. The same thing happened. I asked her if I could taste it and discovered the problem. “She wants bourbon” I explained. She was told that scotch whiskey was the only kind served on BA. “Forget that, Sister” she exclaimed. And then tossed back the scotch and fumbled for her purse. She pulled out a super sized Maalox bottle, unscrewed the cap, and poured out three fingers of fine Kentucky bourbon. I like a crafty alchoholic gal that plans ahead.

I learned she was from Oklahoma. Her husband had died and it was only then that she discovered he had squirreled away over a million dollars. “That son of a bitch always said we were broke. Now I’m going to spend his last dime” she told me. We laughed and drank for most of the flight. Finally it dawned on me who she looked like. Her outfit and sass was pure Rangerette. I could hardly believe she had never heard of them so I offered to demonstrate one of their signature moves.

The demonstration did not go well. I fell, breaking my collar bone. And the rest of the flight is a bit of a blur.

I do remember the look of horror love on BC’s face when he arrived outside of Customs at Heathrow to pick me up. He stared and slowly shook his head when he caught sight of me...grinning, arm in a sling, wearing a cowboy hat askew, a diamond studded denim vest, being pushed in a wheelchair by my new best friend, Susie, Wanda, Brenda whatshername.