Safety Film, Part IV

"Cut. Good, Ben, good. You're not falling off any. Keep it that way. All right, let's get on camera two." The cameraman tucked the camera he had trained on my bit back into its bay and wallowed down the aisle. I realized I'd not seen him enter the building. But here he was, practically too large to clear the aisle. He was wheezing heavily, all the more so as Reddeking launched into his motivating-methodical coax and hoax with the girl. Something about visualizing her viewers, seeing them as a series of nested sleeves and skins at the bottom of which was a tiny kernel, a tiny essence, and what she needed to address herself to was that kernel. I looked beyond the fuselage and the platform at the other girls. They were huddled together for warmth and regarding the scene with glazed indifference. One of them looked up and intercepted my eye gaze with a little smile that lacked the quality of pity that had characterized earlier smiles directed my way. I looked down at my suit--the generous lapels, the ornately fraudulent buttons, the smooth expanse of pressed weave. There had to be a way to keep it. From loafer to pilot, from gaping loafers to dashing wingtips--who knew what turn things might take for me once I got back out on that road? The sky had always been the limit, but now...
"Look into the camera," said Reddeking. "There. Now what do you see? A little gleaming point, right? The background, the cameraman, the situation, the day, the wind outside, the belly of the lens, you, your mind, your past, everything inside you and behind you...all of that is a foil for this single point, this kernel. Nothing exists without the point, nor can the point exist independently of everything. The point captures your glances, your words, your movements, and makes them immortal. It's the same thing you'll find at the core of the viewer once you're done paring back the layers, the skins and shells of indifference, and it's the same thing that's at the core of you. The same but different. The point is where it all comes from, the point is where it's all going, but it's also where the two halves meet. The truth is that the point is the condition of your existence. This is seduction. The amalgamation of two wills into a single point, a tightening and contraction of space and time. Now don't worry, sweetie, I'm just about done talking, I know I'm interrupting the flow I was going on about before. And trust me, I want you to have a go at connecting the dots just as soon as you can. It's just that...well, I might have left a part of your question unanswered before, so I would just add this one little thing, a little thing I say in confidence." He arched his tamed and sculpted brows as he inclined his chin and milked his goatee for a sign.
"Jesus," said the girl. "I thought I had already signed a frigging NDA."
"That was with the production house."
"All right, don't worry. What's said in this godforsaken place stays in this godforsaken place."
"Good to hear. So here's the deal. Lorenzo's passengers have already started asking for a seduction. They're begging for it. They've been having disciplinary problems on their flights. Smoking in the bathroom, refusal to wear safety belts, food fights. More than ten passengers have had to be subdued by air marshals in the past month for small altercations. And one cross-country flight, I think it was a red-eye, even had what pretty well qualifies as a mutiny. The passengers took over the food carts, coach stormed business, and the stout marshals were powerless. There was a SWAT team waiting on the runway when the plane landed. Some of the folks are facing some pretty stiff charges. They're trying to nail them for terrorism. Rumor has it that Lorenzo's not the only outfit facing these challenges. I know what you're thinking--why haven't I read about this? Don't be naive, sweetie. The industry decides what you read about it, much more than you think.
That's why we're here, that's why we need the seduction. Lorenzo isn't prepared to free up more legroom or hand out free chips. This is the only way forward in a competitive market. Say what you want, but that's the reality as they perceive it. And they are the ones paying for this shoot. Now I feel like I've been honest with you. Are we ready?"
"We're ready, Mr. Reddeking." A solemnity had settled over the girl.
"Remember, there is no camera, no set. Only a point of seduction. You put yourself in that point, and they will come. Here we go. Three, two, one, and roll." The cameraman was wheezing heavily as she began.
"The cabin crew welcomes you aboard this Lorenzo Air flight. To help us prepare for takeoff, all carry on items should now be stored securely, either stowed in an overhead bin, or placed under the seat in front of you. All aisles, exits and bulkhead areas should-"
"Cut."
"What? I didn't even get to-"
"Honey, you have it. You've got it. But you're hitting it too soon and it'll fly right over their heads. You have to work up to it. You have to work them up to it. Here's what I suggest. Start off somewhere far away from the point, then slowly focus in on it, and pounce at maybe the third or fourth sentence. How's that sound? Can we do that?"
I reached for my beer and watched the back of her head from the cockpit on take two. This time Reddeking let her go through the whole thing.

~

The first blush of dawn had touched the cosmic void of the eastern sky. I turned back to look, huddling in my collar, trying to convince myself of the truth of day's revenant promise. A last granular grating of hoarfrost and eroded pavement underfoot, then silence. A single light twinkled on the plain I'd crossed. The steel building. I strained to make out the ridge of the roof, the parked vehicle, and the ring of wreckage which, as I now saw, radiated over the entire plain, over the breadth and depth of the stunted badlands where monuments to doomed flights would long outlive the memory of man. If there is a loss of power and cabin visibility is reduced, white emergency lights near the floor will lead you to red lights, which indicate the exits. If there is a loss of cabin pressure, which is unlikely, yellow oxygen masks will deploy automatically...I'd been walking for hours now, and the safety video been with me the whole way. That girl. I'd written off Reddeking's spiel as so much horseshit, but she'd done it in spades. I hadn't understood until Reddeking had sat us down to look at the tape, but there was no denying. She'd sold a plot of hell to the devil. Reddeking had been right about the words, too. They didn't matter, all they did was carry the voice, bracket the gaze. The message was one of inviolable security, the bliss of union. Her voice was the sea, her gaze eternity. Her expression had been that of a queen telling her subjects in a language plain and proud that the world was theirs to inhabit, to fructify and harvest. Her opal eyes filled the room, the screen, the world. She didn't blink once. No one needed to tell me that Lorenzo would not be having anymore mutinies.
After showing me the tape, Reddeking had sent me packing with a beer, a sandwich and five dollars. He'd wanted to be alone with the models. I didn't complain. I just put my old clothes on over the captain's uniform and started walking.