I chose the seat nearest the bookcase and buckled myself in for takeoff.

I didn't see the flight attendant again until we were in the air. She brought me my drink and said that I could move about the cabin if I wished. She also mentioned that the chairs would swivel in any direction since we were clear of takeoff, so I could better catch the available light for reading. Just before she turned to leave I got the notion to test my previous theory about Gilbert's instructions to the hired servants, "May I ask your name?"

She looked me in the eyes and gave me a sardonic smile as the beginning to her answer. Then she made an exaggerated glance at the name tag pinned to the left breast of her uniform - Ms. Sharon Hartly. - Oddly enough it didn't feel like rude behavior for her to converse with me in this manner. I got the impression that she was trying to tell me, with good humor, that she preferred her privacy over social interaction.

As she turned to leave me puzzling over the scope of Gilbert's instructions, I decided to take another stab at further enlightenment, "Ms. Hartly, did you receive any specific instructions from Gilbert?"

She turned back around to face me, but her glance didn't make eye contact. It was unfocused somewhere just off to the left of my forehead, until she spoke, then she looked me in the eyes.

"Was there something I could get for you, to go with your glass of wine?"

Again she spoke in a business-like manner. I must admit that tone of voice was a bit frustrating. She might as well have been pushing me away with her hands. I got one final inspiration to try and delay her for a moment. I took a sip of the wine and made a guess, "Pinot Noir?" I asked.

"Yes sir, A Clos Du Bois `89.' Was there something else I could do for you?"

Unlike all eggs, this one couldn't be cracked. "No, that will be all, thank you."

The rest of the flight was uneventful. I looked over the library and ended up choosing a recent copy of Interview magazine, featuring an article about Stevenson Regent, a hack writer in the average. I must admit though that when he is at his best, he comes off as quite exceptional. And because of this I don't begrudge him his popularity. In either case his style has always been quite engaging. The article was all fluff and praise about his work, which I should have expected. The philosophy of commercialism never changes. Not that he doesn't deserve praise, I was just hoping for some insight into his character. Not that it would mean anything to me.

We arrived in Tucson, Arizona, shortly after 11:30, my time; Ms Hartly made it a point to inform me. True to her business-like manner the she ushered me off the plane to an awaiting stretch limousine.

I suppose it may be quite common to see an American Indian descendent working as a chauffeur in Southwestern America, but this guy didn't look common to me. The smile on his face belied the piercing stare he bore into my eyes. And though I felt a little `naked,' I felt no violation. Shortly his expression softened into acceptance. While his smile grew, he held out his hand to shake mine.

You and I both know that chauffeurs don't shake the hands of their clients unless the client initiates. I'm telling you, I knew this guy wasn't what he seemed to be.

Shaking hands with him seemed to put me a little more at ease. Though when he looked into my eyes he became puzzled and stepped back; only to smile at himself, shake his head, push his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose while completely changing his attitude into one which exemplified rigid professionalism, without the slightest hint of sarcasm. – Actually in retrospect it was more a change of character than of attitude; there was a whole other set to his face and body posture. It was almost as if I was looking at a completely different person.

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