The strap of my three-hundred-dollar leather briefcase slipped off my shoulder for the third time as I reached into my coat pocket.
My boarding pass was not in the left pocket, nor was it with my driver’s license.
“Excuse me, I believe this belongs to you,” a voice said.
A man with wire-rimmed glasses stood beside me, holding the blue-striped slip of paper. He had a slow, polite midwestern drawl that sounded like warm milk.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the pass. “The boarding process always seems to catch me off guard.”
“Arthur Pendelton,” he said, adjusting his glasses by the bridge. “I saw you struggling with that latch. Excellent leather, by the way. They do not make them like that anymore.”
I nodded, shifting the weight of the briefcase.
“It is a bit of a relic,” I said.
“Well, we should probably head down the jet bridge before they close the doors,” Arthur said, gesturing for me to precede him.
He kept a polite half-step behind me, yet somehow steered our pace so we reached the ticket scanner at the exact same moment.
The gate agent scanned both of our boarding passes with two rapid beeps.
As we walked down the narrow ribbed corridor toward the plane, Arthur stayed close enough that our wool coats brushed.
Inside the cabin, I found my seat in row four, only to realize Arthur was lifting his own leather bag into the overhead bin directly opposite mine.
“Looks like we are neighbors for the next two hours,” he said, sliding into the aisle seat next to me.
I smiled, though my shoulders remained tight.
I pulled out my corporate logo pen from my front pocket to make a note on my pad, but a dark blue smear of ink immediately stained my thumb. The cartridge had leaked again.
Arthur reached into his jacket and offered me a tissue.
“Those pens are more trouble than they are worth,” he said.
“It is an old habit,” I said, wiping the blue ink from my skin. “We use them for promotional giveaways at Allied Pharma events.”
He tilted his head, his eyes focusing on the logo printed on the side of the plastic barrel.
“Allied,” Arthur said. “You must be in the logistics side of the business then.”
“Regional sales,” I said. “We handle the distribution contracts for the midwest sector.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather holder, sliding a crisp business card toward me.
“I do consulting work in that area myself,” he said.
I looked at the card, which listed a firm name I did not recognize immediately.
To be polite, I opened my briefcase and retrieved one of my own blue business cards, handing it to him.
“Diane,” he read aloud, his voice dropping into that smooth, comforting tone. “Are you heading into Chicago for the big quarterly review at the Allied main office on Friday?”
