A galley more expensive than most residential kitchens.
The passengers onboard were not friends.
They were financiers.
Attorneys.
Consultants.
Two executives.
One retired senator.
Several spouses.
And one woman whose presence nobody had understood.
She had boarded first.
No entourage.
No assistant.
No announcement.
Just a cream travel outfit, white sneakers, gold hoop earrings, long black curls, and a phone that had not stopped buzzing.
That had been enough for the socialite to make assumptions.
The socialite lifted her empty glass.
“Perhaps someone can bring another.”
The flight attendant had already noticed.
She was moving rapidly down the aisle.
Her expression tightened when she saw the stain.
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
The Black woman nodded.
“Yes.”
The attendant looked at the empty wine glass.
Then the socialite.
“What happened?”
“An unfortunate little accident.”
The socialite smiled again.
“She shifted while I was drinking.”
The Black woman said nothing.
The attendant’s eyes dropped toward the Black woman’s lap.
Then toward the position of the glass.
Something did not fit.
But cabin crew serving wealthy passengers survived by recognizing when truth and diplomacy were having an argument.
“I can bring club soda and towels.”
“No need yet,” the Black woman said.
The socialite sighed.
“You see?”
She looked toward the attendant.
“She’s already made the seat a mess.”
The attendant stiffened.
The Black woman’s eyes moved slowly toward the socialite.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You’re worried about the seat.”
“Someone should be.”
The socialite gestured around the cabin.
“Do you know what this interior costs?”
The Black woman looked at the cream leather beneath her.
“Yes.”
That answer was too simple.
The socialite frowned.
Then smiled again.
“I’m sure.”
A man across the aisle visibly winced.
The socialite noticed.
That irritated her.
She shifted toward the attendant.
“Actually, could you find her another seat?”
The attendant blinked.
“Ma’am?”
“Somewhere farther back.”
The Black woman looked at her.
The socialite continued.
“It's obvious this arrangement isn't working.”
“There are assigned seats.”
The attendant’s voice remained professional.
“Then reassign them.”
“I’m afraid I can't do that without—”
The socialite interrupted.
“You know who I am.”
Several heads turned.
Of course.
There it was.
The sentence that people with enough money eventually used when money itself failed to complete the argument.
The attendant paused.
“I do.”
“Then handle this.”
The Black woman lifted one eyebrow.
The socialite saw it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep making that face.”
“What face?”
“As though this is amusing.”
The Black woman looked down at the wine covering her clothing.
“It isn't.”
“Then what?”
She leaned back.
“You.”
The socialite’s cheeks tightened.
One of the younger passengers looked away quickly to hide a smile.
The attendant stepped closer.
“Perhaps we can all—”
“No.”
The socialite pointed toward the aisle.