The man who was probably hitting on her was more handsome than Lexie first thought, though wildly age-inappropriate.  He had a combination of features striking on males of any age, but especially agreeable on the seasoned – prominent brow, deep-set, lively eyes, sharp jaw that shot straight back like the steel bow of a battleship, and a smile both boyish and sophisticated.  If twenty, he could be shirtless in a jeans ad but the lines cut by experience and the abrasions of weather edged him toward iconic.  He was nicely dressed too, but it was his cool that made Lexie think.  He pulsed it like someone called a cool guy all his life, who is used to things coalescing around him as the magnetic center, but doesn’t work hard at it or give it much thought.  He seemed the kind of man who could speak French without accent and deconstruct Mideast geopolitics absent provincialism, but also knows the lyrics to pop songs, can read a map, and repair small gas engines. 

Embarrassed by the little cherry bomb going off in her stomach, Lexie fought the adolescent urge to straighten her hair and decided to ignore him.  What kind of man, handsome or not, just starts talking to a woman sitting alone in an airport, she thought.  This scenario ended well only in rom-coms and male fantasies, neither of which she had patience for.  The flattery of his notice was unexpected, even charming in an anachronistic from-a-different-decade May-December kind of way, but Lexie couldn’t imagine she was his type.  She’d been told she had a kind face, and while she liked to think this was true, knew herself well enough to call her default setting unapproachable.  Her sister always said Lexie had the opposite of a kind face –stalwart scowl hedging imminent disappointment. 

More than the man’s alpha nerve she resented his uninvited proximity, only the seat holding Jason’s carryon separating them when he sat down, three full rows of conjoined faux-chrome and black vinyl seats unoccupied around them in the mostly-empty departure gate at the end of the terminal.  Lexie pegged him as about her father’s age, in a gray suit that fit him well and spotless wingtips, the impression relaxed but polished, nothing out of place but nothing fussy.  She’d heard him perfectly well.  “You know, they say you never really know someone until you travel with them,” he’d said.  Her instinct was to let it evaporate into the terminal’s fraught ether of dark roast, Fast Juan’s Cantina, and the aerosol funk of mass human perspiration on synthetic air.  But she was never one to back away and felt feisty.  Lexie feigned confusion, squinting, nose scrunched, wrapping “Excuse me?” in an I’m-about-to-be-annoyed undertone. 

The man shrugged, seeming to know she’d heard him.  “Just an old saying I’ve found to be true.  A trip together brings out certain things.”

A PA announcement, sounding somehow both mumbled and shouted into an oscillating fan, came on before Lexie could answer.  She said nothing.  The man appeared content and this indifference frustrated her.  Lexie couldn’t fairly condemn his motives as a pick-up since she rarely suffered the uninvited male interest her sister complained about with rolled eyes and comic fingers-down-the-throat.  She thought of the story Sis told often about being hounded at a carwash by a toad-man with a swollen gut, arrowhead medallion nested in chest hair, black socks with Crocs, and preening dullard’s self-confidence.  Sis would strut around in imitation, legs bowed as if toting massive balls, people eating it up.  As part of the bit, she sometimes grabbed Lexie to play her stand-in, hungrily ogling her up and down like a cartoon character as the crowd grew rowdy.  “Sweetheart,” Sis growled in a thick, arrogant male gorilla-baritone.  “Yer husband don’t wash yer car for yez?  Ah, c’mon, you mean a babe like you ain’t married?”  Lexie wasn’t much for people looking at her, but never minded pretending to be her fun sister for a few minutes. 

“I suppose that’s right,” Lexie answered finally.  She glanced over, the hard-drawn splendor of his face and regal posture making her suddenly bashful, though under his calm affability she sensed the predatory cockiness of streetcorner Three-card Monte men.  C’mon, girlie.  I dare you.  Try to beat me.  It’s just a little game.  “But what makes you think I’m with someone?” she asked, quickly realizing the inherent flaws in this comeback.

The man gestured at Jason’s deerhunter camo backpack in the seat between them, looking bored.  “So, where are you two headed?”

“What?  You don’t already know?”  If she was inexpert at men’s advances, Lexie had much experience with them presuming her stupid, her expected role in conversation to be wrong, impressed, or both.  She relished shocking and outsmarting anyone, but especially presumptuous men, seeing her opportunity now with the handsome stranger, though regular sparring with Jason had made her weary of the game.  With him, there was always a rush to the punchline, a premature giddiness and fumbling urgency to have his moment, to claim he knew something she didn’t, had thought of something first, or found humorous anything he supposed her too uptight to get.  Lately it seemed easier to let him win.

“I’d guess Seattle,” he said. 

“Why Seattle?” Lexie shot, grinning.  “Because that flight boards in thirty-three minutes through the door ten feet away?”

She thought she had gotten him, scored, expecting wide eyes and backtracking babble, but was disappointed in his almost charitable smile.  “You’ve got that boarding time down.  In a hurry?”

“I’m boarding first today,” Lexie said.  Right or wrong, it seemed they had crossed some kind of threshold.  “I finally made Platinum with this airline.  It took years, but I’m finally first in line – well, except for those insane million-mile Captain’s Circle people.”

“Congratulations.  Platinum is quite an accomplishment.”

“It’s been a goal, and feels like I did something right.” 

“I’m told there’s a secret handshake when you reach Platinum,” he laughed. “There’s something magical, I suppose, about status on an airplane – legroom, drinks, the white-hot envy of strangers…”

“I just like knowing it’s there and that I’ve earned it.  In a weird way it feels like someone cares.”

She smiled, relaxing slightly with the sense that the polished man one seat away wasn’t flirting and probably wouldn’t drop “see what I did there?” on her.  But when Lexie turned to look fully at him she immediately understood he was way too fine for any of that, and wondered how she could have presumed him as anything less than President-for-life of a club she could never join.  Suddenly, she felt bumbling and unequal, thinking he wouldn’t have noticed her if Sis was here.  “I’m Lexie,” she said, turning eyes to the floor and spotting the gold-embossed Captain’s Circle medallion on his briefcase.

“Short for Alexis?” he asked.

It seemed confirmation of a trifling detail he already knew, like an IRS agent easing into his questions.  “Sorry,” he grinned sheepishly, showing teeth white and straight.  “I happened to hear the gentleman who was sitting here call you Alexis, and I wasn’t sure.  Anyhow, nice to meet you Lexie.  I’m Liam.” 

Liam, she thought.  Gen Z rockstar and ancient Highland swordsman.  He looked like an aged-well actor from the 80s, or the sagacious Wall Street tycoon who has weathered five Recessions and urges calm, but his name was Liam.  How cool must his parents have been to christen their kid Liam in – the sixties?  Fifties?  And how cool is he to have pulled it off in a world of Steves and Jeffs, Donalds and Larrys ever since?   “My fiancé calls me Alexis.  He thinks Lexie is ‘too juvenile’,” she said.

“You don’t look the least bit juvenile to me.”

His look made Lexie feel she could say anything, that he would be surprised by nothing and would understand everything.  A rubbery quiver shot through her, and she panicked with an urgency that he like her.  “When I was little there were always at least three other Alexises in my grade,” she laughed.  “The teachers called only the most popular of us just ‘Alexis,’ and that was never me.  So, for the rest, the teacher added the initial of our last name – Alexis B., Alexis K. – you know?  My last name is Patterson, which made me Alexis P.  Everybody always giggled, especially the boys.  So, I’m Lexie.” 

Liam said things Lexie would never think of, asking interesting questions that elevated their small-talk into hip cocktail party banter.  She felt the need to keep up, anxious that at some point Liam would judge her dull.  Instead, he seemed delighted, pondering and weighing whatever she said.  It was a welcome contrast to Jason’s brinksmanship, his interest in her words lasered on plausible triggers for “how could you possibly think that?”  It was different with Liam.  She found herself free to tell funny stories, setting scenes and improvising anecdotes with Lexie Patterson as sometimes the hero, sometimes the goat, but always the star.  “Don’t get me wrong, I love, love, love my sister,” she said, answering one of his questions.  “But she was the pretty, graceful one and I could never keep up.  One Halloween we both went as Princesses.  This lady opens her door and completely fawns over her, then looks at me and says, ‘what are you, her assistant?’”  Later: “I was her Maid of Honor but couldn’t get a date for the wedding.  She didn’t outright complain but made all these subtle jokes about upsetting her perfect balance!  Literally days before the thing, no time to spare, I meet Jason and have managed to hold on since.”  Then: “Okay, so, we’re not ‘officially’ engaged.  I’m not beholden to arbitrary, patriarchal titles, but I’m trying!” 

The empty seats around them filled: two agitated parents obsessing over fidgety twins in Minions backpacks; three soldiers in fatigues; college girl in PJ pants; World’s Best Grandma; businesspeople Zooming; skinny couple with guitars and identical un-styled hair, projecting the dreamy earnest aura of missionaries.  “I can’t believe how I’m babbling,” Lexie sighed.  “I don’t talk this much with Jason!” 

“Where is he, anyway?”

“Said he needed coffee, but probably gaming.  I think he needed a break.  Sometimes I think he prefers Insurgent Ops to me.”

Lexie laughed, but Liam did not share the mirth.  “Tell me about Jason,” he said, pronouncing the name deliberately.  “What do you like about him?”

“Well, I love him, Lexie said, surprising herself with how the word came out sounding like the whack of a sharp elbow.  “What do I like?  Hmmm…”  She pictured Jason, trying to remember some endearing trait, some precious habit or quality, growing angry when glimpses fizzed-out, her mind racing faster the blanker it grew.  “He’s funny,” she blurted.  “Oh my god, he’s hilarious!” Lexie gushed, clapping to enhance the point when Liam seemed skeptical. 

“Tell me a good Jason story.”

“Oh boy…” Lexie enthused, eyes bulging with forced cheer, a sour memory resurfaced of once having to write a final exam about The Reformation after guessing wrong and studying The Renaissance.  “There was this time,” she stalled.  “He was with these guys.  And…something about…the manager of this restaurant accused them of stiffing their bar tab?  But they’d actually paid this bartender who’d just clocked-out!  And, I don’t know, it got all out of hand and some guy’s mother ended up settling everything.  Sorry, I’m not good at stories…”

Liam nodded, looking unamused but satisfied.  “When Jason left for coffee,” he said, “did he ask if you wanted anything?”

The question landed somewhere in the softness between her breastbone and navel, a sudden warm pain twisting in her gut making her fold arms and cross legs in primal defense.  How could a stranger know…things…like this, embarrassing things, she wondered, and just pull them out of thin air?  Her eyes darted at anything except Liam, the vinyl below her somehow ripped away.  Apparently, this was the Three-card Monte hustler, whose skills transcended flipping the red Queen to reading minds.  “Why would you ask something like that?” she huffed.   

“When Jason left,” Liam answered, “your eyes followed him with this sort of hurt – more like sad – look.  As if you expected something, and were…I don’t know…disappointed?  It’s common courtesy to ask, ‘you need anything while I’m up?’ My hunch was you expected that and didn’t get it.”

Dreamed of it more like, Lexie thought.  “You watched us, eavesdropped, knew my name when you came over here, evidently studied my expressions,” she sputtered.  “How long were you stalking us?”

“Sorry, it’s what I do,” Liam shrugged.  “Observe, form working theories, test hypotheses…”

“Is this how you get your jollies?” Lexie fumed.  “Chat up random women like some innocent Mr. Nice Guy, then pry into things that are none of your business?”  Her heart raced, indignity and embarrassment flushing heat through her cheeks; suddenly she wanted to strike at Liam, hurt him, as much for knowing things about her as violating societal norms.  “Honestly, what’s your deal, buddy?  You wait till my boyfriend leaves, then feel entitled to ask creepy questions!”

 “So, it bothered you?” Liam pressed calmly.  “When Jason didn’t ask…”

“Exactly what kind of asshole are you?”

“I’m a consultant,” he said, sounding apologetic.  “So-called expert in organizations and human dynamics.  I get paid to observe people, notice stuff, wonder why they’re doing certain things and not getting better results.  I ask questions I already know the answer to, get people to say things they’ve avoided saying.  Then I try to help fix what’s broken when it’s all out in the open.  After many years it’s just how I think.  When I saw you and Jason interacting, something just…triggered a professional impulse… You’re right, Lexie.  It’s none of my business.”

“Then maybe we should just stop talking.”

“Of course.  If you prefer.”

Lexie hugged herself angrily and watched fellow elites begin to congregate around the jetway door, imperial and unworried, while the pretenders in Economy and middle seat bargain hunters sniffed at subservient distances, glancing forlornly at their Group Number and wondering where their lives went wrong.  She watched the gate agents busying themselves, knowing it was time to go but no longer feeling Platinum. 

“Yes, it bothered me,” she said finally, loud enough for the missionaries to notice.

Liam rubbed his jaw.  “I’ll tell you a quick story,” he said.  “I consulted once with a medium-sized glass manufacturer that was almost bankrupt.  The CEO was sharp, an MBA, and had married into this long-successful family business.  He was goal-oriented, competitive, and very smart but it wasn’t translating.  Offhand, I asked the guy one day what he liked about the glass business and he got that same kind of faraway, empty look you had.  Turned out he was just trying to keep up with what he supposed his wife and father-in-law expected.  Thought he was winning, but was just performing against metrics he assumed mattered and hoping it worked out.”

She was supposed to have been smarter, one step ahead of the boys, Lexie thought, backtracking through her chance encounter with a striking, smooth man at the airport.  She loved a good fight and gave as good as she got.  What had she let him see in her kind face to know what she would give away?

“I get paid to notice things,” Liam said in answer to the question she hadn’t asked aloud, shrugging as if completely unimpressed with himself.  “My free time is spent in airports and to stay sharp I observe strangers and try to figure them out.  When I first noticed you two I hypothesized co-workers stuck on a business trip neither was thrilled about, or maybe not-particularly-close siblings travelling to a funeral.  Then he left and I saw that look on your face.  Made me curious.  Look, in three minutes they call Platinum and you never see me again.  But my unsolicited recommendation is you change planes soon if you know what I mean.  You’re Platinum, Lexie.  Enjoy the benefits.”

The gate agent welcomed those needing extra time.  At first Lexie wished she had some, then decided she didn’t need any.  She knew the rules, could hold her own, and respected a game well-played, thinking that if Liam had won today, she had somehow let him.

In the din of passengers stretching and jockeying, Lexie barely noticed Liam nod towards an approaching figure and ask in a steady masculine voice: “ready to board, Alexis?”  Jason grabbed his bag from the seat between them, looking impatiently to the Platinum lane and tapping Lexie’s foot with his shoe.

It didn’t surprise him that she did not introduce Jason, or say anything more, not even “safe travels.”  Discreetly, Liam watched Lexie rise and walk into the jetway with a distant look, as if perhaps considering an unexpectedly quick turnaround out of Seattle.

O’Hare was in a ground-stop, his Captain’s Circle app reported.  Three more hours at least.  He’d been keeping an eye on a couple in the DFW gate across the way who had been in the same seats a while.  They were middle-aged and seemed to be the types who always arrive early, with travel routines both knew and revered.  There was something intriguing about this coupled syncopation but also the way the man looked above her head when he spoke, finding and examining the nearest female form that was not hers.  Interesting too was the way she seemed to prefer her Elin Hilderbrand novel to him.  The balding, pot-bellied man next to them, who had been devouring a hoagie with near-rhapsodic delight, rose from his seat to discard the wrapper, pulling his carry-on behind him.  

“You know, they say you never really know someone until you travel with them,” Liam told the couple as he sat down beside them.

– Tim Jones

Author’s Note: “You Never Really Know Someone” had its origins in an American airport (I think Minneapolis-St. Paul, but they tend to blend together). I was doing a lot of consulting at the time and as one of the characters in the story says, “asking questions I knew the answer to and getting people to say things they didn’t want to say.” Feeling pretty good about my talents, I would sometimes pass time at the airport by observing people and trying to figure out their deal. I noticed a man and woman sitting together once who looked like they couldn’t possibly be a couple because of their appearance and the fairly indifferent way they interacted. But then I noticed they kissed when one got up to leave, which blew all my theories and got the gears turning. I was also, and continue to be, fascinated by the walls we throw up and the way we minimize or rationalize choices made in the pursuit of happiness. Lexie puts these walls up and Liam is expert at taking them down. Hopefully, we see why Lexie does this, but a question left unanswered is what does Liam get out of this?