Christine was unusually nervous, wringing her long, slender fingers, and fiddling with the small rings she had on her right hand. The champagne was a bit of a help for the first few hours, but she couldn't afford to ask the flight attendant for another drink. She actually hadn't thought to bring any cash for the actual plane ride- she figured there would be an ATM or somewhere in the airport to withdraw some Euro from her modest savings account she had opened up before planning the trip. She silently cursed herself, wondering why she hadn't planned more adequately. To be fair, neither her nor her immediate family had even been on a plane before. They always managed to get by with the train system back home, anyway.
Her mother… oh, her poor mother, Christine thought rather forlornly. She couldn't stop thinking about the horrid argument she had with Mamma before leaving. Yes, she knew this was a big risk, dropping her normal life in Brooklyn and trying to make a career in Paris. And she knew that Mamma only wanted was best, but- something told Christine that Mamma secretly didn't want her to do this. Maybe because of how her father turned out after pursuing a similar dream. Mamma was never musically inclined like her husband or her daughter, so maybe she just didn't understand. But Christine knew in her heart that she had to at least try. And though Mamma would be angry with her at first, Christine felt that she'd eventually come to understand.
"First time flying?" A warm voice said in English. Christine's head snapped up, for chin had been bowed into her chest, deep in thought. She realized the pleasant voice came from a black and silver-haired man, wearing an expensive-looking three-piece suit. He looked older than he should-despite his graying hair and developing wrinkles around his brow, he still had young-looking eyes, shining brightly as ever. She flashed him a quick smile, as she felt like she had been gawking for a moment too long, and nodded.
"Yes, sir, it is," she said carefully. Her eyes darted back down to her tray table, since she felt too embarrassed to look at him straight in the eye after admitting the truth to him. It was obvious that the man was a frequent flyer; with his suit and slick leather briefcase, there was not a single doubt that he must be constantly traveling for business. She remembered how casually he spoke to the flight attendants when they greeted him, how easily he made himself at home in his chair. Christine had immediately felt out of place: she was blushing furiously before takeoff, fumbling to tighten her seatbelt since the fight attendant had politely pointed out its looseness. And if that weren't enough, Christine suddenly recalled that a rather perky blond flight attendant who served him a flute of champagne after takeoff had addressed him by name, though she couldn't remember what his name was. At the time, Christine had thought nothing of it, but now she was silently wondering if this man was someone-well, important, someone who maybe had more influence than she originally though. That only made her more nervous to be talking to this man, much to her dismay, but Christine resolved to keep the conversation going so as not to appear rude. Her mother taught her better, after all. "I didn't think I was going to be this nervous, but I didn't know that-well, I didn't expect what it would-what it would be like." She silently cursed herself for stumbling around her words so much. "The turbulence…!"
The man chuckled as Christine gave a shudder that she couldn't hold back no matter how polite she was trying to be. "Oh, but you shouldn't worry, miss," he said, trying to comfort her even though it was from across the aisle. "Besides, I think the statistics say you're more likely to get hurt in a car than while on a plane, isn't that right?" He said half to her, half to himself.
"Well, I always take the train, so I suppose I wouldn't know," Christine said with-much to her and the man's surprise- a touch of sarcasm. It made the man suddenly burst out laughing, which in turn startled the poor girl at first. She silently congratulated herself, nonetheless. Even if it was out of sheer dumb luck, Christine had enough charm to make the businessman laugh.
"Believe me, my dear, you're in good hands," the man said before turning a little to take a sip of his drink before he settled back into his seat. He turned his head once more toward Christine before she herself turned away: "My name is Isak, by the way, if you need any help around the cabin."
Christine smiled at him even though he probably couldn't see her. "Thank you, Mr.-er, Isak. I'm Christine," as she gave her name, Isak nodded and smiled into the back of the chair in front of him. "Thank you for putting up with a silly little girl like me," she said, a little quieter this time. He only gave a noise of assent before drifting back towards his own little world of champagne and the BBC news quietly playing on his personal television screen. Quietly, he began muttering about his youngest daughter, how she was Christine's age… and then she immediately understood. Silently thanking him and his daughter, Christine settled back into her seat.
The only thing that was on her TV screen was an aerial map of the plane's route, with real time tracking of where the plane was traveling over. Perhaps she could have changed it to something more distracting, but the blinking yellow trail of dots leading from her home city to their destination was strangely comforting. Besides, she liked imagining each city, each providence they passed over. Did someone see their plane while they were out and about on the town? What was the weather like for them? What kind of city was it? She liked to make up these little stories in her head to keep her occupied. It was more entertaining than passively watching some old TV show or cartoon, anyway.
Christine must have dozed off for a while, because suddenly, she woke up to one of the flight attendants standing over her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that they were well into their journey, passing over the Atlantic Ocean-there were no more cities to make up stories for, she thought to herself.
"Miss? We'll be serving dinner shortly." It was the blonde who had spoken so cordially with Isak. Holding a tray of wines, she gestured toward them with a practiced flourish. "Today we'll be serving a seared chicken breast with smoked potato puree and porcini mushrooms. Would you prefer a red cabernet, or white pinot grigio with your meal?"
Christine only retained about half of the stewardess's spiel, so she tried to give the simplest answer possible. "Er… red," Christine spat out quickly. "Thank you," she added hastily, giving a sleepy smile as the blonde set down a stemless glass of deep red wine on her tray. Before Christine even sat up to take a sip of her wine, another flight attendant appeared by her side, this time holding a pair of metal tongs with a white washcloth in its grip.
"Hot towel, miss?" The woman said, giving a polite smile as she began to hand her the neat, rolled-up towel. Christine thanked her and took the towel, somewhat automatically, since it seemed the attendant was expecting her to take it despite her question. She looked down at it dumbly. What was this for? She started to swivel her neck, looking about the cabin, and it seemed everyone was either using their towel to wipe their hands, their faces, basically whatever part of their body they deemed to be the most in need of cleaning. Her eyes landed on Isak, and it was clear he read her look of cluelessness, because he chuckled a little. She shrugged sheepishly, mirroring his hand-wiping, but by the time she actually started using the towel, it had already began to go cold. After inwardly cursing her own naivete, she had hoped that this would be the last traveling tradition unbeknownst to her.
The chicken was nothing sort of delicious, and she happily savored her first bite. Once his main course was served, Christine noticed Isak had turned off his personal television and carefully laid out his silverware and napkin for the meal. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that isak had begun to say a quiet prayer, making Christine pause in between her bites. The similar twinge of guilt she felt before takeoff bubbled up again in her stomach- Christine's mother always taught her to give thanks before eating, but when Mama wasn't around, she never really thought it would be a crime to not say her prayers.
"You noticed?" Isak asked, smiling warmly as he reached for his silverware. Christine suddenly flushed red. She had begun to stare.
"No, I'm sorry, it's only- what's happened to your main course?" Luckily, she happened to notice that his main course was less of an entrée and more of an appetizer- rather than having a centerpiece of meat, his plate only looked like a mix of sauteed vegetables.
"Ah, quite observant," Isak said with a hint of bemusement. "They don't serve halal meat on most airlines, so they know me well enough that the vegetarian option will have to do." Halal-the word sounded familiar when he said it, but Christine wasn't entirely sure what it meant. Muslim, perhaps…
Isak took a bite, but then proceeded to shift his body to angle himself more towards Christine. Christine began to mirror him, shifting her plate and napkin a bit, too. She liked talking to him-it was welcomed, in fact, considering she had been very much alone for the entire day. He was kind, and Isak seemed to be in the same position as her-eager to start a conversation after so much traveling on his own.
"Now, I have been wanting to ask you this, so forgive me if I sound forward," Isak began. "Are you a musician?"
Christine's eyes started out of her head, this time fully surveying Isak before answering. There was a twinkle In his eye, and while she knew it was a perfectly innocent question, the thought couldn't help but pop into her head-how did he know all this time? He did say he had been wanting to ask her, maybe there was something that gave her away? This suddenly began to change what she thought about Isak, too. Perhaps he was not merely a casual acquaintance during a foreign flight. Suddenly she sat up straight and took care of how she responded, making sure she did not give anything else away if she already had.
"It must be you who's more observant than me, it would seem, Isak," Christine said rather coldly. She tried to maintain a friendly air by adding, "But-how could you have possibly known?" Despite staying relatively composed on the surface, she was panicking inside: Why had she been so open with him? How does she know he wasn't lying with every breath? She chided herself for not having more-
"It's a gift," Isak suddenly interrupted her train of thought, which had been going at light speed until now. "I have a knack for sensing those who are more musically inclined-especially singers." As he said the last two words, his large brown eyes seemed to bore into Christine. This made her very skin crawl.
"But how?" This time Christine couldn't help but say exactly what she was thinking. "You mean you could only tell by how I- how I talk?"
Shrugging, Isak only half-nodded. "Well, yes and no. It's more of the cadence, the rhythm of your speech, along with the tone and your diction-so, it's actually a number of things. But yes, in a way, I can tell by your speech." He paused, taking a moment to study Christine. "I'm sorry if I put you off, I don't usually come off as this forward." Obviously, he must have detected some sort of uneasiness, she noted. Nonetheless, amidst all of her anxious thoughts and wonderings, an idea suddenly struck her.
"So you're a musician, too?"
Isak gave the smallest chuckle. "I used to be," he amended. "That career path was not for the likes of my-well, my yearning for stability, shall we say. I was better off wearing a suit and making the deals for the musicians, instead." He laughed even harder this time, as Christine's bright eyes started out of her head. She must have been staring at him like he was some mythical creature, something she had previously believed to be purely fictional until now.
"You're a manager," she stated. This time it wasn't a question.
"Wrong again, Christine. I was," he corrected her once more, before taking a big bite of his dinner, which had begun to grow cold. She quickly did the same, shoveling lukewarm pieces of chicken into her mouth, allowing her to mull over this new nugget of information. Before she left, Christine had been given a token of advice from one of her classmates at university. It was something that stuck with her, not because of its profoundness but because of how much it surprised her. Success as an artist is about who you know. You could have all the talent in the world, she was reminded, but without the right connections, she may never advance her career. The challenge at hand was this: how was she to convince Isak to help her through the door of the music industry? She didn't want to come off as a desperate girl with a pipe dream-rather, she didn't want to let him in on her lack of progress as a real musician. Yes, the matter had to be approached delicately.
Her first thought was to give Isak a few of her demos. Christine had a handful of ideas on her PC, and while they may not be much, she still took pride in them. After months of teaching herself the mixing programs, the tracks were at least halfway decent. They weren't exactly revolutionary or earth-shattering, that much she knew. But it was all her-the producing, the songwriting, the editing was all from her hard work. No, she thought. That's far too clichéd, handing out her work to anyone who would listen. Peddling her songs to someone who isn't even in the music industry isn't the best idea, anyway. For all she knew, he could pass it on to another producer and use it for their own track.
The only viable solution Christine could arrive at was to just… ask. She didn't want to deceive him, nor did she want to try and make some sort of a bargain. Owing a debt was something she'd prefer not to do. What if he still proposed a deal, a bargain, no matter what? Well, she thought, the only way of knowing was to ask. Another mantra echoed in her head, something that her father had once said long ago: You have not because you ask not.
"I'm actually interested in the French EDM scene," Christine started slowly, choosing her words with great care. She wanted to be as diplomatic as possible, that is, she wanted to ask for a favor without having to grovel for it. "Do you… know anything about that part of the business?"
This time, it was Isak whose expression was more surprised. "Actually, yes," he allowed after a moment. Much like Christine's progression of emotions, he began to look more suspicious instead of surprised. She just sat there, waiting, not daring to breathe until he finally spoke again. "I know… well, I was acquainted with a few producers while I was working in the industry, in fact, I represented a few." Isak gave another pause, trying to read Christine's reaction. Still as a statue, Christine did not move an inch. She just gazed at him with her glassy eyes, silently prompting him to go on. No way was she going to spoil this chance for an opportunity. She wanted this far too much.
Isak took this moment to throw the ball in her court. "Are you interested in producing?"
Christine hesitated a moment before answering. While it was true, it was… complicated, to say the least. "Yes, but I can do so much more," she said with earnest. "I'm classically trained, I can sing any genre, I-" she stopped herself before she began to ramble. Laughing at herself inwardly, Christine realized how difficult it was to keep her excitement about all of this. "What I'm trying to say is… I have a lot of different skills, but I think I'm most interested in learning to professionally produce. That's an invaluable skill to have as an artist," she went on. "I want to be able to… translate my own ideas and melodies into something tangible, something that I have already envisioned." She noticed that after saying all this, her whole body was leaning much closer to Isak, and their eyes were locked. While she hoped it didn't come off as too strong, she knew nothing was more imperative than emphasizing what she imagined for herself. The last thing Christine wanted to become was a puppet for the music industry, being handed sounds or beats she didn't particularly care for and having absolutely no knowledge of how to engineer her own ideas into the work.
This time, Isak countered quickly. The conversation had quickly turned into something of a conference room meeting, Christine thought. "But if you want to produce all your own work, how will other talent want to work with you? Collaboration is key when it comes to making something good into something great," he insisted.
"I completely agree," Christine countered emphatically. "Collaboration is so important, but I still want to be able to communicate as a producer to another producer. Does that make sense?" She asked. "I don't want to be speaking Spanish to someone who speaks Japanese."
Isak nodded, this time leaning back in his seat a little and resting his chin in his hand, looking pensive. Was he… impressed? It looked like wheels were turning in his head, so that had to be a good sign. Don't get your hopes up too high, she told herself.
"Where do you see yourself in 10 years, Christine?"
Christine opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by the PA system. The captain was addressing them from the cockpit: "Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like our arrival time will be earlier than expected. We will be making our descent into Charles de Gaulle airport in just under 30 minutes. Weather in Paris, France is currently overcast with a bit of a chill in the air, so be sure to put on that jacket before you disembark. Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened and that your tray tables are in the upright position for when we begin our descent. Thank you and we appreciate you choosing American Airways."
They couldn't help but chuckle to themselves-they had completely lost track of time. "Perhaps I should give you the short answer, Isak?" Christine offered.
"Yes, if you please," Isak said politely. His air was much more pleasant with the knowledge that this conversation would be short-lived. This actually relived Christine a little-the reminder that they would inevitably be parting ways seemed to lighten the mood considerably.
"I want to be touring a platinum album," she said frankly. Her eyes brightened at the very thought. "I want to bring heart, soul, and artistry to the scene. I want electronic soul," she said truthfully. "French EDM used to have that. It's disappeared, Isak, I haven't seen it for quite some time. And I want to bring it back." She looked at him and smiled a little, feeling proud, but still the smallest bit embarrassed for being so upfront with him.
He surveyed her again for what seemed to Christine like ages. She couldn't help but feel like Isak was staring at her like some kind of puzzle he couldn't figure out. Whether he was more impressed or shocked, Christine had no idea. But, suddenly, in a flash, she found Isak reaching for something in his back pocket. In a matter of moments, Christine was cradling a small, white business card with his name printed in bold: ISAK KHAN. Other than his number and e-mail, there was no other information. No job title or company name from what she could see.
"When you're settled in, call me and we can talk more," Isak said. "I have some ideas for you, if you're willing to collaborate," he gave her a knowing smile. Her heart was doing cartwheels in her chest; Christine wanted to let it all out by dancing and singing all that she felt, but she managed to restrain herself. That wasn't too hard to do, considering she was sitting in a cramped seat with a seatbelt, but she felt so relieved. Maybe this was the start of something great. Something that could be the first step on her journey to living her dream.
"Isak, I… I can't begin to say how much I appreciate this," Christine said. "I don't know what I said to convince you, but please know that I want this. I want this more than anything I've ever wanted, and I've spent the past six years learning everything I possibly could to get… well, get my dream." She smiled and clutched the card to her chest. This time she couldn't hold it in, and gave a wonderful, great laugh that let out all her happiness of that moment.
Isak smiled back at the young girl, marveling at how utterly joyful she was holding that tiny little white card in her hands. He assured her with words of encouragement, and then after a few moments, she excused herself to run to the lavatory before they started to descend into Paris.
His mind was reeling. What were the odds that this person, this young girl to just drop into his lap? Echoing the same sentiments that he had heard only but a few weeks ago before he had departed for New York? Maybe it was more than a few weeks, he allowed himself, but nonetheless…
Suddenly, he pulled out his phone, making sure that there were no fight attendants to scold him for even taking it out of his pocket. Isak had connected to the plane's WiFi as soon as he boarded, but this was more out of habit than necessity- he always liked to keep himself connected in case some sort of crisis with the management firm should arise while he was en route. He found the contact in his address book he was looking for and tapped "new message", giving him a blank screen to start typing. Without missing a beat, he wrote nothing more to the recipient than, "I found you a partner. Will phone later."