Airport ´79 – The Concorde – The Missing Scenes
Chapter Two – Je t'aime
Isabelle marveled about the words spoken to her earlier as she carefully tilted her head to look at the man next to her in bed. She still wasn't sure she'd actually heard him correctly. They'd met sporadically over a couple of years but she didn't know him that well, she hadn't had the chance too. Some of her friends called it an on/off relationship.
At one time they'd stayed together for several months but then Paul had just disappeared from the face of the earth. She remembered that day clearly, the day she'd come home late to an empty and dark apartment, the day she'd found a note addressed to her. She still remembered the stinging tears that sprung from her eyes as she read the handwritten words; 'I'm sorry'.
Isabelle shook her head sadly at the memory. She knew Paul was restless, that he didn't really like commitments and that he didn't like to stay at one place for a longer period of time or to keep company to just one woman. Some of her friends had started to tell her that it was just a matter of time before he left her completely. She'd refused to believe them then, she'd even laughed at them. Paul was a good looking man and he knew it too, he even used that occasionally when it suited his purposes.
It had taken her months to get over him back then but now, when they'd met each other again, she found herself unable to hate him, and instead she realized she'd never really gotten over him and that she loved him even more. But now when he'd finally told her that he loved her, the words she'd craved to hear for so long, she was afraid he was just making it up, afraid that he would toss her to the wind again.
She sighed wearily and wondered why he had to make her life so complicated as she eased closer to him to lay her head on his chest. "Je'taime, Paul," she whispered.
The sound of her soft voice brought him out of his troubled light sleep and he couldn't help but to smile faintly. He just wished her words would have brought him out of his troubled thoughts as well. Every time he tried to sleep he was back up there, flying the Concorde, dodging the missiles fired from that crazed fighter jet. Then he was plunging toward the ocean with all engines off and he hated water. It had always been his worst fear to crash on water, to be trapped in the aircraft while it sank to the bottom of the ocean. Still, his love to fly overrode his anxiety, it was just that it had been so close this time – too close. He could have died, taking everyone else with him in the fall from the sky. He'd never been that close to dying before, not even during the war, and it scared him. It made him look at life more clearly, made him rethink what he really wanted out of it. Suddenly the large parties, all the good looking women he enjoyed flirting with, the casual acquaintances – they weren't enough anymore.
He let out a deep sigh as he glanced down at the brown haired woman whose head was resting comfortably on his chest and slowly began to drift into a light sleep without any dreams. There was, after all, a new day tomorrow and he was required to fly the aircraft to Moscow in order to complete the maiden flight the Concorde was making for the Federation World Airlines.
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