Four rows, 16 seats, white leather, the smell of warm towels and fresh espresso, a glass of champagne already waiting at each seat. She found 2A window, slid her canvas tote bag into the overhead bin, sat down. The leather sighed under her weight. Across the aisle in 2C, a woman in her late 50s, silver hair, reading glasses on a chain, Janice Tate.
She glanced at Briana, gave a polite nod, then went back to her book. In 1B, a businessman in a navy blazer, laptop already open, didn't look up. Then Heather Wilson appeared. She came through the curtain from economy like she was walking onto a stage.
Blonde ponytail pulled tight, red lipstick sharp as a line drawn with a ruler. Uniform pressed so crisp it could have cut paper. A silver senior flight attendant badge was pinned above her heart. Every step deliberate, every movement screaming control.
She began her round, seat by seat, smile by smile. Welcome aboard, Mr. Henderson. Sparkling or still? Mrs. Crawford, lovely to see you again.
Your champagne. Mr. Douglas, I have your allergy note right here. We've prepared a special menu. Then she reached row two.
Her eyes landed on Briana. The hoodie, the sneakers, the canvas tote overhead. She stopped smiling. She didn't say a word, didn't nod, didn't offer champagne.
She looked at Briana the way someone looks at a stain on a white tablecloth. Then she walked past. Five minutes passed. Then 10.
Heather moved through the cabin like a ballet dancer. Champagne here, warm towel there, a laugh, a compliment, a perfectly timed absolutely, sir. Every passenger in first class had a full glass, the golden bubbles catching the overhead light, the soft clink of crystal against armrests. Every passenger except Briana.
Her seat had no champagne, no warm towel, no menu, nothing. Just the empty leather cup holder staring back at her like a hole in the ground. Briana waited. She wasn't the kind of woman who demanded things.
She'd spent 42 years learning that patience was the most powerful weapon a black woman could carry. So, she waited. 15 minutes. Heather passed her seat four times.
Four times she looked the other way. Once she was so close that Briana could smell her perfume, something sharp and floral, probably expensive. Heather's eyes swept across the cabin, touched every face, and skipped over Briana like she was a piece of furniture. Briana pressed the call button.
The soft chime rang through the cabin. Heather took her time.