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an
underprivileged neighborhood dreamed of growing into.  He was already seated in
his first class window seat when I boarded the Delta flight to Miami, and I was
certain that every person who boarded the airplane after me had noticed him. 
He gazed out the window through his gold-framed Cartier sunglasses as if his
time were reserved exclusively for important thoughts.  He was striking in
every respect, beginning with his perfectly tailored navy blue Armani suit
accompanied by a light blue custom shirt and radiant regal blue Hugo Boss silk
necktie. His ensemble probably cost five times the price of the exorbitant
three-hour leather seat to Miami. He had dark brown hair that was full and
neatly cropped, with only the slightest speckles of gray highlighting the edges
of his sideburns, adding to his respectable aura.  Even though he was sitting
down, I estimated him at six foot, three inches, but the assembly of
characteristics made him seem even larger. Everything about Raymond Trevello
conveyed success.
     
    I took my seat next to him quietly so as not to disturb
whatever important thoughts were running though his mind, removed my coat,
tucked my sunglasses into my breast pocket, and waited for a flight attendant
to approach.  Less than a minute or so later a young blond woman in her Delta
blue pinstripes greeted me by name.  Her smile was designed to convey the
feeling that she was happy to see me again, even though we both knew we had
never met before.   Her nametag said Katie, and she moved with an enthusiasm
that suggested it was her first week out of flight attendant training camp.  I
handed her my suit jacket and smiled back in appreciation of the effort despite
its contrived nature.
    “Something to drink before takeoff?” she asked politely, as if
reciting from a handbook.
    I glanced down to the right, noticing my seatmate had his large
tanned hand wrapped around a glass tumbler filled to the brim with scotch and
ice.
    “Stolichnaya rocks,” I replied, deciding to join him absent a
formal invitation.
     
    I was scheduled to speak the next morning at a conference of
about 500 people in Boca Raton.  Burdened by a series of unexpected events, I
hadn’t found time to prepare. While Katie went forward to pour my drink, I
shuffled through my briefcase, extracting a legal- sized yellow pad on which I
had jotted a few random notes during the car ride to the airport.  I searched
unsuccessfully for my pen before remembering I had placed it in my suit
pocket.  Katie returned with my drink on a small tray and placed it on top of a
white cocktail napkin on the center armrest table.  I thanked her with another
smile and carefully picked up the glass.   The man watched me as I did, letting
me know with his eyes that any mishap would be unwelcome. With the glass safely
in hand on my side of the armrest, he lifted his own tumbler and extended it
towards mine, revealing from under his suit jacket sleeve a gold Rolex
Presidential and monogrammed gold cufflinks.
    “To a pleasant ride,” he said smoothly.
    “A pleasant ride,” I confirmed, raising my glass to the same
altitude as his and making proper eye contact with his sunglasses before taking
the first sip.
     
    He returned his tumbler to the armrest and shifted his position
slightly, again returning to his thoughts.   I left him there, made my way
forward and asked Katie to help me locate my stowed coat so that I could
retrieve my pen.  My hectic day must have been showing, because she gave me a
sympathetic frown as she parted the other coats, holding mine out towards me. 
Another setback surmounted, I returned to my seat in hopes of finally focusing
on my presentation.  On my arrival, I noted that Raymond had polished off three
quarters of his scotch, rather fast even for a big man. Without giving it a
second thought, I settled back in and turned my eyes to the note pad while
twirling my silver-cased pen in my fingers like a miniature baton.  The