Ilaria's morning had started extremely early. In fact, it had really started the night before, as she hadn't been able to sleep much since she received the call from Rosaleen. It was her first clean up assignment, and she was both nervous and excited. Needless to say, she arrived at the airport plenty early. She was dressed in her formal uniform, white dress, white stockings and shoes, nurses cap with a bold, red cross, and navy blue cape around her shoulders.

The first leg of the flight was short, from Philadelphia to Chicago. She was able to enjoy breakfast on the flight, and a short nap before landing in Chicago. As passengers boarding at O'Hare began to filter into the plane, Ilaria wondered if the empty seat beside her would become occupied. Just in case, she took her medical bag off the vacant seat and sat it in her lap. No reason to let it out of her sight until she absolutely had to. 

On an unseasonably warm day in September, Paul waited patiently in the Chicago O'Hare airport boarding facility as he awaited his turn for service.  He shuffled the pages of some paperwork leisurely in his lap to pass the time while going over some last minute private details of his business trip to the City of Angels; all the while the general public pass him by nonchalantly on their own schedule and errands as he preferred.  Paul was by no means a private man, but some things were best left to discretion and this job in particular was not one for light hearted discussion...

Having finished folding some earmarks on particular pages of interest, he returns the paperwork to his leather briefcase and gets in line for passenger boarding.  The process is brief and efficient and after a few moments he finds himself making his way down the airplane aisle, ticket in hand, scanning the rows for his seat assignment as he progresses.   In contrast the moments to follow seem like an eternity of waiting for other passengers to secure their own private belongings and get settled for their own journey, the elderly and young taking the longest, but to Paul it was the way of things.... and it gave him solace to know at some point, should his career continue as prosperous as it had thus far he would be afforded the same luxuries and understanding of old age.   

Finally arriving at the back of the aircraft, Paul finds his row and seat assignment.  He pauses for a moment to survey his surrounding, making a mental note to thank Luka at home for the privacy of the area when he returns as he helps himself to his spot.  Beside himself, he notices a curious individual, a woman, quite striking and dressed as a professional nurse; she seemed out of place among the rest of the air fare general public and yet...she had a certain air about her that seemed familiar and confident.  "Afternoon Miss,"  Paul nodded his head as he buckled his seat belt while starting up conversation with this person that had caught his interest..."Beautiful day, wouldn't you say? Are you on duty?"

Where she had been initially anxious about having a seat partner in this long flight, the cheerful nature of this well-dressed gentleman put her a bit more at ease. Returning the kind smile, she nodded. Her voice matched her smile, with that very faint hint of a native Italian accent. 

"I suppose you could say that. I'm on my way to a house call. The client is of particular importance, and pays well, so I don't mind the travel."

When he was buckled in, she offered her hand to shake his. 

"I am Ilaria. Are you from Chicago?" 

Paul returns the warm smile and friendly greeting as he clasps the hand of the woman beside him before raising it slightly. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance Ilaria, my name is Paul and yes, I am from the windy city.  It seems like we're both leaving on business as usual it just so happens... and it looks to be a long flight... I'm glad to have some sophisticated and pleasant company for it."  Never one to ignore of the attention of a beautiful woman Paul winks his left eye casually towards his aisle mate as he leans back in his seat and shuffles around in his jacket pocket for his pack of smokes. "Cigarette?  I know you're a nurse but I won't hold it against you."

"Oh, no, thank you. I'm more of a drinker, myself."

The engines of the plane roared to life, and a stewardess made one final pass through the cabin to make sure everyone was prepared for takeoff. Ilaria reluctantly took her medical bag from her lap and pushed it under her seat, but kept it securely between her feet. 

As the aircraft pushed back, she peeked out the window.

"One day, I'll have to visit Chicago. I've only been in the States for a month, and there are so many places I want to see. I hear people call it the windy city - what makes it so?" 

"A lady of the profession, I must say I should quit but there's something about the rush that keeps me smoking, although I'm never one to turn down a drink either."  Paul finds his pack of smokes and lights one up, taking a long drag in as he savors the enjoyment and liberty of the unrestricted public spaces.

"Apparently, from what I've been told, the city is called windy because the politicians there are full of hot air and it gusts all over the place causing mayhem...some people thrive on that atmosphere though and it is one that makes me feel quite at home."

Paul pauses for a moment as the aircraft takes off pushing them both back in their seats.  In the middle of the takeoff, he notices the bag between Ilaria's feet as it shuffles back and forth from the turbulence, a faint clinking noise can be heard from within as if to suggest the sound of bottles and test tubes colliding.   With interest, his eye's return to his neighbor whom, upon noticing his attention, proceeds to stow the bag more firmly underneath the seat in front of her in an immobile position.

"That's a lot of gear there for a nurse." He says hesitantly. "Are you delivering some supplies for the hospital you work for at the same time?"

In a somewhat fumbling attempt to gloss details, Ilaria deflects the subject of his question a bit.

"Actually, I own the clinic I work for in Philadelphia. It's a non-profit clinic that cares for the indigent population, fully funded by donations from local businesses."

The clinic truly was her baby, and she beamed as she spoke of it. To Ilaria, the clinics noble work more than made up for the much darker side. 

​​​​​​"But, as I said, this client is quite the opposite of indigent. He's a friend of one of my donors, and I'm just doing him a favor. Well, a personal favor with a generous tip."

She settled back in her seat a bit, crossing her legs at the knees.

"Might I ask what business you're in?" 

​​​

"Collections."  Paul states plainly as he takes a long final drag off his cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray beside himself.

"Also insurance sales, they go hand in hand.  Although I'm more involved in offering tiers of service and sometimes when a client fails to pay what's owed they might need some help in locating their assets before lengthy legal proceedings take place.  Basically, it's a time saver for all parties involved and stops things from getting too far drawn out."  Without wasting another moment he takes another cigarette out of his pack and lights up in chain smoking fashion before continuing. "It's a living." He says. "But quite lucrative if you have a high success rate with clients."

Some time passes and the two continue light conversation before they are interrupted by a stewardess offering beverage service prompting Paul to ask Ilaria, "Can I hand you something to drink?  Your work sounds quite fulfilling by the way."

Looking to the stewardess, Ilaria orders her usual.

"I would like an Old Fashioned with rye, marischino cherry instead of orange, please."

She waited as Paul made his drink order, then answered his observation. 

"It is very fulfilling, to me. When I came to America, I had dreams of going to medical school - because a woman can do anything in America. What I found was that a woman certainly can do anything, unless she's Italian. I got rejection after rejection from medical schools, and most alluded to my nationality as their reasoning. I soon learned that many Italian immigrants are marginalized and poor due to being refused good paying jobs. So, I put my educational plans on hold and opened a clinic where my people are welcome and can receive the care they need."

The stewardess returned and handed them the drinks. Ilaria swirled hers gently before taking a sip. 

​​​​​​"Well, I certainly didn't mean to talk your ear off. My father has always said I could carry both sides of a conversation with a stone."

​​​​​​

"Think nothing of it, it's refreshing actually to have a neighbor that can carry a conversation to make a flight more engaging."

Paul takes a sip from his scotch neat and wipes some residue from his mouth with the napkin provided before continuing. 

"Hearing your story tells of a deeply troubling aspect of our current society in which we live in.  It's unfortunate that prejudice flows so deeply through so many and manifests itself in all forms.  Paul's eyes dart around making sure no one is nearby before he continues talking  Although.... a prudent man would ask how your clinic is operating without you having attended a medical school of some sorts here in the states...but that would be rude and I don't wish to present myself in such a manner.  After all, we all have our secrets and work arounds for many things in the world we live right?....  And whom am I to judge a person I deem to be a kindred spirit when honestly, everyone is gaming the system in some form or another, especially here in the windy city" 

The two are interrupted once again mid conversation as the stewardess mentions they are about to land.  Paul hands the disposables to her and she makes her leave.

Ilaria felt her stomach knot a bit as he mentioned the American licensure. She had it, but it was fake - bought and paid for with a heafty amount of cash. But, Paul didn't seem to be the type to be terribly worried about that kind of detail. She smiled with relief as the stewardess collected the garbage. 

Within 20 minutes, they were on the ground at their gate. Ilaria held her single bag firmly in her hands as she and Paul walked up the jet bridge together. They shook hands again and exchanged pleasant goodbyes, and parted to go their separate ways.