Susan Shaw, a mid-forties airline Flight Attendant
Susan Shaw, a mid-forties airline Flight Attendant, is being financially blackmailed by another flight attendant (“hostess”). Susan must pay her a monthly stipend to buy her silence. The women share a townhouse (“stew’s nest”) in Arlington, Virginia. In addition to the monthly funds transfer, Susan must endure the humiliation of lighting the other woman’s cigarettes, mixing her drinks, and pretending to laugh at her jokes. Begin the story with Susan’s blackmailer reminding her her payment is due in a few days.
“Just a little reminder, Susan,” said Denise, her voice a smooth, honeyed drawl that somehow managed to carry a venomous sting. “The rent for the stew’s nest is due next week. Don’t forget.”
Susan stifled a groan, her hand clenching around the coffee cup. She was used to the reminder, the little barb in Denise’s tone. They’d been roommates, friends, for years, ever since they both started at Delta. But their relationship had descended into a twisted, grotesque dance of power and humiliation ever since that one night at the airport bar.
A night that Denise had, quite conveniently, “forgotten”.
Denise had been the epitome of a “stewardess,” a glamorous, confident woman who radiated the air of a flight attendant who’d never once had a drink spilled on her uniform. Susan, on the other hand, had always been the quiet one, the one who knew how to keep her head down and get the job done. The one who never sought attention.
And yet, in the murky haze of shared drinks and laughter, Susan had dared to break free from her usual confines. She had let loose, let her guard down, and the result was a disastrous, blurry mess that ended with her waking up in a hotel room with Denise’s head in her lap and a strong, unwelcome suspicion that they’d crossed a line.
Denise, the epitome of professionalism, had played it cool, dismissing the entire incident with a nonchalant, “Oh, Susan, you were just so sweet last night. You were like a mother hen.”
Except, that was a lie.
The truth was, Susan had a secret. A secret Denise had used, with a chilling efficiency, to turn the tables. A secret that now had her living in a perpetual state of fear and humiliation.
Susan knew that a simple phone call to Delta HR would expose Denise’s true nature. But the fear of losing her job, her career, her entire life, was simply too overwhelming.
So, Susan paid. Every month. It wasn’t just the rent that Denise extorted from her. It was the endless stream of small, humiliating requests. “Susan, darling, could you light my cigarette?” “Susan, honey, could you just mix my drink, please?”
And Susan, the woman who’d once dreamt of flight and adventure, now found herself living a life of constant fear, fueled by a toxic cocktail of guilt, shame, and the paralyzing terror of exposure. Every laugh, every smile, every shared meal, was a meticulously constructed façade, a performance for an audience of one. An audience that held her future hostage, her life hanging precariously on a thread of silence.
