I didn’t have to browse through purple velour, foam-filled neck pillows at a kiosk, because I’d finished my reading material, twice.

Welcome to private air travel.

Edgar was already onboard, and we sat side by side in what were basically honey-colored kidskin couches with seat belts, like deluxe baseball mitts for people, with Gerald and James a few acres away. The plane left at Edgar’s signal.

Louise is absolutely right: life isn’t fair, the rich are evil and my only defense is that I was being kidnapped.

A smiling, relaxed flight attendant offered us menus, angora blankets and a choice of warm cashews or—no, I stopped her right after the cashews and she said, “I’ll bring you a large bowl, and don’t hesitate to request refills.”

Edgar was observing this, entertained. “I should mention,” he told me, “that I find the use of this jet reprehensible and I’m advocating to end my family’s private travel entirely and to have this plane recommissioned for use in transporting medical services and emergency food supplies to nations in crisis.”

“I’m with you on that,” I said, but my words were garbled by my mouthful of cashews and my experimenting with the control panel, which governed a choice of first-run movies, a raised footrest and task lighting.

“But meanwhile, there’s something else I should bring up. There’s a private stateroom at the rear of the main cabin.”

We both nodded, like the gutter rats we were. We should be flying MRI machines, mosquito netting and surgical gowns to war-torn lands, but instead I followed Edgar down the aisle, passing Gerald, who was playing video rugby on his iPad, and James, who murmured, “Well, aren’t we the dirty little mile-high whores. Your Highness.”

We waved to Edgar’s security team, and Ian said, “I win the bet. It took the two of you under three minutes to head back there.”

“We’ll be viewing your activities on the stateroom monitors,” said Lucky, and then, “No we won’t. Unless there’s nothing on Hulu.”

“We’re glad you’re with us, Carter,” said Terry. “Unless we have to kill you.”

I called out to the flight attendant, “Extra cashews for everyone!”

The stateroom was small but still would’ve rented for many thousands of dollars as a New York studio apartment. There was a compact marble bathroom and a king-size (I didn’t say anything) bed, and the walls were padded silk embroidered with a repeat of the royal crest. Edgar shut the door behind us.