by Theasa Tuohy
Jenny had made it quite clear that she didn’t like the idea of Laura following her around and writing about it. But was she so hostile she would leave her stranded in this one-horse town? Laura wasn’t sure. Just in case, she’d already asked the counter kid about the nearest hotel and where the train station was.
Laura bore down with her pencil, getting close to the end. She had finished with the details wormed out of Jenny about her flight from Kansas in the “stolen” plane, how she’d had to glide with no gas into Kansas City, her wheels just missing treetops and thumping a car on the road, and she’d described how the two of them had met at a deserted airfield here in Ponca City. Trying to cram such a complex set of circumstances onto these little telegram sheets wasn’t easy. Fortunately, Barnes had explained before she left that the entire story didn’t need to be written, just chunks of the new information. A rewrite man could quickly fill in from the wires all the background and any later developments.
She had to move it along. The others were waiting, not too patiently, in Clem’s car outside. If she dawdled, they’d come inside. Or worse yet, drive off without her. It felt like a fishbowl, this tiny office with its glass storefront and the yellow light burning against the dark outside. They were probably sitting out there in the car laughing. People always seemed to be hostile toward tabloid reporters. Including Laura’s mother, who felt it was hardly a poetic way to live. And Jenny had a special superior air, which Laura tried to ignore just as she had the snootiness of those rich girls at Barnard. She’d finally realized at school that she was wasting her time fretting about it since most of her classmates weren’t even aware of her existence, a day student who came and went from home on the subway.
Laura finished up her story with Roy’s firsthand account of the jumping death in Kansas and handed it to the vacant-eyed clerk. “It’s getting late,” he groused. “You want me to send all them pages?”
“Yes, please.” At least she wouldn’t have to deal with Barnes tonight, and who knew what good stories tomorrow would bring?
As she was digging in her purse for money, she glanced out the plate glass and saw Clem’s car pulling away from the curb. She dropped the stubby lead pencil she had laboriously been printing with and headed for the door. As she got to the street, she made a feeble wave and called out, “Wait.” Clearly it was pointless; she could see the big car’s taillights bobbing along a block away.
“Damn.” Laura stamped her foot. She looked down at what she’d stepped on, weeds growing up between the cracks in the sidewalk. “I’m stuck in this nowhere place,” she said aloud as she instinctively stooped down to pick a fluffy dandelion ball. They were a lucky charm, if you could blow all the seeds off at once, just like the candles on a birthday cake. She closed her eyes, took a mighty huff, and blew. “Please make them come back,” she said to the dark and empty street.
* * *
Clem, at the wheel, turned slightly to Jenny in the backseat. “Not sure I think this is very funny. That poor kid is going to be worried sick. It’s late. Where would she go?”
“She’s so wrapped up in her precious story, we’ll be back before she notices,” Jenny said. “I want to get ahold of John. He’ll be worried. No reason why her story needs to take priority over everything else.”
Roy, sitting in the front passenger seat, laughed. “Aw, Jenny, she’s a cute little thing. For some reason you seem to be jealous of that girl. I don’t know why.” He turned to her in the back, giving her a hard look. “Don’t like competition, do you? Used to holding center stage.”
“That’s ridiculous, and you know it. She’s just annoying. No manners, three suitcases, chasing me around, butting in. Good Lord, a hatbox!”
“So, here we are at my mother’s house,” Clem said as he pulled into the circular driveway of a sprawling, gabled two-story mansion. “You can run in and use the telephone, Jenny. We do need to get back though. That poor girl is probably already out looking for a hotel.”
As Jenny ran up the broad front steps, the porch light came on and a liveried butler opened the massive carved door.
* * *
Laura stood there watching the car disappear, her shoulders sagging, pondering her situation. What a strange bunch of reckless people. Clem didn’t seem to quite fit; he was even weirder—a tall, sunburned string bean, dressed in overalls and snap-button shirt, with warm brown eyes and a lopsided smile. When he laughed, only the left half of his mouth seemed to open up, giving one the feeling that the other half was reserving judgment or enjoying a private joke. And he drove the biggest, most expensive sedan Laura had ever seen, wood on the dashboard, leather seats. When she had inquired about it earlier, she’d been told it was a Pierce-Arrow. They had all laughed when she asked how to spell it. She didn’t even know if Clem lived here; they could be headed for another town. She squared her shoulders. Nothing for it except to go back, get the telegram sent, and then find a hotel.
As she opened her two-sided coin purse she saw with a sinking feeling how little money she had left. After folding out several crumpled bills for the clerk, she had exactly nine dollars and twenty-seven cents.
“What time do you open tomorrow?” She would have to come back here before she checked out of the hotel, and hope Barnes had wired her money.
The clerk informed her that he opened at seven, and that the Arcade Hotel was just down the street.
“Fine,” she said.
As she reached to pick up her bags, she let out a yelp. “Oh, good grief, I forgot! My bags are in that car. They’ve got to come back!”
The slack-jawed clerk came halfway to life with a startled look. “Someone done steal your bags?”
“Yes, those people who drove me here. Did you see them? Do you know them?” Laura couldn’t really hope that this dead-eyed fellow would know anything, but it was worth a try.
“Nope. And nope,” he replied, his Adam’s apple bobbing as though he’d just said something quite clever. He was probably delighted that he remembered there were two parts to the question, Laura thought.
“The man’s name is Clem, and he’s tall and thin and drives a huge brown-and-black car.” Laura spoke each word carefully and slowly, in the forlorn hope that would somehow help.
“That there’s Clem Donohue, he’s the city attorney. He ain’t gonna steal nuthin’.” The kid’s face brightened as though he’d passed still another test.
“City attorney?”
“Lady, I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to wait outside for your friends,” the clerk said. “You’ve already kept me way past my closing time.”
Now what? She didn’t dare go to the hotel and chance missing them. And surely they would return. No city official was going to steal her suitcases. Or was he? Maybe that explained the private smile. Can’t wait to get my hands on your hatbox, ma’am. Her imagination was turning nutty. Laura trudged outside to wait. The curbs were quite high, with something like a step up to the sidewalk. Easy for sitting. She looked around and noticed heavy metal rings in the concrete every few hundred feet. She chuckled as she caught on. Of course, high enough to easily get off a horse and a ring to tether it.
She sat for a while, hoping a car, a horse, anything would come by. It crossed her mind that she always felt left out—at home, at college, at work, sitting on a curb, waiting for . . . what? Someone to give her a lift? Love her? Let her in?
Her heart raced when she finally saw headlights coming her way.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ROADHOUSE
Clem was greeted as an old friend by the owner of the roadhouse as the four of them entered for dinner. Laura noticed right away that each table had setups: glasses and bottles of soda and ginger ale. Just slip a flask from a purse or coat pocket and you had a lively drink. It made her think of Chumley’s, a speakeasy a couple of blocks west of Christopher Square, near her home. She’d been there many a time as a kid, trailing along after Mother and one of her boyfriends. You found it by going through an innocent-looking courtya
rd off Barrow Street, or through an unmarked door around the corner on Bedford. When she got to high school, she was surprised to find that other students talked in excited whispers about sneaking off to Bedford Street as though it were some big thing. This place was certainly visible, neon sign out front.
Laura was still pondering the behavior of her new companions. Jenny had acted as though driving off and leaving her was nothing. Very breezy, she was. “Just had to make a phone call,” she’d said. When they’d driven up to retrieve Laura they were all smiles. Roy had gotten out of the car and moved to the back. Clem had patted the creamy brown leather of the passenger seat and said, “Sit here, little lady, and I’ll get you to some dinner in no time. You’ve had a long hard day.”
“To say the least,” was the only snideness Laura had allowed herself. She knew she was in hostile territory and had darn well better watch her step until she could get on a train. She certainly wasn’t going to ask what kind of phone call could have been so important to leave a stranger stranded on a dark street corner without her luggage.
Jenny and Roy had been chattering about flying and friends ever since.
“I’ve got commitments all around here for a two-plane show,” Roy said to Jenny as he sat down at their scarred table and poured from a pocket flask all in one fluid motion. “I really need you to come along.” He waved the flask in Jenny’s direction, but she shook her head.
“What nonsense. You know I can’t do that.”
Laura looked from one to the other, puzzled. This seemed to be continuation of a conversation she’d missed. Or was Jenny just refusing the booze? She couldn’t be sure she’d heard quite right over the noise of the player piano cranking out a cowboy song at the other end of the drafty barnlike room. But Roy didn’t add anything to the ginger ale in Jenny’s glass, so when he held the flask high in Laura’s direction, she took the cue and also shook her head.
A woman sporting badly dyed red hair, dressed in a black-and-red flouncy print dress, appeared with a pad and pencil in her hand. “We got chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes ’n’ gravy, or fried chicken with collards ’n’ biscuits. What’ll it be?”
Laura started to ask how you could fry a steak like a chicken, then thought better of it. She needed to get colorful details about this strange country, but decided to just rely on observation. She hated to appear stupid. Perhaps she would get a chance to see both of these culinary wonders. Fried chicken, okay, but collards? What in the world could that be?
The other three ordered chicken so Laura decided to be adventuresome and go with the so-called steak. At least she could rely on filling up with mashed potatoes.
“Come on, Jenny, you can do it,” Roy badgered. “It’s only a few days.”
Clem laughed, displaying his crooked half-smile. “You’re a persistent kind of fella. Never give up, do you?” It was difficult to believe he was some kind of public official. Laura had pondered that question as she watched him fling his cowboy hat on the backseat of his car before they’d gotten out to enter this rowdy joint. And that expensive car? None of this made any sense.
“What are you two talking about?” Laura could stand the guesswork no longer.
“Well, if it’s any of your business, James, the other pilot, dropped out on Roy,” Jenny said. “He was so upset about the jumper’s death he took his plane and went home, and his pal went with him.”
“The show I’ve promised is supposed to have two . . .” Roy stopped, squinted his eyes at Laura, then his face broke into a radiant smile. “Two! Of course! I need two planes. What could be better—two ladies in that second plane.” He placed his hand over Laura’s and squeezed. “Sweetheart, you would be perfect.”
“What?” There was indignation in Jenny’s voice and written all over her face. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Aw, sweet child, be a sport. It’s a great plan.” Roy was cajoling and smooth.
“I’m not a child. Damnit, Roy. All of you, my parents, John, everybody treats me like some kind of doll.”
Laura couldn’t believe what she was hearing. What a break, if she could ride around in an air show! But she feared Jenny would never agree. Laura looked across the table at Clem. His smile was noncommittal, but his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly, and he may have been shaking his head ever so slightly. She read him as, Keep out of it.
“You’re a flier, Jenny, and a darn good one.” Roy took a long swallow from his drink then set his glass back down with careful deliberation, never taking his eyes off Jenny’s face. “Go up there and show us what you can do.”
Laura let out her held breath slowly, fearing it would explode and slice through the heavy silent air hanging in the tiny table space separating the four of them. She looked again at Clem. A flicker of his eyes still said no. She picked up her knife and fork and cut furiously into the chicken-fried steak. “Amazing,” she said. “I guess it’s as advertised—shoe-leather meat with thick batter. But say, it’s tasty! Delicious, even.” Her voice ran down, she didn’t dare look at anyone or anything but her plate. “Milky cream gravy. Good.”
Jenny’s tinkly laugh erupted. Laura looked up to see her cock her head and smile at Roy. “My dear instructor, you’re always trying to force me into a challenge, aren’t you? Stunting with a greenhorn? What next—pressuring me again to try your precious outside loops that can yank you out of the cockpit or make you black out and crash?”
Roy turned solemn. “Sorry, no letup, Jenny. I’m serious, you’ve got to keep at it.”
Jenny heaved a sigh of resignation and looked at Laura, her eyebrows arched. “Do you think you could hold onto your breakfast tomorrow and keep yourself in the plane if we fly upside down?”
Laura opened her mouth but no words came out. No message of any kind was being transmitted. All neurons seemed to have shut down. Was she really being invited to join this bunch?
Jenny laughed. “Okay, I give up. I’ll call John back again and see if it’s all right with him.”
Finally Laura’s brain kicked into action—Jenny’s mysterious phone call was to someone named John. “Who’s John?” she asked.
“Oh lordy,” moaned Jenny. “Here we go again with the questions. He’s my husband. Anything else personal you want to nose into?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
SOOTHING MINT TEA
Laura lost no time, as soon as they were alone, probing Jenny about John. “Why are you married so young?” This wasn’t a reporter’s question, as far as she was concerned, just a human one. Hardly anyone of her adult acquaintance bothered with such formalities. Sure, she had discerned that most of her schoolmates had two-parent households, but she’d never been close enough with any of them to figure out why they were so different. Her mother’s friends all disdained what they termed the conventions. Jenny, with her frivolity, was no doubt conventional. “But you’re only eighteen,” Laura blurted out. “Surely . . .”
Jenny flashed with indignation. “I never heard of anyone who thought being married was strange. You’re too nosy for your own good.”
They were in a small dining nook off the grand hall of Clem’s mother’s home. Its walls a creamy off-white, with a hodgepodge of hand-painted French provincial and cozy flowered chintz, the room had an airy feel compared to the heavy furnishings throughout the rest of the antique-laden house. A Negro maid, wearing a white apron edged in lace with a matching frill in her hair, had just served them tiny cucumber sandwiches and tea from an ornate silver pot, despite the late hour and the fact that they’d already had dinner. Laura had asked earlier about staying at a hotel, but Clem had insisted it was much easier to stay at his mother’s.
Mrs. Donohue, a heavyset woman in flowing, multicolored garb with straight black hair pulled into a tight bun, had insisted they have some soothing mint tea before going to bed. “Now that I’m sure you girls are settled—Thomas has shown you your rooms and carried your luggage there—I’m going to excuse myself. You must have a lot to discuss from such a long, busy day.�
��
The woman had barely said good night when Laura went right back to her questions: “Is being married what keeps you from flying very much? I can see Roy tries to challenge you. You told me at the Powder Puff Derby that you hadn’t entered because it was too much work.”
Jenny’s voice rose: “I did not say that. You can see why no one ever wants to talk to reporters. I said that I just fly for fun. What in that sentence is so difficult to grasp? And why is it any of your business, anyway?” She banged her fragile Limoges cup back in its saucer with such a clang that Laura jumped.
“I don’t mean to upset you.” Laura’s tone was sincere and intense as she nibbled at one of the delicate sandwiches made of store-bought white bread with the crust cut off. “It’s just a curious thing that you seem so devil-may-care, so unafraid, and at the same time, you back off from everything.”
“I’m not afraid.” Jenny’s response was so loud and harsh, it seemed as though she had channeled someone else. After a deep, exasperated breath, her tinkly voice came back. But still, she bit down on the words. “I just am not interested in being away from home and hanging out with a bunch of women all the time working on airplane engines, which always need maintenance. My mother grouses at me whenever she sees me in pants. I like to go up and buzz around a bit, then go home and go dancing with my husband.”
For Jenny, this grilling was a variation on the same old refrain. Only the week before, her mother, pince-nez dangling across her lavaliere-strewn bosom, had suggested once again that a civic activity such as a seat on the library board would “settle you down. Running around all the time in riding breeches, really. My dear, you’re not fooling anyone. The neighbors all know you’re not on your way to the stables. They know we sold your thoroughbred when you neglected the poor thing and never rode it.”