by R. D. Kardon
Zorn had said she was good-looking, but Ross rated her as just average. Light brown hair, brown eyes. Zorn’s report on the size of her tits was right on, though. Impressive.
What really struck him, he had to admit, was the way she looked him directly in the eye. Ross didn’t look anyone in the eye unless absolutely necessary. Outside of the cockpit, he didn’t want anyone to know what he was thinking. She seemed straight up. Maybe she’d be direct, say what was on her mind. It would be a refreshing change from Devon, who wanted him to be a mind reader.
Ross sat in the car for a few minutes after he pulled into his custom-built driveway, which Devon designed herself. He wanted just a little bit of peace before he had to attend to his never-ending honey-do list. Other than the time he spent with his son, his life was all about doing what Devon asked, bringing money home, and watching it sail out the door. Eventually, he pulled himself into the marble entryway of his home. For a smallish three bedroom house, his wife had managed to spend a fortune refurbishing it.
First thing he did was walk to the kitchen and grab an Old Milwaukee from the fridge. He downed it while standing up, opened another, and took it to the den.
The stack of credit card bills lay exactly where he left them that morning on his desk. Saks: $3,322.00. Just two visits. Lord and Taylor: $541.93. One visit. The same day as one of the visits to Saks. Devon must not have had a hair appointment, aerobics class or any of her other usual distractions that day.
Out the window, he saw their lush garden and imagined Devon there, framed by their white roses and blue lilacs. He visualized her perfect profile. She still had the same blonde hair and dark-skinned good looks he had fallen for so long ago. In moments of total honesty, he admitted her seemingly effortless beauty was the main reason he married her.
No, no, that wasn’t true. Her looks were a big part of it, of course. The two of them were also a lot alike and once wanted the same things. Each enjoyed travel and horseback riding at her daddy’s Montana ranch, and spending time on Ross’s father’s farm. They also both grew up in traditional families where mom stayed at home and dad worked hard to support them. He and Devon dreamed of two large American cars in the garage, breakfast and dinner around a common table, and a son, daughter, and dog.
He tried to support her in style. “Happy wife, happy life,” his father always said. But Ross was a pilot, not a rich rancher like her daddy. No nine-to-five. No family dinner every night. Only one child. A small house. At least we have the dog, Ross thought as he reached down to scratch his beagle’s head. Ross made more money than he ever expected to and he really hit the jackpot for a pilot who didn’t go to college and wasn’t in the airlines. But it still wasn’t enough for Devon.
Ross had been a pilot with Tetrix for almost eight years. And every year the money got better, the schedule easier. Every time his salary went up or he received a ten-thousand dollar bonus, Devon nagged him about a bigger house or a newer car. And Ross became less and less satisfied with his life.
Thinking about his marriage depressed him, so he re-focused on that new girl. We’ll see how long she lasts. He had told Zorn that pairing her with Deter for training was just like putting a detonator on a pile of that powder stuff they’d use on the farm to loosen the hardpan.
Zorn had shrugged it off, but Ross wondered just how long it would take before Deter got under her skin—or she got under his, which would be far worse. He knew how mean Deter could be. Oh well. Not his problem.
Just then, he heard the refrigerator door open and close. “Hello, son,” he called toward the thing he loved most in the world.
“Hi, Dad. Homework, right?”
“Right.”
James was safely home. Ross returned to Devon’s credit card bills. Later, he could tell by the scent of hairspray and perfume that wafted all the way to the back of their house that she was home. She popped her head in to say hello on her way to their bedroom. As he expected, her hair looked pretty much the same as it had that morning.
Twelve
TETRIX CAPTAIN ED Deter bubbled just a few degrees below his boiling point when he arrived at the hangar. He hurled the entrance door to the pilot area against the stop and blocked it with his body as it flew closed. Zorn had scheduled a training session for him with the new hire, so he had to cancel his tennis game to trudge to the airport.
Deter grumbled and shook his head when he found the pilot area empty. He threw his briefcase in his cube and stomped over to ask Ann-Marie where the Fucking New Guy was.
“She’s in the hangar. In the Astral, I think. She’s been here for an hour.” Ann-Marie glanced over at the clock. Deter was late for the training session.
“Well, go get her, will you?” Before Ann-Marie could respond, Deter turned toward the coffee machine. He filled a Styrofoam cup and went to grab a bag of Chips Ahoy! from the stockroom.
Just two days ago, he’d arrived for an Astral flight when Willett and Zorn ushered him into a meeting. He assumed he was finally getting a training date on the Gulfstream. They’d had the aircraft a year and he was the only Tetrix pilot who didn’t fly it. It was time. He deserved to captain the company’s most powerful jet.
Deter squeezed his stocky frame into the tiny guest chair in Zorn’s office and found himself wrapped in a taut, uncomfortable hug. He brought up the subject before either boss had a chance to speak.
“So, when am I going to school on the Gulfstream? That’s what we’re here to talk about, right?”
Both Willett and Zorn bested Deter in the middle-aged-man hair competition. Zorn had a full head of it, mostly gray, and Willett a few wisps on top. At 52, Deter was completely bald. He still considered himself in better shape than either younger man. At least he worked out every day.
“Well, yes, it’s indirectly about the G-IV.” Zorn cleared his throat before he went on. “But first, we have great news! We hired Patricia Miles as a new co-pilot on the Astral. As the lead captain on the Astral, we want you to do her in-house training.”
Deter rose like lava spurting from an erupting volcano. His chair stuck to him, so he dropped back down with a thud.
“Look, Brian… Man, wait a minute. This isn’t what I signed up for. No way, not even close.” He grappled for composure. He quickly tried to marshal every logical argument he could think of why he should not have to train this girl. He told them not to hire her in the first place. Her flight time was too low. She’d never flown a jet. And now he was supposed to train her? Oh hell no.
Zorn continued as if Deter hadn’t even spoken. “I need you to do it, Commander,” his reference to Deter’s naval rank beyond patronizing. “You’ll be able to make sure she meets our standards on the Astral. No one knows that airplane better than you.” Zorn made it sound like an exotic treat with a small bonus tossed his way. But it was just a shit sundae, even if it came with a cherry on top.
Then Willett made it worse. “She seems motivated. She’ll be a good soldier.”
Deter bristled at the image of woman as soldiers. He hadn’t warmed to this concept even when the military rescinded the Risk Rule to allow women in combat. Soldiers and pilots relied on each other for their lives. He hadn’t met a woman yet whose hands he’d put his life into.
A female pilot in the Astral was more than just a bad idea. It dredged up bad memories, like when he lost his first chance at the command of a squadron. “Sorry,” his CO had said. “We need more women officers at the top.” He never forgot his CO’s words. As he played them back in his mind, the voice he heard sounded just like Zorn’s.
“Why aren’t you just bringing Dicky on?” Dicky Lord was an ex-army buddy of Willett’s who also applied for the job. “He’s a hardworking guy who needs a break. He’ll be just as motivated and he’s already captain-qualified on a jet.” Deter wouldn’t mind training Dicky.
“Ed, Dicky’s flying a Crustacean,” Zorn said, referring to the standard put-down of Dicky’s current airplane, the slow-moving Citation Jet. “It’s not a whole lot fas
ter than that turboprop Patricia flies. Look, the next time we have a vacancy, Dicky’s our number one choice. We decided to try something different this time.”
Screw it. “Then I want a training date on the Gulfstream.”
“Can’t give you one.” Willett responded this time. He had the final say. There was nothing left to discuss. It was done.
And now here Deter sat, at his desk with no trip to fly and a baby co-pilot to train.
He heard a female voice that wasn’t Ann-Marie’s. Within seconds, a slender girl in a loose top with brown hair stuck her hand out. “Hi. I’m Tris Miles. Nice to meet you.” Tris? He thought her name was Patricia. Shouldn’t her nickname be Patty or Trish or something?
“Right.” Deter barely pressed her hand, then pulled a ground school outline he’d pirated from FlightSafety out of his bag. “Meet me in the conference room.” He nodded toward the room with an oblong conference table and floor-to-ceiling window walls.
She brought her Astral manuals into the room with her and looked small behind the imposing stack. There was a pen and notebook on the table in front of her.
He walked in and handed her a single photocopied page. “Read this. Tell me when you’re finished.” Deter reclined in one of the leather conference chairs.
“Sure.”
He’d barely opened the tennis magazine he’d brought to read when she said she was done.
“Ok, then. We have a flight to Asheville coming up. Come a few minutes early. I’ll show you the pre-flight.” He rose to leave, almost making it to the door.
“So, uh, do you have a few minutes to answer some questions? I’ve looked at the manuals, and maybe you can give me some details.”
Deter’s mouth opened, his jaw almost on his chest. How the hell did she already have questions? She hadn’t even observed a flight in the Astral yet. He chuckled, sat back down in a chair by the door and slouched.
“All right, sure. What the heck.”
She asked a question or two about pressurization. Why in the world would she want to talk about that right now? Who gave a shit? Ask about the trips, the overnights, the passengers, company procedures.
Deter started out marginally interested, then slid past neutral to irritated. Before long, he looked up at the clock on the wall.
“Are we done?” He was abrupt, maybe even rude. He didn’t care.
She gave him a tight smile. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Ok. See ya.” He looked back up at the clock. Maybe he could play tennis today after all.
Thirteen
“WHAT TIME IS it?” Tris giggled as she and Bron wrestled with the door to the Exeter crew room. They had just brought in the last flight of the day for Clear Sky, a maintenance trip with no passengers. She caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. 3:15 a.m. There wasn’t even a lineman out on the ramp to help them park.
Bron grabbed her around the waist and pressed his lips against her. He could barely wait for the two of them to move clumsily through the crew room door and fall on the couch. They couldn’t take their hands off one another. With the lights out, they rolled around on the well-worn furniture as one. Each tore off the other’s clothes. Tris moved on top, but they finished with Bron looking down at her from above.
“Nice flight, First Officer Miles,” he joked. She punched his shoulder lightly and pulled him toward her.
“Thank you, Captain,” she answered, pretending to salute. “Thanks for skipping the coffee and tea, and going straight for meeeeee!” They laughed as only two exhausted pilots could. But Tris was every bit as happy as she was tired.
Tris had allowed herself to daydream. Freight and check haulers parked their planes and headed to crash pads to grab some sleep before that night’s late run. Heat plumes rose from Citations, Hawkers, Falcons, and Challengers parked on the ramp, ready to take executives east for early meetings. Tris loved the airport at oh-dark-thirty, as the aviation world moved from night to light. She looked at her watch. 4:05 a.m.
“Early bird, eh?” An overnight ramper called to her as he walked out onto the tarmac.
“Yeah, I guess. Just getting ready to launch. Out and back to Asheville.”
“Have fun.”
She checked her watch in an exaggerated motion to emphasize how early it was.
“Yup! Livin’ the dream!”
The ramper smiled. “Cool. Safe flight.” He flashed her a peace sign.
She and the ramper hadn’t met before, but their connection through aviation was real and immediate. It was like running into another American while traveling in a non-English-speaking country. The bond you shared was the common language, the culture. Aviation—its talk, its rituals, its traditions—wound people together whose paths might otherwise have never crossed.
The Astral shone in the hangar’s overhead fluorescent light as if a detailing crew had waxed it just a few minutes before. She checked her watch again. 4:10 a.m. Still no sign of Deter nor Ross. Her eyes darted back and forth to the hangar entrance; she wanted to get started.
Her first meeting with Deter last week was, well, disappointing. Deter had shown up late, and while she hadn’t been sure what to expect physically, the stocky bald man who seemed to walk sideways was not it.
Their discussion wasn’t like any training session she’d ever had. It lasted only a few minutes. Deter shoved an ersatz-printed outline of ground instruction subjects at her and told her to read it. It was a fuzzy copy of a formal training syllabus he must have gotten during one of his trips to FlightSafety in Dallas. She looked it over while he read a magazine and sipped his black coffee.
Tris was so excited to talk about systems and prepared a list of questions. He answered one or two, then started to tap his fingers on his knee, which popped up and down like a jackhammer. Tris figured training was over, so she tried to be friendly.
“So, Ed, did you see Law & Order last night?” Popular TV shows were a tried and true conversation starter.
“Yes.” Tap-tap-tap.
“Yeah, it was a good one.”
Yawn.
“Where do you live?”
“Avon,” he said, referring to the upper-middle class bedroom community on the outskirts of Exeter County only an hour from where she was raised in Pittston.
“How long is the drive to the airport?”
“Forty minutes usually. It always seems longer when I have to come in on a non-flying day.”
Then Deter looked at the clock, stood up, and left.
And now, ready to observe her first flight in the Astral, here she sat right on time. Deter was late again.
With nothing else to do and no one to instruct her, Tris walked around the plane, following the diagram in the training manual. She chuckled at what she must look like: the rookie standing with the cumbersome loose-leaf book in her hand.
Her review complete, she headed up to the cockpit. Tris wanted to touch the complex system of buttons and switches arranged above the pilot seats, feel their response to her fingertips. But she knew she shouldn’t. It was her airplane, yet she knew nothing more about it than what a few manual pages told her.
Tris was about to head back to her desk when she saw Deter standing at the foot of the Astral’s airstairs.
“Just getting a look?” he said, amused.
“Hi! Yeah, wanted to get a jump on things.”
Deter shook his head, turned around, and walked back through the mechanics’ area toward the office.
“And a very good morning to you, too,” Tris muttered, heard only by the moon making its daily descent below the horizon.
Fourteen
AS THE SUN finally lit the sky, Tris went looking for Ross. She found him in the pilot area feeding trip data into the flight-planning computer.
At the push of a button, a complex program would send an optimized route directly to the Astral’s navigation system via satellite. When the autopilot was engaged, the aircraft could practically fly itself to their destination. “PFM,” her commuter buddies would
say. Pure Fucking Magic. Or Patricia Frances Miles, she’d remind them with a smile.
Ross heard her come in and turned around.
“Hey. First trip, eh? Excited?”
“Yes.” She smiled broadly. “Anything I can do to help you?”
“No. This is pretty basic. Just relax and enjoy it.”
Relax. Sure.
Tris reached deep into her purse and pulled out a wad of tissue paper. Folded inside was a set of silver Air Force wings that Diana had given to her. Tris worshipped Diana, the instructor who had taught her how to fly. When Tris earned her Flight Instructor ratings, Diana presented the wings to her.
“Just passing them on,” Diana had said. Diana flew as a captain now on a 727 based in Europe for a freight carrier. Tris missed her mentor and wished Diana spent more time visiting in the US. With the time difference and the high cost of international long-distance, they barely spoke anymore.
Tris pushed the pin on the back of the wings into the fabric partition separating her cube from the one she faced. They were a prized possession. The size of a tiepin, they symbolized perseverance, dedication, and friendship.
The wings firmly in place, Tris walked over to grab the nav-igation chart books they needed for the trip. Ross had already pulled them and handed the stack to Tris to put in the aircraft.
“Thanks. Nice to have something to do,” she said, and grabbed the materials. She passed Deter on her way back out to the Astral.
“I’ll meet you in the aircraft,” he said, walking toward the men’s room.
In the cockpit as she waited, Tris took a deep breath and inhaled what she always thought of as the smell of flight: the unique mixture of hydraulic fluid and unburned fuel, with traces of exhaust from outside the airplane and cleaning fluids inside. The scent carried her to the airport whenever she caught a whiff of it. She smiled when non-aviation people wrinkled their noses. They just didn’t understand.
The Astral’s gear suddenly compressed and Deter appeared behind her.