Flygirl

by R. D. Kardon

  He took his time grabbing his stuff from the cockpit, only half-listening to Zorn, who went on and on about the Gulfstream’s crippled pressurization system.

  Ross was the designated pilot-in-command on the aborted trip, so he took the opportunity to poke at Zorn a bit. “Hey man, you wanna take the coffee pots back in?”

  For a second, Zorn looked like he’d refuse. But he grunted a little and did it anyway.

  The Astral was parked outside the hangar, its engines spooling down at high frequency. Ross headed toward the plane with his fingers in his ears as the huge intake fans slowed. He opened the airplane door from the outside as soon as it was safe.

  Tris was upfront finishing shutdown items. As captain, it was Basson’s job to walk the passenger off of the airplane, and Ross ducked into the cockpit to let them pass by. Basson shot him a quizzical look, wondering why Ross was there and not on his scheduled flight.

  “Hey, Tris,” Ross said casually.

  “Hey. What happened? I thought you were headed to Jackson Hole.”

  “Mechanical. Pressurization system.”

  “Bummer. I love Wyoming. That would have been a great trip.”

  Ross nodded. “Yeah, well, I’m happy to get some extra time off.”

  Tris usually wore what he thought of as the ‘lady pilot’ version of a tie—that thing that looked like a bow tie but crossed over itself. Today, she wore a man’s tie with a caricature of a dogsled on it.

  “What’s that about?” Ross pointed at her tie.

  “The Iditarod, of course!” She flashed a wide smile. “Hey, I have a thing about dog sleds.”

  Ross chuckled. She sure had her own style.

  She stowed the checklist and turned around in her seat. “Hey, Larry. Can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I see you and Deter have an extended Europe trip in the Astral coming up. Basson told me you guys call it the ‘Ball Buster.’”

  “Yeah. It sucks. We’re dreading it,” Ross told her. “Nine cities, ten days, two Atlantic crossings, no relief crew. A busy, multi-leg trip with only one long overnight to relax and kick back. It’s a working trip, for sure. And we’ve both been to all of the stops, so nothing new for us.”

  “I’d love to do that trip, to learn international procedures,” Tris said. “I’ll need some international experience to upgrade to captain.” Then she looked away like there was something more on her mind.

  “And?” Ross asked.

  “Well, do you think there would be any…uh…problem if I asked Zorn if I could go?”

  “Oh. Did Basson tell you about, uh, what we discussed?” It was just as well. If anyone needed to worry, it was Ross, especially after his recent blowup with Devon. But he would love to have Tris on the trip with him and Deter. He’d just tell Devon that he didn’t set the schedule. If the company put him on a trip to Europe for ten days with Tris, Devon would just have to live with it.

  “Tris, I don’t think they’ll go for having you as a co-pilot. But I’m PIC on that trip. I think I might be able to talk Zorn into letting you go as an observer. Would you be ok with that, if you didn’t do any flying?”

  “No flying?”

  Ross shook his head. “One of the passengers is Willett’s boss. Zorn’ll want two captains upfront. But I think he’d be ok with it as a training trip on international procedures. I can ask him. You have a valid passport, right?”

  “I do.”

  “Ok. Let me see. Well, wait. I guess I have to ask Deter first, as a courtesy. He’s the other captain on the trip, and you’re his student, after all.” Sarcasm slid from his words.

  “Of course. I totally get it. I really appreciate it. I’d just like to go.”

  “All right. Let me see what I can do. I gotta go make sure the Gulfstream is buttoned up. And then head home. I better call my wife and give her the head’s up.” Devon wasn’t expecting him back for another two days.

  “Great. Thanks again. Nice to see you.” She turned away to complete some chore.

  Halfway down the airstairs, Ross stopped and leaned back in to catch a final glimpse of Tris. Her tie was fastened in a perfect Windsor. She’d tied one for a guy before. Or someone tied it for her.

  He had to admit, the thought made him a little jealous.

  Ross pulled into his driveway a little after ten. The big engine under the hood of his Cutlass popped in the cool night air, the sound overcome by some creature rustling through his hedges. A couple of patches of snow from a crazy late winter storm clung to his lawn.

  Ross noticed that the lights were out in the living room. Strange. When he called from the airport, Devon had said she was watching a movie. They didn’t have TVs in any of the bedrooms. Maybe the movie was over.

  He knew better than to expect dinner. She wouldn’t cook for him this late at night. He had stopped at Burger King and wolfed down his Whopper and fries in the car. Ross would make sure to brush his teeth before he went to kiss Devon or she’d complain he stunk of fast food.

  He turned the key in the lock and stepped into a quiet house. Light peeked out from underneath the closed bedroom door. Ross turned the handle, hopefully.

  “Hey,” he said. Devon lay in bed under the covers reading a romance novel. Every book Devon bought at the grocery store had a picture of a half-naked woman dramatically embracing a muscular guy on the cover. Sometimes they wore leather, but mostly those old-world costumes that always made him think of damsels in distress.

  “What’s up? Are you sick?”

  Devon pulled the covers up to her chin. “Huh? Oh, hi. No. Of course not. Just reading.”

  “Where’s James?” There was no sign of him. Odd for a school night.

  “He’s sleeping over at Paul’s. They’re working on a school project together, so I gave him permission. His mom will drive them to school in the morning.”

  “Does he know my trip was canceled? I can pick him up from school tomorrow.” Ross always wished he had more time to be with James anywhere, doing anything.

  Devon never took her eyes off the book. “Paul’s mom will bring him home tomorrow after basketball practice.”

  “Great, Dev. So, let me change and get washed up. I’ll hop in and join you.” They could take advantage of a rare kid-free night.

  Devon’s eyes never left her book. “I’m just going to finish this chapter and go to sleep. Good night, Larry.”

  That was her code for “I’ll be asleep by the time you get to bed.” Shit. He needed some release, and with James at a sleepover, this would have been a perfect opportunity.

  He should have known she’d still be pissed. Some neighbor, he had no idea which one, told Devon he had come home one night “with a strange woman” when she and James were in Montana. He tried to tell her it was nothing, just a co-worker driving him home from O’Slattery’s after he’d had too much to drink. Ross wasn’t sure which set Devon off more—a woman driving him home, or the drinking.

  He turned and walked back toward the kitchen, slowly loosening his belt. No reason to hurry and get washed up. He grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and heard the inevitable inquiry within seconds after the tab opener snapped.

  “What’s that?” Devon called out.

  He wished they had a bigger house, so the kitchen wouldn’t be so close to the bedroom. “Just having a beer. Want one?” That would get to her.

  “No, I don’t want one, Larry, and I don’t know why you do. I thought we only kept it in the fridge for company?”

  “You stopped having a beer now and then. Not me. I still don’t know what your problem is with it.”

  “Well, I don’t like you drinking around James. It upsets him.”

  “James isn’t here and won’t be back until tomorrow, like you just said.” The bedroom light clicked off. She was probably lying there in the dark seething.

  He grabbed his beer and walked through the sliding glass door to their backyard. It was dark, but he kept the outside lights off. Ross imagin
ed the list of his numerous failures his wife cataloged in her head. He unzipped his pants, stuck his right hand inside, and gave himself the welcome home he’d hoped for from Devon.

  Twenty-Seven

  DETER THREW THE door to the pilot area open; it banged against the stop and slammed closed. Damn, I need to stop doing that.

  From the minute he woke in the morning, made coffee, and almost burned his toast, right up until the second he pressed the garage door opener, he was angry. Angry that he had to go to the airport four hours before his show time; angry that he had to attend yet another pilot meeting. What could it possibly be about this time?

  Basson and Ross stood over the flight-planning desk laughing at computer-simulated fire evacuation training. Ross was wearing the yellow hood pilots donned to keep from inhaling smoke. Basson joked that he looked like an alien. Deter didn’t see what was so funny—although Ross did look like an alien.

  When they saw Deter, they stopped laughing. Ross pulled off the hood. His face was red and he coughed a bit while he caught his breath.

  Deter inhaled. “Larry, hello.” After a beat, he continued. “Ok, what’s going on? You guys know what this is about?”

  “Training, I think,” Ross replied.

  “Right. So that’s why I’m here four hours before show time. Whose training?” he barked but got no reply. Ross and Basson had walked away.

  Deter grabbed some fresh coffee and after a minute or two, headed into the stock closet with a Styrofoam cup in his hand, steam rising from the top. He looked over the snacks and began his standard internal dialogue: should he, or should he not, grab some M&M’s? Seconds later, he was back at his desk, ripping the bag open.

  Zorn appeared in the pilot area wearing khakis, a golf shirt, and his best I’m-just-one-of-the-boys grin. Like he wasn’t the boss.

  “Whassup, Big Ed?” Zorn asked Deter.

  “Well, here I am. What can I do for you?” He was in no mood for levity.

  Zorn launched right into his agenda. “I want to go over the training schedule.”

  Ross and Basson walked back into the pilot area. Ross munched on Pringles and Basson held a can of Coke.

  “So, guys, how’s she doing? For real?” Zorn nodded toward Tris’s empty cubicle.

  Ross and Basson looked at each other, then at him. No one spoke for several seconds.

  “Look, it’s just like I’ve been telling you in my trip reports,” Deter said, referring to the three or four comments he’d jot down on every trip manifest he returned to Ann-Marie for filing. “She’s fine. She’s as good as she can be without school. My big problem is that she seems to think she’s upgrading to captain when—I should say if—she passes her type rating check ride.”

  Zorn shook his head. “No, she won’t be flying as captain even after she gets qualified,” he said. “I want her to have at least five hundred hours in the Astral before she upgrades.”

  Seconds passed as Deter watched Ross, and even Basson shoot covert looks at each other. The girl probably told all of them she expected to be a captain after training. She’d certainly told him enough times.

  Ross finally spoke up. “Does she know that? Does she know that she won’t fly as PIC from the left seat every other leg?”

  “Well, she’d better,” Zorn’s responded. “That’s just common sense. She has, what, a hundred hours in type?”

  Deter nodded. This was going his way. No need to say another word. Once Zorn had spoken, whatever topic had been on the table was closed.

  “Well, now hang on a minute,” Ross chimed in. “Why would you hold her back if she passes her training? Every captain has to start somewhere. We all did. And she’ll always be flying with one of us. No shortage of experience here.” Ross waved his hand around the room in a rainbow pattern.

  Deter was truly surprised. No one questioned Zorn. Although, he had to admit, if anyone could, it was Ross. And Ross liked her. He could tell.

  “Well, she needs more experience. And speaking of that,” Zorn said as he looked from Ross to Deter, “you guys want me to send her to Europe with you, right?”

  Deter expected him to mention this and nodded. He wanted to take a mechanic with them in case something broke, but he’d settle for her to help with the scut work.

  “Yeah, let’s see how she does on the Ball Buster,” Zorn said. “That’ll give a good indication of how far along she is dealing with the passengers anyway. I’ve scheduled a tentative date for her training about a week after that trip ends. That should work.”

  Zorn turned and started to walk back to his office. Deter couldn’t believe it. Not a word about the Gulfstream.

  “Hey,” Deter called after Zorn, trying to catch up to him in the hallway. He tugged Zorn’s arm unintentionally.

  “Easy, man. What’s up?” Zorn backed away a couple of steps, brushed his arm off and gave Deter an icy look.

  “Sorry. Hey, can we go in your office?” Deter didn’t want to get into it with Zorn out in the open. Zorn led the way into his office and closed the door.

  “Ok. What?”

  “So, we got her training out of the way. What about mine?”

  Zorn shot him a look that would still a thundering herd of buffalo. “When she was hired, I told you we’d work on your training when she was ready to go. Isn’t that what I said?” Zorn spoke slowly, enunciating his words as though Deter was a child. Deter’s Adam’s apple slid up and down as he swallowed hard.

  “She must be ‘ready to go.’ You just said you were sending her to training.” Deter couldn’t stop himself.

  “Well, she’s going to need at least five hundred hours in type before she upgrades. When you move to the Gulfstream, we lose a captain on the Astral. Until she’s ready to take your spot, we have to keep you on it full-time.”

  “That wasn’t the deal, Brian. That was not our deal.”

  “But that’s the way it’s going to be,” Zorn said and waved his hand at Deter. “Ok, I have a ton of paperwork to do. Thanks, you’re doing a great job with her.”

  “Fuck that. I’m going to Willett.” Deter looked through the glass at Willett’s dark office.

  “Go ahead,” Zorn said without looking up. “Knock yourself out.” He hesitated for a second, just long enough, before continuing. “But the chief pilot does the training schedule.” He looked Deter right in the eye. “And I’m the chief pilot.”

  Deter stormed straight to the snack room. A few seconds later, he ripped open another bag of M&M’s. The tearing sound was the only noise complementing the roar of thrust reversers and screech of brakes from aircraft landing on Exeter’s runway Two-Four-Right, just yards away from the Tetrix hangar.

  Twenty-Eight

  WHEN TRIS OPENED the door to the pilot area, Ross, Deter, and Basson all looked at her like she’d caught them stealing. At this point, Tris had become used to having conversations halt the second she walked in. But this felt different. Before the silence, she had heard someone say “RJ,” the name of their long-lost colleague.

  “You’re early.” Deter said.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Uh, nothing,” Ross put his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground in that way children do when they have something to hide. After years in the classroom, Tris easily recognized the response.

  Something was up. Ross bolted toward the reception area and Basson practically sprinted to the hangar, waving some publications and telling her to “have a good trip.” Deter sat reading Michael Crichton’s Disclosure, which Tris had coincidentally finished a couple weeks before.

  “Hey, Ed. You enjoying that?” Tris pointed at the paperback. At least she and Deter had books in common. He never asked about her master’s in English Lit, but when they flew together, he was always particularly interested in what she was reading.

  Deter gave her an odd look. “It’s great,” he said, “a real page-turner.”

  “Yeah, I thought so, too.” Like moving cement bricks to get this guy to talk about anything. />
  Tris was just about to roll her bag out to the Astral when Zorn popped his head into the pilot area.

  “Hi, Tris. Got a minute?”

  “Sure. Your office?”

  “Yup.” She followed him and closed the door behind her.

  “Ok, let me review this with you. I want to make sure we are clear on where we are and what happens next.” Zorn kept it professional, superficial. He looked distracted, like he needed to get past the conversation to move on to something actually important. Tris looked behind Zorn to the parking lot; the sky had darkened since she arrived. Rain was in the forecast.

  “First of all, congratulations. The guys unanimously recom-mended you for training. So we have a tentative date for you in Dallas.” He looked down at a calendar on his desk. “You’ll be gone for about two weeks. Ann-Marie will give you the details.”

  “One week of systems, then sim training, then a check ride, right?”

  “Yes. Exactly. Thanks,” Zorn said as he picked up the receiver on his desk phone and started punching in numbers. Their meeting was over. No questions, comments, or discussion expected or invited. She got the message.

  Tris left Zorn’s office, practically crashing into Ann-Marie.

  “Oh,” Ann-Marie said as she stopped short to avoid the collision. “I was looking for you.” She waved Tris over to her desk and handed her the itinerary for her training in Dallas. As Tris was about to head back to the pilot area, Ann-Marie stopped her.

  “Hey. Tris. Looks like you’re riding the jump seat to Europe with Deter and Ross.”

  “Seriously? That’s great!”

  “It’s a ten-day trip. And you’re considered part of the crew.” It sounded like a warning.

  “Thanks, Ann-Marie. I understand.”

  “Don’t thank me. Ross asked Zorn. That’s who said yes. Thank him.” Ann-Marie nodded in Zorn’s direction.

  Tris folded her arms on top of the reception desk and leaned toward Ann-Marie. “So, what can you tell me about the Ball Buster? Anything I should know?” Tris had quickly learned that Ann-Marie had a lot of good information and occasionally shared it.