The next morning he was sipping hot coffee in a small diner. He had the latest edition of the Daily News open and was looking at the ‘want’ ads. Nothing caught his eye. He sat back in the booth and looked out the window. I have to find work, he thought. I have to look at this, as though I’m here for the rest of my life. He paused in his thoughts, it just might be for the rest of my life.”
The waitress came over with a pot of coffee. She tilted her head to his cup in a questioning way. John nodded and held up his almost-empty cup for her to refill. She moved on as he went over his options.
Hey, he thought. I’m a fairly intelligent guy. How do I make the best of this situation? How do I catch up with the world of 1937? How? he thought, by going to the library and reading current affairs in the newspapers and magazines.
Satisfied that he now had a plan, he finished his coffee, paid the five cents and walked out. He took the Seventh Avenue subway to Forty-Second Street, walked over to Fifth Avenue and stood before the twin lions guarding the New York Public Library.
How many times have I gone in here in the past? I mean, in the future, he thought, as he went up the steps. John looked around and had a case of deja vu. It was, as it will be, he thought, almost laughing at his own philosophical thinking. Oh well, onto the newspaper section, he thought as he went down a familiar aisle that had rows of computers set up in his time.
The time traveler read the papers from the previous two months right up until he got back to New York. He then went to the magazine section. Suddenly his eyes opened wide.
“AeroProPulsion Weekly magazine!” he said out loud. That’s the predecessor to my magazine, Aerospace Technology Weekly, he thought. He took a pile of issues over to his table and began to go through them. It’s almost like being back at work, he thought, as he read about the Japanese fighters over China, the Mitsubishi A5M fighter being the best at the time. It’s still aviation, only sixty-plus years earlier.
He sat back in the straight wooden chair. Heck, I can do this. I can write about what’s upcoming in aviation, he thought. He looked at the magazine’s masthead and wrote down the names of the editor-in-chief and the managing editor, noted the address was in the same place he worked, or would work in the future, nearby at Forty-First Street and Seventh Avenue.
He walked the few blocks to the building and took the elevator, which he noted was operated by a man, not a button, up to the thirty-ninth floor and opened the same door he had been opening for years in the future. The receptionist greeted him with a smile.
“Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?”
John gave his best smile and asked for Donald Holdz, the editor-in-chief.
“Is Mr. Holdz expecting you?” she asked.
John shook his head, “No, I just got in town.”
She spoke quietly into the mouthpiece of the big black telephone on her desk. She smiled as she hung up. “I’m sorry. Mr. Holdz is in a meeting.”
“Listen, just tell Mr. Holdz’s secretary that I know what type of fighter the Japanese are going to have in their inventory next,” John said firmly. “I’ll sit here and wait.” He picked up a current issue off the magazine and sat down.
The receptionist shrugged her shoulders and picked up the phone again. Whispering followed, and she cupped the mouthpiece as she looked up and said to John, “What type of fighter would that be, sir?
“Just tell her or him it’ll be a monoplane with retractable landing gear and an enclosed cockpit.”
Once again she spoke quietly into the phone again and then hung up. She smiled at John and said, “Mr. Holdz just came out of his meeting and will see you now, sir. His secretary will escort you in.”
The door behind her opened and a beautiful redhead with big green eyes walked out. She smiled and said, “Sir, will you follow me.”
John smiled back and answered, “Absolutely, Miss . . .?”
She glanced back at him and with a surprised look said, “Just MaryLu,” and stopped at a door with lettering on it stating, DONALD HOLDZ, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF. She motioned him through the open door, and John smiled again as he passed her.
He knocked once on the open door and a tall man with short brown hair looked at him over his eyeglasses from behind a desk covered with papers and memos. He wore a buttoned up vest and bow tie and held a column of copy in his hands with lots of red markings on it. Someone’s going to be making changes to their story soon, John thought.
Well, he thought as he glanced around, at least they got us new furniture.
The man looked back at the paperwork in his hand as he spoke. “So, you can tell me what type of aircraft the Japanese are going to have in their inventory next, Mr. . . . ?” He motioned to a chair and John sat down.
“John Brand and yes I can.”
Holdz put his work down and folded his hands. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you tell me this information? I mean, why not sell it to Time magazine, the Times or Washington Post? Why tell me?”
“Because,” John said as he sat forward, “I want a job with your magazine, Mr. Holdz.”
“Well Mr. Brand, I don’t just hand out jobs to any Tom, Dick and Harry who walks into my office with a scoop. Do you have a background in aviation writing?”
“I do. I actually just came back from Germany and did an interview with some government people about the Hindenburg.”
Holdz eyed him. “For what magazine or paper did you do it for?
Now it was John’s turn to sit back, and he went on. “Actually, Mr. Holdz, it was for me. I wanted to do a story on the differences between sailing on the steamship Reliance and flying on the Hindenburg.”
“And?” said Holdz, as he lit a half-smoked cigarette.
John answered, “Actually, they held me in their private offices until it flew off.”
“Into oblivion somewhere over the North Sea,” said Holdz. “So, tell me about this next Japanese fighter you seem to know so much about.”
“Well,” said John, feeling better in his own field, “as you know they are flying their Mitsubishi A5M fighter. It’s a little fixed-wheel and open cockpit, nimble aircraft. I believe the future of aviation is going to see the pilot in an enclosed cockpit. It’ll keep him out of the elements and give him less fatigue. Next, if you retract the landing gear, you clean up the wind resistance and get a faster aircraft that will also give it more range. Plus, it’s only natural for a proven fighter to be up-gunned in the next version.”
“But,” asked Holdz, “what makes you think it’ll be a Mitsubishi fighter aircraft and not a Nakajima?”
John shook his head. “Nakajima has proven itself as a bomber company, at least for now, but I believe Mitsubishi will be the aircraft to beat. They’ll put up a dash-six fighter next.”
The magazine editor shook his head in agreement. “You do know your aircraft, Mr. Brand. What about the German aircraft? Any good?”
John nodded. “Yes! Very good! Their Messerschmitt Me-109 is a winner. It should be their top aircraft for years to come in various versions.”
Holdz looked intently at him. “Brand, where do you come from? I mean, where did you work before coming here?”
“Just freelanced articles. And usually under another name.” John said. “My ex-boss in the telephone company didn’t like us freelancing. He thought we should be his alone because Ma Bell gave us our paychecks.”
Holdz nodded. “I know the type. Well, I’d love to read some of your work.” He sat back and looked over his glasses at John. “Something tells me to keep hold of you, Brand. Do you have any surprises that I should know about? Ex-wife going to come up and shoot you while we’re on deadline?”
John shook his head. “No! Promise. And I won’t do any freelancing while I’m at AeroProPulsion.” He raised his right hand. “Promise.”
“For fifteen dollars a week, Brand, I’ll start you out on something I’ve been thinking about: ‘The future foes and their aircraft.’ You give me possible and proba
ble future threats in aircraft programs around the globe and you’ve got a job. Sound good to you?”
John stood and put out his hand. “You won’t regret it, Mr. Holdz. I promise you.”
They shook hands as MaryLu tapped and opened the door. “Mr. Gibel on the phone, Mr. Holdz,” she said.
Holdz waved him out and reached for the phone. “MaryLu, will you set Brand up in Barry’s old office? He’s joining the staff.” He turned to John as he covered the mouthpiece. “See you at eight tomorrow morning, Brand. Welcome aboard.”
MaryLu showed John his office. It was two offices away from his old office in the future. He was elated and sad at the same time. I have to start over, he thought; I really have to watch what I say. I have to think very carefully before I say what might take place in the future.
That night he had his dinner again in Horn & Hardart. He then walked past The 1800 Club and stood there as he tried to send the message again. No go, he thought. Better face it. I’m here for the long haul.
Just then the interior door opened to the garden and the elderly man walked out among the flowers. Seeing John, he waved. “Good evening, young man. How are you feeling today?” he asked.
John waved back and waited as the man opened the gate. “I’m feeling much better. Thanks for the help yesterday. I appreciate it.”
“Get the room?” he asked.
“Yep. Got a nice one, but I’ve got to get a place I can cook in. They have too many rules there.”
“Yes,” said the gardener. “Like no burning the place down.” They both laughed.
John looked around the garden. “As I said, you do a beautiful job, sir.”
The man held out his hand. “Ben. I’m Ben Davis.”
John pumped his hand. “John Brand.” A low rumble made both men look up at the sky.
“Gonna rain soon,” said Ben. “That’ll be good for the flowers.”
“Good. Take away some of the humidity, too,” replied John. “I better get going. See you again, Ben,” he said as both men went their separate ways.
Two weeks went by fast. John was typing his story on a new typewriter as he tried to acclimate himself to the absence of his laptop computer. When the letters started getting lighter on the paper, John asked MaryLu what was wrong.
“New ribbon, dopey,” she said, as she flashed her green eyes at him.
John looked sheepish and thought; I really have to read up more on this time period.
To MaryLu it was just another confirmation that men were dolts. “Want me to thread it, too?” she asked with a deep sigh. John nodded vigorously. She rolled her eyes as he watched her thread the ribbon. Then she said, “Chocolate-covered cherries.”
John looked at her blankly. “Chocolate-covered cherries? What does that mean?”
“It means,” she said, finishing with the ribbon, “you have to buy me some chocolate-covered cherries for threading your typewriter. It’s how we keep you guys learning the new technology. If you have to buy us a treat for doing your dirty work, you’ll learn how to do it real fast.”
John smiled. “To show you how much I appreciate it, will you join me for dinner?”
She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Chocolate-covered cherries is all that’s required, not dinner.”
“Is that a no, then?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, that just means you could have escaped with a much cheaper lesson on typewriters. You can pick me up at eight tonight. I’ll be here at the office because I work late on Thursdays. It’ll save you a trip to Brooklyn. See you later.” She walked away, leaving John smiling.
That night they had dinner at Ho Ho’s Chinese restaurant on Delancey Street. John had eaten there often when it was FaWey’s Chinese restaurant in the future. He couldn’t help but notice that it looked the same then as it did now.
This is going to make me insane, he thought. I have to live totally in the present.
They both laughed when both fortune cookies read, ‘YOU ARE IN PLEASANT COMPANY.’ After dinner, they walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, a first for John. Looking back he sighed as he saw the low silhouette of Manhattan compared to the skyscrapers of his time.
MaryLu lived in the Red Hook section, and, once on the Brooklyn side, John hailed a taxi. Her apartment was by the waterfront on Dikeman Street, and she insisted that John have a cup of coffee before taking the subway back to New York City. They sat together companionably on her rooftop and watched the boat traffic enter New York harbor. Across the water they could see the world’s tallest building, the Empire State Building by the white light on the top and the glow of the Statue of Liberty’s torch.
Later, as John was on the train heading toward the city he thought, this was the first day since I’ve been in New York City of 1937 that I wasn’t looking to get back to my own time.
John and MaryLu saw a lot of one another during the cold winter of 1937. She helped him find an apartment in Brooklyn near Bartell Square where he had access to Prospect Park and the subway into the city. Across the street was the Sanders Movie Theater where they would go to see the latest movies, then a stroll through the park with breadcrumbs to feed the birds.
The Christmas holidays saw John in a down mood. He missed his friends and what was left of his family in the future. His work was going well, and the Friday before leaving for the holidays, Holdz called him into his office.
“Close the door, John. Have a seat,” he said.
“What’s up, Boss?”
“Ha! What’s up?” He grinned as he lit a half-smoked cigarette. “I love some of the things you say. You are certainly unique.” He sat forward and smiled. “John, I’m giving you a raise.”
John grinned and said, “Wow! Thanks Boss. I really didn’t expect that.”
“You deserve it. You knew the German Ju-52 transport had a military potential and as it turns out it’s been seen in military markings dropping paratroopers. Same thing for the Henkel, He-111 transports. You said it could easily be converted from an airliner to a bomber and it was. I just want to show you my appreciation.”
He looked at John with concern. “So, what’s up with you? You look down and out.”
“Just the holiday blues, that’s all.”
“If you want, take a few extra days off.”
“No, thanks anyway Boss. If I take time off, I get even more lonely.”
Holdz looked at him and said quietly, “Hey, it’s not my business, but did you and MaryLu break up or something?”
“Wha . . .? Oh, no. We’re just friends. That’s all,” John answered with a smile.
“Are you sure?” asked Holdz, as he puffed on the cigarette. “I mean, I think she thinks otherwise.”
John was stunned. “Do you think she thinks we’re an item?”
Holtz laughed. “Ha, I like that. ‘An item.’ You sure do come up with some great lines. And I think you two are an item. So does the whole office. Did you know she stopped going out with her boyfriend since you two became ‘friends.’ And John, yes, I also think MaryLu believes you two are an item. I’m not good at this, but don’t hurt her. She’s a good girl. Now get out of here and have a nice holiday.”
John left. It was snowing thick, wet flakes, and he was to meet MaryLu at her apartment for dinner. He wasn’t sure what to do in light of what Don had said. Down deep he knew MaryLu thought they were a couple. He just had pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. Too many complications to get serious, he thought. I might be going back to the future any day now and it wouldn’t be right for her.
He walked past the missing 1800 Club and stood in the snow for twenty minutes hoping Ben would come by. The garden had been trimmed back for the winter and was covered in a thick mantle of white snow. The birds and butterflies were gone and the pond was covered with a sheet of ice. He tried the communicator for the hundredth time and got the same response: Nothing. He felt alone. He went to Brooklyn and on the way to MaryLu’s apartment, the time traveler spotted a small bar with a wr
eath on the door and an almost snow-covered sign swinging in the wind: Packy’s Bar & Grill.
Well, it’ll get me out of the snow, he thought as he entered and kicked the accumulation of snow off his shoes. It was warm and the small crowd seemed cheerful as he shook the snow off his overcoat. The bartender asked, “What’ll it be, pal?”
Three hours later he stumbled through the shin-deep snow and knocked on MaryLu’s door. She opened it and he saw she was angry. He smiled as much as his numb face muscles would let him.
“I thought you were coming over at seven?” she said. “It’s after ten.”
John nodded. “Well, I really was . . . but then I got into a conversation with . . . with Jack . . .”
“Jack? Jack who?” she wanted to know.
John squinted at her and said, “Jack Cassidy! He’s a great guy. Understands lots of things. He’s the bartender at Packys on Van Brunt Street. Jush three blocks from here.” He looked at her through half-closed eyes and said, “Wanna go there?”
MaryLu crossed her arms and said with annoyance. “No, I do not want to go there.” She pointed to the couch, “Go sit there. Now!”
John was shocked into submission. “Yes, okay,” he said as he sat on the couch. She took off his wet shoes and put them on top of an oil burner that heated the living room. She brought him hot coffee and made him drink it as she sat next to him.
“John Brand.” she said in a low tone as she fluffed up his wet, matted down hair. “What am I going to do with you?”
He looked at her and smiled crookedly. “You got to be nice to me,” he slurred, “I’m down.”
She took his cup. “You’re down?” she said softly. ”Why? You can tell me. What’s the problem?”
He looked at her as though he had just seen her. “I like you, MaryLu, that’s what the problem is, I like you.”
She looked at him and her eyes softened. “And I like you too, John. Now, what’s the problem?”
Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club, Book II Page 12