“Afternoon, ladies.” Fred Short held out his hands to take their suitcases. “Have a nice flight? I have to admit I was surprised when Dick said to meet you at the airport. Not many people get to fly these days, which is a real shame.”
“I guess we got lucky,” Genie said quickly before Lavinia could say something incriminating. “And thank you for picking us up, Mr. Short. I’m Genie Baker, and this is Lavinia Schmidt.”
“Nice to meet you both,” he said with an easy smile.
“Charity says we also have you to thank for getting us interviews for tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am. I owed Dick a favor for getting me hired as a stunt pilot back in the thirties. Maybe he felt sorry for an old gimp like me.”
“Or maybe he recognized a great pilot when he saw one.” Charity gave her uncle a playful punch in the arm. Genie’s eyes widened in shock, but Mr. Short seemed unperturbed.
“In any case,” her uncle went on, “it was a lucky break. More lucrative than crop-dusting, and a heck of a lot more fun. Told him if he ever needed something in return to let me know. Didn’t expect it would be so easy as picking up a pair of pretty girls from the airport,” he said with a wink.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Charity said as her uncle limped around to the back of the sedan with the suitcases. “Uncle Frank is something of a legend in the Valley. He’s so good, Vultee has him test out all their new designs.”
“Not all of them.” He opened the trunk and set the suitcases inside. “Only the ones they think might crash.”
“Which scares my grandmother to no end,” Charity whispered to them as her uncle made his way back to the driver’s side. “Just last month he had to put a plane down in an orchard because the engine seized up. He’s lucky to be alive.”
Mr. Short paused on his way into the driver’s seat and narrowed his eyes at his niece. “Luck has nothing to do with it, missy. It’s skill and practice, and don’t you forget it.”
“Yes, sir.” Charity rolled her eyes as she opened the door for Lavinia. While Genie waited her turn, she was reminded of something Ted had said about flying and luck. Except he had said it was better to be lucky than good. Zhenzhu would have agreed. Luck was everything in China. Still, Genie liked the idea of overcoming bad luck with skill. It was much more optimistic.
Mr. Short started the engine and pulled out into traffic. He glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Genie’s eye.
“That was a right nice photo of you in the newspaper a couple of weeks back. Is it true you met General Chiang?” he asked.
“I was in the papers?” she asked, startled.
“Forget the general,” Charity butted in, stars in her eyes. “I want to know about the Flying Tigers. Were they dreamy? No, forget that . . . of course they were.”
“I only met a few,” she said, belatedly recalling the photo Dick had taken of her in Cape Town and the attendant article. How long ago that day seemed. And the dinner with the Chiangs? Ancient history. “And the Generalissimo and his wife were very nice. Very polite.”
“The Flying Tigers are my heroes,” Charity said. “They and Amelia Earhart. I wonder if they’ll ever find her.”
“You don’t think they will?” Genie asked carefully, still not sure who this Amelia person was and not wanting to admit as much. Not when she so desperately wanted to make a good first impression on Charity and her uncle.
Charity leaned forward, her blue eyes intense. “I hope so, but I think the Japs got her. I think she was flying over them, taking photographs for the government, and got shot down.”
“Or more likely,” her uncle said in a drawl so very much like Ted’s it made her heart hurt a little, “she got lost, ran out of fuel, and crashed into the ocean. You ever been flying out of sight of land, Miss Charity? It ain’t easy.”
“How could I?” Charity sat back with a huff. “Florence has forbidden me from flying more than two nautical miles from the coast. At least until I get my license.”
“Well, good for Flo.”
“Wait, you’re a pilot, too?” Genie tried to wrap her head around the idea. “They let women fly?”
“Well, of course, silly! You aren’t one of those kooks who think Amelia is really a young man in drag, are you? And what about Louise Thaden or Blanche Noyes or Jackie Cochran, all winners of the Bendix Trophy for air racing?” A smug smile twisted Charity’s red lips. “Beat those men, fair and square.”
“You should tell her about the flying program Vultee’s got for its employees,” Mr. Short said over his shoulder.
Charity’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, yes! We definitely could use more lady pilots to show those men what’s what. If you want, I can get you two pamphlets tomorrow when we go to the plant.”
“Not for me,” Lavinia said sourly. “If I never go up in another airplane, it will be too soon.”
“The flight was a little rough today,” Genie agreed soothingly, but her mind was otherwise occupied. The possibility of becoming a pilot had never occurred to her. Men were the ones who worked on and with machines. Men were the ones who drove cars, who commanded ships, who flew airplanes . . . and yet Charity said she was learning to fly.
“Well, there’s no need to decide anything today,” Mr. Short assured them. “Mrs. Schmidt looks like she’s fading fast. Now Dick didn’t get a chance to tell me a whole lot, on account of it being a bad connection. Will Mr. Schmidt be joining you ladies?”
“Mr. Schmidt is dead.” The ice in Lavinia’s tone should have rendered the conversation just as deceased, but Mr. Short seemed to have missed it.
His glance in the rearview mirror was sympathetic. “The war?”
Lavinia nodded stiffly.
“Well, that explains a lot. Dick can’t resist playing hero for damsels in distress,” Mr. Short said, his attention returning to the road.
Exhaustion swamped Genie as they drove. She tried to pay attention as Charity chattered on about the weather and the places they were passing, but her thoughts kept returning to the fact that she was finally here. She had made it to California in spite of all the trials and tragedies the war had thrown at her. She still needed to find her aunt to finish the journey, but the bulk of it was done.
Still, her relief was tinged with regret, and no little sorrow, for the one person who hadn’t made it. His absence in the car became all the more conspicuous as Charity peppered them with questions and Lavinia never once mentioned her engagement, or even his name. It was as if Nathan had simply ceased to exist for her, his love erased. An unwanted body committed to the cold embrace of the ocean, with no grave to acknowledge his time spent upon the earth. No way for his loved ones, wherever they might be, to pay their respects.
It wasn’t right. Common decency demanded that he at least have a memorial marker erected somewhere. Chinese tradition demanded it, too. Though she would deny any belief in ghosts if asked, she was enough a child of China to worry about Nathan’s angry spirit—especially since they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Let the Lord keep his third of Nathan’s soul, and the ocean her third.
Genie would have to talk to Lavinia about getting a gravestone made for him here in LA to safely anchor the last third. Just in case her father was wrong and Nathan wasn’t entirely in heaven. Because the last thing she needed was to be haunted by a vengeful spirit. She had enough challenges already.
Chapter 29
The next afternoon, Genie kicked off the slightly too small pumps Charity had loaned her for the interview and groaned with relief. As she leaned back on the couch in Dick’s apartment, the deep glow of accomplishment that had simmered inside her the whole bus ride home from the plant blossomed, and she found herself grinning like a little child.
I did it. She was officially a secretary at Vultee Consolidated, due to start in two days’ time. Later she could panic about not knowing how to type or take shorthand, but not now. Besides, Charity had assured her both skills would be easy enough to learn. For the moment Mr. Winston—or Skip,
which was how all the office girls referred to him—had been happy enough that she could read and write in Chinese. Vultee didn’t do a lot of business with China, but enough that the recent loss of their in-house translator to the draft had caused concern.
She rolled her head to the side, careful not to dislodge the pins holding her snood, and watched Lavinia put away the groceries.
“If you want to leave that for later, I’ll do it,” Genie offered half-heartedly.
“No, that’s fine. You paid, so I’ll put them away.” Her friend paused with a bag of onions in her hand as she decided where she wanted to store them. “Do you find it odd that there is a complete lack of food in the cabinets?”
“Likely Dick didn’t want anything to spoil in his absence. He does travel a lot.”
Lavinia shot her a skeptical look. “Rice doesn’t spoil. Neither does flour or salt.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like to cook?”
Lavinia opened a cabinet and put the onions inside. “Well, he obviously likes to drink. Too bad neither one of us does. There’s enough alcohol in this apartment to float an entire navy.”
Too exhausted to think of a snappy reply, Genie rolled her head back and closed her eyes. It was true that there were some things about Dick’s apartment that weren’t quite as she had expected. Nothing was hung on the walls. No photographs or knickknacks cluttered the small tabletops, which not only struck her as impersonal but also odd, given his profession and his travels. Then there was the record player in a beautifully carved wood cabinet stuffed with leather albums filled with records, but not a single book in the entire apartment. Not even a magazine or outdated newspaper, which struck her as even more curious than the lack of food, given his collection of printed news onboard ship.
“Scoot over.”
Her eyes snapped open as she straightened. “I’m sorry. This is your bed, and here I am lounging all over it.”
“I don’t want to sleep, silly. I just want to sit down.”
Genie moved to the far cushion. Lavinia collapsed onto the couch and sighed deeply.
“We did it,” Lavinia said proudly, echoing Genie’s earlier thoughts. “We are officially employed and capable of living on our own.”
“You don’t mind working by yourself on the factory line?” The question had bothered her all day, despite Lavinia’s insistence that Genie pick which position she wanted to apply for.
“I’ll hardly be alone.” Her friend sounded amused, if a little tired. “And to be honest, I feel the same way about answering telephones as you do about handling a wrench. Besides, the pay is better on the line.”
“I just feel like I’m abandoning you . . .”
“You’re doing no such thing.” Lavinia reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m grateful to even be here. Without you, I’d either be on the streets of New York trying to sell myself or dead. So as far as I’m concerned, anything you say from here on out is fine with me.”
“You would not be dead,” Genie said sharply, unsettled and more than a little upset by her friend’s casual mention of it. “I wish you would stop saying such things.”
Lavinia released Genie’s hand. “Nevertheless, I am in your debt.”
“At least take the bed, and let me sleep on the couch.”
Her friend sighed. “We already discussed this . . .”
“How about we share the bed?” she continued gamely. “There’s plenty of room.”
Lavinia sprang to her feet and went to the window. “The couch is fine. How many times do I have to tell you before you believe me?”
“When you convince me that sleeping on the couch isn’t you punishing yourself for Nathan’s death.”
“I’m not. It’s just . . . I haven’t been sleeping well. So it’s best that I stay out here, where I won’t wake you.” The bleak expression in Lavinia’s eyes broke Genie’s heart. Abruptly, her friend turned and walked into the bedroom. “Do you think Mr. Pelton would mind if I took one of his towels to the beach?”
“You’re not coming with me to Chinatown?” she asked, still not feeling right about having the bed to herself, but it was also clear her friend was done discussing the matter.
Lavinia reappeared with a beach bag and towel in her arms. “Since I don’t have the same fond memories of the Orient that you do, I’d rather not. And also unlike you, I find being near water soothing.”
Genie eyed her dubiously. “Isn’t it a little cold for swimming? It can’t be much over sixty degrees out there.”
“I’m not going in the water.” Lavinia stuffed the towel into the bag. “For one, I don’t have a swimsuit, though that’s going to be one of the first things I buy when I save up enough money. And for another, it’s only March, so the water is likely freezing.”
Genie shivered in disgust. “Freezing or not, I can’t imagine ever wanting to swim in the ocean. I’d much rather fly over it.”
“I saw you brought home a pamphlet on flight lessons.” Lavinia set the bag on the small metal dinette table and picked up the paper in question. “Are you really going to do it?”
“Absolutely. As soon as I figure out our money situation.”
Her friend glanced at her. “Can I ask why? It’s awfully expensive, and it’s not like you’ll be able to do anything with it.”
“That’s not true. You heard Charity yesterday. Women can fly in air races and across country—”
“But not as a job. Didn’t you notice on our plant tour that there wasn’t a single female pilot waiting to ferry a plane?”
“Maybe we just missed them,” she said stubbornly.
“Maybe, but that still doesn’t explain why you want to learn.”
A plethora of emotions whirled up inside her, choking off her ability to speak. How to explain the rush she felt when the plane left the ground? And the awe she felt as it climbed into the sky, past cloud and peak? It was impossible, so she opted for something more concrete. “Remember how you said you almost made it out before the Japanese attack but didn’t because there weren’t enough pilots? Well, what if there had been one more? What if it had been someone like me?”
“Marcus wouldn’t have flown with a female pilot,” Lavinia said flatly. “And I said there weren’t enough planes.”
“Planes require pilots. And would he still have refused if he had known the consequences of staying behind?”
Lavinia’s hand fisted around the pamphlet in silent distress, but Genie didn’t back down. Her friend’s tale of how people had been stranded and then slaughtered by the enemy because there hadn’t been enough flights out had left an indelible mark on her soul.
Lavinia’s gaze dropped to the papers on the table as she took a deep breath. “Likely not.” Her fingers trembled as she replaced the pamphlet and began smoothing it out. Then she picked up the newspaper clipping Charity had given Genie. It was the article Dick had submitted right before they had left Cape Town. “This is a nice photo of you and Bess. I’m surprised Kitty wasn’t in it. She was there, wasn’t she?”
“She was,” Genie said carefully, aware they were venturing into yet another minefield. “But I think she was afraid my poor sartorial choices might have ruined her reputation for fashion.”
As she had hoped—no, prayed—Lavinia smiled. But it was tinged with sadness.
“Funny. I never worried about such things on the boat.” Lavinia touched the photograph softly, as if to reach the person who was just out of sight. “How backward and gauche I must have appeared. And how ironic that she’s not here to see how far I’ve come.”
Genie didn’t know how to respond. It was true that her friend looked utterly modern this afternoon, with her hacked-off hair now lying in artfully trimmed curls that gave her an avant-garde, almost doll-like appearance. The clothes she had borrowed from Charity’s friend, since Charity herself was closer to Genie’s height, showed off her trim figure. And the spark of hope that lit her blue eyes more often than not these past few days had driven the shadows from her pixi
e face.
And yet despite the outward improvement, Genie wondered how much her friend had healed on the inside. So much had happened since the beginning of the year, loss upon loss piling up, culminating in Nathan’s death not fifteen days ago. Of course, if her own feelings were any guide, perhaps the latter calamity hadn’t fully hit Lavinia yet.
Even though Genie knew Nathan was dead, had watched his body being swallowed by the sea, it still didn’t feel quite real. It was as if her mind couldn’t quite wrap itself around the fact. Part of her truly expected Nathan to reappear as if nothing had happened, ready to take charge of their lives again. It only followed that if she couldn’t quite get over how surreal the whole thing felt, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what her friend was feeling.
“Are you sure you don’t want to leave the beach for another day?” she asked as Lavinia put all the papers into a neat pile again. “It’d be nice to have some company.”
Lavinia looked up. “If you don’t want to go by yourself, just say so.”
“What?” she said, startled. “No. I was thinking of you. That maybe you didn’t want to be alone.”
Lavinia sighed. “Genie, it’s all right. We’ve been shepherded all of our lives, never going anywhere by ourselves. Of course you don’t want to go to Chinatown alone. It’s something women like us were never allowed to do. Yet one of the things I most admired about Ki—Miss Van Nuys—was that she had traveled around the globe solo, and she had never given it a second thought. Such independence! No men telling her what to do. No women tagging along like nursemaids. I was so envious. Actually, I still am.
“The way I see it,” Lavinia went on, giving Genie no chance to respond. “This would be a good test of us both. I’ll go to the beach while you go to Chinatown. And we won’t let our fear of being alone stop us. After all, other people go places alone all the time.”
“I’m not afraid of being—” she began and then stopped, surprised by the small fluttering of anxiety in her stomach. Could Lavinia be right? In truth, she couldn’t actually think of a time when she had gone someplace new without someone else going with her.
A Girl Divided Page 28