“I wish I could, but we’re so busy preparing for the next launch. I just don’t know if I could get the time off.”
“We can work around your schedule.”
“That’s very kind, but … maybe I could suggest another woman pilot?” Betty would be brilliant at this.
“Sure … it’s just that, well, my producer’s girl is kinda keen that it be you. I don’t need an answer right away, but think about it, eh?”
“Sure. Sure. I’ll think about it.” I would think of a way to say “no,” is what I would do.
* * *
The next couple of weeks were genuinely busy at work, which seemed to be a constant, so I hadn’t needed to lie much when Don called back a week later, just to see if I had any questions. I’d pretended to be too busy to talk—the launch, the fate of humanity, and all that—but he gave me his number so I could call back. I hadn’t. But life outside the IAC continued on.
After work, Myrtle and I hopped off the streetcar outside the Amish Market. It was midway between our apartments, and I liked the owners better than at the grocery closer to where Nathaniel and I lived.
“How long you think he’ll stay at work?” Myrtle jumped over a puddle to reach the sidewalk.
“Long enough for me to bake cookies and then go back for him?”
On the sidewalk near the bus stop, a homeless man sat with his knees drawn up in front of him. A little girl leaned against him, clutching a scrap of blanket. I steered over to them and dropped a dollar in his cup. Some might see it as extravagant for tzedakah, but Nathaniel and I could have been them.
Myrtle trailed after me, and I heard the rattle of coins hitting the cup before she caught up. “So we have enough time for talking.”
I pushed open the door to the market. “Not you, too.”
“What?” Her eyes were wide and innocent. “Just thinking we could have a girls’ night. Eugene’s on rotation out at the Edwards Air Force Base, so I’m at loose ends.”
“Mm-hm…” I picked up a shopping basket and nodded to Mr. Yoder, who ran the Amish Market. Even with his broad straw hat, his simple dark suit always put me in mind of the Hasidic Jews back home in D.C. Entire family lines of which had been wiped out by the Meteor. I dug in my purse to check my ration book. “Darn it, I’m out of stamps for meat.”
“You should go on Mr. Wizard.” She picked up a bunch of radishes and put them in her basket.
My heart started racing, just at the name of the show. It had been a mistake to tell the women in the computer department, but I thought they’d laugh. I hadn’t expected them to encourage me to go. In hindsight, that was stupid.
“You’re bringing it up just like that, no lead-in or sliding up to the subject?” The lettuce looked good, but we had some growing in the window box at the apartment. I hadn’t considered the orientation of the fire escape to the sun when we rented the place, but we’d gotten lucky. So long as one of us remembered to water the boxes, that is.
“Tried that. Girls’ night, remember? So…” She weighed a bunch of grapes in her hand but put it back, tsking at the price.
“I don’t know…” How could I explain that I panicked? In a way that made sense to her—or to anyone, really? Even me. “Are those tomatoes?”
Nestled among the greens was a box of pale-greenish orbs with only the barest blush of pink. It hadn’t been warm enough for tomatoes in ages. Sure, you could get greenhouse tomatoes from farther south, but they were almost always mealy and tasteless by the time they reached Kansas City.
Behind me, Mr. Yoder said, “We had some ripe ones earlier today, but they went fast.”
“That’s fine.” I picked up three of them and grinned at Myrtle. “Come over. I’ll treat you to fried green tomatoes, and you can make martinis and try to convince me to go on Mr. Wizard.”
SIXTEEN
PUNJAB FACES FOOD SHORTAGES
Special to The National Times.
KARACHI, Pakistan, June 26, 1956—Mian Mumtaz Daultana, chief minister of Punjab, Pakistan’s granary, has told the Legislative Assembly that Punjab will face an acute food shortage next year if the Meteor winter continues.
I hate vomiting, and this was the second time today. The taste of the morning’s coffee still clung to the back of my throat.
Goddamn it. I was going to have to fix my makeup again, after those nice women had taken such pains to make me presentable for the television cameras. What really angers me when my body betrays me like this—and I try to focus on the anger—is that I haven’t always been terrified of crowds.
But I can’t shake the memory of being in college and all those young men staring at me. And the mockery. The teasing. The … the hate. I could solve problems in my head that they couldn’t even do on paper, and the teachers, damn them, kept shoving that in their faces until I just wanted to quit and hide … but I was also my father’s daughter. He believed in me so thoroughly that I couldn’t shame him by not trying. And I still want my father to be proud of me, even though he and Mama have been gone for four years.
Let’s just say that I’ve learned how to vomit discreetly. And I still hate it.
Someone knocked on my dressing room door. “Mrs. York?”
I gripped the edge of the toilet as my stomach cramped again. Swallowing, I snatched a piece of toilet paper. “Just a minute.”
It took only a minute to blot my face and reapply a thick red layer of lipstick. As I walked to the door, I pinched my cheeks back into brightness. My hands were still shaking, but if I kept them by my side, it shouldn’t be too obvious. I had tried smoking in college so they’d have something to do, but it just made the shaking worse, and it tasted like a rocket fueled by a pigsty.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” My voice might have even sounded normal—if you didn’t know me. As it was, all breathy and low, I sounded more like Marilyn Monroe than myself.
The waiting assistant smiled over his clipboard. “Not a problem, Mrs. York.”
But he led me down the hall at a brisk clip toward the studio. My stomach cramped again.
3.1415926535897932384 …
At least Watch Mr. Wizard was a children’s show, so there wouldn’t be that many people watching. Only ninety-one stations. That was just two million viewers. Or more?
How could new studios have such poor air circulation? 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, 31, 37, 41 …
The soundstage was brilliantly lit. They’d given me a quick tour earlier, and the assistant now led me onto the fake back porch of Mr. Wizard’s house. 43, 47, 53, 59, 61, 67, 71 … This would just be a conversation with a man I knew from the war. If I didn’t think of him as Mr. Wizard—if I could remember him as Captain Don Herbert—I’d be okay. I just had to talk to him. Only him.
Beyond the door, someone said, “We’re live in five, four, three…”
Live broadcast is go.
Confirmed live broadcast.
I pressed my hand against my stomach and breathed through my mouth. Don was a good man, and there wasn’t a live audience. It would just be him and the child actor. Goddamn it. Why had I said yes?
The assistant—he’d had a name, I should know his name—held his clipboard and nodded to the stage. That was my cue.
Beyond the wall, Don was talking, waiting for me to walk through the door. I just had to open the door. The knob was right there. Get it together, Elma. If your father could see you, standing here trembling in the dark …
The assistant solved my problem by knocking on the door.
On the other side of the fake wall, Don said, “Come in.”
And then my mother’s voice sounded in my head. Shoulders back. Head up. You’re a young lady, not a camel.
Shoulders back, head up, I opened the door and walked onto the stage. Don was standing by a kitchen counter with his shirtsleeves rolled up. A young girl, no more than ten, stood at the counter with him, in a cherry red skirt and snug pink cardigan. Her glossy brown hair had been smoothed back from her face in ways that wouldn
’t have lasted five minutes when I was a child.
Don had a model airplane in his hands as I entered. “Well, look who’s here!” He set the plane down on the counter and turned to the little girl. “Rita, this is my friend Elma York.”
“How do you do, Mrs. York?”
He held up a finger. “Actually, you should call her Dr. York—she’s a doctor, but not a medical one.”
“Gee, really?”
My eyes stung a little. He hadn’t told me he was going to do that. “I suppose that’s right. I have doctorates in physics and mathematics from Stanford. But most people just call me Mrs. York.”
“Well, you’re Dr. York today, because I need your help with some physics.” He picked up the plane again. “I was just trying to explain aerodynamics to Rita, here.”
“I’d be happy to help with that.”
As I walked to the mark they had chalked on the floor for me, Mr. Wizard leaned down to Rita again. “You see, Dr. York is also a pilot.”
Rita smiled like a consummate child actress. “Keen! She’s the perfect person to help me understand how airplanes fly.”
“And rockets, too.” Mr. Wizard grinned. “But more on that later. For now … let’s look at the wing of an airplane.”
* * *
Nathaniel had my overnight bag in one hand as we walked up the stairs to our apartment. He swung it to the side when we passed the bottle blonde from 3B. She was tottering down the stairs in heels and bright red lipstick, which suggested a night out. She smiled at me. “Saw you on television last night.”
“Oh. Um.” I gripped the banister and smiled vaguely at her. Did you say thank you for that?
“I didn’t know you were so smart!” Her front teeth were stained with smoke, though God knew how she could afford both tobacco and rent.
“Thank you?”
Nathaniel took a step back down toward me. “I’d better get her home. She just got back from Chicago.”
“Chicago! That must have been something.”
I edged past her. “I hardly saw it at all. I went to the television studio and then straight home.”
Turning on the stairs to watch me, she clasped her hands together and just beamed. “To think, I know someone who’s been on television.”
Know me? We lived on the same hallway, but I had no idea what her name was. We just saw each other on the stairs sometimes. “I can hardly believe it myself.”
“What was it like?” She took a step up to follow me.
Nathaniel put a hand on my arm and sort of drew me to him. “Now, I’m sure you ladies could talk all night, but I haven’t seen my wife in two days. We’ll talk to you later?”
“Oh, sure!” She giggled. “That would be swell. Good night!”
With a “Good night” of our own, we escaped onto our floor. Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes at our neighbor. “Was I right that you needed an escape?”
“God, yes.” I kept my voice low, because sound could echo down the stairwell. “Do you know her name?”
He shook his head. “I was hoping you did. We’ll check her mailbox tomorrow. Tonight, though … I’ve missed you very much.”
“Likewise.” I leaned over to peck his cheek as he fumbled with the keys. “How shall I make up for being gone?”
“Hm…” He turned the key in the lock, and pushed the door open. “I was thinking more of ways to convince you to stay home.”
“It was just two nights. Can’t you—” The phone rang. “Bother.”
Nathaniel flicked the wall switch. It clicked. The room stayed dark. “Sorry—must have burned out.”
The phone jangled on the other side of the room. “Don’t worry about it.”
I made my way across our apartment, which really wasn’t that dark with the light from the hall and the city outside. A beam of orange sodium-vapor light fell across the phone as it rang again. “York residence. Elma York speaking.”
“Is this the famous Dr. Elma York?” My brother’s laugh conjured his face in the dark. The corners of his eyes always crinkled when he smiled.
“Oh, stop. No one calls me that.”
“Except for Mr. Wizard. Elma, you were great.”
Beaming, I wrapped the phone cord around my hand and sat on the sofa. “A compliment? You must be getting soft in your old age.”
“Well, I’d better get with the program. Look at you. I thought the newspaper clippings you sent were keen, but television? And Doris tells me you were in—what was that?” His wife said something in the background. “ Women’s Day. Mama and Pops would have been so proud of you.”
I wiped my eyes with the back of one hand. “Well, I almost threw up all over the set.”
“Couldn’t tell.” There was a little hesitation there, as if he wanted to ask something, but he just said, “You were great, really great. And your fan club starts here. Speaking of … there’s a fan who wants to talk to you.”
The phone rustled as he passed it to someone. Nathaniel was fumbling in the junk drawer, still in the dark. I stretched over to reach for the table lamp on the other side of the couch.
“Hello, Aunt Elma.” The sweet breathy sound of my niece’s voice filled the receiver.
“Rachel! How’s my favorite niece?” I pulled on the lamp’s chain, but it stayed dark. Like an idiot, I tried again. “Hang on, darling. Nathaniel? I think it’s the fuse.”
“Yeah. I’m trying to find the flashlight.”
“Oh—sorry. It’s at the airfield. The Shabbat candles are in the bottom drawer.” I returned to the phone. “Sorry, Rachel. I had to help Uncle Nathaniel find something.”
“Was Mr. Wizard nice?”
“He was very nice, sweetie. Did you watch the show?”
“I always watch Mr. Wizard, even before you were on, but I like you better than him.”
I laughed, tucking my feet up under me on the couch. In the front of the apartment, Nathaniel lit a candle and brought light to our tiny studio. I gave him a thumbs up and he grinned. “Well, you know me.”
“That’s not it. I thought I wanted to be a scientist like him, but I want to be an astronaut like you.”
“I’m not … I’m not an astronaut.” I racked my brain, trying to remember what I’d said on the show. “I’m just a pilot.”
“But you want to be an astronaut. And you’re a doctor. And Daddy says that you’re really smart and you can be anything you want to be and you’ll be an astronaut someday, so I want to be one too.”
Pressing my hand over my mouth did nothing to stop me from crying. “Your daddy says a lot of things. Wanting something isn’t enough by itself.”
“I know that.” Ah … the scorn of a nine-year-old. “You have to work hard, too. What do I need to do to be an astronaut?”
“Things you won’t necessarily like. Like … eating your vegetables, so you can be nice and strong. And doing all your math homework.”
“Now you sound like Daddy.”
I laughed. “You were the one who said you wanted to be an astronaut.”
“Well, I do.”
“And I do too.” The little girl on the show had also said she wanted to be an astronaut, which I thought was part of the script, but she’d said it again when we went off the air. I was too limp with relief to really reply, but I wished I had now. “So, you need to make a list of all the things you need to learn, and then start working, all right? Someday, you and I are going to be on Mars together.”
“Really?” Her voice grew muffled, and fabric rubbed against the phone. “Aunt Elma says we’re going to Mars together.”
I could hear Hershel laughing in the background, and then his voice was in my ear again. “Now I’m going to have to buy her model airplane parts.”
“I’ll mail her a kit for her birthday.”
“That’d be swell. Oh—say. Have you gotten the invitation for Tommy’s bar mitzvah?”
I stood, grabbing the phone by its base. “Hang on. Let me check.” This was one of the bene
fits of our tiny apartment. Not only did I have less to clean, but I could drag the phone across the room to the kitchen table and the cord would reach. “I was out of town the past two days.”
That was a good excuse, but the truth of the matter was that once we started working on the air show, I’d been ignoring the mail. And since then … well, I hadn’t anticipated any of this attention. Nathaniel was unscrewing a fuse from the box, but when he saw me, he lit another candle. I took it from him, cradling the phone between my head and shoulder.
There was a stack of mail in the table and I flipped through, looking for the envelope. By candlelight, it was almost romantic. Maybe when I got off the phone with Hershel, I’d suggest to Nathaniel that fixing the fuse could wait. “When is the bar mitzvah?”
“December 15th. Doris says to tell you that we’ve got the guest room all set for you.”
“That’s wonderful—” One of the envelopes was yellow. On the outside, in bright red ink, a stamp read OVERDUE. “Um … Hershel. May I call you back? Tell Tommy that we’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it.”
As we said our goodbyes and hung up, I wasn’t really listening. I’d torn open the envelope and had slid out the overdue bill inside. My stomach twisted as if I were about to address a crowd of thousands, but this time it was only an audience of one. I’d been so busy with the air show and interviews and television that I’d gotten behind on the bills.
“I … I forgot to pay the electric bill.”
The silence remained after my words vanished. Candlelight flickered on the table and I finally saw the rose standing in a vase on the table. At current prices, it was as if he’d bought me a dozen.
“Nathaniel … I’m so, so sorry.”
He left the fuse box hanging open. “Hey, you’ve had a lot on your mind. It’s all right.”
The stack of mail on the table all but glared at me. I had barely been cleaning the apartment, and now this. “I’ll go through the accounts tomorrow. Make sure I didn’t miss any others.”
“It’s all right.” He blew out his candle and walked around the table to me. “I’m just happy to have you home.”
The Calculating Stars Page 14