Queen of Hearts

by Sheryl Wright

The damn woman was still grinning. “Fine. How hard can it be?”

  “Right on, right on, sugar bear. Now get your feet up on the pedals. Some folks would call these rudder pedals, but I am here to correct them. These things control the tail rotor. Just rest your feet on them, and I’ll show you. Press this one in, and the tail rotor speeds up and turns us this way. Press the other, and it slows down, and the corkscrew effect of the main rotors twists us in the opposite direction. Okay, you give it a try.”

  Erin did and immediately grinned to see she was making the helicopter face away from the direction they were moving. “We’re facing more away, but we’re still going in the same direction.”

  “Smart observation.” Under her feet, she could feel KC turn the nose back in alignment. “Helicopters are truly different than airplanes. Okay. Put your right hand on the stick. Yep, that one between your legs. I know, only guys would design a machine where a guy has to check to be sure he has the cyclic in his hand and not something else. Go ahead and move it a bit. How’s it feel?”

  “A little disgusting now that you’ve got me thinking about men and their other stick.”

  That comment made KC roar. “You have no idea,” she lamented. “Okay, put your left hand on the collective. That’s it, that one on your left. Now hold the cyclic steady, yeah, that center one and pull, slowly, pull the collective up a bit.”

  She did so and was shocked a moment later to realize they were climbing. “Oh my God we’re going up! I thought you had to pull the cycl—stick thing back to climb up?”

  “Cyclic,” KC offered gently. “As I said, it’s a completely different way to fly.” She stopped Erin’s climb and set her up for the approach to Glendennon Castle. “Okay. Can you see the school grounds?”

  She looked around and realized, belatedly, that pretty much everywhere she could see was a part of the Castle grounds. There was no missing the place. “Got it.”

  “Great. Now keep your eyes on the front driveway. That’s where Ally will land and where we’re going to film. Now just follow me through on the controls. It’ll give you a feel for how she behaves.”

  “She?”

  “Of course. You don’t think something this complicated could be male, do you?”

  There was a fierceness in KC’s voice that made her proud. Below her feet, she could see the mounted camera through the clear Plexiglas panel. It was turning, and it took a moment for her to register that the guys in the back were filming Ally’s approach and landing ahead of them. They made a few passes overhead, finally hovering several hundred feet from where the Huey had landed. Allyson did not shut down her engine, hovering closer to where the next group of women were waiting before setting her skids down. Two PAs wearing fluorescent safety vests escorted the women below the spinning rotor and into the open helicopter. “That must be Pam,” Erin noted, watching as a tall, leggy woman opened the pilot’s door and climbed in front with ease.

  “Don’t tell me you’re a fan?”

  “What?” The question confused her.

  “A fan of good old Pam’s.” KC’s tone was so neutral, it was hard to imagine what she was thinking.

  “I… Yes, I’m in her group. Is that a problem?”

  KC just grinned at her response. “Hardly. I love old Pammy. But I’m curious to hear what you see in her?”

  “I…”

  “Hornet, Big Bird is light in the skids.”

  “Big Bird, you’re all clear. Hornet is on your seven at one hundred feet. We’ll copy your ascent and hold your nine o’clock.”

  “Big Bird, Wilco.”

  Before Erin could decide what it was she wanted to ask KC about her boss, the camera guy in the back tapped her shoulder. She pulled one side of her earphones away from her ear. “KC,” Erin said, relaying the message, “the crew guys want to know if you can get Ally to let Pam try and fly like you just did with me and he wants to get more in front of them so they can shoot down and through the cockpit windows.”

  KC punched the intercom switch and connected to the guys in the back. “Look, guys, I can ask, but Ally’s pretty tight with the rules. Can you wait till we get her passengers on the ground before she hands control of a two-million-dollar bird to old Hotlips there?” Before they could mount an argument, KC reset the intercom for just them, then hit the transmit button. “Hey, Big Bird. The kids want to shoot from twelve o’clock high, and they want to know if you’ll let the cuz take the controls?”

  “Hornet. Hold your course. Big Bird is transitioning to your six low. And that’s a negative on request two.”

  “Aw, come on. Tell you what. Give Hotlips two minutes of dual, and I’ll stop assigning you lame ass call signs.”

  There was no immediate response and Erin could see they were approaching the airport fast. “What’s Ally like to work with?” she asked. She wasn’t sure where the question came from. She was supposed to be interested in Pam, but here she was, sitting with Ally’s business partner. Who would know her better? Pam, who had shared her youth, or KC, who shared her vocation?

  “Ally?” KC sounded confused by the question.

  “Hornet, Big Bird. Transitioning from your six to your three. Inbound for the landing. Advise cleared.”

  “Big Bird, Hornet. You are cleared. Did you let Pam have a go?”

  “I did. So you owe me.”

  KC just laughed, then reported their progress to the tower, and followed Ally in the Huey as she climbed out again and headed back to the school for their last group. As they began to climb, she encouraged Erin to follow her on the controls again. It wasn’t until Erin’s hands and feet were engaged that she bothered to answer the question. “Ally’s my best friend, harshest critic, the keeper of my secrets, and the one and only reason we’ve been as successful as we are. She might be a stickler for the rules, but she’s a friggin’ genius when it comes to making our ideas work. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that her name will get us in any door. Christ knows we would never have pulled off the airline deal without her being a Parker.”

  Erin didn’t know what any of that meant and made a note to ask Pam when they had a few minutes to talk.

  “I’ll tell you something else. Not all the queens are the marrying kind. Trust me on this. If you want my two cents, it’s Ally all the way. She’s the real deal.”

  “But not for you?” Erin asked.

  KC erupted with laughter. “Oh God could you see it! We would kill each other inside a week. No, no, no. We are two lesbians who will never see eye to eye on the relationship level. Besides, I don’t defecate where I make my money. And good old Ally has the vision. You ever hear the joke, ‘How do you make a small fortune in aviation?’” She paused to look at her, before delivering the punch line. ‘“Start with a big one.’ She’s the reason we have work when just about everyone else in the industry is slowly bleeding to death. Maybe Pam’s like that too. We’ll have to see how she does on the bench.”

  Again, Erin wasn’t sure what KC was telling her, but decided to file it away for now.

  “Hornet, Big Bird is light on the skids.”

  “Set your course Big Bird. We’ll work around you.”

  Erin stood with Pam and most of the other women, watching their aircraft taxi to the south side of the field where they were gathered around the production vans. Their baggage was already unloaded and set in a neat row along with an interesting array of production equipment and the luggage of the crew. Someone had pointed out a commuter plane when it landed, but she didn’t think it was for them until it turned in their direction. As they and the parked helicopters were the only things on the south side, there was no refuting this was their ride. Some women complained, but most mused that if they could survive the helicopter ride they could handle something as small as a regional jet.

  Ally had parked the Huey, over near the only building on their side, and she and KC looked to be battening it down to face any weather condition. Red flags hung from places she suspected were crucial, and the main rotor blades were drap
ed in red safety covers and tied to the tail section and the ground. The smaller helicopter, the one KC was flying and flew daily for traffic reporting, sat beside the Huey. Members of the production team were busy stripping their monitors from the back cabin, and the camera once attached to the belly gimble had been detached and now sat on the tarmac waiting to be retrieved. Erin decided that meant the helicopters would not be joining them on this outing. She still wasn’t sure where they were going and was slightly relieved to hear everyone else was as geographically ignorant as her.

  Standing with the group made it easy to tune out and look around. But her eyes never seemed to travel far from where Ally was working. Like the other day, Ally had pulled the top of her flight suit down and tied it around her waist. Ally was so different than Pam. Yes, she was shorter, noticeably so. Yes, she wasn’t the sharp dresser that Pam was, nor did she possess the razor-sharp mouth her boss had. But watching her work was relaxing. She was enjoying the basics and taking care in her work. Work which she assumed many pilots would view as beneath them. Ally wasn’t just doing her grunt work; she was having fun and taking care. Erin found herself thinking about going over there and helping. She wanted to be part of the fun, and she wanted to be closer to her.

  “You’re staring!” Pam teased, but her tone conveyed disapproval—or was it time, in Pam’s mind, that could be better spent? “Let’s go for a little walk.”

  It wasn’t a suggestion, and Erin let Pam pull her along by the elbow. “So where are we going?” Erin asked her.

  “Who cares? Probably some boring old lodge out in Mosquitoville somewhere! Forget the location,” she said, leading Erin quietly away from the others. “Tell me about… you know. Tell me everything they’re saying about me.”

  Erin sighed internally. Yep, Pam wanted to talk and guess what? She wanted to talk about Pam. Why was she not surprised? “Who first? Charlotte or Denise?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Relief was all that Ally felt as she and their guide pulled their raft onto the humongous granite outcropping which would serve for their midday beachhead. Except it was already closer to dinnertime than lunch. They had started out late, very late, when the outfitter realized they needed more than just the three rafts for the group. They also needed two for the camera crews and at least two more for all their camping equipment. While they could supply the rafts, they were seriously short on certified personnel, especially for the camera boats. No one had explained to the outfitter that the production crew would be too busy doing their jobs of recording the program to paddle their own rafts. Finally, arrangements were made to have all their gear driven into the bush and delivered to their campsite.

  The two indigenous female cooks got stuck with that job. First, they would drive a treacherous logging road to where the tour would stop for lunch, set up and prepare the midday meal for almost fifty including contestants, crew, and the huge team of guides. Once the tour was off again, they would clean up, pack up, and head to the campsite and start all over.

  Ally could see that they had the site well ordered. They were set up under the treeline canopy; their still overladen truck sat squeezed in between the trees. She couldn’t spot anything even slightly resembling a road or even a path. She had to hand it to those ladies, both elderly in her eyes, for managing so much. Watching them already serving their bush-cooked hot meal to the horde of hungry and somewhat cranky guests, she marveled at their resilience even as they fielded ridiculous requests and joked and worked to make everyone feel welcome.

  Waiting until everyone had their plates full, Ally was truly last in line. When one of the ladies spotted her, she immediately apologized. The fish was all gone as were the Indian tacos. “There isn’t much of anything left, but we can make you some sandwiches or…”

  “How about that corn soup? Can I split that with you two?”

  The ladies just smiled at her, their soft round faces alight as their eyes danced with comprehension. “You like corn soup?”

  “I love it, but I don’t know a single soul who can make it.”

  They nodded, accepting the compliment. While one served out the largest bowl of soup she’d ever had, the other dropped fresh dough into the jerry-rigged fryer. Ally admired the ingenuity and hard work of these indigenous women. Their bannock fryer was nothing but the lid of a gas barbecue, removed and flipped to sit on the burners. Before the one woman had her soup ready the other was delivering her very fresh and still piping hot frybread.

  Ally thanked them with the only native word she knew for thanks, not sure which people these women were from, or even if she was saying it right, “Miig-wech.”

  They giggled like schoolgirls before returning to their cleanup work without another glance at her.

  It was their way, and Ally respected that. Carrying her soup and frybread, she looked for a place to sit. Everyone was engaged in conversation and having fun. She headed for the granite beach, stretching out there and resting for the first time since the break of dawn. The day had begun when Connie woke her up with the latest disaster and dragged her to the production office even before she could shower.

  The bus drivers had gone on a wildcat strike, and that meant they needed her to borrow a Dash-8 and crew from her company. She’d already agreed to that, and she and KC had managed to make it work, but only because it was the weekend and Triangle Air was primarily a work week commuter line. On weekends, other than the scheduled route to New York, all the Ottawa and Montreal runs were cut in half, reducing the number of planes and crew required on the line. So that was settled.

  This morning’s shakeup had begun when Connie called the local public transit line, which she had booked just yesterday to get everyone to the Island Airport for their departure. As of midnight, the local bus drivers had walked out too, and even Connie, with all her finagling and contacts, couldn’t come up with an answer.

  “You know this is my Hail Mary pass? Come on Ally,” she begged.

  “Geez kiddo. You’re pulling out all the stops. Is it that bad?”

  “Sorry Al, but nothing’s moving. I was even considering just putting everyone on the Go Train, but with local transit out we would have to walk or shuttle everyone in the production vans and hope the cops don’t spot us. Then I checked, and the subway is shut down for maintenance along Bloor from Young to Spadina.”

  “So even if you managed to drag everyone onto the train, they would have to walk from Union to what, Queens Quay? Let me guess: that’s okay if you’re not carrying a ton of gear but… Oh, for frig sakes! Is this all because you don’t want your contestants to see the underbelly of Toronto? So people are living in the underpasses. So what? They’re homeless, not dangerous or anything. Hell, most of them tuck their belongings away and tidy up down there. You have to admit a teenager’s bedroom is far scarier…but you’re still worried?” She sighed, trying to think without any caffeine in her system. When a PA appeared with a hot cup of tea, she gulped it down, burning her tongue in the process. Setting the cup down, she picked up the phone. “Morning, buddy. Please tell me you’ve got eight hours from bottle to throttle?”

  When she hung up, Connie was at her side, eyes wide and expectant. You would swear it was her first Christmas.

  “KC’s on her way here. Between her with the Long Ranger and me with the Huey, we’ll taxi everyone to Oshawa airport. It’s just ten kilometer from here and big enough to accommodate a Dash-8. Our crew was supposed to be ready to load at the Island at seven a.m. KC’s calling them and asking they go wheels up at seven. That should put them on the ground here by seven-ten, fifteen, at the latest. We can probably make up most of the lost time in the air, so we should have everyone on the ground at Petawawa by eight thirty, as planned. It’ll depend on how much time they waste loading.”

  Connie, utterly relieved, had rushed into her arms, gushing her thanks.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just remember that when the Emmys come calling and you have to decide who gets to sit at your table.”

  * * *r />
  After the big lunch, the last thing Erin wanted to do was get back in the raft. The scenery was breathtaking, the sun was warm, and the breeze was working to keep the bugs away. Why leave? But this wasn’t her show, and she didn’t have a voice. Getting into the raft with the other women and Pam, she felt out of sorts or maybe out of sync with their revelry and excitement. Deciding to just go with the flow, she smiled when appropriate, sang when the others sang, and mostly just watched the living river and the banks of the boreal forest flowing past her. There had been some excitement. After the last run of rapids, they all seemed to crash from the adrenaline rush at the same time, their quiet paddling the only sounds to be heard for a time. How Erin cherished that silence.

  “Heads up, ladies,” the guide warned them. “Time for our last run of the day. It’s not as challenging as the last, but definitely the longest. Is everyone set?” Not satisfied with the few hoots and hollers he received, he led the cheers himself, adding a few local sayings he had taught them.

  By the time they reached the first of the rocky outcroppings that made the Ottawa so challenging, they were hyped and ready. While he steered them hard left the water pushed them right then turned them to slide down the first rapid backward. They turned again and turned once more, again rushing backward around the rocky outcroppings which looked to be everywhere. This part of the river didn’t descend like the other rapids they had traversed with success, but the section seemed to go on and on. Tired and not paying attention, Erin missed a call to hang on as their raft swung around, then kicked up over an outcropping, slipping over it like a bucking bronc. Only this bronc had a hell of an after-kick. While the front and middle of the raft fell to earth, the stern kicked high almost dumping the rear passengers in the front. When it slammed down, it was still on the rock. Their guide had his hands full controlling the raft, directing his passengers and keeping himself in the raft. Erin, sitting beside him, wasn’t as lucky. Her back and head snapped rearward so fast her head was underwater while her legs were still in the raft. She could hear yelling and imagined she felt hands on her. Then nothing. Instinctively she knew she was underwater, but her fear of smashing her head against a rock battled her instinct to find air. Sure enough, the moment her head broke water, it was to crash headfirst into the next section of granite blocking the path of the water.