Читать книгу Blue Skies - Робин Карр, Robyn Carr, Robyn Carr - Страница 8

Nikki was back at work a week later—a week in which she had neither gone through Drake’s things nor talked to the kids about their lack of legacy. Now, as she made her way to airport security, she forced her thoughts from her current problems and let her mind wander back to the days when she’d first fallen in love with the aviation industry.

When she was a little girl in the sixties, the airport was a mystical, magical fantasyland and the air crews were like movie stars—so exotic, so glamorous, so beautiful. The pilots were tall and handsome. Women would tilt their heads and gaze dreamily at them, and small children reached out to tentatively touch the silver bands on their sleeves. The “Stews,” as they were called in those days, were slender beauties who showed up to work in narrow skirts and high-heeled shoes, each with a matching square makeup bag that held her cosmetics. The crew would enter the airport en masse—two or three stately, distinguished pilots and their gaggle of long-necked beauty queens—and glide down the concourse toward the big shiny planes. As they passed, the crowds would part like the Red Sea. They were magnificent.

“Do you want to be like one of them when you grow up?” Opal had asked her one day when they were at the airport together.

“Oh, yes,” Nikki said with a deep sigh of longing. “Do you think they’ll let girls be pilots of big heavies by then?”

Opal had groaned, but Buck had smiled down at her. “If they don’t, you can be the first,” he promised.

“You’re hopeless,” said Opal.

It wasn’t just the flight crews that were different, Nikki recalled, but the entire airport scene. And the industry was regulated. The government established the routes for the carriers and there wasn’t much competition, so flights were expensive. Damned expensive. It cost more to fly from New York to Los Angeles in 1975 than it did in 2002. There was a certain formality to flying then. Women wore dresses, sometimes hats and gloves, and men were in their business suits.

Security in those days was almost nonexistent. Crews and passengers alike entered the airport and went quickly to their planes without being subjected to bomb-sniffing dogs and metal detectors. And passengers were extremely well-trained. They did as they were told. They were civil. Polite. No yelling at the gate agent, no demanding compensation for a delayed or canceled flight. Airlines were admired, pilots were revered. If a flight was delayed to repair a mechanical problem, your life had just been saved by their diligence, their skill. Through the flight, passengers were well-behaved. God forbid one of those beauties who served the meals—and they were meals, make no mistake—be abused in the commission of her duties.

There was no denying that times had changed. As Nikki passed through security in her pilot’s uniform, complete with ID badge, she was curtly reminded to take her hat off her head and empty her pockets. Randomly chosen, she was told to step to the side, remove her shoes and extend her arms so she could be scanned with the magic wand. Now, it wasn’t as if just wearing the flying costume should get you special treatment; she could as easily be a bad guy as anyone in civilian clothes. But—

“Hi, Virg,” she said to the security agent with the wand.

“Hiya, Nick. You have the same trip this week?”

“Yup. Phoenix, Chicago, New York, again and again.”

“Take off your shoes. Extend your arms. That a good trip?”

“Not bad.”

Nikki saw these same people at least once a week. Did they really think she was packing a weapon or bomb? She had wondered aloud once why they didn’t just move on to the next stranger in line when they saw she drew the random pick. It might give them a better chance of actually catching someone with something to hide. Virginia had replied that they just did it by the book.

While she was being wanded, Nikki watched as a very nervous man who seemed awfully protective of his briefcase went straight through the check while they detained and wanded a woman in her eighties. Nikki wondered why security didn’t just adopt the JDLR method. Just Doesn’t Look Right. But no. They kept checking little old ladies and pilots they talked to every week.

“Have a good flight, Nick.”

“Thanks, Virg. You have a great day.”

Another man with a briefcase, in a hurry and obviously disgruntled by the long security process, rammed into her and almost knocked her off her feet. He had both height and heft and smelled like a mixture of booze and perspiration. “’Scuse me,” he muttered. Then, seeing she wore a pilot’s uniform, he asked, “Any idea what time the nine o’clock flight’s leaving for Denver?”

“Nine o’clock?” she ventured.

“That’d be a first,” he grumbled, taking off down the concourse.

So much for the respect offered to pilots in days of yore.

Crowds didn’t part for aircrews anymore, either, and Nikki stuck close to the wall to keep from getting knocked over again. Up ahead she spotted Dixie at the coffee kiosk and went to join her. “Hey,” she said. “I didn’t expect to run into you.”

“Our inbound flight from San Diego is runnin’ late. I should be servin’ Bloody Marys over Albuquerque right now. Want a coffee?”

“Thanks. I’m a few minutes early. I’ll meet you right over there,” she said, pointing toward her gate.

Nikki crossed the concourse and sat in the almost empty gate area, watching the passengers. They were people in ragged jeans and flip-flops. Young families who would be trying to board with car seats, Cadillac-size strollers and half the nursery. Ah—and a pilot. Not one of those distinguished gentlemen of the past, this captain was about thirty-five years old, forty pounds overweight, no hat, scuffed shoes, loose tie and coffee stains on his shirt. He hadn’t had a haircut in a while, either. What a wreck. His appearance didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Dixie handed her a cup of coffee and took the seat next to her.

“Remember the old days?” Nikki said. “When flight attendants showed up in high heels and pilots were like rock stars?”

Dixie took the lid off her paper cup and blew on the hot coffee. “And now they’re just like rock heads?” Nikki turned her head to smile at her friend. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Remember when people dressed up to go on an airplane ride?” Nikki persisted. “They wore their Sunday best and behaved like they were in church. Even the hijackers were polite! They didn’t want to hurt anyone—they just wanted to go to Cuba or someplace where you couldn’t get a scheduled flight.”

Dixie tilted her head and looked askance at Nikki. “Back in the days when flight attendants were Stews, had to weigh in before each flight, and were fired if they got married?”

“Okay, it wasn’t flawless, but—”

“And the airplanes didn’t have carts and the Stews carried their five-course meals on trays, up and down the aisles in their straight skirts and high heels and precious little hats?”

“Well…”

“And don’t let us forget about girdles. Any decent woman wore a girdle then.”

“Everyone?”

“It was required. And if you weren’t bosomy enough, a little padding could be issued with the uniform.”

“Nah-uh!” Nikki protested.

“Yes, ma’am. Got to have your girls right up there on your chest so Mr. Passengerman could appreciate the flight. And you better not bend over to pick up an olive off the floor because Mr. Well-Mannered Traveler would definitely put his hand right up your skirt.” She blew on her coffee again. “He probably threw that old olive on the floor to start with. Mmm-mmm, those were some fine old days.”

“You have to admit that the passengers were a lot less rude and demanding,” Nikki said. “With the occasional exception.”

“And the pilots were a lot more accommodatin’. They used to carry bags and pay for dinner, and…Well…They were much more accommodatin’.” Dixie smiled suggestively.

Nikki grinned back at her. Dixie had been accommodated quite a few times. And vice versa. “So were the Stews,” she said.

“Coffee, tea or me?” her friend replied, smile dazzling, lashes fluttering. All of Dixie sparkled. She could easily have been one of those airline beauties back in the sixties. Five-eight, blond, blue-eyed, slender as a reed except for “her girls,” which were full and high and elegant. She had the kind of looks that had men crossing the room to ask if she was attached.

A very pregnant flight attendant pulled an overnight bag on its rollers toward a podium on the other side of the concourse.

“Now, there’s something else you wouldn’t have seen twenty-five years ago,” Dixie pointed out. “In fact,” she said, looking Nikki up and down, “it would’ve seemed pretty unladylike to ask to fly the plane.”

“My God, she looks ready to pop!”

“She told a little fib about her due date. She can’t afford to go on maternity leave, she needs the overtime. Her husband was activated reserve—Navy—gone to Kuwait. The family took a huge pay cut.”

Almost everything about the industry had changed, all right. Back in the glamour days there was no real competition. Enter deregulation of the airline industry and the entrance of low-fare carriers. The large and established airlines found it increasingly difficult to compete. The new entrants, often nonunion start-ups, had low costs, but the big guys had been around long enough so that with every union contract, the cost of labor went up, then up, then up some more. The cost of fuel kept rising, but competitive pricing meant ticket prices plummeted, and the business traveler took advantage, went global.

Before long the big airlines were making almost half their profit from the last-minute business traveler whose company paid the premium price. As for the rest of the travelers, they were no longer just the well-to-do. After deregulation it was cheaper to fly from New York City to Miami for the weekend than to go to a good restaurant and see a Broadway musical. It was frequently more expensive to travel by bus. Now the people waiting to board the airplanes were not wearing their hats and gloves, politely waiting for their flight, but clad in beach clothes or ragged jeans, complaining loudly about the degradation of the service.

The major airlines were losing millions a year, a month, some losing millions a day as they tried to compete with the start-ups. The start-ups would fail and disappear, but that did not put the money back in the coffers of the legacy carriers, and another start-up would appear with bargain-basement tickets, starting the whole process all over again.

Then the unfathomable happened.

Everyone remembered where they were that morning. Buck was hosing down tarmac outside the largest hangar at Burgess Aviation when one of the young maintenance techs came running, yelling for him to come to the office and see the TV. Carlisle was in New York on an overnight, due to fly out later that day. Dixie was in D.C., on the treadmill in the hotel’s fitness center, watching CNN. At first, she thought she was seeing an Aries plane and she ran to the nearest phone and called Aries dispatch.

And Nikki was in Boston, sitting in the cockpit of an Aries 767, full of passengers, ready to push back. She was turned around in her seat, talking to a Delta pilot who was hitching a ride on an Aries jump seat.

An operations agent came aboard, stuck her head in the cockpit and said, “Did you hear what happened? An airplane hit the World Trade Center.”

“What kind of airplane?” Nikki asked.

“A big airplane. Like a 737 or something.”

“Whoa. How do you get that far off course?”

She shrugged. “Sit tight till the airport clears us,” the agent said, and left.

Less than a minute passed when her first officer said, “Did you hear that? They closed the airport.”

Nikki looked outside. “Why?” It was a beautiful morning. The sky was crystal clear.

Some other pilot at the airport keyed his mike and asked why the airport had been closed.

“The airport is closed for reasons of national security,” came the reply.

The deafening silence that followed lasted for perhaps two full minutes. Alarm filled the air like static.

The operations agent came back a few minutes later. Her face had bleached so white that her lips were indistinguishable from her flesh. “Another plane flew into the second tower. Another big one.”

“Holy Jesus,” the copilot muttered.

“They’re saying the airplanes are U.S. passenger planes. Hijacked,” the agent said. She was visibly trembling.

The next announcement ordered all planes back to the gates. Passengers were deplaned, pilots and cabin crews were informed there had been several hijackings from Northeast airports and flights were canceled pending investigation. The airport was swiftly evacuated.

The unprecedented response was that every aircraft in the United States was grounded for several days. Nikki learned she had been sitting next to one of the planes that had been hijacked out of Boston.

That morning, trying to reach the kids on her cell phone, she couldn’t get a signal. When she did get through, she found that the kids were with Buck, terrified for her safety because they couldn’t reach her.

Her first reaction, like the rest of the world’s, was shock and horror. But she had a bigger mission—she had a plane to get out of Boston and a crew that was shaken and needed her leadership.

They were put in a hotel where they sat glued to televisions, watching an unbelievable drama happening not very far away. Most of her crew didn’t have enough money for days of meals and incidentals, so Nikki covered them. It didn’t take long for the passengers to disappear from the airport to find alternative means of transportation. Some of them would never be back.

“Mama, I don’t want you to fly!” April had wailed into the phone.

“April, flying is what I do, what I’ve always done, and no madman from an angry country is going to drive me away from it. But I promise you I’ll be taking extra precautions.”

“But what if it was you?”

“But it wasn’t, April. We have to be strong now. Everyone in the U.S. has to be brave and strong now.”

Days later Nikki and her copilot flew an empty plane back to Phoenix. He had missed the birth of his first child. One of the flight attendants was sick as a dog all the way home, and the minute they landed she quit. When the industry was flying again, Aries canceled the majority of their flights, as did every airline in the industry; they flew approximately thirty percent of their schedule, and those flights were not half-full. Even the business traveler stayed home. When companies started sending their people on business trips again, a sagging economy necessitated prudence—they bought bargain fares, purchasing cheap, nonrefundable tickets in advance.

Nikki, her family, her friends and the rest of the country were consumed by pain and sorrow and anger that seemed to have no end.

Aries furloughed a fourth of its workforce in the first month after 9/11, then levied ten-to thirty-percent pay cuts across the board. Most of the other airlines did the same. Two small airlines simply ceased operations in that first week after the terrorist attacks, unable to sustain the losses.

Industrywide, the financial loss reached fifteen billion in that first year. The government came across with five billion in relief, but the bankruptcy filings of seven airlines proved it would not be adequate. Only a very small percentage of the ten-billion-dollar loan package approved by Congress reached a couple of airlines.

A year later the passenger-load factors were still not quite fifty percent of what they had been before 9/11. Dozens of airplanes, from puddle jumpers to huge jets, sat in storage, parked, unused. Their owners, the lessors that airlines leased the planes from, began laying off personnel and filing for Chapter Eleven protection, as well.

The average passenger didn’t notice empty planes, missing planes or deserted airports; to Joe Six-pack it appeared business as usual, because airlines combined flights and canceled flights. The 8:00 a.m. and 9:00 a.m. flights to Philly became one flight, and it was almost full, and so on. And there was the hub-and-spoke operation—all the planes converged on the airline’s hub several times a day and the passengers would deplane, filling up the airport, and reboard their connecting flight. These convergences were called “banks.” Phoenix was Aries’s hub—everything went through Phoenix, then out again, like the spokes of a bike wheel. In between banks you could fire a cannon through the deserted airport concourses, something the average traveler never saw.

Stricter security measures were put into place, but Nikki had no illusions about their effectiveness. She thought the airlines’ greatest security assets were the passengers—they would never let a plane be taken over again.

And then the country went to war, determined to cripple, if not end, terrorism at its roots. Pain and strife and economic troubles spread wider.

Four small to moderately sized airlines shut down in the first year, and in the second year at least three huge airlines that had been around forever teetered on the brink of failure. Nikki’s airline limped along, but had lost several hundred million and flirted with filing for bankruptcy protection.

Nikki was left with two overwhelming conclusions about her work and her world. One: we are no longer safe. And two: we must carry on.

When Nikki took her flight out of Phoenix, Dixie was still waiting for her inbound flight to arrive. She tapped her foot and crossed her fingers. Her trip had better not cancel; she had big plans for her layover. A sexy red teddy and a nice bottle of wine were tucked away in her suitcase, and she also had a very expensive man’s watch wrapped in silver paper—much more money than she should spend, especially with all the recent pay cuts. But this was a very special man, and it was his birthday.

Branch Darnell, a pilot with Aries, was turning forty-seven, though Dixie didn’t think he looked a day over thirty-five. He did have those sexy little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but that was as much from his year-round tan as age. They’d been seeing each other for six months, and she couldn’t help but think he was The One. At first she’d held off letting herself think that, but she was more convinced of it every day. Over the years Dixie had had quite a few love affairs, way too many of them with pilots, but this time felt different. It had the feel of permanence.

Branch was a Texan, and Dixie couldn’t help but have a soft spot for the Longhorns. He commuted from San Antonio and had all but moved in with her in Phoenix when he came to town to fly. Every week, more and more of his belongings appeared in her closet and bathroom. She was senior enough to hold just about any flying line she wanted, and tried to bid his schedule so she could spend the night with him on layovers. The drawback was that he wasn’t senior, and the lines he was awarded were usually awful—short hops, crappy layovers, working weekends. Branch was a retired air force colonel and had only been flying commercially for three years; he was still a first officer and not even a senior one. Dixie ended up working a lot harder than she had to just be able to spend time with him.

Fortunately tonight was a rarity—a long New York City layover. A nice birthday present in itself.

There was one minor complication—Branch wasn’t divorced yet. He was separated, though, and when the divorce was complete, which he had warned her wouldn’t be real fast, he wasn’t going to relocate to Phoenix for a few years. There were still a couple of kids at home. So it wasn’t perfect, but it was damn close.

Nikki was worried. “I don’t know, Dixie. He’s got that look. Like he’s been around.”

“Well, darlin’, he’s not the only one,” Dixie had replied with a laugh.

“It’s different with you,” Nikki said.

Dixie didn’t have to ask why. Nikki knew as well as she did that she never left a man she’d slept with. She was completely devoted. Completely naive, too. She fell fast, hard and completely.

So why hadn’t she married at nineteen? It was all she’d ever wanted. From her first real date, Dixie had never stopped thinking church bells and altar. But time and the number of men she’d been through had too often left her brokenhearted and lonely. There was always a guy, even when she wished there wasn’t. Men rushed to date her, to get her into bed, to take her on trips and buy her nice things. And then, whoosh—they were gone as fast as they appeared. She was thirty-five years old, had eleven tennis bracelets of varying value, when all she’d really like to have was a husband and baby.

“Maybe if you wouldn’t jump into bed with them so fast…” Carlisle had suggested as gently as possible.

“I try to wait,” Dixie told him. “But I fall in love, they swear it’s forever, and then—”

“Well, at least you’ve gotten some nice jewelry out of it.”

But she’d so much rather have a husband. Well, she’d been with Branch for six months, which was a bit of a record for Dixie.

He could have been put off by the number of men who had come before him, but he accepted her as she was. “How can I expect a woman as beautiful as you to be a virgin till she’s thirty-five? So long as you’re mine now, I’ve got no real complaint.”

“I’m yours,” she was quick to assure him. And it wasn’t just pillow talk—she was.

She checked the inbound flights on the screen and saw that the one she was waiting for had finally landed. Pulling her cell phone out of her purse, she pecked off some numbers.

“Well, darlin’, you gettin’ tired of waiting for me?” he drawled.

“There’s a rumor floatin’ around that it’s some tall Texan’s birthday today.”

He chuckled. “You got somethin’ for me, ma’am?”

“I might be able to rustle something up,” she said. “Tonight. In New York.”

“Mmm, that sounds delicious, darlin’. See you on the plane.”

Branch had had a layover the previous night and Dixie was hooking up with his trip here in Phoenix. Cockpit crews and cabin crews rarely flew full schedules together. The cabin crew that had been on this trip since yesterday was getting off in Phoenix, and a new set of flight attendants would go with the pilots to New York.

At least it was New York for Branch’s birthday and not somewhere like Buffalo or Des Moines. Dixie wanted to be able to take him to a posh five-star restaurant later…if he’d let her out of bed long enough to go eat.

They weren’t ridiculously secretive about their relationship, but they did play it cool at work. Branch was right—there was no point in having everyone talking. “It’s your reputation I’m worried about, not mine,” he had said. “Even though my marriage has been over for years, I’m still officially married.”

She had dated so many pilots, there would be more than the usual amount of chatter when she let the cat out of the bag that she was dating yet another. Her coworkers were pretty quick to catch on, though. They knew the look, the glance, the little mating dance. If a very junior pilot and a very senior flight attendant always flew together…how discreet was that?

But if they came to work in the same car after Branch had spent the night at her house, Dixie would drop him at the terminal first and then go park. When they checked into a hotel on a layover, they went to their individual rooms and met in hers later. They never went to dinner together on layovers unless it was with the entire crew. Tonight they might just break that rule, though, since it was such a special occasion.

When Dixie got to the plane, Branch was doing a walk around out on the ramp, so she started checking meals and liquor in the galley.

Every flight was a little like a stage play, with a different cast of more than two-hundred-fifty every time. You never knew what would be in the script, and that was one of the things Dixie loved about her work.

She was the senior flight attendant on this trip and chose to work in the back cabin. Their Boeing 767 would be nearly full and they had four crew members in the back. The flight had a stop in Denver and they were getting a late start.

When Branch finished his walk around outside and returned to the plane, he found Dixie in the forward galley. He looked around. The captain’s back was to the door, there were no connecting passengers in first class, and there didn’t seem to be any flight attendants nearby. He grabbed her and gave her a nice, long kiss, his large hand planted on her butt. “Missed you,” he said against her lips.

The lav door opened and Bea, another crew member, stepped out. Smiling, she said, “Ha! I saw that.”

Dixie put a finger to her lips to shush her and said to Branch, “Get to work.” But Dixie was not upset. The truth was she’d be happy if people found out about them, because Branch was handsome, successful and sweet. What could be bad about finally falling in love with a great guy? So what if it complicated the work thing? They’d downplay it a little. But how long were they supposed to continue this ridiculous game of pretending not to know each other? Dixie was sure it showed all over her face every time she heard Branch’s name.

Moments later the passengers started to stream aboard, and once everyone was safely seated, the plane pushed back and nosed toward the runway. Dixie and Bea sat in the first-class jump seat for takeoff. Bea was young, just a kid. Twenty-five and engaged. “So?” she asked Dixie. “How long has that been going on?”

“Shh. No reason to make a big deal out of it in the workplace. But we’ve been seeing each other for about six months.”

“Is it serious?”

“Very. He doesn’t want anyone to make a fuss over him, but today is his birthday. That’s one reason I made sure to get this trip.” She winked. “I have a little birthday party planned for F.O. Darnell.”

“You’re a bad, bad girl,” Bea laughed. “You think there will be a little something to announce soon?”

“Marriage? Well, now, I don’t like to count my chickens, but I was born and raised in Texas, and I know these Texas men. Kind of old-fashioned about their women. They like taking them off the market.”

The flight went fast, dipping into Denver before Dixie knew it. Some passengers deplaned to catch connecting flights while others boarded for New York. Soon Dixie was serving dinner. The sun was going down and it was dark outside, even though her watch still said 3:00 p.m.

It was an hour prior to landing before the back-end crew could take a break, eat some leftover salads, exchange a little company gossip and sit down. Bea ventured back to the aft galley and poked her head through the blue curtain that separated them from the passengers. “Dixie? Do you have a second to help me with something?”

“Don’t worry,” Karen said, “I’ll go.”

“I really need Dixie,” Bea said nervously.

At the distressed sound of her voice, Dixie abandoned the salad she’d been picking at. She was senior on the flight, after all. “Sure,” she said, and followed Bea to first class.

In the first-class galley, Bea whispered, “The lady in 4A, she’s on my manifest as Mrs. Darnell.”

Dixie frowned. She poked her head out of the blue curtain and looked at the seat Bea indicated. The woman there was attractive, with soft brown hair that fell gracefully to her shoulders. She was reading, head down, so Dixie couldn’t see her face. She withdrew back into the galley. “So?” she asked Bea.

“She said the copilot is her husband.”

“I reckon that could be Branch’s wife. They have two teenagers. They haven’t lived together for a long time, like a couple of years, and I think they’re just waitin’ on another Christmas before they—”

Bea was shaking her head. “She says it’s her husband’s birthday and she’s flying to New York to surprise him. She told me she has reservations at the Four Seasons for nine o’clock and wanted to know if we’d get there in plenty of time.”

Dixie was very well trained at staying cool and in control, no matter what. She had won beauty pageants, after all. And unfortunately, this was not the first time something like this had happened to her. But inside she was dying. No! This isn’t happening! Not again!

But very calmly she said to Bea, “Oh, the poor thing.”

“She says she has a negligee in her suitcase and left his mother in charge of the kids. If it weren’t for all the charity boards she sits on, she’d like to stay in New York a couple of—”

“Oh, God, Branch warned me something like this might happen. She doesn’t want the divorce even though she was the one who originally asked him to leave a couple of years ago. This is just so sad.” If she didn’t hurt so much inside, Dixie might marvel at how quickly she could make up a cover story. Who said she was a dumb blonde?

“What are you going to do?” Bea asked.

“I’d hate if there was a scene. The best thing would be if Branch took her off somewhere quiet and let her down easily.”

“She still loves him, then?”

Dixie shrugged. “Or maybe it just didn’t work out with the other man, but whatever, Branch has moved on. I should warn him so he doesn’t humiliate her…or himself…or me, for that matter. Can you, um, trade places with me? Tell the girls in the back that I’m lookin’ over your paperwork as a favor or something? And when we’re taxiing in, I’ll give Branch fair warnin’. The less anyone knows about this, the better for everyone.”

“I guess so,” she said. “You going to be all right?”

“Me?” she asked with a laugh. “This doesn’t really have anything to do with me. Just another one of those difficult divorces. When have you ever seen an easy one?”

But she didn’t warn him. She served the first-class cabin coffee and thought about striking up a conversation with Mrs. Darnell, but in the end stuck to the professional courtesies. It wasn’t necessary to gather any more information—the truth was obvious. Mrs. Darnell was very confident about her birthday surprise.

They weren’t separated. Branch was just getting a little on the side.

The passengers poured out of the plane, but Mrs. Darnell lingered. When the pilots came out of the cockpit, Branch second, he saw Dixie in the forward galley alone. “Well, angel, you have a good flight?”

“I did, cowboy. And there’s a little birthday surprise for you in 4A.”

He grinned stupidly, confused, and looked down the aisle. Dixie couldn’t see his face, but she heard him. “Darlin’, what in thunder you doin’ here?”

Dixie peeked out. Mrs. Darnell was so happy, grinning from ear to ear, eyes sparkling, arms outstretched as she embraced her husband and kissed him. And he returned the favor.

Except for a sheepish glance over his shoulder to see if Dixie had drawn a bead on the back of his head, Branch made no attempt to communicate with her. First Officer and Mrs. Darnell took a cab to the hotel rather than ride with the rest of the crew in the hotel van. F.O. Darnell must have been a tish nervous about the prospect of his wife and girlfriend getting to know each other better.

The captain and five flight attendants stood curbside, waiting for the van, when Dixie came up behind them. She heard Karen say, “Well, what the hell does she expect? God, she’s such a ditz.”

“Karen!” Bea warned, looking over her shoulder at Dixie, who stood there frozen.

“Oh. Sorry, Dixie. But, you know…” She shrugged lamely.

Dixie said nothing. She did know.

Unwilling to face her coworkers’ curiosity and censure, Dixie skipped dinner, which she shouldn’t have done. She opened the very good bottle of wine she’d brought with her and sat cross-legged on the bed and drank. She couldn’t afford to have a good cry; her eyes would be all puffy and everyone would know the extent of her misery, including Branch, who would be on tomorrow’s flight. She’d be damned if he would find out she’d cried over him.

It was about eleven when a knock sounded at her door. Discreet tapping. No surprise there. Empty bottle in hand and wearing only navy blue panty hose and her striped uniform shirt, she opened the door. There he stood, pilot shirt open at the neck, ice bucket in hand—his obvious excuse to leave his wife in their room—and a lame expression on his stupid face. He lifted his arms in helplessness. “Well, darlin’,” he drawled. “You coulda knocked me over with a feather. What can I say?”

She stared at him for a minute, stricken by the fact that even under these circumstances, she was tempted to embrace him, draw him to her and love every long, tall inch of him. How humiliating! Before she could reconsider, she rammed the empty wine bottle bottom first into his gut. “Ugh,” he grunted, bending over in pain and grabbing the bottle as he did so. She backed into her room and slammed the door on him. There was a loud thud, which, she acknowledged with a wince, must have been his head.

Well, she thought, you could’ve knocked him over with a feather…or whatever.