Flygirl Page 16

  Finally, he spoke to her. “Did you have fun up there?”

  Had he lost his mind? Tris responded to what she hoped was sarcasm. “Fun? Are you kidding? I wish it had been you, man. Why didn’t you fly this leg?”

  He hesitated. “It all worked out. You guys did a good job.”

  She flashed a hard, unforgiving look as she unloaded on him. “It all worked out? That’s it? Deter nearly lost it up there. You saw it! And he finally said what he’s been thinking since the day I started here.”

  Ross stood there, his head hanging woefully. Something was happening, had happened to him, she was now sure of it.

  His posture stooped, arms sagging at his sides, Ross stepped toward Tris. She involuntarily backed away.

  “What did you want to tell me last night?” She softened her voice to invite his confidence yet kept a safe distance between them. But Ross simply shook his head and turned away.

  “You came to my room late at night and now you’re not going to tell me why?” She pushed harder.

  Ross stopped but did not turn around. “My wife left me. Ok? She took our son. She even took the dog.”

  That’s what he wanted to tell her? Why her?

  Tris’s mouth had dropped open. “When?”

  “Toward the end of the trip. She’s making all kinds of crazy threats. Like she says she’s never coming back. I’ll never see my boy.” His voice began to break.

  “I’m so sorry.” She tried to make eye contact.

  Ross avoided her gaze. “We’ve been having trouble at home for a while. Then that night you drove me home, well, she heard about it. Someone told her I brought a woman home.” His voice hardened.

  “You were drunk! I drove you home. She should be glad I did.”

  “Look, it’s not just that. She has a lot of complaints about me.” He faced Tris, his nostrils flared with rage. A bolt of fear forced her to step further back.

  Tris bit her lip and looked down at the scuffed men’s lace-ups she wore with her uniform.

  “Your family. It’s awful. Still…” There was no right way to finish that sentence. They shared the hopelessness of a loss they each thought they caused. But she didn’t owe him any apology.

  Ross grabbed some magazines and jammed them into seat pouches. “The plane’s going into the hangar overnight. There’s a mechanic coming to safety-check the gear for tomorrow.”

  Just then a young ramper stuck his head in and spoke to them in French-accented English.

  “Larry Ross, if you please, come inside. Call for you. Inside. Please.” Then the ramper ran off to marshal a jet that was just pulling in.

  Tris stood in stunned silence, caught in a complex mesh of anger, sadness and fear as Ross shoved a trash bag into her hand and hurried toward the terminal.

  Thirty-Nine

  EXHAUSTED AND LONG past angry, Tris wanted to get away from Ross and Deter, from the airport, from all of it. At the hotel, in the peace of her room, she could sort it out—unless she got another visit.

  Neither man thought to take their overnight bags off the plane. Tris either had to lug all of their bags inside by herself or wait for them to do it. She was in no mood to wait.

  It took Tris three trips to drag all the crew bags inside, including her own. Once she finished, she went to the ladies’ room. Almost done, she thought, more a rallying cry than acknowledgment. She took her time at the sink, wet a paper towel, and held it to her cheeks and neck. A small comfort, but so welcome.

  Once outside the restroom, Tris noticed a large conference room on her right. Inside, Deter, Ross, and two men sat in business suits wearing airport security badges.

  She caught Ross’s eye from outside and mouthed, “Should I come in?” He shook his head. This distracted Deter, who said something to Ross and then said “no” so loud Tris could hear him through the glass.

  “Hi. I’m with the Astral. What’s going on?” she asked the woman behind the reception desk, motioning toward the conference room.

  “The, uh, fireman, trucks,” she said, struggling to speak English with a heavy French accent. “They come, so the managers, they wish to speak to the PIC.”

  “The PIC?” But it made perfect sense. Airport authority in the U.S. would want to interview the crew if they had to roll crash, fire, and rescue trucks. Luxembourg would naturally have the same procedure. But why was Ross in there?

  What was going on in that conference room between Deter and Ross and the local airport authority? Ross didn’t bring the airplane down. Why is he in there instead of me?

  He never changed the flight plan! He’s still listed as PIC. Was he urine-tested? Did he pass?

  Her anxiety increased as Tris was once again excluded from crew communication.

  “Also, there is a message. From the phone, yes?”

  The woman handed Tris a pink slip of paper. “N9TX” was written on the “to” line, and the number that followed was Zorn’s. Tris looked into the conference room again where Deter, Ross, and the two men remained heavily involved in conversation. To hell with both of them. She’d call Zorn herself.

  She asked where she could make a call using her international calling card. The Tetrix PIC was issued a portable SAT phone capable of making overseas calls. Tris wished she had it on her.

  Instead, she sat in a public phone cubicle, pulled out her card, and punched in the endless codes. She struggled to make sure her fingers, still surprisingly unsteady, didn’t press the wrong buttons. She couldn’t calm herself. Tris still wasn’t sure what Zorn already knew or what she’d tell him.

  A few seconds later she heard Zorn’s voice. “Ed? Larry? What’s going on?” His caller ID must have shown an international exchange.

  “Hi, Brian. It’s Tris. I saw your message and wanted to get back to you. Ed and Larry are in some type of meeting with the airport authority.”

  “What? What are they doing?” Was it possible no one had told him anything?

  “I’m sorry. I’m not sure whether you knew.” Zorn breathed into the phone like an animal ready to charge. She thought he might be craving information, so she kept talking. “We recycled the gear numerous times, and we kept the passengers advised.”

  After a few more sentences, Zorn cut her off again. “I need to speak with Larry Ross. Only Ross. As soon as possible.” He sounded as angry as she’d ever heard him. Zorn hung up without saying anything more, including good-bye.

  Ross? Why Ross? He wasn’t even flying.

  She loitered outside the conference room and waited, anxiously shifting her weight from side to side. She had to get to the hotel, had to figure things out. She couldn’t get her bearings with these people around her.

  Tris handled the gear emergency consistent with her training and knew she had done well. But everything surrounding it—Deter, Ross—there was no checklist she could consult for erratic crew behavior. They were late; she was tired, hungry, still stressed from the mechanical, furious at Deter for today’s attack—and at Ross for the one last night.

  “Remember, Tris, it’s up to you,” Bron had said, more lecture than instruction. “If the PIC does not respond appropriately to a situation, when they’re not thinking straight, you take control. It’s your airplane.” They were reviewing a training scenario where the PIC becomes incapacitated, and the first officer assumes command. Tris realized she’d just experienced it in real life.

  Just then, the conference room doors opened. One of the local officials told Deter in a heavy German accent that he would “call this man Brian Zorn.” All four men shook hands.

  The officials left the building, and Deter and Ross shuffled back into the conference room. Tris strode in behind them. That vise in her throat tightened, the one she had become so used to; the one that kept her from forming the words she wanted to speak.

  “What do you need?” Deter yelled. He stared at her as if amazed she hadn’t crumbled in response. Her eyes narrowed and shoulders squared as she matched his gaze.

  In the dark, with
out any advantage or support, Tris played the one and only card she had.

  “I talked to Zorn.”

  Ross and Deter froze. A second later Ross moaned. His renowned countenance fell away and he practically shouted, “What did you tell him?” Then he writhed in his seat. “Oh my god, oh my god,” he bleated.

  Tell him? “There was a message at the desk for a crewmember to call him, so I did.”

  “You should have let us handle it,” Deter said.

  “Why? I’m a crewmember. A crewmember. Not a cunt.”

  Deter’s face twisted into a horror mask. He rose halfway out of his chair, and stopped.

  “Crewmember? Not since we shut down, you’re not,” he seethed.

  As Deter fired back, Tris heard brakes screech outside on the ramp and what sounded like claps of thunder. She jumped back, but it was just a tug hauling an aircraft out of the hangar. Her exasperation, Ross’s panic, and Deter’s anger fell in torrents, the three of them striking each other with words that sliced like machetes. Tris used all of her remaining will to stay composed.

  “Zorn wants you to call him.” Tris tossed the words at Ross, along with the crumpled phone message. “Provided you’re sober enough to dial.”

  Ross audibly slumped in his chair. His uniform jacket scratched against the cheap upholstery. “Oh my god, oh my god,” he mumbled, his eyes closed, while his right hand ran from the top of his head, through his hair, to the collar of his uniform shirt over and over again. “Jesus, I can’t tell him. He can’t find out.”

  “I’ll call him if you want,” Deter said quietly.

  Ross’s eyes stayed closed. “Nope. I’ll…think of something.”

  “What are you going to tell him?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Tris evenly suggested a plan. “Ok, let’s hash this out. Let’s go over what happened, so when we talk to Zorn, we’ll be consistent. So, first thing, did you guys do a whiz quiz? Do I need to do one?”

  “No. No, no. No one’s peeing in a cup. I’ve got this!” Ross yelled so loud Tris saw two people stop walking outside the room and look in at them. She and Deter glanced at each other, his anger replaced by a look of concern mixed with fear.

  “All right, just calm down. Calm down. We’ll figure it out.” Deter tried to soothe Ross.

  “Figure what out? What exactly did we screw up?” Tris was even deeper in the dark than when this day started.

  But the two men just got up and walked past her toward where Tris left their bags.

  “Get us a ride to the hotel, will you?” Deter practically threw the words at Tris.

  The crew was crossing the Atlantic the next day.

  PART III:

  ALBEMARLE

  and

  VAUGHN

  April 1998

  Forty

  TRIS SAT OUTSIDE on the patio with a cup of coffee after a sleepless night. The Astral had landed back in Exeter yesterday, but her body hadn’t adjusted to Central time yet. She paced, tried to read, watched TV. Finally, she gave up and just stared at the digital clock for the rest of the night and watched the minutes click by.

  Tetrix had a thirty-six-hour blackout period for pilots who just returned from international trips. It was a window during which they couldn’t be scheduled to fly or even be contacted. Tris thought if she kept looking at the clock, those hours would pass more slowly. And she’d have more time to think, to make sense of what had happened.

  The crew made it back to Exeter without further incident. After Luxembourg, Ross sat upfront, and Tris returned to serving the passengers. The tension between Tris, Deter, and Ross ended any levity or camaraderie. At one point, Tris sat in the jump seat folding a navigation map, as she’d done hundreds of times before.

  “What’s that goddamn rustling?” Deter snapped.

  Ross raised his hand and mouthed “shhh” to steady him. Tris wanted to tell him where he could stick his “rustling” but kept her mouth shut and eyes fixed on the navigation clock that ticked down the flight time remaining until they landed in Exeter.

  During the long trip across the Atlantic, Deter and Ross spoke to the passengers, a bit to each other, and little to Tris. Anything they needed to ask or say to her was communicated with a grunt or a hand signal. And nobody—nobody—mentioned Luxembourg.

  Tris called Danny as soon as she got home, hoping he’d answer his phone. Luckily, she caught him on an overnight in Sioux Falls. There was nothing to do there, and Danny sat in his hotel room with his new notebook computer; he’d just discovered aviation message boards.

  At first, he said he was too busy to talk.

  “Please Danny,” she begged.

  “Ok, but I only have a few minutes.”

  He rushed her off the phone, but not before he agreed to come by her place after his trip concluded this morning.

  She watched Danny approach and went to greet him. “Hey,” he said and walked by her into the living room without even a friendly hug. She read the hurt on his face.

  Tris plopped down into the new leather recliner she’d treated herself to after a couple of months on a corporate pilot salary. Instead of sitting on the couch near her, Danny chose one of the old club chairs Tris had bought second-hand.

  Tris described what happened in Vienna—and after. But he barely commented; mostly, he just sipped the cup of coffee he’d brought with him. Just an odd “hmmm” or “really?” punctuated her story.

  Tris bent and straightened her legs as she talked. She couldn’t get comfortable in the slick new chair. At some point, Tris knew she would have to address what had happened between her and Danny before she left on the Ball Buster. But first, she just needed his help.

  “I don’t think he went out again. But I don’t know. Maybe the minibar? All I know is he should have been coming down from the drinking he did at the pub by the time he came to my door.” She looked over to see if Danny had anything to add.

  He pursed his lips and shook his head before he spoke. “Doesn’t really matter. He knocked on your door, obviously wanted to come in. Are you sure you didn’t invite him in?”

  “No. Of course not.” No matter how many times she replayed that night’s events, she could not begin to fathom how drunken crewmembers making late-night visits to her hotel room had become part of her world.

  “So, the night before the whole gear incident, a crewmember shows up at your hotel room door, obviously drunk. This doesn’t seem random. Did you get any sense from Ross what he wanted?” Danny leaned forward in his chair.

  “No.” Another partial truth. He told her, just not that night. She absent-mindedly touched her thigh. She’d keep that part of the story to herself.

  They were both quiet for a minute. Danny looked lost in thought. Tris had to tell him the rest.

  “Danny, uh, there’s more. I have to tell you about Deter.”

  “What, he make a pass at you, too?” Danny said and rolled his eyes.

  His sarcasm stung. Tris forced a quick, insincere laugh and looked down. She rubbed at a coffee stain on her sweatpants.

  “Look, it was crazy up there when we couldn’t get three green. I get that. I must have raised and lowered the gear a dozen times. Once, when I put them down and the one light didn’t come on, Deter really… Well, he lost it.”

  “Yeah?” Danny was used to her stories about Deter losing his cool. “He said something worse than all the stuff he’s said before? Hard to believe.”

  She spoke softly. “He yelled the c-word.”

  Danny looked at her as though he didn’t understand.

  “Look, he called me a ‘useless cunt.’ Well, he just yelled the words,” she quickly added, “I don’t know if he was referring to me or what. I don’t think so—”

  “He said that? To you? Wow. I mean, we swear upfront all the time, you know that. But the c-word? What did you do? What did you say?”

  “Me? Nothing. We had two in back. Ross was dealing with them and with himself, and we couldn’t get the gear do
wn. And I swear, Danny, I can’t say for certain he called me and not the plane…that word. We couldn’t get the gear down, and he started to unravel. But I gotta say, it stopped me cold.”

  She let a few more seconds pass. “It was like I was the only one up there keeping it together.” She choked on the last few words.

  “I have to do something. I have to tell someone. But who?”

  “Tell?” Danny vehemently shook his head no. “Don’t tell anyone!”

  This caught her short. Keep this a secret? No way. “Danny, what are you saying? I can’t let this go. This is a new level of disrespect. You know that! And in the cockpit during an emergency? That’s when he’s supposed to be at his most professional. And he lost it. Why not tell Willett? Isn’t that what you’d do?”

  Danny sighed. “Probably. But this is tricky under the best of circumstances. Even in a situation like this, when just saying that word makes someone guilty, politics still plays a role. You’re not one of the guys, Tris. They’ll protect their own.”

  “But Zorn and Willett. They’ll find out, I’m sure. Ross heard him. The passengers, I’m sure they heard him too!” She pressed Danny for another answer. Didn’t she have a duty to report this?

  “Tris, this type of thing will come right back on you if you talk to someone. This isn’t the airlines, where we have Pro Stans.” Danny referred to Clear Sky’s internal affairs group. “Deter deserves to get in trouble. And he would be in trouble— for a little while. Maybe get his wrist slapped, maybe more. But this could blow up your career!”

  “Me? How does this come back on me?” Tris rose and started to pace. One captain grabs her, the other calls her a cunt. And her career was in jeopardy?

  But she knew. Of course she knew.

  “If you complain, then you’ve played ‘the woman card.’ That type of story, that you tried to get some kind of advantage, or get someone in trouble, would spread like fire. Soon, it won’t be ‘well he showed up at my room drunk and horny.’ It’ll be ‘she came on to me.’ And Deter? He’ll come up with something you did wrong, or should have done. And it will follow you everywhere you go. Any interviewer who knows a guy who knows someone at Tetrix, gets their buddies to make a phone call. That’s how it works.”