Flygirl Page 20

  “Ugh. No way, Dad. Hey, I think Granddad is heading out to the stables. See ya, Dad,” he said. “Have fun,” Ross heard Devon say before a door slammed shut in the background.

  He knew he was defeated. Devon simply held the winning hand.

  “What do you need me to do to come home?” He practically whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder, he’d start to cry.

  He looked around his house while he waited to hear her demands. Beer bottles spilled out of the garbage can. Paper plates lay stacked next to greasy pizza boxes, beside a mountain of dirty plastic utensils usually used for cookouts or emergencies. He would call a cleaning service. It would take Devon at least a week to drive home. Plenty of time to get the place clean.

  “Larry, no drinking. Nothing. No beer. Nothing.”

  Yep, there it is. Well, the last time she had said he needed to go to AA. At least she realized that wasn’t going to happen. She was so dramatic about the beers. All the other guys he flew with were lucky; their wives let them relax in their own homes.

  Yet he knew he had no choice. “Ok Dev. You win. Consider it done.”

  “You say that all the time, Larry. How do I know you mean it this time?”

  Man, she just won’t quit. “Because I’m telling you. Anything else?”

  “And no more flying with that girl.” Her tone had shifted from whiny to demanding.

  “You mean Tris Miles? Christ, Devon, you know I can’t pro-mise that.” He thought she’d dropped that after he explained, again and again, that there was nothing going on between them.

  “Why don’t you just tell Brian you want to be on the Gulfstream all the time?”

  “Are you kidding? I can’t tell him that. The Gulfstream is his baby. He runs the schedule like…” He wanted to say, “like you run me,” but luckily stopped himself. Instead, he said, “Like it’s his own private kingdom. You know that, Devon. I tell you that all the time. And so does his wife when the two of you get together for your little bitch sessions.” Whoa, buckaroo. Hold up there.

  He walked to the fridge and grabbed another beer. Ross wisely bought MGD in bottles with a twist off cap. If Devon heard him popping the top off of a can right now, even if it were just Mountain Dew, her next call would be to a lawyer.

  “Dev, how ’bout we just wait and see if I get on the schedule with her. If I do, well, I can just say something to Brian. Or call in sick.”

  “How’s that going to work long-term?”

  The long-distance minutes ticked by. Ross could almost hear his phone bill going up. “Let me figure it out, Dev. Can you guys be home next week?” Luckily, she’d still be gone when he headed to Dallas in three days. He was scheduled to support Tris’s check ride. He’d prefer not to go, but it was his job.

  It was quiet on the other end of the line. “Let me see. I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said finally. He definitely had to schedule the cleaning service; the place smelled awful.

  “Ok, baby. Talk to you tomorrow. Tell James I love him.”

  “Bye, Larry.”

  He had to get his son back, and if that meant giving in to Devon’s demands, even temporarily, so be it. Once they were home, he could come up with a better plan. For now, he just promised Devon whatever she wanted. To get James home.

  With the details of his surrender hammered out, he prepared to head to O’Slattery’s. 10:00 p.m.—the polished wood bar, brass chair rail, and comfortable stools beckoned. He loved those barstools. They had backs, so he could recline and even slump down a bit. There wasn’t a single chair at home that felt so inviting.

  Ross was already negotiating around Devon’s demands in his head. In the short-term, maybe he could ask to just be on the Gulfstream, or do his Astral time with Basson and Deter. Flying with Deter always put him in a bad mood, but it would only be temporary. After a while, Devon would forget about Tris.

  And maybe Zorn would make Tris a captain after all. Ross would try and persuade him when she passed her check ride. He was Zorn’s favorite. Maybe he could trade on that goodwill.

  With a new captain on the Astral, he wouldn’t be needed to fly it as much. Things could go back to normal. He and Zorn, Gulfstream trips by day, the bars of the road by night.

  Forty-Seven

  ROSS PACKED FOR Dallas a day early. His suitcase was in its usual spot on the bed, open and ready to receive his offering of underwear, socks, khakis, and T-shirts. Training was business casual, so no uniform was required.

  He loved his own training sequences. Four nights away from home, no passengers. After two type ratings and recurrent training twice a year on two airplanes, he could run through the simulator profiles half asleep. And sometimes he did.

  It was the quietly held opinion of his fellow pilots that Ross was the one they wanted upfront during the challenging landings on short runways or in bad weather. The guys at Tetrix—everyone but Zorn, of course—considered him the premier pilot in the department. That was important to him, especially now, with his family gone. His professional reputation was all he had.

  His front doorbell rang, and he jerked his head back. He wobbled and swayed until he could grasp the back of a chair with both hands. The wall clock in the kitchen read 6:30 p.m. For a second he thought it might be Devon. But no, she was still on the road—and had a key!

  Wait a minute. He needed to bring his uniform tomorrow after all. He’d told her he was flying the Gulfstream. He’d better have it on when he got home from Tris’s check ride in case Devon and James were already here.

  Ross planned to head over to a new local bar about a mile away and see what they had on cable. Maybe he could catch a baseball game, drink a beer, eat some chicken wings, and top it off with some tequila for dessert. He wanted to enjoy what was left of his bachelorhood while he could still drink as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted.

  Distracted by his reverie, Ross forgot about the front door. The doorbell rang again. He scowled and peeked out the stained glass sidelight. Zorn stood on the porch, facing the street. What the hell?

  The door swung open. “Brian?”

  “Yeah. Can I come in a minute?” Zorn breezed in past him.

  Zorn wore jeans, so Ross figured he had just stopped by for a beer. Zorn walked directly to the refrigerator and pulled out a Miller Lite. He twisted off the bottle cap and took a long pull.

  Ross glanced around the kitchen and saw a quick image of his home as a bachelor pad: friends coming and going, drinking what they wanted without fear of reprimand, kicking back. James outside in the backyard, playing with his friends.

  But since this was his family home, the home he built and shared with Devon, James, and the dog, he needed to claim his space. “Brian, hey, so, good to see you. You just stoppin’ by for one? I wasn’t expecting company, you know…” Did the piles of trash in the room just grow?

  Zorn’s eyes were wide, whites gleaming. His expression put Ross on edge. Ross’s hand unconsciously pushed strands of dark hair away from his face. When did that habit start? Devon always pointed it out, as it frequently began mid-argument. He commanded his hand back to his side, but it wouldn’t stop. Ross was never quite able to reconcile his ability to make an airplane do whatever he wanted with his utter powerlessness over himself.

  Zorn stood at the kitchen sink and quietly drank his beer. Finally, he was ready to talk about why he’d shown up, unannounced, at Ross’s home, on a random weeknight.

  “So,” he began.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” Ross pointed to an empty space on the couch next to a pile of old newspapers. “You want another beer?”

  Zorn glanced over to the fridge for a second and then turned back. “No thanks. And I’d rather stand.”

  When Zorn acted like this, Ross knew something bad was coming. Before he even heard the charge, Ross started to defend himself. “Brian, I—”

  “Who was upfront from Vienna to Luxembourg on the Europe trip? And, please, tell me the truth.”

  So, it wasn’t over after all. Ross
bee-lined to the couch and started stacking the newspapers that covered its cushions.

  “Hey, sit down man. Relax. Let’s kick back and have some beers.”

  Zorn didn’t move.

  “You know, I was just thinking how convenient it would be to keep our garbage cans in the back alley, you know, have trash picked up back there. I hate draggin’ those things out to the curb every week. Makes sense doesn’t it?”

  Zorn wasn’t smiling. “Who. Flew. The. Leg? Not who was on the paperwork—we know that was you. Who flew it?”

  “Brian, I…. Really, just listen…”

  “Man, I’m not playin’. Did you fly the fucking leg or not?” Zorn stepped heavily back and forth in the kitchen, all the while shaking his head.

  “No. I didn’t. I was in the back. I dealt with the passengers, and it was a good thing, because…” He paused, now resigned.

  “How did you find out?”

  “How did I find out? From Willett. You know how he found out? His boss. One of your passengers!”

  Zorn’s face was red and his lips pulled back into a snarl. Ross had never seen him this hot.

  “No. No. This is not how it goes. This is not how we do it. What the hell, man, why the fuck weren’t you upfront? That’s your goddamn job. And I’ve gotta find out from Willett? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  So Tris didn’t tell him. What a good girl. She’d probably let me have a beer after work sometimes.

  “I was sick. I didn’t feel well, so I took myself off the leg. That’s what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it?” All he had was this shot from a now-empty barrel at an opponent he could not hit.

  “Sick? Yeah? Sick from what?”

  “Well, you know, we were overnight in Vienna. You know that place?” He smiled broadly at Zorn. “And I just got the news from Devon the day before. Things got out of hand, Brian. You know.”

  Zorn shook his head. Ross thought he might be softening, coming over to his side.

  “You’re in trouble, Larry. I didn’t see it before. But I get it now.” Zorn was lost in thought for a second and then recovered. “This. The DUIs. At least the ones I know about.”

  “They’re the only two, man, I swear,” Ross said as he bent over and rested his right hand on a countertop for support. This was the conversation Ross dreaded. He had moved into the kitchen, closer to Zorn in an effort to try and explain. To bring back his best friend. Where was that guy?

  “I know. I should have told you about Lux. But I was afraid you’d…reach the wrong conclusion. I can always go. You know I’m always ready to fly. It was a one-off. It will never happen again.”

  Zorn stood there and sipped his beer, so Ross kept talking.

  “I’m so sorry. But what I told you about what Deter said was true. It was really stressful up there. Did she tell you about it? Oh god. Does Willett know?” Ross was desperately trying to throw the spotlight on Deter. It had worked before.

  “He sure does. At least I knew about Deter before Willett told me. We’re sending him to ‘charm school.’ And he might lose his bonus this year. But both you guys are on my shit list.”

  “What about Tris? What did she say?”

  Zorn smiled. “Nothing. She said nothing. She didn’t accuse him of anything. At least not yet. That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “Look, man, even if you were there—”

  “Oh, fuck it, if I were there, we wouldn’t even be talking about this right now.”

  “What’s going to happen to me?” It was all Ross could think of to say.

  “I don’t know yet. But one thing’s for sure. You’re off the schedule for a while. Until we get some things worked out.”

  Ross brightened. “So, I don’t have to fly with her? At the sim?” he asked hopefully.

  “Oh, you’re going to be her sim partner. And, under the circumstances, I think you can help me and yourself out.”

  “How? She doesn’t need my help. She’ll zoom through it. She’s a good stick. After all that pissing and moaning by Deter, turns out she can fly. And she has great judgment. Man, you should have seen her upfront during the gear emergency…” He kept talking, assuming Zorn would be excited about his prize hire passing the check ride at last. But he soon realized Zorn wasn’t listening.

  It took Zorn only a few minutes to brief Ross on what he had in mind, what he’d sold to Willett, how Ross could support the plan. And if Ross came on board, all would be forgiven. He’d offered Ross a way out.

  “Right. I get it,” he told Zorn. They said good-bye, and Ross watched Zorn walk over to his car like what they’d discussed, the revolting pact they just formed, meant nothing at all to him. Ross bent over, a little queasy. She’ll recover. She has no one depending on her, no reason she couldn’t work somewhere else. Eventually.

  Ross let the front door click behind him and looked over at the clock. 7:42 p.m. He threw on his tennis shoes and grabbed his keys. Ross had a lot of things to think about. The central, most important goal was to get things back to normal at home, do whatever it took to make that happen. And Zorn just gave him a way to solve the problem of flying with Tris. If he could give Devon that, she might lighten up on her other demands.

  When Ross left his house for the bar, he was on a mission. He’d have to draw on all of his experience, his judgment, and know-how to execute Zorn’s plan.

  All he needed was another beer.

  Forty-Eight

  “BRIAN, LEMME GET this straight…” Jim Jensen coughed into the phone. A chain smoker, Jensen could barely make it through a two-hour simulator session before heading outside for a cigarette. “Are you asking me to…just what are you asking me?”

  “Jim, I’m just saying, you know, she’s gotta really earn it. No mistakes. She’s gotta nail everything, no exceptions. Hold her to the same high standard you’d hold me.” Zorn was a twenty-year captain.

  He hoped that Jensen knew what he wanted. Maybe it wouldn’t be close. She’d learned the Astral ‘by the book,’ but could she really fly it to the standards of a pilot-in-command? Zorn thought about some bonehead moves Tetrix pilots made in the simulator from time to time, and Jensen always passed them—because that’s what Zorn usually wanted him to do.

  Jensen was one of those guys Zorn knew he’d never become—a former chief pilot, laid off when his CEO instituted cost-cutting measures. Cost-cutting always equaled unemployment for corporate pilots.

  Luckily, Jensen made a soft landing with his instructing gig. He was in his mid-sixties when he lost his flight department to a NetJets contract, and too old to get hired by the airlines. Federal law required airline pilots to retire at age sixty.

  Now, Jensen was well connected at the FAA, always good for job security in aviation. After a few years teaching in the simulator, he became certified as an in-house check airman, qualified to give check rides and issue type ratings. He was an old-timer—a member of the club—and Tetrix was a huge client of the flight training company. Jensen only got paid if he had a crew to train or a check ride to do. If Tetrix requested Jensen as an instructor or a check airman, that put money in his pocket. If Jensen hopped on board with the plan, Zorn would make him the designated instructor for Tetrix.

  “Well, ok, Brian. I know Tetrix is a really important customer here, you know. But what you’re asking…”

  Zorn hoped that Jensen’s defenses would fade in the wake of the money he’d make on Tetrix crews. All of the Tetrix pilots were trained on the Astral, and they each came through recurrent training twice a year. That amounted to serious income for Jensen.

  “We’d really appreciate the help, Jim. We’ll make sure the head of the center, whoever it ends up being, knows that we do.” Zorn referred to the fact that the training facility was about to hire Jensen’s new boss.

  “Tetrix has very high standards, as you know,” Zorn repeated. “I just want to make sure everyone is treated equally.”

  It was quiet on the other end of the phone for a few seconds. Zorn wo
ndered if he’d heard. But then he responded. “Oh, I hear you loud and clear, man. Whatever you need, we want to give it to you,” Jensen finally said.

  Good. Zorn was pleased, and ultimately a bit surprised, how easily Jensen came on board. But then again, he had promised to make a substantial deposit in the Jensen family bank. Everyone had their price.

  “Hey, when are you coming down here for Astral recurrent? Might as well get that on the books. I see the other guys on the schedule, but not you.” Jensen harped on setting up Zorn’s recurrent training for a few minutes. This guy wanted to be sure he’d be appropriately compensated for his help.

  “Yeah, I’ve been spending more of my time on the Gulfstream these days. When I get to fly at all…” Zorn looked over at the scale model of a Gulfstream on his desk. “I’ve got a number of responsibilities as chief pilot that keep me out of the cockpit.”

  “Oh yeah, I know that. Ok, Brian, I’ve got you covered. Now, get yourself on the schedule, and we’ll have a cold one when you come down here.”

  “You bet. Thanks, Jim.”

  It was a strange day. He remembered a few years ago when he begged Jensen to make sure one of his pilots—Willett—passed his check ride. Today was the first time Zorn had asked a check airman to do what he could to make sure it went the other way.

  If Tris failed her check ride, they’d have a bulletproof excuse to fire her, save the department from any potential lawsuit, and return the group to the status quo he’d sent ripples through when he hired her. It could have been different, might have worked out. If only Deter had kept his big mouth shut. Idiot.

  One way or another, he’d keep them all together, safe from attack. Willett would owe him big time.

  Forty-Nine

  TRIS SAT IN the left seat of the Astral. They were on their way to Binghamton. She looked over and smiled at Willett, who sat as co-pilot in the right seat. The sky was clear, visibility unlimited. She could hear the passengers laughing in their leather recliners. All they had to do was drop the executives and head back to Exeter. Short day, easy trip.