Flygirl Read online

  Tough call. “Good enough, good buddy.” Danny wondered if he wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing.

  After a few minutes, the conversation lulled. They sat on opposite ends of the couch, smoking cigarettes. He wanted to touch her, to hold her. Would she return his embrace with something more than a quick, sisterly hug? He decided to chance it.

  And changed his mind. What if he scared her away? No. Too risky. He might not get another chance.

  He broke the silence. “Congratulations, Tris. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person or a better pilot.” He was surprised when she looked away. “What’s wrong?”

  They’d talked it to death.

  “It’s too soon, Danny. I think it might be too soon.” And then he realized it wasn’t at all about training.

  She looked wistful, then sad. “He’d be happy about this, right? He’d want me to be a captain.”

  Danny hesitated. “Sure he would.”

  Bron was dead, but he was still present in every bend, corner, and crevice of her little apartment.

  Nine

  “THERE YOU ARE. Welcome. We’re glad to have you here.” Willett stood by Ann-Marie’s desk as Tris walked through the door. Her first day at Tetrix: a Thursday. The whir of a compressor was drowned out by the roaring engines of a jet taking off right outside. Business as usual at the airport.

  “Thanks! Thrilled to be here, Mr. Willett.” His outstretched hand barely closed over hers. Another wimpy handshake. Willett was about an inch or two shorter than Tris with a round face and body. He looked a little like Humpty Dumpty.

  “David, please.” He ran his hand over the few wisps of hair at the very top of his head, eyeing her up and down with a salacious grin. He probably meant to do it surreptitiously, but she caught him. She smirked at the quick “check out.” Tris vacillated between being slightly annoyed and reassured that she made the right wardrobe choice.

  Ann-Marie had told her to dress in business casual clothes. Tris was embarrassed to admit she wasn’t sure what that meant. She knew her suit would be too much but didn’t think jeans were appropriate. The only other thing she had in the closet was a houndstooth skirt. She paired it with the same white cotton shirt she’d worn to the interview. Of course, she checked herself just outside the Tetrix entrance to make sure it lay smooth in front.

  “Follow me. I’ll show you your desk.” Willett led the way to an immaculate cubicle. A rectangular piece of particleboard had cut-outs for a phone cord and electrical cables, a touch-tone phone, a stapler, and a stack of books on it. She recognized the Astral training materials right away.

  Willett hastily grabbed a manual and almost toppled the pile. “Whoa,” he blurted out as he tried to keep the books from falling. He handed Tris a small loose-leaf folder.

  “This is our operations manual. We feel pretty strongly about the rules we follow. We’re not an airline,” he said with a hint of sarcasm, glancing over to make sure she’d caught it, “but we’re professional and follow the rules. Make sure you read this through. And here are your books for the Astral.” He pointed to the teetering stack.

  With exaggerated effort Willett stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled it out slowly, revealing a small, silver key. He offered it to her in his open palm as if it were a precious heirloom. With great ceremony, he motioned for Tris to take it.

  “And here is your key to the Astral. You’ll be needing that.” He pursed his lips together in a self-satisfied grin. “Check in with Ann-Marie up front before you go. She’ll talk to you about your schedule.” And then he was gone.

  Tris hadn’t noticed before, but once Willett walked away, she sensed, rather smelled, someone else in the room. He’d been sitting in another cube the whole time. He rose above the partition and walked over to her. As he moved closer, she recognized the scent of Old Spice. The only cologne her father ever wore.

  He was tall, at least six-foot-two she guessed, and looked like he was in his early forties. His wavy dark brown hair highlighted eyes the color of oak leaves.

  “Hi, Patricia. I heard you were starting today. Welcome.” He wore a blue button-down shirt tucked into tan Dockers, held on his long, slender torso by a plain brown leather belt. His clear, resonant baritone reminded her of classical music.

  “Tris,” she corrected, standing to greet him. They shook hands, and she was relieved that finally, someone at Tetrix took hers with a firm grasp.

  “This is all pretty new to me.” She tried to look him in the eye, not appraise him the way Willett had just done to her. It was challenging.

  “Larry Ross,” he said. “Nah, it’s easy. Just important to keep on top of what there is.”

  Don’t stare. Pivot to airplanes. He was another Tetrix pilot, a colleague. “So, are you flying today?”

  “Nope. Catching up on paperwork.” His wide grin framed a perfectly straight set of teeth that made her think of the bleached white sand on the beach in Barbados. “You know, updating some charts, clearing off my desk. And I have to do a big expense report. Just returned from an international trip.” He let his voice trail off a bit, baiting Tris to ask where he’d been.

  “Where to?”

  “Paris, yeah, five days.” He rolled his eyes as if he’d said Detroit.

  “Paris? Five days! Sounds awesome. I’d love a trip like that.”

  He chuckled. “You say that now. After you’ve done it a dozen times, you’ll just want to be back home.” With that, he handed her a bunch of professional publications he’d been holding, most of which Tris was familiar with. They had small pieces of white paper with a list of initials on them.

  “I just cross my initials off, really, and then pass ’em on to the next desk. Don’t want ’em sitting on your desk for too long or people start noticing.” His voice trailed off again as he handed her the pile.

  Ross held himself in the typical pilot posture: shoulders back, chest out. He had the kind of looks that made men believe they were invincible. Her commuter buddies would call him “stud boy,” their moniker for any guy who could effortlessly attract women, or at least more easily than they could. Tris noticed the wedding band on his left hand and wondered who the lucky girl was.

  Neither spoke for several seconds. “Ok, then,” Ross finally said. “Welcome again! Let me know if you have any questions.” He headed off toward reception.

  Tris was sure she was alone in the pilot area. Ever since she learned to fly on instruments, Tris needed to get the big picture. She taught her students to always be a step or two ahead of the airplane, anticipating what might happen next. Over the years, Tris began to order her world in the same way.

  To orient herself to her new surroundings, Tris walked slowly around the room. The Tetrix pilot area was a large space dissected by eight cubicles, each separated by dividers. It had an antiseptic feel, as though the desks, the chairs, the rug sprang directly out of shrink wrap. Harsh overhead fluorescent bulbs provided the only interior light.

  Other than a blown-up sectional chart outlining the city of Exeter from the air at night, the walls were blank. Tris didn’t see any labels on file drawers hinting at what might be inside. She opened one, then another. They were empty.

  There was an exterior door, an employee entrance accessible directly from the parking lot. Soon, she’d be using it herself. Tris smiled at this minor conceit. In some small way, it made her part of this group. An insider in a place she wanted to belong.

  The partitions between cubicles were only around five feet high, easy to see over while standing. As she circled, she noticed only three desks had personal items on them: family pictures, thumbtacked notes, favorite cartoons. She moved slowly, pausing at each desk to get some sense of the man who sat there.

  One boasted a navy squadron patch thumbtacked to its cloth-covered wall. The same desk had a framed picture of a bald man on a speedboat with his arm wrapped around the waist of a middle-aged woman. Tris figured it was her training captain, Ed, in the picture. The cubicle next to his had mu
ltiple pictures of three small children of various ages. Probably the other captain’s desk. What was his name again?

  As Tris walked by the cube where Ross had been sitting, she saw a framed photograph of a man standing on a pool deck next to a stunning blonde in a string bikini with a small boy in tow. At first glance, it looked like the stock photo of models that came with the frame. But the man in the picture was Ross. Naturally, someone who looked like him would have a gorgeous wife and a beautiful child.

  Tris finished her tour at her own desk, sat down, and ran her fingers over the blue plastic cover of the Astral’s systems manual, checklist, and Quick Reference Guide. The trifecta of training books. The outline of an Astral was sketched on the cover of each, along with its manufacturer’s name and the aircraft series number—AsL1000.

  Tetrix used the Astral for domestic flights to points east along with international flights crossing the Atlantic to Europe. The company’s Gulfstream IV typically went west and over the Pacific.

  Tetrix hired her because they needed a pilot. That meant the sooner she was trained on the Astral, the sooner she could contribute. The quality of her training would be critical. She’d hoped to meet the man who’d guide her to success in the Astral. But he was nowhere around.

  Ten

  “YES,” ANN-MARIE said in a clipped, professional tone when she saw Tris approach. It was more statement than question. Tris had heard laughter coming from reception and wanted to join in.

  Ross and Ann-Marie stood by a large whiteboard. Tris nodded quickly at Ross and addressed Ann-Marie.

  “I just came up to say hi. Is that the schedule?” Tris motioned to the whiteboard.

  “It is.”

  “So, how does it work?”

  Ann-Marie rolled a chair out of the way to create some space for Tris to come closer. Ross didn’t move, and Tris found herself standing close enough to smell his cologne again. She involuntarily leaned away from him, slightly embarrassed by his proximity. Pilots generally avoided cologne and perfume in the cockpit in case their crewmates had allergies. He said he wasn’t flying today, but why wear Old Spice to work at an airplane hangar?

  “You’re already on a trip. Did you see it?” Ann-Marie pointed to the Astral schedule for Thursday of the following week.

  “You’ll be observing. Sitting in the jump seat watching Ed Deter, your training captain, and this guy.” She pointed her thumb at Ross. “Brian Zorn, you know, the Chief Pilot, right? Well, he’s mapped out your training and wanted to make sure you flew along on some trips right away.”

  “Great. Can’t wait. The trip is going to Asheville?”

  “Yes, Roger has family down there.” Roger. Who was Roger?

  Ann-Marie shot a glance over at Ross and then at Tris. Ross raised his eyebrows and smiled. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a money clip. Ann-Marie had her wallet ready.

  Then Tris remembered. “Roger Emerson. The Chairman. I guess we do a lot of overnights down there then?”

  Ross shook his head, defeated, and Ann-Marie laughed as he handed her five dollars. “See! I knew she’d get it,” Ann-Marie grabbed the bill from Ross, and then turned to Tris. “No, not often. If he goes down there, it’s usually just for dinner with his mother and he flies home the same night. When he goes on extended vacation there, we park the aircraft and airline the crew home, especially if it’s over the holidays.”

  Tris nodded. From the schedule entry, it looked like this trip started later in the day.

  “So this is a 4 p.m. show?”

  Ann-Marie laughed. “4 a.m. This isn’t a dinner trip. He has an early meeting, then lunch with mom.”

  “Oh-dark-thirty.” Ross laughed. Tris was a bit startled when he spoke. He had been so quiet. Tris didn’t smell his cologne anymore and had almost forgotten he was there.

  “Got ya!” he said, amused.

  “Poor girl. You’ve gotta fly with this one.” Ann-Marie rolled her eyes at Ross.

  “I think you’re working me too hard.” Ross smiled, pretending to sound angry.

  “Oh right! Yeah.” She flipped her long blonde hair over her right shoulder. “I guess that whole week you didn’t fly last month when the Gulfstream was down for maintenance was real stressful for you. Yeah. Uh-huh.” Ross laughed and threw up his palms in defeat.

  “Thanks, Ann-Marie. I’m off,” Ross said before turning to Tris. “It’s great to meet you. See you soon.”

  Now alone with Ann-Marie, it seemed too abrupt to just walk away, but awkward to try and make conversation.

  “Seems nice,” Tris said quietly, nodding toward where Ross had been standing just seconds before.

  Ann-Marie waited a beat before responding. “He is,” she finally said. “Do you want to hear the rest of your schedule?”

  “Sure. What do you have for me?” Tris asked in the same way she’d speak to crew scheduling at the airline, which is exactly what Ann-Marie was. The scheduler literally controlled your life. A good relationship with scheduling could make the difference between a fourteen-hour duty day in the middle of nowhere and a three day trip to the islands. Ann-Marie was someone Tris would treat very, very well.

  “Ok. I see you have in-house tomorrow with Deter. That’s your first day of ground training; probably company procedures, maybe a walk-around of the Astral. Ten a.m.”

  “Great. Ann-Marie—”

  “Uh-huh?” Corporate face, no smile.

  “So, is there any syllabus or training…I don’t know, plan I guess you’d say?”

  “No idea. You’ll have to ask Zorn.”

  Tris looked toward Zorn’s dark office. “Looks like he’s out right now. Is he coming in today?”

  “Ha! No way. He has a 5 a.m. show on the Gulfstream tomorrow. No chance he comes in today.”

  “Ok, thanks. I guess Ed Deter will explain things to me tomorrow.”

  Ann-Marie’s body stiffened and she looked away from Tris. “No doubt,” she said as she picked up her phone to make a call. Tris had already opened her mouth to ask about Deter, but the conversation was over.

  None of the other pilots were around. Except for Ann-Marie and the occasional ringing phone, the office was quiet. She thought of the laughter, the complaining, the buzz of people grabbing their flight bags and running to their planes she was so used to in the crew room at Clear Sky. She longed for a couch she could plop down on next to another pilot, who’d slide over to make room for her, sip coffee, and simply ask, “So, how’s the weather out there?”

  On the very first day of her new job, she’d had three brusque conversations, heard her schedule, and been given a stack of manuals to study. Her training captain wasn’t there. The chief pilot, the man who had sounded so excited when he had offered her the job, wasn’t there. Willett had already left the office.

  As Tris headed back to her desk, she passed what looked like a storeroom of some kind. She opened the door and saw rows of shelves with boxes of single-serving snacks. Cookies, peanuts, mini cans of Pringles. Against one wall was every kind of soft drink imaginable. On another, she saw drink mixers and tiny liquor bottles, stock for the airplanes.

  On one of the shelves, she spotted a small, loose-leaf notebook. There was a piece of masking tape on the spine with the name “Deter” written in black marker. He must have left it there.

  Deter’s name came up during her interview when Zorn and Willett briefly described the other pilots in the department. They only mentioned he was ex-navy, a retired commander who used to make carrier landings.

  To Tris, he was the most important person at Tetrix. She couldn’t wait to meet him.

  Eleven

  ROSS STOPPED AT a red light in front of O’Slattery’s. Their tiny parking lot was empty. A cool breeze slipped through the open windows of his new ’98 Cutlass as he considered his options.

  How he wished he could go in and grab a beer. He checked his watch. 2:30 p.m. Not too early for one.

  But he had to get home—that was the deal he and Devon had mad
e. Someone would always be at home when their son was, and James was due back from school in forty-five minutes. Without a set flight schedule, that commitment was tricky for Ross, so the responsibility generally fell to Devon. She’d recently become a lot less forgiving about his absences from home.

  Ross was a pilot when they met fifteen years ago. She had thought what he did was cool and always wanted to join him on his late night charter flights, back when he was first building flight time. Devon would throw on a pair of old blue jeans, grab a magazine, and sit beside Ross in the passenger seat for the long hours aloft, some-times in airplanes without heat in the dead of winter. She never complained; they were young and in love.

  His beautiful girlfriend knew what she was getting into when they walked down the aisle. But over the years, she’d lost patience with him being away from home so much, especially after their son was born. She liked the money he made at Tetrix, but that didn’t stop her from reminding him that he wasn’t around as much as she’d like him to be.

  Today, Devon had a hairdresser’s appointment. “Leaving at one, home by four,” she’d told Ross that morning. Ross had no idea what she did there for three hours since she looked pretty much the same when she returned home as when she left. It was just another one of those things they didn’t discuss.

  Now that the new pilot was on board, he had something different to think about. There hadn’t been a whole lot going on since the drama over RJ had died down. He overheard Deter complain to Zorn again the other day about hiring a girl. He’d hoped to avoid any conflict, but there he was, flying her first observation trip together with Deter next week. She better fly like Chuck Yeager or Deter will never let it go.