Flygirl Read online

  Deter tossed the empty can of chips into the wastebasket. He put his flight jacket on and grabbed his soft Eddie Bauer briefcase. “I’m outta here. You walkin’ out?” he asked Ross.

  “Nope. I still have some paperwork to finish.”

  “Ok. See ya around, Larry,” Deter said as he grabbed the copy of the Wall Street Journal he took from the airplane, slamming the exit door against the stop.

  Ross wanted to help Tris out, but he had his own doubts. Not about whether women could fly airplanes. He’d flown enough charters with superb female pilots to know that they could. He didn’t judge pilots that way anymore. He’d sat next to plenty of men in the cockpit whose piloting skills scared him to death.

  No, Ross was more concerned about how she would fit in with the guys in the department. And how their wives would respond when they found out she was going on overnights with them. And what if he had to fly a weeklong trip to some beach resort with her? He didn’t even want to think of the conversation that would start with Devon.

  Well, nothing he could do about it. She was here. And Zorn’s ego was in overdrive since he hired her. He couldn’t stop talking about how he had “finally integrated the flight department.” Ross would help her out just to stay on the right side of Zorn. Especially after RJ got fired.

  RJ had been with Tetrix for years. A real good old boy. Ross liked him. Hell, even Deter did. Zorn would always ask Ann-Marie to schedule the two of them together. RJ was lots of fun on the road: laid back, good stick, smart pilot. Zorn used to call RJ his best friend.

  Last April, RJ and Zorn flew the trip everyone at Tetrix called the “Ball Buster.” It was an annual ten-day tour of the company’s European facilities. The exhausting trip sometimes required the pilots to fly to three different countries in one day.

  “Zorn may not be the smartest guy in the world, but he’s sure the meanest,” RJ said one night after he got the ax. He and Ross shared a couple of pitchers at O’Slattery’s. “Yeah, he was just lying in the weeds. Waiting for his moment. Nine years of service…dickhead. Well, best to be done with him.”

  “What happened?” Ross had only heard Zorn’s side of the story.

  “The trip went well enough. Except that every leg I flew, I made a perfect landing. And Zorn bounced it in each time. The executives in the back joked with Zorn. They wisecracked that maybe I should fly every leg. Hell, I thought it was good luck. Turns out it was the worst possible luck for me.”

  RJ showed up to fly a trip one day, weeks after the Ball Buster, and Willett fired him on the spot. Zorn had ‘discovered’ that RJ made personal calls on the company-issued portable phone while he was on the road. This was “use of company property for personal convenience,” strictly prohibited by company policy. Being fired for an infraction every single pilot at Tetrix was guilty of was bad enough, but it was Zorn—his best friend—who convinced Willett he had to go. All because of a fragile ego bruised by a few hard landings.

  It never mattered to Zorn if the punishment he meted out was grossly out of proportion to the crime. It was simply understood that if Zorn wanted you out for any reason or none at all, he found a way.

  Now Zorn called Ross his best friend. Ross had wisely kept his guard up since RJ was fired. But before that, he had been careless. When he first started to sense that his marriage was in trouble a year ago, Ross got his first DUI. He paid the fine and forgot about it.

  After his second DUI a few months later, his driver’s license was suspended. He had to tell Zorn, to make sure they were scheduled together on Gulfstream trips. They were neighbors, so unless Zorn could drive Ross to the airport on flying days, he’d have to show up in a cab. People would ask questions.

  When Ross got his license back, Zorn swore he hadn’t told any-one about the DUIs, and he probably hadn’t. But he’d occasionally hint at the consequences if the company (code for “Willett”) or the FAA found out. At worst, Willett could fire him, which would be bad enough. The FAA, on the other hand, could pull his pilot’s license for good.

  During his required flight physical every six months, Ross lied on the medical questionnaire. Where it asked if he had ever been convicted of a DUI, he checked “no.” It was a gamble, but Ross played the odds; the law worked on the honor system. Unless Ross was involved in an aircraft emergency or accident, the FAA would never need to check.

  Devon and James left today to visit Devon’s dad in Montana for a week. They flew first class. Ross had to keep his job for the sake of his family. Or soon, he feared, those tickets would be one way. If Zorn wanted this girl to succeed, Ross had to make it happen.

  Seventeen

  TRIS HAD CLEANED up the back of the Astral as quickly as possible to get the hell out of there and escape Deter and Ross. Still uneasy when she finally climbed into her car, Tris sped away from the Tetrix lot. She pulled over on a side street just a few blocks away.

  She’d been too upset to eat in Asheville, even though they’d ordered crew meals. Now her body demanded food. Tris was just blocks from O’Slattery’s. It was on her way home.

  The place was empty. Only three of the dozen or so interior tables were occupied. Tris couldn’t see anyone out on the patio. She walked toward the bar, which had several empty stools, and saw a couple of guys she knew from Clear Sky at one of the tables. Thank goodness, friendly faces.

  “Hey, Tris. Whassup?” called Eric Estes. Tris liked Estes. His wide grin and deep dimples made him look friendly and ap-proachable. He motioned for her to come over and sit down. Estes was always dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, the only difference was whether the shirt had short or long sleeves. Today, long. He was with a barrel-chested guy named Bill Miller. She’d never flown with him.

  As Tris walked toward the table she picked a clean glass off the sideboard.

  Estes stood up and hugged her. “Hey,” he said, “we heard you just started a big corporate job. At Exeter?”

  “Yeah. Tetrix.” She pulled out the empty chair next to him, sat down and poured herself a beer from the group’s pitcher. “So great to see you guys.”

  “Of course. So Tetrix. What do they have?”

  “An Astral and a Gulfstream.”

  “Gulfstream! Nice!” He took a swig of beer.

  “Yeah, but I’m on the Astral for now,” Tris said. Estes was a typical pilot—always focused on the bigger airplane first.

  “Good enough, good buddy.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t you miss the airline world? How else ya gonna see Duluth?”

  Tris laughed for the first time all day. “I miss my friends,” she said. As she took a sip of beer, she realized how true that was. The bond between commuter pilots was born of mutual misery, but it was there. Yet hadn’t she learned from them that flying was about bigger, faster airplanes and more money? And the importance of command?

  Tris, Estes, and Miller sat around for a few minutes catching up. They ordered a second pitcher and some appetizers. Tris felt connected to these guys, and it warmed her. As time passed and the distance from the Asheville trip grew, she relaxed, becoming herself again. Deter seemed very far away.

  Just as she and her two friends launched into the usual con-versation about pilot career tracks, she saw Ross enter the bar. She remembered she’d seen him at O’Slattery’s before. She hadn’t lingered on him, even though he was good-looking. Probably because she’d been with Bron. She hardly noticed other men when she and Bron were together. She would focus only on him, like he was the only man in the room. In the world.

  “Well, hey!” Ross walked over to their table. He was dressed in an Allman Brothers T-shirt and jeans.

  “Hey,” she managed without looking at him.

  Ross nodded to the guys with Tris: a brief head movement up and down to establish the alpha. In this group, it was obviously Ross, who assumed the stance of command, and looked at them with his eyelids lowered and chin pointed forward.

  “So, Tris, what are you guys up to here?”

  “Not much. We’re o
ld flying buddies.” She introduced Ross to her friends in a formal but courteous manner. They all nodded again. No one rose to shake Ross’s hand.

  “Good to meet you. Hey guys, can I borrow this one?” He gestured toward Tris. Estes looked over at her. She nodded slightly, giving him the green light.

  “Sure. Good seeing you, Tris. Way to go on that new job!”

  Tris hugged the guys and slowly walked behind Ross toward the bar.

  “Whiskey, neat,” he said to the bartender, who glanced at Tris to see if she wanted another drink. Tris shook her head.

  “Got a cigarette?” Ross turned to Tris.

  “I don’t, but I know where to get one. Hey, Sinead,” she called over to the bartender. “Can we bum a couple of butts?”

  “Sure you can,” the petite, dark-haired woman answered in a thick Irish accent. Everyone who worked in the pub was from the owner’s hometown in Ireland. Sinead placed Ross’s drink, along with an ashtray, a book of matches, and two Marlboro Lights in front of them. Ross lit Tris’s cigarette in his mouth first, took a drag, and handed it to her.

  “So, that was a fun trip, eh?” He rolled his eyes and inhaled.

  She wasn’t sure of her footing here, but Tris needed advice. She had to try and trust someone.

  “Well, the first leg was anyway. Larry, I don’t know what to do about Deter. Should I tell Zorn or Willett about what he said?”

  Ross didn’t hesitate. “No. Don’t do that. Those guys, they worship Deter. They think he’s some aviation god since he used to do carrier landings in the navy.”

  Tris exhaled slowly. “Then I don’t know what to do. I mean, I just started here. What’s his problem?”

  “Look, like I said to you earlier,” Ross said, draining his whiskey and motioning to Sinead for another, “that’s just Deter. He’s kind of an asshole. But believe it or not—and I know you won’t—he actually means well.”

  “He hates my guts. And he’s my training captain!”

  Ross swirled the bottom of his empty glass along the bartop. Sinead poured a shot and left the bottle next to his right hand.

  “He actually doesn’t hate you. It’s more the idea…” Ross took a long pull on his cigarette and blew out the smoke. “Look, this is a guy who thinks the Tailhook Convention should be a national holiday.”

  “You mean like when that female pilot was attacked by naval officers? He thought that was a good thing?”

  Ross ran a finger around the rim of his glass. “I remember his take on all the trouble they had that year. He thought it was all bullshit. His attitude toward you was sealed from the get.”

  Tris shuddered. Everyone in aviation remembered the Navy’s Tailhook Convention of ’91. The Gauntlet. That’s all you had to say to a female pilot to raise images of physical and verbal assault by men who were supposed to be America’s finest aviators. They all knew what it symbolized—women were meat. Not professionals, and definitely not pilots.

  “Great. So, I never had a chance with him. Why did Tetrix even interview me if this was the deal with Deter? And why would they pair me up with him?”

  Ross stubbed out his cigarette. “Zorn wanted you. End of story. And Deter will do what he’s told,” he said, his deep voice steady and convincing even after a couple of whiskeys.

  “Anyway, he’s gotta get you trained up before they’ll even consider sending him to Gulfstream school.” Ross looked like he was trying to stop himself from saying something he shouldn’t. He took a slug of his third drink. “Zorn doesn’t really want him on the Gulfstream, truthfully. He doesn’t want to fly with him.”

  “Why not?”

  Ross chuckled. “You mean you can’t tell? Deter doesn’t kiss Zorn’s ass,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “So he’s gonna train me, and he still might not get the Gulfstream? Does he know that?”

  “I don’t know. But Zorn made it clear to him he’s gotta get this done and get you ready if he’s gonna move into the Gulfstream.” Ross poured another drink. Sinead walked over with a pack of cigarettes, two sticking out of the top.

  “Need another smoke?” She asked.

  Tris looked over at Ross. She’d follow his lead.

  “Nah, not for me. One’s my limit.” He laughed at his own comment.

  Tris continued the conversation as Ross stirred on the barstool beside her. “So, I’m just another excuse not to send him to Gulfstream training in Savannah?”

  “Hey, I’m gonna see what’s in the jukebox.” Ross slid off of his seat and steadied himself against the mahogany bar.

  When he moved away from Tris, the bartender leaned over.

  “How do you know him?” Sinead nodded in Ross’s direction.

  “We fly together. He’s a pilot,” Tris said.

  “Noooo kidding.” Sinead chuckled. “Well, he’s a regular.”

  “Really? I think I may have seen him here. Can’t say for sure though.”

  “We call him ‘Unlucky Larry,’” Sinead said.

  “Yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Aye, hang around a bit longer and you’ll see for yourself.”

  Sinead was right. Once Ross had downed three whiskeys, he drank on autopilot. After four or five, he switched to beer. Tris had one beer during the quick ninety minutes it took Ross to go from upright to plastered.

  The crowd at O’Slattery’s picked up as the afternoon wore on. Ross stumbled out of his stool and approached a pretty brunette at the bar. His lips almost touched the woman’s ear as he whispered to her what a “nice guy” he was. Tris watched her lean away in disgust.

  Finally, with the help of a couple of guys who tended bar with Sinead, Tris was able to steer Ross out of O’Slattery’s toward his car. His big Cutlass was parked in the lot not far from her Corolla.

  Tris hated drunks. They scared her, and Ross was the model for all the reasons why. Sloppy, unstable, and out of control. No way she’d let him drive. She couldn’t.

  She steadied him against her car, but he pushed her away. Ross had tried to walk but stumbled. As Tris forced him back against the hood, he fished his keys out of his coat pocket. He moved toward his car and dropped them on the ground.

  “Oh, you’re not going to drive.” Tris put her hand on his chest and gently pushed him back toward her car.

  “Sure I am,” he said, lurching for his keys.

  “Oh, hell no!” Somehow she simultaneously picked up his key ring while maneuvering him into the Corolla’s passenger seat. She looked out at the heavy traffic on the highway service road. It must be close to rush hour.

  “I need to call your wife. What’s your number?”

  “What’s yours?” He winked at her and spit out his number. “But not there. Gone, gone, gone…”

  She ran back into the bar to call his house, but Mrs. Ross didn’t pick up, only the answering machine. Then she remembered his wife and son were visiting her parents in Montana.

  She hurried back outside to make sure he hadn’t stumbled into traffic. “I’ll call you a cab,” she said, running back into the bar.

  “No.” Ross waved his arms in the air. “Gimme my damn car keys,” he yelled. He yanked on the interior handle of the Corolla’s passenger door and pushed his weight against it when it wouldn’t open. He hadn’t thought to simply raise the button and unlock it.

  “I’m fine! I’ll drive!”

  “No way. No way!” Tris yelled a bit louder than she’d intended. A couple just pulling up to the bar asked her if she needed help, but she took a deep breath and said no.

  She had to get this situation under control. Ross could not take the wheel. She imagined him smashing into some poor unsuspecting driver, lifeless bodies being pulled from the wreckage. Loved ones picking up a phone, about to have their lives torn apart. She shivered.

  No. All she had to do was buckle his seat belt and drive him home. No cab. Even if she took his keys, he might have a spare and ask the cabbie to bring him back to the parking lot.

  Unlike the unalterable event
s of the past, she could fix this. She would save him.

  “Larry, I’ll take you home.”

  “Great!” He brightened. “I’ll grill chicken!”

  Tris smiled, envisioning this limp-legged, deadweight of a man trying to find his charcoal grill, much less operate it. Luckily, Ross was conscious enough to give Tris his address, and she was familiar with his neighborhood. She grabbed her Exeter street map from the back seat, harnessed him in tightly and started the car.

  As she drove, Ross morphed from an angry to happy drunk. “I got the radiosh, Cap’n,” he slurred, tuning to a Christian music station.

  “What a friend we have in Jeeeeeeesusssss,” he bellowed as they crawled along Overland Boulevard.

  As the streetlights paved the way, it hit her. Her passenger was a completely bombed pilot whom she worked with. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel with one hand, and rubbed her forehead with the other. It would be over soon.

  All of a sudden she felt his hand squeeze her shoulder. She quickly shoved him off and kept driving. About halfway to his house, Ross bolted upright in his seat and yelled “gimme your tits!” He tried to lunge toward her, but the seatbelt threw him back in his seat.

  She scooched as close to the driver’s door as she could, moved her seat as far forward as it would go and pressed down on the accelerator.

  Finally, she saw the mailbox with Ross’s house number. She pulled into the driveway and saw moths flapping around the porch light. Ross had stopped being a threat a mile back when he had passed out and began snoring. Tris shook him firmly until he grunted. Still belted in, he reached out with both arms to grab her waist and pull her towards him.

  “Let go of me!” Tris wrinkled her nose in disgust. He stunk. A trail of spit had leaked down from the corner of his mouth. “We’re home. Let’s get you inside.” She steadied him against her left side, and put her arm loosely around his waist.

  His arm shot out toward her breast, but she twisted away just in time. “I don’t wanna be here. I don’t live here,” he mumbled, falling from the car straight onto the ground.