Airport. Part 23

Tanya exclaimed, "d.a.m.n that old woman!"

So Ada Quonsett was going to get her ride to Italy and back, with probably a night's lodging in between, and with meals suppliedall at airline expense, Tanya thought angrily: she had underestimated the old lady's determination not to be sent back to the West Coast; she had erred also in a.s.suming that Mrs. Quonsett would head only for New York.

Barely fifteen minutes earlier Tanya had thought of the developing contest between herself and Ada Quonsett as a battle of wits. If it was, without doubt the little old lady from San Diego had won.

With uncharacteristic savageness, Tanya wished that the airline would make an exception and prosecute Mrs. Quonsett. But she knew they wouldn't.

Young Peter Coakley started to say something.

Tanya snapped, "Oh, shut up!"

The District Transportation Manager returned to his office a few minutes after Coakley and the gate agent left. The D.T.M., Bert Weatherby, was a hard-working, hard-driving executive in his late forties, who had come up the hard way, beginning as a ramp baggage handler. Normally considerate, and with a sense of humor, tonight he was tired and testy from three days of continuous strain. He listened impatiently to Tanya's report in which she accepted the main responsibility herself, mentioning Peter Coakley only incidentally.

Running a hand through his spa.r.s.e graying hair, the D.T.M. observed, "I like to check that there's still some left up there, It's things like this that are making the rest of it fall out." He considered, then rasped, "You got us into this mess; you'd better do the salvaging. Talk to Flight Dispatch; ask them to call the captain of Flight Two on company radio and fill him in on what happened. I don't know what he can do. Personally, I'd like to throw the old hag out at thirty thousand feet, but that'll be up to him. By the way, who is the captain?"

"Captain Demerest."

The D.T.M. groaned. "It would be. He'll probably think it's all a great joke because management b.o.o.bed. Anyway, advise him the old biddy's to be detained on board after landing, and is not to be allowed off without escort. If the Italian authorities want to jail her, so much the better. Then get a signal off to our station manager in Rome. When they arrive it'll be his baby, and I hope he's got more competent people around him than I have."

"Yes, sir," Tanya said.

She started to tell the D.T.M. of the other matter concerning Flight Twothe suspicious-looking man with an attache case whom Customs Inspector Standish had seen going aboard. Before she could finish, the D.T.M. cut her off.

"Forget it! What do the Customs people want us to dotheir job? As long as the airline's not involved, I don't give a d.a.m.n what the guy's carrying. If Customs here want to know what's in his case, let them ask Italian Customs to check, not us. I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll interrogate, and maybe offend, a fare-paying pa.s.senger for something that's none of our business."

Tanya hesitated. Something about the man with the attache caseeven though she hadn't actually seen himbothered her. There were instances she had heard of where... Of course, the idea was absurd...

"I was wondering," she said. "He might not be smuggling at all."

The D.T.M. snapped, "I said forget it."

Tanya left. Back at her desk, she began writing the message to Captain Demerest of Flight Two concerning Mrs. Ada Quonsett.

2.

IN A TAXI en route to the airport from downtown, Cindy Bakersfeld leaned back against the rear seat and closed her eyes. She was neither aware, nor cared, that outside it was still snowing, nor that the taxi was moving slowly in heavy traffic. She was in no hurry. A wave of physical pleasure and contentment (Was the right word euphoria? Cindy wondered) swept over her.

The cause was Derek Eden. Derek Eden, who had been at the Archidona Relief Fund c.o.c.ktail party (Cindy still didn't know which Archidona); who had brought her a triple-strength Bourbon, which she hadn't drunk, then had propositioned her in the most unimaginative way. Derek Eden, until today only a slightly known Sun-Times reporter with a second-grade by-line; Derek Eden with the dissolute face, the casual air, the nondescript unpressed clothes; Derek Eden and his beat-up filthy-inside-and-out Chevrolet; Derek Eden, who had caught Cindy in a barriers-down moment, when she needed a man, any man, and she hadn't hoped for much; Derek Eden who had proved to be the finest and most exciting lover she had ever known.

Never, never before had Cindy experienced anyone like him. Oh, G.o.d!, she thought; if ever there was sensual, physical perfection, she attained it tonight. More to the point; now that she had known Derek Eden... dear Derek... she wanted him again often. Fortunately, it was unmistakable that he now felt the same way about her.

Still leaning back in the rear of the taxi, she relived mentally the past two hours. They had driven, in the awful old Chevrolet, from the Lake Michigan Inn to a smallish hotel near the Merchandise Mart. A doorman accepted the car disdainfully Derek Eden didn't seem to noticeand inside, in the lobby, the night manager was waiting. Cindy gathered that one of the phone calls which her escort had made was to here. There was no formality of checking in, and the night manager showed them directly to a room on the eleventh floor. After leaving the key, and with a quick "goodnight," he left.

The room was so-so; old fashioned, Spartan, and with cigarette burns on the furniture, but clean. It had a double bed. Beside the bed, on a table, was an unopened bottle of Scotch, some mixes and ice. A card on the liquor tray read, "With the manager's compliments"; Derek Eden inspected the card, then put it in his pocket.

When Cindy inquired, later on, Derek explained, "Sometimes a hotel will oblige the press. When they do, we don't make any promises; the paper wouldn't go for it. But maybe sometimes a reporter or a deskman will put the hotel's name in a story if it's an advantage; or if the story's a bad onelike a death; hotels hate thatwe might leave it out. As I say, no promises. You do the best you can."

They had a drink, and chatted, then another, and during the second drink he began to kiss her. It was soon after that she became aware of the gentleness of his hands, which he pa.s.sed through her hair quite a lot to begin with, in a way which she could feel through her entire body; then the hands began exploring slowly, oh, so slowly... and it was also then that Cindy began to realize this might be something special.

While he was undressing her, demonstrating a finesse which he had lacked earlier, he whispered, "Don't let's hurry, Cindyeither of us." But soon after, when they were in bed, and wonderfully warm, as Derek Eden promised in the car they would be, she had wanted to hurry, and cried out, "Yes, yes!... Oh, please! I can't wait!" But he insisted gently, "Yes, you can. You must." And she obeyed him, being utterly, deliciously in his control, while he led her, as if by the hand like a child, close to the brink, then back a pace or two while they waited with a feeling like floating in air; then near once more, and back, and the same again and again, the bliss of it all near-unendurable; and finally when neither of them could wait longer, there was a shared crescendo like a hymn of heaven and a thousand sweet symphonies; and if Cindy had been able to choose a moment for dying, because nothing afterward could ever be that moment's equal, she would have chosen then.

Later, Cindy decided that one of the things she liked about Derek Eden was his total lack of humbug. Ten minutes after their supreme moment, at a point where Cindy's normal breathing was returning and her heart regaining its regular beat, Derek Eden propped himself on an elbow and lighted cigarettes for them both.

"We were great, Cindy." He smiled. "Let's play a return match soon, and lots of others after that." It was, Cindy realized, an admission of two things: that what they had experienced was solely physical, a sensual adventure, and neither should pretend that it was more; yet together they had attained that rare Nirvana, an absolute s.e.xual compatibility. Now, what they had available, whenever needed, was a private physical paradise, to be nurtured and increasingly explored.

The arrangement suited Cindy.

She doubted if she and Derek Eden would have much in common outside a bedroom, and he was certainly no prize to be exhibited around the social circuit. Without even thinking about it, Cindy knew she would have more to lose than gain by being seen publicly in Derek's company. Besides, he had already intimated that his own marriage was solid, though Cindy guessed he wasn't getting as much s.e.x at home as he needed, a condition with which she sympathized, being in the same situation herself.

Yes, Derek Eden was someone to be treasuredbut not to become involved with emotionally. She would treasure him. Cindy resolved not to be demanding, nor let their love-making become too frequent. A single session like tonight's would last Cindy a long time, and could be relived just by thinking about it. Play a little hard-to-get, she told herself; see to it that Derek Eden went on wanting her as much as she wanted him. That way, the whole thing could last for years.

Cindy's discovery of Derek had also, in a strange way, provided her with a freedom she had not possessed before.

Now that she had better-than-average s.e.x available as it were, on a separate shelf, she could view the choice between Mel and Lionel Urquhart more objectively.

Her marriage to Mel had, in some ways, already terminated. Mentally and s.e.xually they were estranged; their slightest disagreement resulted in bitter quarreling. All that Mel appeared to think about nowadays was his d.a.m.ned airport. Each day, it seemed, thrust Mel and Cindy farther apart.

Lionel, who was satisfactory in all respects except in bed, wanted divorces all around so that he could marry Cindy.

Mel detested Cindy's social ambitions. Not only would he do nothing to advance them; he impeded them. Lionel, on the other hand, was well established in Illinois society, saw nothing unusual in Cindy's social aims and would, and could, help her fulfill them.

Until now, Cindy's choice had been complicated by the remembrance of her fifteen years of marriage to Mel and the good times together, mental and physical, they had once enjoyed. She had hoped vaguely that the pastincluding the satisfactions of s.e.xmight somehow be rekindled. It was, she admitted to herself, a delusive hope.

Lionel, as a s.e.xual partner, had little or nothing to offer. Neitherat least for Cindy, any morehad Mel.

But if s.e.x were eliminatedan elimination which Derek Eden, like a secretly stabled stallion, had now made possibleLionel, as a compet.i.tor to Mel, came out far ahead. In the taxi, Cindy opened her eyes and mused.

She wouldn't make any firm decision until she had talked with Mel. Cindy didn't like decisions, anyway, and invariably put them off until they could be delayed no longer. Also, there were still imponderables involved: the children; memories of the years with Mel, which hadn't all been bad; and when you once cared deeply for someone, you never shook it off entirely. But she was glad she had decided, after all, to come out here tonight.

For the first time since leaving downtown Cindy leaned forward, peering out into the darkness to see if she could determine where they were. She couldn't. Through misted windows she could see snow and many other cars, all moving slowly. She guessed they were on the Kennedy Expressway, but that was all.

She was aware of the cab driver's eyes watching her in his rear-view mirror. Cindy had no idea what kind of man the driver was; she hadn't taken notice when she got into the cab back at the hotel, which she and Derek left separately since they decided they might as well start being discreet immediately. Anyway, tonight all faces and bodies merged into the face and body of Derek Eden.

"That's Portage Park over there, madam," the driver said. "We're getting close to the airport. Won't be long."

"Thank you."

"Lotsa traffic going out there besides us. Guess those airport people must have had their problems, what with the big storm and all."

Who the h.e.l.l cares?, Cindy thought. And didn't anyone ever think or talk of anything besides that cruddy airport? But she kept quiet.

At the main terminal entrance Cindy paid off the cab and hurried inside to avoid wet snow which gusted under canopies and swirled along sidewalks. She threaded the crowds in the main concourse, moving around one sizable group which seemed to intend some kind of demonstration because several people were helping a.s.semble a portable public address system. A Negro police lieutenant, whom Cindy had met several times with Mel, was talking to two or three men from the group who appeared to be leaders. The policeman was shaking his head vigorously. Not really curious nothing about this place really interested herCindy moved on, heading for the airport administrative offices on the mezzanine.

Lights were on in all the offices, though most were unoccupied and there was none of the clatter of typewriters or hum of conversation, as during daytime working hours. At least some people, Cindy thought, had sense enough to go home at night.

The only person in sight was a middle-aged woman, in drab clothes, in the anteroom to Mel's office. She was seated on a settee from where she seemed to be looking vacantly into s.p.a.ce, and took no notice as Cindy came in. The woman's eyes were red as if she had been crying. Judging by her clothes and shoes, which were sodden, she had been outside in the storm. Cindy gave the other woman only a mildly curious glance before going into Mel's office. The office was empty, and Cindy sat down in a chair to wait. After a few moments she closed her eyes and resumed her pleasant thoughts about Derek Eden.

Mel hurried inhe was limping more than usual, Cindy noticedabout ten minutes later.

"Oh!" He appeared surprised when he saw Cindy, and went back to close the door. "I really didn't think you'd come."

"I suppose you'd have preferred me not to."

Mel shook his head. "I still don't think there's anything to be gained by itat least, not for what you seem to have in mind." He looked at his wife appraisingly, wondering what her real purpose was in coming here tonight. He had learned long ago that Cindy's motives were usually complicated, and frequently quite different from what they appeared to be. He had to admit, though, that she looked her best tonight; positively glamorous, with a kind of radiance about her. Unfortunately, the glamour no longer affected him personally.

"Suppose you tell. me," Cindy said, "what you think I have in mind."

He shrugged. "I got the impression that what you wanted was a fight. It occurred to me that we had enough of them at home without arranging another here."

"Perhaps we'll have to arrange something here; since you're hardly ever home any more."

"I might be home, if the atmosphere were more congenial."

They had been talking for just a few seconds, Cindy realized, and already were sniping at each other. It seemed impossible nowadays for the two of them to hold a conversation without that happening.

Just the same, she could not resist answering, "Oh, really! That isn't usually the reason you give for not being at home. You're always claiming how all-fired important it is for you to be here at the airportif necessary, twenty-four hours a day. So many important thingsor so you sayare always happening."

Mel said curtly, "Tonight they are."

"But not other times?"

"If you're asking if I've sometimes stayed here in preference to coming home, the answer's yes."

"At least this is the first time you've been honest about it."

"Even when I do come home, you insist on dragging me to some stupid stuffedshirt affair like tonight's."

His wife said angrily, "So you never did intend to come tonight!"

"Yes, I did. I told you so. But..."

"But nothing!" Cindy could feel the short fuse of her temper burning. "You counted on something turning up to prevent you, the way it always does. So that you could weasel out and have an alibi; so you could convince yourself, even if you don't convince me, because I think you're a liar and a fake."

"Take it easy, Cindy."

"I won't take it easy."

They glared at each other.

What happened to them, Mel wondered, that they had come to this?squabbling like ill-bred children; dealing in pettiness; exchanging vicious gibes; and in all of it, he himself no better than Cindy. Something happened when they quarreled which demeaned them both. He wondered if it was always this way when things were sour with two people who had lived together for a long time. Was it because they knew, and therefore could probe painfully, each other's weaknesses? He had once heard someone say that a disintegrating marriage brought out the worst in both partners. In his own and Cindy's case it was certainly true.

He tried to speak more reasonably. "I don't think I'm a liar, or a fake. But maybe you have a point about my counting on something turning up, enough to keep me away from the social things, which you know I hate. I just hadn't thought of it that way."

When Cindy remained silent, he went on, "You can believe it or not, but I did intend to meet you tonight downtownat least I think so. Maybe I didn't really, the way you said; I don't know. But I do know that I didn't arrange the storm, and, since it started, a lot of things have happened thatfor real this timehave kept me here." He nodded toward the outer office. "One of them is that woman sitting out there. I told Lieutenant Ordway I'd talk to her. She seems to be in some sort of trouble."

"Your wife's in trouble," Cindy said. "The woman out there can wait."

He nodded. "All right."

"We've had it," Cindy said. "You and me. Haven't we?"

He waited before answering, not wanting to be hasty, yet realizing that now this had come up, it would be foolish to avoid the truth. "Yes," he said finally. "I'm afraid we have."

Cindy shot back, "If only you'd change! If you'd see things my way. It's always been what you want to do, or don't. If you'd only do what I want..."

"Like being out six nights a week in black tie, and white tie on the seventh?"

"Well, why not?" Emotionally, imperiously, Cindy faced him. He bad always admired her in that kind of s.p.u.n.ky mood, even when it was directed at himself. Even now...

"I guess I could say the same kind of thing," he told her. "About changing; all that. The trouble is, people don't changenot in what they are basically; they adapt. It's thattwo people adapting to each otherthat marriage is supposed to be about."

"The adapting doesn't have to be one-sided."

"It hasn't been with us," Mel argued, "no matter what you think. I've tried to adapt; I guess you have, too. I don't know who's made the most effort; obviously I think it's me, and you think it's you. The main thing is: though we've given it plenty of time to work, it hasn't."

Cindy said slowly, "I suppose you're right. About the last bit, anyway. I've been thinking the same way too." She stopped, then added, "I think I want a divorce."

"You'd better be quite sure. It's fairly important." Even now, Mel thought, Cindy was hedging about a decision, waiting for him to help her with it. If what they had been saying were less serious, he would have smiled.

"I'm sure," Cindy said. She repeated, with more conviction. "Yes, I'm sure."

Mel said quietly, "Then I think it's the right decision for us both."

For a second Cindy hesitated. "You're sure, too?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm sure."

The lack of argument, the quickness of the exchange, seemed to bother Cindy. She asked, "Then we've made a decision?"

"Yes."

They still faced each other, but their anger was gone.

"Oh h.e.l.l!" Mel moved, as if to take a pace forward. "I'm sorry, Cindy."

"I'm sorry, too." Cindy stayed where she was. Her voice was more a.s.sured. "But it's the most sensible thing, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Yes. I guess it is."

It was over now. Both knew it. Only details remained to be attended to.