Wings. Part 10

"But why why?" She argued constantly with Nancy Firestone. "I can't stay out all night, and fly intelligently at four o'clock in the morning."

"Then start later. Mr. Williams will understand. He wants wants you to go out in the evening." you to go out in the evening."

"But I don't want to." Ca.s.sie's natural stubbornness hadn't been left in Illinois, and she had every intention of winning. "I'd rather stay home and read about his airplanes."

"That's not what Mr. Williams wants," Nancy said firmly, and so far she had usually won the argument, but there were a few times when Ca.s.sie escaped her. She preferred walking on the beach, or being alone at night, writing letters to Nick, or her sisters, or her mother. She missed her family terribly, and the familiar people she had grown up with. And even writing to Nick made her heart ache. Sometimes she felt as though the air was being pressed out of her as she wrote to him and told him what she was doing. She missed flying with him, and arguing with him and telling him how wrong he was, or what a fool. She wanted to tell him how much she missed him, but it always sounded strange to her in a letter. And more often than not, she tore it up, and just told him about the planes she was flying.

She never mentioned her social life to him, or to anyone, it didn't mean anything to her, no matter how much they wrote about it in the papers. Nancy had found a lot of young men to escort her, most of whom knew nothing about planes, and some of them were actors who needed to be seen too. It was all about being "seen," and where she went, and who you were "seen" with. She didn't want to be seen with any of them, and most of the time, they just posed for photographs and then took her home, and she would collapse into bed, relieved to be rid of them. The only thing she really loved about her new movie-star life was the flying.

And the flying was incredible. Sailing into the dawn in the Phaeton, breaking all records for speed, was the sweetest thing she had ever done, and probably the most dangerous. But much to her own surprise, with the incredible machines, she was honing her skills here. She was learning how to handle very heavy planes, learning how to compensate for any problems they had, signaling them to the engineers, and correcting them right along with them. Her input was valued here, her views, they admired the way she flew, and they understood everything she wanted. It was every pilot's dream to be in the seat she was in, and as long as she was in the air, there was no question about it. She loved it.

She was stepping out of an Army pursuit plane with a Merlin engine on it for more speed, one afternoon, after a short flight over Las Vegas to make some notes for the design team, when a hand reached up to her and helped her down, and she was surprised to see it was Desmond Williams. He was as impeccable as ever, and his hair blew a little off his face in the soft breeze and he looked suddenly less rigid, and much younger than the other times she'd seen him.

"Did you have a good flight?"

"I did. But the Merlin engine was disappointing here. It still didn't give us what we wanted out of this plane. We have to try something else. But I've got some ideas I want to kick around with the design team tomorrow. The plane was pulling to port on takeoff too, which is a real problem." She always thought of his planes, and the problems they needed to conquer. At night she dreamed of them, and by day she pressed them to their limits. And as he glanced at her, he was more impressed than ever with what he was hearing. She was a gold mine.

"Sounds like you need a break." He smiled at her, as she pushed her hair out of her eyes and smoothed her uniform. She still longed for her overalls sometimes, and the old days of never caring how she looked when she flew. To Ca.s.sie, it didn't matter. "How about dinner tonight?"

She was surprised at the invitation, and wondered if he had something on his mind. Maybe he was unhappy with her. He had never invited her out before, and their dealings with each other had been strictly business.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Williams?" She looked worried and he laughed at the question. She wondered if maybe he was firing her, and he shook his head and looked at her in amus.e.m.e.nt.

"The only thing wrong is that you work too hard, and have absolutely no idea what a miracle you are. Of course nothing's wrong. I just thought it might be nice to have dinner."

"Sure," she said shyly, wondering what it would be like to have dinner with him. He was so handsome and so perfect and so smart, and so rich, that he scared her. Nancy always said what good company he was, and how pleasant, and she seemed to know him well. But he still frightened Ca.s.sie more than a little.

"What do you like? French? Italian? There are some wonderful restaurants in Los Angeles. I imagine you've been to them all by now."

"Yes, I have." She looked him right in the eye, overcoming her shyness for a moment. "And I wish I hadn't."

"So I hear." He smiled at her. "I understand you've been chafing at your social schedule." He looked almost fatherly for an instant, despite his age, and Ca.s.sie could see why Nancy liked him.

"That's putting it mildly. I just don't see why I have to go out every night if I'm going to fly for you at four o'clock the next morning."

"Maybe you should get a later start." He said practically, but she groaned in answer.

"That's what Nancy said. But flying is the important part. Going out doesn't matter."

He stopped walking with her then, and looked down at her, and she was totally surprised to realize how much taller he was. In more ways than one, he was a man of great stature. "It's all all important, Ca.s.sie. All of it. Not just the flying. But the going out too. Look what the papers say about you... what the public thinks now... how much they love you... Look how much that means, how much access that gives you to them, how much weight you carry with the public after only a month here. They want to know what you eat, what you read, what you think. Don't ever underestimate that. It's the power of the American public." important, Ca.s.sie. All of it. Not just the flying. But the going out too. Look what the papers say about you... what the public thinks now... how much they love you... Look how much that means, how much access that gives you to them, how much weight you carry with the public after only a month here. They want to know what you eat, what you read, what you think. Don't ever underestimate that. It's the power of the American public."

"I don't get it," she said, looking like a kid, and he smiled at her. He already knew her better than that. He had an uncanny sense about people.

"Yes, you do," be said quietly. "You just don't want to. You want to play the game on your terms. But you'll get a lot more out of it in the end, if you play my way. Trust me."

"Having dinner at the Cocoanut Grove, or Mocambo, isn't going to make me a better flier."

"No, but it will make you exciting... glamorous... someone people want to know more about. It will make them listen to you, and once they're listening, you can tell them anything you want to."

"And if I'm asleep at home in bed, they won't listen?" She grinned, but she had gotten his point, and she was intrigued by it, and he knew it.

"All they'll hear then, Miss O'Malley, is you snoring."

She laughed at him, and he left her at the hangar a few minutes later. He had promised to pick her up at seven o'clock, and said he would tell her later where they were going.

She told Nancy who she was having dinner with when she got home, but she had already heard from Miss Fitzpatrick what her dinner plans were. There were no secrets at Williams Aircraft. And she suspected where he would take her, probably Perino's. Nancy helped her pick out a particularly sophisticated dress, and a.s.sured Ca.s.sie that it was just the sort of thing he really liked.

"Why do you think he wants to have dinner with me?" Ca.s.sie asked worriedly. She was still wondering if he was secretly displeased with her about something. Maybe he really was annoyed that she complained about going out at night, and wanted to scold her.

"I think he wants to take you out because you're so ugly," Nancy teased. She had begun treating Ca.s.sie like her daughter. In some ways, Ca.s.sie was still a child, not unlike Janie. In fact, Jane and Ca.s.sie had hit it off splendidly on the two occasions Nancy had invited her to dinner. She would have invited her more frequently, but Ca.s.sie never had time for a private evening. "Now go wash your face and stop worrying. He's a perfect gentleman," He always was, no matter what he wanted, business or pleasure. Desmond Williams had a brilliant mind and impeccable manners. What he did not have was a heart, or at least, that was what women said. If he did, no one had found it yet. But Nancy knew it was not Ca.s.sie's heart Desmond wanted. He wanted her loyalty, and her life, her mind, her judgment about planes, and her courage. It was what he wanted from everyone. He wanted everything, except what was really important. And in return, he would take care of her, in the ways he understood, with contracts and money.

Ca.s.sie was ready right on time, and he appeared downstairs in a brand-new Packard. He was a man who liked machines, and he had bought every exciting car there was to own, at one time or another. The Zephyr she'd seen him in back home had already been shipped to California.

She was wearing a slinky black dress Nancy had picked out for her, and black silk stockings and black satin platform shoes that made her look even taller. But he was still taller than she was, and her figure looked fabulous in the black dress. Her hair was piled high on her head in loose curls, and in the month since she'd been in LA she had learned to do her makeup to perfection.

"Wow! If I do say so myself," Desmond beamed at her, as they headed toward the city, "that's quite an outfit."

"I was going to wear my overalls," she grinned mischievously, "but Nancy sent them to the cleaners."

"I can't say I'm disappointed," he teased back. They chatted easily all the way into town, about a new plane she knew he was designing. There were questions she had about the fuselage, and her queries about the design, as usual, impressed him deeply.

"How did you ever get to know so much about planes, Ca.s.s?"

"I just love them a lot. You know, like dolls, for some kids. I've just played with planes all my life. I put my first engine back together when I was nine. I've been doing it since I was a little kid. My father put me to work when I was five, but then he had a fit when I learned to fly. Engines were okay, but flying was for guys, not for women."

"It's hard to believe." He looked amused. To him, it sounded like the dark ages.

"I know." She grinned, thinking fondly of her father. "He's an adorable old dinosaur and I love him. He threw your card away that day, you know. The first time you came to the airport."

"I thought he'd do something like that, he and his partner. That's why I came back." He glanced over at her as they reached LA "I'm glad I did. When I think what I would have missed. What this country would have lost. It would have been a tragedy." He made it sound very dramatic, and she laughed. What he said was very frightening, but it always sounded like nonsense to Ca.s.sie. She knew her own worth, or she thought she did. She was a pretty good pilot, but she wasn't the oracle he pretended she was, or the genius... or the beauty... but Americans were already beginning to know different. They agreed with Desmond Williams.

"Where are we going tonight?" she asked with mild curiosity. She recognized the neighborhood, but hadn't guessed what restaurant. He told her they were going to the Trocadero.

And when they stepped inside, she saw instantly how glamorous it was, and how luxurious. The lights were dim, and the band was playing a rumba.

"You haven't been here yet, Ca.s.sie, have you?"

She shook her head, visibly impressed by her surroundings, and by being there with him. She was twenty years old, and she had never seen anything like that. "No, sir," she said, and he leaned closer to her and touched her arm.

"You could call me Desmond." He smiled at her, and she blushed. It was odd being so friendly with him. He was so important, he was her boss, and he was so much older.

"Yes, sir... I mean, Desmond..." She was still blushing in the darkness as they were led to an important table.

"Of course Sir Desmond has a certain ring to it. I hadn't thought of that before." He made her laugh easily, and he helped her order. He made her feel surprisingly comfortable, even though everything she was experiencing was new. But he never made her feel ignorant or foolish. He treated it all as a great opportunity for her, and for him. He always let her know how lucky he felt to be there with her. He was a master at the fine art of putting her at ease, and before their dinner came, he had her laughing and dancing, and completely comfortable with him. So much so that she danced in his arms as though she had been doing it for a dozen years, and when the photographers appeared after dinner, they got a wonderful photograph of her smiling up at him, as though she adored him.

She was uncomfortable about it the next day, when she saw the newspaper on her way to work. The photograph somehow managed to convey the impression that she was involved with him, which she certainly wasn't. But there was something very intimate about the way he looked at her, as she stood next to him, and yet nothing inappropriate, or even faintly romantic, had ever happened. He was her boss, the man who had "discovered" her, and given her a great opportunity. And she was grateful to him for that. But there was absolutely nothing else between them. She wondered if anyone at work would make a comment about it, but no one did, until three days later when she got a call from Nick. He was flying a mail run to San Diego that night, and he could come up to see her the following morning. It would be Sat.u.r.day and she was free to spend the day with him. She was supposed to go to a charity ball with one of Nancy's young friends that night, but for Nick, she'd gladly cancel.

"So, is Williams giving you the rush, or are you falling for him?" he asked bluntly after he told her he'd meet her at her apartment as soon as he came up from San Diego.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She was annoyed at his a.s.sumption.

"I was in Chicago yesterday, Ca.s.s. I saw the picture of you two in the paper. Looks pretty cozy." There was an edge to his voice she'd never heard there before, and she didn't like it.

"I happen to work for him. And he took me out to dinner. That was it. He has about as much interest in me as he has in his engineers, so knock it off."

"I think you're being naive. And those didn't look like work clothes." He was angry and jealous, and sorry her father had ever let her come out here. The flying she was doing for Williams was too d.a.m.n dangerous. But it wasn't just the flying he was upset about. It was the look on Desmond's face as he looked at her in the photograph in the paper.

"It was just a business dinner, Nick. He was just being nice taking me out. He was probably bored to death. And believe it or not, those are my work clothes." She was referring to the slinky black dress she'd been wearing. "My chaperone buys me everything, and they send me out every night like a trained dog to show off and get my picture taken. They call it public relations."

"Doesn't sound like work to me. Or flying." He was consumed with annoyance, and the loneliness of not having seen her in over a month. He had been aching to see her. But she hadn't had time to get home yet. It had shocked him to discover how much he missed her. He felt as though he'd lost a limb, or his best friend. And he didn't like the idea of Williams taking her out to dinner.

"We'll talk about it when you're here," she said quietly, sounding more grown-up than she had at home. She had already changed, but she didn't know it. And she had already acquired a lot of big-city polish. "How long can you stay?"

"I've got to be out by six o'clock. I've got to get back with some mail." She was instantly disappointed, and she would have no excuse to cancel her "date" to go to the ball to benefit children with infantile paralysis.

"Well, we'll make the best of it. Try and get here early."

"As early as I can, kid. I'm not flying the fancy stuff you are."

"You don't need 'em. The way you fly, you could fly egg crates and get more out of them than anything I see here," she said warmly.

"Stop flattering an old man," he said, sounding mellower than he had at the beginning of the call. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She could hardly wait, and she was up as usual at three-thirty, anxious for him to arrive. It seemed endless, before he rang her bell at seven-fifteen that morning. She flew down the stairs and threw herself into his arms so hard she almost knocked him down. He was stunned by the sheer beauty of her, and the force of her affection. She had missed him too, even more than she'd realized. She missed their confidences, and their long talks, and their flying.

"Hey, wait a minute, you... give a guy a chance, before you knock the wind out of me..." She was kissing him and hugging him, she was like a lost child who had finally found her parents. "Hey, it's okay... it's okay..." There were tears in her eyes as she clung to him, and he held her so close he wanted never to let her go. She had never looked as good to him, or felt as good in his arms, and he had to force himself to step back and release her. He would have liked to stay that way forever. "Wow... don't you look fine." He smiled. He noticed the new haircut, and the makeup, and she was wearing beige slacks and a white sweater. She looked surprisingly like Hepburn or Hayworth. "You don't look like you've been suffering," he teased, and then he whistled when he saw the apartment. "My, my... talk about hardship..."

"Isn't it great?" she beamed at him, and showed him around. He was very impressed, and he had to remind himself that this was the little girl he had known since she was a baby. This was not some movie star he had just met. This was Pat O'Malley's daughter.

"Looks like you got lucky, Ca.s.s," he said fairly. But he also thought she deserved it. There was no reason for her not to have all this. But he still worried about her. "Do they treat you right?"

"They do everything for me. Buy me clothes, feed me, I have a maid, she's the nicest woman you've ever met. Her name is Lavinia. I have a chaperone named Nancy, who buys me clothes and sets up everything for me, like all the events I have to go to, my escorts, the people I see." She chatted on and Nick looked at her strangely.

"Your escorts? escorts? They set you up with men?" He looked startled, and none too pleased, as she served him the breakfast she had made for him, and fried some eggs while he waited. They set you up with men?" He looked startled, and none too pleased, as she served him the breakfast she had made for him, and fried some eggs while he waited.

"Sort of. But not really. Some of them aren't really... I mean... they don't really like women, you know... but they're friends of Nancy's, or she knows who they are. Some of them are actors who need to be seen, and we... I... we go to events, or parties and get our photographs taken together." She looked embarra.s.sed as she explained it to him, it wasn't the part of her work she liked best by any means, but after Desmond's explanation the other night, she was trying to accept it. "I don't like doing it, but it's important to Desmond."

"Desmond?" Nick raised an eyebrow as he ate the eggs she had made him. They were delicious. But the sudden mention of Williams in such familiar terms made him stop eating.

"He thinks public relations is the most important thing in business."

"What about flying? Is that important to him, or do you even get to do that?"

"Come on, Nick, be fair. I have to do what they ask me to. Look at all this," She waved around at the s.p.a.cious modern kitchen and the rest of the apartment beyond it. "Look what they're doing for me. If they want me to go out and have my photograph taken, I owe it it to them. It's not such a big deal." But he looked angry as he listened. to them. It's not such a big deal." But he looked angry as he listened.

"That's bulls.h.i.t, and you know it. You didn't come out here to be a model, or go to finishing school, Ca.s.s. And the only thing you owe owe them is to risk your a.s.s testing their planes, and break any record you can. That's what you them is to risk your a.s.s testing their planes, and break any record you can. That's what you owe owe them. The rest is up to you, or at least it should be. Williams doesn't own you, for chrissake. Or does he?" He looked at her ominously, and she shook her head. He made her feel ashamed for going along with the plan. But she them. The rest is up to you, or at least it should be. Williams doesn't own you, for chrissake. Or does he?" He looked at her ominously, and she shook her head. He made her feel ashamed for going along with the plan. But she did did feel she owed it to them, and she could also understand what Williams wanted. He wanted her to become a star, in order to further her career in aviation, and publicize his planes. That wasn't totally wrong, and the other women in aviation had done their share of it too. You did what you had to. feel she owed it to them, and she could also understand what Williams wanted. He wanted her to become a star, in order to further her career in aviation, and publicize his planes. That wasn't totally wrong, and the other women in aviation had done their share of it too. You did what you had to.

"I don't think you're being fair," she said quietly.

"I think you're being used, and it makes me mad as h.e.l.l," he said, pushing his plate away, and then taking a sip of his coffee. "He wants to use you, Ca.s.s. I can smell it."

"That's not true. He wants to help me, Nick. He's already done a lot for me, and I just got here."

"Like what? Take you out dancing the other night? How often has he done that?"

"Just that once. He was being nice. And he was trying to explain to me how important it is to do the social things too, because Nancy told him how much I hate it."

"Well, at least I know you haven't been completely snowed by him. How often have you been out with him?" he asked pointedly, and she looked him square in the eye when she answered.

"I told you just that once. And he was totally polite and respectful. He was a perfect gentleman. He danced with me twice, and it just so happened that the second time he danced with me they took our picture."

"And that was an accident, I suppose." He marveled at her innocence. It was all so obvious to him. He had thought it a great opportunity at first, but only if their main focus had been on her flying. All this social nonsense, and going out, and courting the press told him something very different. It told him Williams was using her in a much broader sense. And he knew she was too young to understand it. And what more did Williams want from her? Did he want her for himself? As young and naive as she was, she would be inevitably dazzled by him and Nick suddenly realized he didn't like the prospect of that either. She was too young to be involved with a man like him. And besides, Desmond Williams didn't love her. Nick had said all this to Pat, and even suggested that Williams might have unsuitable designs on her, and he had tried to rile Pat up about it. But her father was under Oona's spell and she was completely enthralled to be seeing her daughter in newsreels. And Pat wouldn't have done anything to interfere with it. She was safe, she was well, and from what she said in her letters, they were treating her like royalty. She even had a chaperone, so how unsuitable could that be? And they were paying her a ransom on top of it. What more could she ask for?

"Don't you realize," Nick went on, pressing her, "that either the guy has the hots for you, or he set it up to look that way by taking you someplace where you'd be seen, and photographed. He probably tipped them off that he'd be taking you there. So now America has more than just a pretty face to fall in love with, they have a romance. Dashing tyc.o.o.n Desmond Williams courts America's sweetheart from the Midwest, girl next door and flying ace, Ca.s.sie O'Malley. Ca.s.sie, wake up. The guy is using you, and he's great at it. It's working. He's going to make you the biggest name there is, just to sell his G.o.dd.a.m.n planes and then what?" That was what worried Nick. What if he married her? The thought of it made him feel sick, but he didn't say that.

"What difference does it make? What's wrong with it?" Ca.s.sie didn't see all the dangers he did.

"He's doing it for himself, for his business, not for you. He's not sincere. He doesn't give a d.a.m.n. This is business to him. He's exploiting you, Ca.s.s, and it scares me." Everything about Williams, and his plans for Ca.s.sie, scared him.

"Why?" That was what she didn't understand. Why was he so against it? And why was he so suspicious of Desmond Williams? He had done only good things for her, but Nick saw other dangers.

"Look what happened to Earhart. She got too big for herself, she did something she never should have... a lot of people thought she wasn't capable of that last trip, and she obviously wasn't. What if he sets you up for something like that? What if that's what he's leading up to? You'll get hurt, Ca.s.s..." He felt his heart squeeze as he thought of it, and all he wanted to do was take her back to Good Hope where he knew she'd be safe forever.

"He's not doing that, Nick. I swear. He has no plans for me. At least not that I know of. And I'm a better flier than she was anyway." It was an outrageous thing to say, and she laughed as she said it. But Nick took her seriously, as he sat there and watched her. She had gotten still lovelier in the month she'd been away and she didn't even know it.

"You are faster, as a matter of fact. And you don't know what his plans are. This guy isn't doing it for small potatoes. He's got his eye on the big time."

"Maybe you're right," she said, doubtfully. Maybe he did have a world tour in mind. "If he mentions anything about one, I'll tell you. I promise."

"Be careful." He frowned at her, still worried about her, and lit a cigarette, as she closed her eyes and sniffed the familiar fumes of his Camels. They reminded her of her father's airport... and of Nick... and the old days, of meeting at the airfield in Prairie City. Just sitting there with him made her desperately homesick, for him, and all the people she loved there. But she had missed him almost more than anyone.

In the end he relaxed, and enjoyed the fact that he was finally with her again. Being away from her for so long had almost driven him crazy. And day after day, he had thought of new plots that Williams might be hatching to exploit her. He finally stopped nagging her about Williams's plans for her, and the fact that she was being used, and they had a nice afternoon. They went for a long walk on the beach, and sat on the sand in the August sun, looking out at the ocean. It felt good just sitting side by side again, and they sat for a long time together in silence.

"There's going to be a war in Europe soon," he said prophetically, when they started chatting again. 'The signs are as clear as that sun up there," he said unhappily. "Hitler won't be controlled. They're going to have to stop him."

"Do you think we'll get into it eventually?" She loved talking to him about politics again. She had no one to talk to here. She was too solitary and too busy. Nancy talked to her about clothes, and her "escorts" just posed for pictures.

"Most people think we won't get into it," he said quietly. "But I thing we'll have to."

"And you?" She knew him well. Too well. She wondered if that was what he was telling her. That he felt the same pull he had felt twenty years before. She hoped not. "Would you go?"

"I'm probably too old to go." He was thirty-eight, and not old by any means. But he could have stayed home if he'd wanted to. Pat was too old to fight another war. But Nick still had choices. "But I'd probably want to." He smiled at her, his hair flying in the salt air, as hers did. They were sitting side by side on the sand, their shoulders touching and their hands. It was so comforting to have him near her. She had relied on him for so long, and learned so much from him. She missed him more than anyone at home, and he had found that her absence was like a physical ache that still had not abated.

"I don't want you to go," she said unhappily, looking into the blue eyes she knew so well, with the small crow's-feet beside them. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him. She wanted to make him promise he wouldn't go to another war in Europe.

"I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you, Nick." She said it so softly he could hardly hear her.

"We take the same risks every day," he said honestly. "You can run into trouble tomorrow, so can I. I think we both know that."