Аэропорт / Аirport
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“Never mind,” Mel said. “Is your mother home?”
“She went out. She said, if you phoned, to tell you, you have to be downtown to meet her, and for once try not to be late.”
Roberta was undoubtedly repeating Cindy’s words exactly.
“If your mother calls, tell her I might have to be a little late, and that I can’t help it.”
“Libby wants to talk to you.”
“In a minute. I was just going to tell you—because of the storm I may not be home tonight. There’s a lot happening at the airport.”
“Will you speak to Libby now?”
“Yes, I will. Goodnight, Robbie.”
“Goodnight.”
The telephone changed hands.
“Daddy, Daddy! Guess what!” Libby was always breathless as if, to a seven-year-old, life were excitingly on the run and she must forever keep pace. “Well, at school, Miss Curzon said for homework we have to write down all the good things we think will happen next month.”
He could understand Libby’s enthusiasm. To her, almost everything was exciting and good, and the few things which were not were brushed aside and speedily forgotten.
“That’s nice,” Mel said.
“Daddy! Will you help me? I want a map of February.”
Mel smiled. Libby had a verbal shorthand of her own which sometimes seemed more expressive than conventional words.
“There’s a calendar in my desk.” Mel told her where to find it and heard her small feet running from the room, the telephone forgotten.
3
There was a knock at the outer door of Tanya Livingston’s office, and Mel Bakersfeld leaned in. “I can drop back later, if you like.”
“Please stay.” She smiled. “We’ve almost finished.”
He saw her fill in a voucher for a young girl, and hand it to her. “Give this to the taxi dispatcher, Patsy, and he’ll send you home. Have a good night’s rest, and we’ll expect you back tomorrow.”
When the girl left, Tanya turned to Mel. She said brightly, “Hullo. You got my note?”
“Hi! What was that about? Battle fatigue? I’m tired, too. How about sending me off in a taxi?”
She looked at him, inquiringly. Her eyes—a bright, clear blue—had a quality of directness. She had a slim figure, yet with a fullness which the trim airline uniform heightened… Mel was conscious of her desirability and warmth.
“Only if the taxi goes to my place, and you let me cook you dinner.”
He hesitated, then reluctantly shook his head. “I wish I could. But we’ve some trouble here, and afterward I have to be downtown.” He got up. “Let’s have coffee, anyway.”
The sudden invitation from Tanya had surprised him. They had had several dates together, but until now she had not suggested visiting her apartment.
Lately, Mel had sensed that if their meetings away from the airport continued, there could be a natural and obvious progression. But he had moved cautiously, instinct warning him that an affair with Tanya would be no casual romance but a deeply emotional involvement for them both.
In the coffee shop, Mel glanced around. He nodded toward the outer door through which they could both see a moving, surging swarm of people.
Tanya shuddered. “Can you imagine what it’ll be like when they collect their baggage? I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Nor do a good many other people—who ought to be thinking about it, right now.” Their conversation had already drifted into aviation. Airplanes and airlines held a fascination for Tanya, and she liked talking about them. So did Mel.
“The really big thing, however, which most airport planning hasn’t caught on to yet is that we’re moving toward the day when air freight business will be bigger than passenger traffic. Not long ago, hardly anybody wanted to work in air freight departments; it was backroom stuff; passenger business had the glamour. Not any more! Now the bright boys are heading for air freight. They know that’s where the future and the big promotions lie.”
Tanya laughed. “I’ll be old-fashioned and stick with people.”
A waitress came to their table. They ordered coffee, Tanya cinnamon toast, and Mel a fried egg sandwich.
When the waitress had gone, Mel grinned. “I guess I started to make a speech. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe you need the practice.”
“I’m not president of the Airport Operators Council any more. I don’t get to Washington as much, or other places either.”
Curiously, it was a speech of Mel’s which had brought them together to begin with. At one of the rare interline meetings which airlines held, he had talked about coming developments in aviation. Tanya had been there and later sent him one of her lower case notes:
great. mind suggestion? it would all be better if more abt people, not facts…
As well as amusing him, the note had caused him to think. It was true, he realized—he had concentrated on facts and systems. He revised his speech notes, shifting the emphasis as Tanya suggested. The result was the most successful presentation he had ever made. It gained him an ovation and was widely reported internationally. Afterward he had telephoned Tanya to thank her. That was when they had started seeing each other.
“So, why does your brother-in-law dislike you?”
“I guess he knows I’m not overly keen on him.”
“He is taking Flight Two to Rome tonight.”
Mel smiled. “The Golden Argosy?” Mel was aware that Trans America Flight Two—The Golden Argosy—was the airline’s prestige flight. He also knew that only the line’s most senior captains ever commanded it.
At an adjoining table, a woman said loudly, “Geez! Look at the time!”