Sky Queen

by Judy Kundert

  “Bye, Miss Roebling,” he said with a sly smile. “Hope to see you again.”

  Katherine’s nostrils flared. Touching her name engraved on the gold wings pinned to the ultra-prim neck-high white blouse, she winced and thought. Why don’t they add my phone number too?

  Katherine rushed through the terminal while the omnipresent smells of stale popcorn and roasted hot dogs floated in and out of her nostrils. When she arrived at her crew lounge, she grumbled under her breath. Because of that guy I’m two minutes late. This is the first stain on her otherwise golden record.

  Katherine gripped the handle of the crew lounge door. She paused and rubbed the Thunderbird amulet hidden under her blouse, behind her stewardess wings. Touching this precious turquoise stone gave her strength, reminding her of a legend her great-grandmother told her. “Over ten winters ago, our tribe members danced and rejoiced when the rains came. Our tears of joy mixed with the rain and fell into Mother Earth to become the SkyStone.” Katherine swallowed a deep breath and released a web of worries into the invisible protection of the Thunderbird’s powers. Airline regulations stated no jewelry. To Katherine, this was not jewelry. The necklace was a talisman, part of her existence.

  Glancing back, she surveyed the caravan of harried faces sprinting to their flights. Katherine had the urge to follow the frenzied crowd, hop on an airplane, sit back, and enjoy the trip. She sighed and lifted her shoulders. The stark crew lounge door opened to Katherine’s fate—an angry desk supervisor and a late check-in.

  The pilot from last month’s flight glided right after her. “Hey, Katherine. I saw you talking to that young Chicago mafia guy. Are you scheduled on my Las Vegas junket today?”

  Katherine moved along. “No. I have a San Fran turn around, and I’m so late for my check-in.” Her mouth quivered. “What makes you think that guy is a gangster?”

  “He has that ‘I’m from Vegas and speak bookies, gambling, and babes’ aura. I fly these junkets often since I’m junior. And, these types of guys … I’m not saying they’re bad. He’s different. Not like Iowa farm boy pilots, which I am.” He tipped his pilot’s hat.

  Katherine smiled at the aviator. He must think I’m a sweet innocent girl who needs help with evil characters. “Wish me luck.”

  He laughed and shouted after her. “Have a blast. See you on the Vegas trip.”

  Las Vegas, he must be joking. Katherine cringed at his parting comment and dashed up to the sign-in desk.

  The new crewman glanced up from his paperwork and smiled.

  “Katherine Roebling, checking in for San Fran flight 219. I got detained in the terminal, so I’m a few minutes late.”

  “Late? You’re not late. That flight canceled two hours ago. Now you’re on the Las Vegas flight that departs in two hours at 17:00 p.m.” The crewman laughed. “You deserve a gold star for an early check-in.”

  Katherine pursed her lips to suppress a scream. A gambling junket assignment was like a tempest. “This is a layover flight. My San Fran was a turnaround. I don’t have an overnight bag.”

  The crewman winked and slipped the sign-in sheet to Katherine. With an extra nudge from his chubby hand, the clipboard bumped her breast. “You know how it is: ‘the number one rule for a good stewardess is to expect the unexpected. Sign in and prepare to board your flight with a smile that ignites the cabin with a happy glow.’”

  Katherine’s brow furrowed as she signed the sheet and remembered the next rule: Don’t complain and don’t explain. “You’re right. I can shop for the things I need when I get to Vegas. Drop lucky coins in the slots. I’ll have a fab time.”

  The crewman leaned forward and patted Katherine’s hand. “That a girl. You don’t know how lucky you are. You have a twenty-four-hour layover at the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas. I’d give my mother’s gold teeth for a chance for a night at the Copa Club with those gorgeous showgirls.”

  Katherine giggled. “Well, if I see any of those ladies, I’ll get them to autograph their picture for you. What’s the equipment for this trip?”

  The jolly man jumped up, grabbing Katherine’s hand. “Gimme some skin. Oh, you’re beautiful.” He dropped back into his seat and perused the crew manifest sheet. “Oh, I got so excited about your trip. I wish it were I on that junket. Hey, your equipment—a DC-6.” He paused to stare at Katherine. “This is your first gambling excursion. Keep your guard up with these high rollers.”

  Katherine stepped away from the crew scheduler and gave a hand salute. “Thanks for the tip. But those fellows might need help if they bother me. I am a star member of the Chippewa bow hunters, after all.”

  Katherine squinted and raised her left arm to aim at an imaginary red dot with an imagined bow. Katherine felt her muscles flex, and she held a clear vision of the feathered shaft. She envisioned a gentle breeze ruffling the meadow grass at the Beaver Creek Reserve, a special place where she practiced instinctual aiming and had learned to hit the bull’s eye. She mentally released the arrow, and it hit her target. She used this technique to focus on goals in her life.

  Hands clapped. A cheer erupted behind Katherine. “Wow. What strength and form.”

  Katherine turned around to see two stewardesses she’d flown with before. She couldn’t remember their names. “Hey, you know you’re safe with me on your flight,” she said.

  One of the women walked over and nudged Katherine’s shoulder. “Wonder Woman, sorry to run, but it’s time to dash for our flight. Can you join us at Butch McGuire’s next week? We’re meeting the Cubs’ rookies there. You athletes have lots in common.” The stewardess pointed to the address book. “This is your number, right?”

  Katherine loved the Cubs. And McGuire’s wasn’t a singles bar. It was the neighborhood living room for friends to gather. “Thanks. Call me, and I’ll check my calendar.” Next week. Katherine remembered the Playboy party invitation that she planned to put in E. J.’s mailbox before her flight. “I have to run now. Happy landings.”

  On her jaunt to the stewardess mailboxes, Katherine passed the dreaded weight check scale where the supervisor gave random weigh-ins. A chill overcame her every time she got a notice to come to the supervisor’s office for her weigh-in. Today, given her long sprint in the airport, she wanted a weigh-in. Her uniform skirt’s waistline felt loose, an extra inch of room. She must be five pounds less than her required weight.

  Katherine shook her head and closed her eyes. Memories of last winter’s preflight weigh-in still made her stomach churn. The vision was like one of Scrooge’s visits to the past. She relived the weigh-in with the tall, well-groomed supervisor—her chignon, the smirk on her face, the lilt of pleasure in her voice: “Oh, dear, you weigh 146 lbs. I have to ground you until you lose that pound. We can’t have chubby girls; you know the importance of appearances. Come back next week for another weigh-in.” Never again did she nibble an unwanted extra ounce of fat.

  A few doors past the scale, she arrived at the stewardess mailboxes, crowded in a cubbyhole a few feet wider than an airplane galley. Katherine peeked inside Emma Jean’s message-jammed mailbox. She crammed the gold-embossed Playboy party invitation in the last sliver of space. Emma Jean Hasting, the ultimate Southern belle, seemed misplaced as a jet goddess. A Playboy party would be a very different party for her. To Katherine, their friendship was yin and yang, which enriched them both.

  Turning from her friend’s mailbox, Katherine confronted the company bulletin board. The notice-laden corkboard was the company’s way of delivering the marketing message to their frontline image-makers—their stewardesses.

  Katherine tilted her head as she scanned her company’s recent advertisements. The airline’s marketing message for their stewardesses, which was to smile and please their passengers, 75 percent of whom were male, gave her the shivers. She wrinkled her nose and read the ads, each with smiling stewardesses.

  “We’ve improved everything on our nonstop to Chicago, except the stewardesses. We know when to leave well enough alone,” one said.

>   Katherine rolled her eyes.

  The second displayed a smiling stewardess holding a gourmet banquet on a tray. Under it, the caption read, “The perfect wife to be.” Katherine shrugged and rushed away from her employer’s marketing tactics. Hey, these tactics would make a good cultural anthropology paper. She grinned and shrugged. Maybe I should be a cultural anthropologist. Katherine pursed her lips and clenched her fists. I have to decide soon. Though, if I don’t complete my degree, what will it matter? Who needs another person to dig up old history; especially, a woman? Katherine sighed and lifted her shoulders, ready for her stewardess duties.

  Strolling to her gate, she pondered her fate and the standard stewardess life path: spend two years as a stewardess, meet a guy, get married, have kids, quit flying. She thought of Thoreau:

  “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.” That’s the same dismal life for most women these days, she thought.

  No. That life was not for her. A bigger dream waited for her just beyond the horizon. Visions of mystic goddesses spinning the threads of her fortune danced in her musings. Was it a cord of luck or fate that had jerked her from her studies at Beloit College? And was it luck or destiny that had landed her in Chicago as a stewardess? Katherine chuckled. Maybe it’s training for me to become a cultural anthropologist.

  Katherine thanked the magical karma ties that had brought her childhood friend Charlotte from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, to Chicago. Katherine appreciated Charlotte’s gift of the coveted invitation to the Playboy press party to her and her friend, Emma Jean. Emma Jean and she weren’t party girls, but an event at the Playboy Mansion on Chicago’s Gold Coast? A one-time event that neither young woman could pass up.

  Charlotte had told her about the celebrities invited to the party. She remembered holding the bright apple red card to the light to read the ornate lettering. Emma Jean had screamed when Katherine translated Si Non Oscilla’s, Noli Tintinnare: “If you don’t swing, don’t ring.” But Charlotte told her that was just Hefner’s message to fit his image and not to take it literally. Katherine breathed a sigh of relief. She hoped to see different places, people, and cultures. To understand the world and find herself at the journey’s end. She nodded in agreement with Euripides’ saying, “Experience, travel—these are an education themselves.”

  Katherine mused, I’m not a Playboy swinger or a Vegas kind of girl, but doesn’t every experience enrich me? They’re adventures, yes. I won’t be judgmental. Accept people as they are and respect them.

  At the Las Vegas gate, the agent jolted Katherine back to the job at hand. “You’re working on this flight, right?”

  Katherine summoned her best stewardess smile, the one that made her cheeks ache. “Yep. And I’m looking forward to it.”

  Katherine sauntered across the tarmac to the boarding stairs. At the top of the stairs, a stewardess greeted her. “Are you Katherine? We have a full load, so I hope you’re ready for a real blast.” She motioned to Katherine and waved from the galley. “Here’s our flight manifest. I try to get these high-roller flights wherever they come. I’ve gotten to know many of these guys. I’m the A stew, so I’ll take their tickets. Since you’re the most junior, you’ll run the meal trays. And there is one more stew. She’ll do the drink orders. Are you ready to check the back galley?”

  Katherine mustered a half grin. “That’s fine with me. I haven’t worked a junket, except for a Jobs Corp flight to Atlanta.”

  The A stew swept her blonde locks off her cheek and laughed. “Aren’t those Job Corp charters a bunch of fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boys?” She waved her finger across Katherine’s wrist. “These junkets are packed with real men. You know the kind. They wear gold all over themselves and have rolls of that green stuff in every pocket.” She winked and whispered. “And they’re generous with us sky queens.”

  Katherine offered a half smile at her bigheaded senior stewardess. With a quick brush of her hand, she stopped her chuckle. “I better check the galley. Who’s doing the emergency demo?”

  “I give all the announcements. The gentlemen all tell me my voice is sexier than Marilyn Monroe. Either one of you can do the demo. Just let me know.”

  Katherine shrugged and walked out of the forward galley. “Sure thing. I’ll check in with you later.”

  Proceeding to the back of the plane, Katherine did a mental check of emergency exits and evacuation procedures. She checked the in-flight first aid bag and did the regulation galley check. First, in-service meal drawers crosschecked with her in-flight manual.

  Katherine peeked out from the galley and waved to the A stew, who motioned that she was ready to give the safety announcement. Katherine smiled and grabbed her props: the oxygen mask and the seat belt. With a quick hand brush, she made herself ready for show time.

  Keep smiling; she told herself when she stood in front of the passengers. As the A stew whispered her throaty announcement, Katherine released a breath and smiled at the only two passengers who looked remotely interested in learning the safety details.

  When she finished her demo and dropped the mask, she gulped. Another passenger glanced up. She took in a deep breath. It’s my lucky day to run into that guy from the airport. He gave her a nodding approval and smiled. She gathered her poise and told herself to act professionally. He was a passenger, and she had to talk with him.

  Katherine rubbed her moist palms against her uniform jacket as she greeted him, “Welcome aboard. What a surprise to see you again.”

  He dropped the Racing Form on his tray and offered his hand to Katherine. “Hello, Miss Roebling. Seeing you twice, this must be my lucky day. You ran off, and I didn’t get to introduce myself.” He paused and coughed. “I’m Dominick Rizzo. And what should I call you instead of Miss Roebling?”

  Katherine’s mind rushed for a smart answer, but her professional side took command. “I’m Katherine.” She glanced up and smiled. “Please excuse me, but we’re about ready for departure. Have a great trip.”

  He raised two fingers to his forehead and gave her a salute. “Happy landings. Maybe we can get together in Vegas for a show or something. Let’s check before we land.”

  Katherine gave him a nod and rushed back to sit down on her jump seat for takeoff. Her heart pounded louder than her thoughts dashing around her head. This jerk is creepy. When the plane lands, maybe I can hide out in the galley. Stay calm. He’s nothing; he’s just another guy to blow off, and that’s easy.

  While the plane climbed to cruising altitude, Katherine leaned backed and closed her eyes. Soaring over the clouds still thrilled her. It gave her a sense of freedom.

  The co-pilot’s greeting that the plane had reached cruising altitude was the okay for her to attend to her passengers,

  In the galley, she wrapped herself in her serving smock and checked out the meal service. Her fingers glided over the list of delicacies: lobster cocktail, Melba Rounds, Mignon of veal, rice pilaf, butter broccoli, Parker House roll, chocolate layer cake, coffee, tea, or milk.

  A deep male voice bellowed behind her. “Hey, does that look delicious.”

  Katherine turned to face a ruddy, balding man wearing a snug white silk shirt unbuttoned to his navel. “It looks sumptuous.” He aimed his eyes below her neckline. “The meal, I mean. I’m a beef guy, but the chicken I’ll do for a snack. So you’re Miss Roebling. Pleased to meet you.” He gave Katherine a slight elbow jab. “I’m the Big Buck; everyone gave me the name on these junkets. I’m in seat 10A. Stop by.”

  He’s a charmer. He’s like the guys our stewardess school instructor mentioned during the passengers-to-avoid session. Katherine smiled. “Please excuse, I have to start the meal service. Hope you have a pleasant flight.”

  Katherine rolled her shoulders, straightened her back, and smiled; she was ready to make every passenger feel at home. As she strolled down the aisle, she grinned at passengers reading and sleeping. It was a regular flight, just another workday. Then, like an unexpect
ed cyclone, three nasty creatures greeted her. Katherine narrowed her eyes and squinted when she spied them in row 20. She soon found out that Big Buck was a choirboy compared to these craggy, greasy, vermin calling her. “Hey, come on over here.”

  Katherine rubbed her Thunderbird. “Yes, gentlemen?”

  The creepiest one, his shirt unbuttoned down to his navel, grease plastering his hair, grabbed her hand. “Yeah, we need fire water.”

  “This is a Vegas trip,” the other said. “Where are all the cigar-store Indians guarding the slots? Don’t you have them on board to get us in the mood for our gaming spree?”

  The man next to him shoved his elbow into his side. “Hey, Sam, tell her one of your jokes.”

  Katherine’s face turned red.

  He cleared his throat. “The fastest thing on a reservation’s the beer truck; the second fastest thing’s the Indian chasing it.”

  Three filthy mouths opened to release roars of laughter, spit flying from their mouths. Passengers on all sides turned and gave Katherine a look that said, “You have one lousy job.”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, “I have to check on the other passengers. I’ll check back later.”

  Creep number one reached into his pocket and pulled out a shot glass. “Hey, take this with you and bring it back with the full four ounces, babe.”

  Katherine moved to avoid his pinch on her backside. “Yes, sir.”

  Katherine scurried by passengers and averted her eyes from their pitying stares. When she got to the galley, she glanced at the shot glass and held back her first instinct: to fill it with hot water, walk back, and pour the water on his head.

  Instead, she rested her hand over the Thunderbird. Her heart jerked as she surveyed Native American images on the shot glass with despicable inscriptions. 0 oz. Low man on the totem pole, 1 oz. Squaw, 2 oz. Brave, 3 oz. Medicine Man. The most intimidating was the 4 oz., a reclining Indian with the caption, “Happy Hunting Ground.” Katherine peeked over her shoulder and threw the shot glass in the trash.