This is heaven, Jackie thought. Next to fifteen snap rolls one after another, this was as good as life got. She was on her pretty couch, doing the best she could to keep her mind on the radio program that William had on, but the truth was, she was watching him as he polished a foot-high stack of shoes, both his and hers. She complained and she hated his presumption, but maybe it was rather nice to open a sewing basket and take out a pair of scissors instead of a stapler. And it would be nice to put on shiny shoes.
It was raining outside, so William had built a fire to take the chill off the cool mountain night. He’d insisted that Jackie stretch out on the couch, a thick blanket draped over her, and she was to do nothing but be quiet and listen to the radio. And watch him, she thought. Who would have thought that seeing a man do something as domestic as polish shoes could have such an effect on her? In a way this simple action made her think more of love than all his kisses did. As Jackie well knew, it wasn’t passion that made for a good marriage, it was the little things. If something needed to be assembled, could one of you read the directions while the other constructed? In Jackie’s experience, a man didn’t like to take orders from a woman for anything at all. Did the two of you bicker? That petty arguing could ruin evenings and afternoons.
Jackie had learned that it wasn’t enough for two people to fall in love; they had to get along on a day-to-day basis, had to be able to live in peace and harmony.
And that was her problem with William. He was very easy to live with. Forget that he had really stupid ideas about organization and was obsessed with putting things into what he thought of as the proper order. Day by day he was very easy to be with. When he was hungry, he didn’t look to the nearest woman to produce hot, delicious food as though it were a gland secretion. Nor did he expect her to do everything on earth for him. Right now he was polishing Jackie’s shoes, something she’d done only a couple of times in her life. After all, who was going to notice whether her shoes were polished or not? The other pilots? Charley? The airplanes?
His voice made her head come up. “Jackie,” he said, and the innocence of his tone immediately put her on guard. He sounded as though he had done something he shouldn’t or was about to do something he shouldn’t.
“Yes?” she said with what she hoped was just as much innocence.
“While I was straightening your desk, I came across something rather interesting.”
“Oh? And what was that? A pair of scissors half an inch out of line?”
He ignored her sarcasm, so she knew he was after bigger fish. “I found a letter from a national magazine asking you to please write something for them about flying.”
“Oh,” she said and tried to think of some way to get him onto another topic. But she knew that his main goal was to put her into the history books, and if he couldn’t do that by making her win races, maybe he could do it by turning her into a writer.
“I think that’s a splendid idea,” he continued innocently. “What you know about airplanes is invaluable. You could help a new generation of young women learn about flying, make them want to fly. You could share your skills and inspire a whole nation.”
“True, but if I were that good, I wouldn’t ever need to get inside a plane again. I could just sprout wings and fly myself straight to heaven.”
Again he ignored her. “Look at this. The magazine has sent a sample article: ‘Nita Stinson, the Flying Typist, talks about her first flight.’ ” Looking at the article, William gave a snort of derision. “Flying Typist, indeed. You are a real pilot.”
“For your information, Nita happens to be a friend of mine, and she’s an excellent pilot.” There was some hostility in her voice, as though she were ready to fight for her friend.
“I apologize. I meant no offense. Forgive me if I happen to think that you are the best pilot, male or female, in the world. Your flying could make the Angel Gabriel sick.”
When she glanced at him, he gave her a smile that let her know he was paying her back.
“So,” he said, “why don’t you try writing?”
With a helpless look on her face, she held up her bandaged hand, showing him that she was incapable of such a task.
Instantly William grabbed pen and paper. “Tell me what you want to say and I’ll write it.”
“Flying is fun. I like it. You should try it.”
“Come on, Jackie, be serious. You must have something you’d like to say to the millions of young women out there who wonder what it’s like to be a pilot.”
She thought for a moment, then smiled. “Yes, there is something I’d like to say to the world. Got your pen ready?”
With a smile of satisfaction, William began to write as Jackie spoke.
“Whatever is the lowest occupation a woman ever has, that’s what she is for the rest of her life. Even if she becomes president of the world, people will say, ‘Miss Jones, a former receptionist, is now president of the world.’ The implication is that she is getting above herself, because we all know that deep down inside, Miss Jones is really only a receptionist. On the other hand, if a man becomes president of the world, people say, ‘Mr. Jones, who used to work in a mail room, is now running the world.’ The implication is that Mr. Jones is magnificent for having pulled himself up from his lowly position. The difference between the two is that Miss Jones is a receptionist pretending to be a world leader while Mr. Jones was a world leader in the making even when he was sorting the mail.”
Before she had completed the first sentence, William put down his pen and stopped writing. When she’d finished the whole statement, she smiled at him in a smug way. She wasn’t about to write a bunch of sugar-coated, violet-scented articles to try to make young women enter aviation. A woman needed to have all the conviction in the world to fly an airplane, because the flying world was tough. It was tough facing men who felt certain that you were going to fail merely because you were female and therefore, in their opinion, not intelligent or competent.
“Is that what you had in mind?” she asked sweetly.
“It’s what I had in mind, but I don’t think it’s what the magazine wants. Come on, I’m hungry. Let’s go argue about who cuts up your food. I love the way I get to win.”
Laughing, she allowed him to help her into the kitchen.
When Jackie awoke the next morning, it was to a delightful sense of well-being. She was still sick, wasn’t she? Well, not really sick, but incapacitated enough to feel that she did not have to make a decision about William leaving. When she was well, he would, of course, have to leave, but for now she could put off that decision with a clear conscience. He was a friend and he was helping her. That’s all there was between them.
What a glorious Sunday morning it was! William made blueberry pancakes and served them smothered in butter and syrup, and they laughed together like children. It was odd how childish two adults could be when they were alone. Everything either of them said seemed to be brilliant or funny or both to the other one. She didn’t remember their laughing this much when they were children. Jackie had always considered life a challenge, something that had to be conquered, and William had seemed to think that Jackie was his challenge. Whatever had been in the past was now different, for they fit together easily and happily.
After breakfast William washed the dishes while Jackie, with a great show of pain that she didn’t really feel, dried them. When the dishes were clean they went into the living room where William offered to read her the comics from the newspaper. It was the most natural thing in the world that she should sit in the circle of his arm so she could see the pictures. And she was eating an apple, so she’d take a bite, then give him a bite, then take one herself. It was a scene from paradise.
The sound of a horn and the crunching of gravel at the approach of a car sent a look of horror across Jackie’s face.
“It’s Terri,” she said in fear, as though the worst possible thing had happened. The next second she had thrown William’s arm off her shoulders and she was standin
g upright, frantically trying to straighten the room. It seemed that everywhere were signs of William’s cohabitation. She had to remove all trace of him!
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, not having moved from the couch.
“That’s Terri,” she said, as though those words explained everything. William’s house slippers were on the floor by the big chair. His shirt with a torn pocket was draped across her sewing basket; she’d promised to repair it for him when her hand healed. There were three magazines with his name on the subscription labels on the coffee table. His coat hung on the peg by the door.
Frantically she tried to gather up every trace of him, and when her arms were full, she looked about for some place to hide everything. What if Terri had some reason to look inside the coat closet? What if she wanted to look in the pantry? Jackie headed toward the bedroom, then stopped. That was the last place she should hide William’s things.
Calmly William came forward and took the things from her arms. “I’ll take care of them,” he said softly.
There was something in his tone that she didn’t want to hear. No doubt she had hurt his feelings, but she couldn’t think of that now. She’d have to worry about soothing him later. “Terri can’t see that I have a man living here with me,” she said, trying to cover her actions with a lie. But one quick glance at William’s eyes told her that he didn’t believe her. He knew that she was embarrassed because the male things in her living room belonged to an “inappropriate” man, a younger man, and therefore not a man she wanted to introduce to her friends with pride.
As Jackie scurried about, looking for any other evidence of William’s presence, she tried not to think about what she was doing. Later she’d make William—and herself—believe that she was only trying to protect their reputations.
She looked up at him, standing there with an armload of things that were clearly his. “Maybe you…” she began.
“Sure,” he said, then turned on his heel and went toward the stairs.
She started to call after him but caught herself just as there was an urgent knock on the door. She turned and went to answer it.
“What in the world were you doing?” Terri asked. “I must have knocked four times. I just heard about your accident this morning. Why didn’t you call me? Maybe I could have come out here and taken care of you.”
“How kind of you to offer, but I was fine. Really.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Terri walked past Jackie and looked around the room. There weren’t many clues to the presence of another person but, even to Jackie’s eyes, the room was different: less messy, more perfectly ordered, too tidy.
“Something is going on,” Terri said as she turned and looked hard at her friend. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Jackie answered, but she had to clear her throat in the middle of the word. Even to herself she sounded as though she were lying.
“Mmmm,” Terri said, obviously not satisfied. “So what have you been doing with yourself this week?” As though she felt extremely tired, which she did, Terri plopped down on a big down-cushioned chair. Her husband had lost another job this week, and they’d had a blazing fight. “A job isn’t like a set of keys,” she’d yelled at him. “You can’t just lose it for no reason. What did you do?” It was better not to remember what had happened after that. Only because Jackie had been injured was Terri allowed out of the house today.
But she didn’t want to talk about her life. She didn’t want to talk about it or think about it. Jackie had the exciting life; Jackie had everything that was good in life, everything a person could have.
Easing her weight off her bruised hip, Terri put her hand behind the cushion of the chair, and like Little Jack Horner, she pulled out a plum in the form of a man’s sock.
Holding it up, at first she looked puzzled. Then, when she saw the redness of Jackie’s face and when Jackie snatched the sock from her hand, Terri began to laugh. “You have a man,” she said, smiling. “That’s why it took you so long to answer the door. Oh, do tell me who he is.” It seemed that even a bad marriage could not cure a woman of hopefulness about romance. Even though her own man was no good, Terri honestly believed that somewhere out there was a knight in shining armor who was made for her.
At the look of embarrassment on Jackie’s face, Terri began to push. “Who is he? I can’t believe that something is going on and you told me nothing. I haven’t heard a whisper of anything in town, so you’re doing a great job of hiding it. You must tell me who he is.”
“No one,” Jackie said tightly. “You want some tea?”
“Sure, but I want information more.”
It was all Jackie could do to keep from snapping that what was going on in her life was none of Terri’s business. But Terri was an innocent, and so Jackie tried hard not to lose her patience no matter how many awkward, probing, embarrassing questions Terri asked.
“What kind of tea do you want?” Jackie asked finally, her hand gripping the tea canister so hard her knuckles were white.
“Whatever he drinks,” Terri said smugly, making Jackie grimace.
“Looking for something?” William asked Terri’s son. At first glance, the “boy” didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong, just walking around the airplane parked in the hangar, but William knew everyone in Chandler. The Pelman men were worthless, lazy, stupid, and hostile. William didn’t trust this overgrown lout even to go to church without an ulterior motive.
“What are you doin’ here?” the big kid asked, his thick black brows pulled into a scowl. He was handsome in a brutish way, with thick lips and deep-set eyes, but he had that air of defensiveness that stupidity and arrogance often gave people. Whether he meant to or not, he seemed to be daring anyone to contradict him, daring anyone to hint that he wasn’t as smart as the rest of the world.
Abruptly his face brightened and he looked pleased with himself—rather the way a monkey might look when it figured out the problem some scientist had set for it. “You’re after her, ain’t ya?”
“I beg your pardon?” William asked stiffly. He wasn’t sure, but he thought this Pelman was about eighteen years old and named Larry.
“This here Jackie. You’re after her, ain’t ya?” To William’s horror, Larry nudged him with his elbow as though they were fellow conspirators, the best of friends. “I’ve had my eye on her since she came to town. Mom says—not that she knows anything—that this lady flyer’s been all over the world, so I figure she’s done some things. You know what I mean?” He winked at William. “Done some things that the ladies of Chandler ain’t even heard of. So now this Jackie is here in this one-horse town, and I ain’t heard nothin’ about her doin’ nothin’ with nobody, you know what I mean? So I figure she’s dyin’ for it. And I figure I’ll just help myself to what she’s got. She’s kinda old, but I figure she’ll be grateful to have a real man in her bed. She’s probably beggin’ for it after all this time and after havin’ to put up with them fancy foreign fellas. ’Course I can see that you was here first, so I’ll let you have her all you want, what with you bein’ a Montgomery and all. Hey! Maybe later you can pay me back, since I saw her first. You can give me and my dad jobs. Nothing too hard or anything, just somethin’ kinda friendly like, with maybe a bonus now and then. What’d’ya say?”
“Have you seen my shoes?”
In speechless horror, Jackie turned toward the kitchen door to see William standing there, a little-boy-lost expression on his face. She had just spent thirty minutes trying to make Terri believe that there was no man in her life, certainly not any man in Chandler, and now here was William. Asking about his shoes, no less!
She wanted to scream at him, but she knew that whatever she said would only make things worse. Within one hour after Terri saw William Montgomery in her house the town of Chandler was going to be alive with the gossip that old Jackie was having an affair with very young William.
“If it isn’t Billy Montgomery,” Terri said. “I haven’t seen you in a
ges. What have you been doing?”
Jackie braced herself. What was William going to say to that? Was he going to tell the truth? That he was spending his days trailing Jackie about, just as he’d done when he was a child?
“Jackie and I are going into business together.”
“How nice. How is your mother? And your father?”
While William was answering these questions, Jackie looked at him. Usually William was very tidy, every hair in place, his shirt tucked in just so. But now he was slightly disheveled, and there seemed to be a place on his cheek that was darkening, as though it might be a bruise. Glancing down at his hands, she saw that the knuckles on his right hand were bleeding slightly. When he saw where her eyes were going, he put his hand behind his back and kept on talking to Terri, answering her questions about his family.
“And how did you do in school?” Terri was asking.
It took Jackie a long moment to grasp the fact that it had not entered Terri’s head that William could be the man who was staying with Jackie, the man Terri had been asking about with all the gusto of an interrogator during the Spanish Inquisition.
The truth was, Terri was talking to William in that tone of voice that adults used with children. An aren’t-you-cute voice. Any minute Jackie expected to hear her ask if William had washed behind his ears.
“So you’ve been taking care of Jackie,” Terri was saying. “That’s very kind of you, especially when you have your own life to lead. A handsome young man like you must have a hundred pretty little girlfriends.”
“A few,” William said with a soft smile.
It was a smile that enraged Jackie. It was the smile a boy would give to an older woman when he was trying to be on his best behavior.
Outside, a horn began to blow insistently—Terri’s horrible son demanding that his mother leave and leave now.
“If you need any help with Jackie, let me know,” Terri was saying as she started to put on her coat. Graciously, William held it for her. “You always were a gentleman. Wasn’t he, Jackie? You remember how he was. Even as a little boy he was so polite.”
The Invitation Page 12
