The Hot Pilots

by T. E. Cruise

  Back in the 1920s and ‘30s, Erica Gold had been a famous pilot; a renowed aviatrix who’d helped conquer the skies along with the likes of Amelia Earhart and Beryl Markham. Her picture had been featured on magazine covers; her exploits had been documented in the newsreels. Today, her flying trophies and mementos were now proudly displayed in her husband’s office.

  Her mother’s only imperfection—if you could call it that, Susan thought—was her nose. Her mother had broken her nose in some tom girl stunt when she was little, and it had healed with a slight bump on it.

  Susan’s father said that it had been that bump that had made him fall in love with her mother, first thing.

  “I didn’t think you were still home,” her mother said. “I would have thought that since Robbie’s with his grandfather you would have taken the opportunity to take off with Don on a beautiful Saturday like this …”

  Susan shrugged, staring out at the shimmering, turquoise, rectangular pool. “I guess I wanted to talk about something.”

  “About what?” her mother asked, putting aside her magazine.

  “Don’s asked me to marry him.”

  “Well! Isn’t that good news …?” Her mother smiled tentatively. “What did you tell him?”

  “That I wanted to think about it …”

  “And have you?”

  “I think I’m going to accept.”

  Her mother nodded. “You … think you are …” When Susan shrugged, her mother added, “Do you love Don?”

  “I think I do,” Susan sighed.

  “Suzy, dear…” Her mother coughed, then cleared her throat. “This is rather awkward for me to ask, but … have you had … intimate relations with Don?”

  “Yes, Mother.” She grinned. “We’ve made love …” Wickedly, she paused.

  Her mother rolled her eyes, exasperated. “And?”

  Laughing, Susan said, “And it was fine. Seriously, we’ve been intimate for some months. I mean, we’ve certainly been going together a long time,” she added defensively. “I guess I knew that Don was leading up to proposing to me. I guess I encouraged it, but now that he has I’m suddenly not sure. I mean, I think about Don, and I like to be with him, but if you’re asking me if I feel for him what I felt for Blaize …” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I’ve thought about it a lot. Maybe you can really fall in love only once, and if, for whatever reason, that first love doesn’t last, the next loves will be imitations of that first time.”

  “I don’t think it’s a question of verisimilitude as much as one of intensity,” her mother said. “First love is always the sweetest.”

  “Then you were very lucky,” Susan replied. “Your first love has lasted.”

  “Thirty-five years.” She nodded.

  “It was love at first sight between you and Daddy, wasn’t it?” Susan coaxed. “Just the way it was between Blaize and me?”

  “Yes.”

  “If something had happened to Daddy early on,” Susan began, “do you think you would have remarried?”

  Her mother smiled. “I think that I probably would have, if the right man had come along.”

  “But you wouldn’t have loved him the same way you loved Daddy, right?”

  “I think that you just hit the nail on the head,” her mother replied. “You’re right that I wouldn’t have loved my hypothetical second husband the way I love your father, but I would have loved him, or else I would never marry him. Likewise, I strongly urge you not to marry a man you don’t love.”

  “Then what are you saying?” Susan demanded.

  “I’m saying that you need to look inside yourself concerning your feelings for Don. To do that, you need to separate yourself from the past—”

  “You mean forget about Blaize? How could I ever—?”

  “You don’t forget about him,” her mother gently instructed. “I’m only suggesting that you need to stop thinking about him for a while, in order to think about what you feel for Don.”

  Susan smiled wryly. “What if I told you I wanted to marry Don for Robbie’s sake? So that he would have a normal family; a father…?”

  “I wouldn’t believe it,” her mother said firmly. “You and your son are already surrounded by family, and besides, you’re too strong a woman to think that way.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Of course I am. You’re my daughter.”

  Susan had to laugh. How characteristic that last comment had been! “What you mean is that I can’t disappoint not because of who I am, but because of who you are.” She was aware of the bitterness in her tone. “It’s the same trouble that Daddy has relating with Steve: the chip-off-the-old-block syndrome.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Erica asked coolly.

  “That you mistake your confidence in yourself as confidence in me. You’re perfect, and you produced me, so I must be perfect, as if I were one of Daddy’s airplanes rolling off the assembly lines.”

  “I don’t think I’m perfect, Susan.” Her mother frowned.

  Why am I getting us into this? Susan wondered. “Mother, please let’s not fight.”

  “Fine …”

  “I’m sorry I said what I did.” Susan realized that she really was sorry. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I’ve been feeling so moody…”

  “It’s all right, dear.”

  “Maybe I should see the doctor,” Susan mused. “I’ve been feeling so under the weather.”

  “Because you worry too much,” her mother said. “But you know, you do have to be careful how to deal with Don,” her mother warned. “You must remember he’s very important to your father, and the company—”

  “Dammit, Mother!” Susan exploded. “I’m talking about love, not business!”

  “You’re not being fair—”

  “What does fairness have to do with anything?”

  “Suzy, you’re being childish,” her mother scolded. She paused. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Marry Don … I guess …” Susan shrugged.

  Her mother looked troubled. “But you do love Don?”

  “In my way, I really do.” Susan nodded, and allowed her mother’s relieved expression to relieve her own doubts, as well.

  (Two)

  Alexandria, Virginia

  12 October 1956

  Steven Gold woke up to the smell of coffee, and glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand beside his bed. It was 11 A.M., Sunday morning. He was lying on his back, nude, beneath the sheet, in the bedroom of his apartment on Prince Street. Linda Forrester, who was also nude, except for a pair of tortoiseshell eyeglasses perched on the tip of her nose, was sitting at his bedroom desk, sipping coffee while she studied one of the assignment files she’d brought with her on this trip to Washington.

  She’d flown in Friday night, and they’d spent the weekend together. Tomorrow she had an appointment to interview the First Lady about the rigors of the campaign trail. Nobody doubted that Ike was a shoe-in against Stevenson in next month’s election.

  Steve remained quiet. He didn’t want Linda, just now absently twirling her fingers in her shoulder-length, dark brown hair as she read, to realize that he was awake. He liked watching her when she wasn’t aware of him, and not acting all flustered and self-conscious …

  She’d evidently been spending a lot of time at the beach, back home in Los Angeles. Her skin was tanned to the color of coffee with cream, except for her startlingly white breasts and bottom where her bikini had kept away the sun. She was sitting perched on the edge of the straight-backed desk chair, her sleek, pear-shaped ass splayed against the black leather upholstery. As she leaned forward to turn a page, her white breasts bobbed, and a slight fold of belly appeared, bisecting her navel. When she shifted her position, the chair’s leather seat made a soft, moist, kissing sound as it briefly adhered to her thighs. Now she was bringing up one tawny leg and tucking it beneath her like a stork, to reveal her dark thatch.

  She saw that he was aw
ake and smiled. “Have you been watching me all this time?” she demanded, laughing.

  “So I’m a voyeur.” Steve grinned. “A dirty old man.”

  “Well, you’re dirty, all right.” Linda smiled. “But evidently not so old.” She gestured toward his erection, sticking up like a tent pole beneath the sheet.

  “Well, are you going to do something about this?”

  She took off her reading glasses and tossed them onto the file, then stood up and came over to the foot of the bed. She grabbed the top sheet and whisked it away. Then she pounced.

  He hardly needed to fondle her before she was wet, and eagerly reaching for him. He tried to roll over on top of her, but she murmured, “No,” pinning him back, and he remembered that lately she’d been liking it better when she was on top.

  “How many times will this make?” she asked as she straddled him.

  “Let’s see: twice Friday night, and five times yesterday,” Steve said, sighing happily as she impaled herself upon him with a wiggle of her hips. “This is only number eight, but the day’s still young.”

  She began to rock back and forth, reaching back to tickle his balls. “You have anything left in these?” she teased.

  “Seek and ye shall find.”

  Her pace gradually began to quicken. He reached up to pull her forward so that he could nibble at her pink nipples, and she gasped, riding him even faster, her thighs flexing and hips pumping. They were both sweating now. The bed was rocking with their exertions. He groaned and squirmed as she ground herself against him, their bodies making wet, slapping sounds. He heard her first, soft moans, almost like whispers, and smiled. They were old flying buddies; knew each other’s sign language by heart: Her whimpers told him that she was poised at the brink, and he took pleasure in concentrating on her; on starting her on the downward slope until she was out of control.

  Her moans increased, as did her urgent bucking, and then her hot, wet mouth that had been pressed against his ear, lifted away. She orgasmed with her spine arched and her head rocked back, so that he was able to see her flushed face. Her eyes were closed, the lids tinged with blue. Her lips, which had been pressed together in a thin line—almost a grimace—abruptly blossomed wide to free her shrill cry.

  He held her—cradled her, really—through her diminishing throes and flutters. It was when she was lying limp and docile on his chest that he cupped her ass and thrust into her, growling—then moaning—as he came.

  “It’s always so good between us,” Linda whispered, sounding amazed. “Hasn’t it always been so good?”

  “You know it has,” Steve said. They were lying side by side on the bed, sharing a cigarette. He had the black, plastic ashtray from the nightstand balanced on his chest.

  “Steve?” she murmured, lightly tracing around his nipple with her fingernail.

  “Yeah?” he asked, exhaling smoke. As she tickled his nipple his cock stirred but stayed where it was: He wasn’t goddamned Superman, for chrissakes.

  “What would you say if I told you I was pregnant?”

  “Holy shit!” Steve sat bolt-upright, spilling the ashtray to the bed.

  “Hey!” Linda twisted away from the spilled ashes.

  “Are you? Are you pregnant?” he demanded, thinking guiltily of the times—like just now—when he’d made love to her bareback. Just one more chance, he prayed. Get me out of this one, and I’ll never do it again—

  “Of course I’m not pregnant,” Linda said, righting the ashtray and trying to scoop the ashes off the sheet. “I’d asked you what if.”

  “Well that was quite a scare you gave me,” Steve muttered, relieved.

  “Excuse me,” she replied, sounding pissed off.

  “What are you mad about?” Steve asked. He took the ashtray from her and ground out the cigarette.

  “Who said I’m mad?” Linda groused. “I’m not mad …”

  Steve shrugged.

  “Okay!” she blurted, moving away from him to sit cross-legged at the end of the bed. “Maybe I’m upset over how you reacted to my ‘what if.’ Like my being pregnant would be the worst thing in the world.”

  “Well, it’s not like we’re married,” Steve pointed out.

  “Well, maybe we should be,” Linda said carefully. “We’ve been together a lot this past year. And a lot’s changed … Like the fact that you’re going to leave the Air Force, even if you have been dragging your butt about doing’ it—”

  Steve frowned.

  “What?” Linda demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Linda had been the only person outside of his family who he’d told about his decision to leave the military, and she’d been happy over the prospect of his coming back to L.A., but then Jack Horton had recruited him for the spy plane project. Since then, Steve had ben stalling Linda, making up all sorts of excuses to avoid telling her that he’d changed his mind. Putting her off hadn’t been difficult because she was so busy in her own career, going off on assignment for months at a time, and when they spoke on the telephone it was easy for Steve to rationalize that he ought to wait to tell her in person. Now, here she was. He knew he had to face the music.

  “Linda, there’s been a change. I’m staying in the Air Force.”

  “What?” She looked shocked. “When did this happen?”

  “A while ago,” he admitted.

  “I see,” she said evenly.

  “I know I should have told you sooner—”

  “Yes, I think you should have …” She was acting calmly, but Steve knew that she was struggling to choke back her anger.

  “I didn’t want to upset you …”

  “May I ask why you’ve made this decision?”

  This was going to be the killer, Steve thought. He longed to tell her why he was staying in, but he couldn’t. She knew him better than anybody; she of all people would understand why it was so important for him to successfully complete this assignment; what personal vindication it would bring him—

  But he couldn’t tell her: not her, not anyone. The spy plane project was ultra top secret.

  “You seem to be at a loss for words,” Linda said bitterly. “Tell me this much, at least: Has the Air Force reassigned you?”

  Steve thought about his cover. “No … I’ll still be with OPI.”

  “Uh-huh.” Linda nodded. “So, what you’re telling me is that your situation is exactly the same, but that for some mysterious reason you’ve changed your mind and decided to remain in the Air Force, here in Washington. Only you couldn’t find the decency to tell me. All this while you’ve been lying to me, stringing me along with false hope …” She smiled thinly. “Now that I think about it, I guess it isn’t such a mystery, after all …”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s obvious, Steve! You’ve decided to stay in because of me! It’s your way of keeping me at arm’s length! It’s all as clear as day to me! You realized that once you were in Los Angeles we’d be seeing much more of each other, and that obviously frightened the hell out of you, so you decided to stay three thousand miles away from me to avoid having to make a commitment!”

  “Linda, that’s just not true!” Steve insisted.

  “It isn’t? What other reason—besides avoiding me—could you have for remaining here in Washington doing what you yourself have admitted is a dead-end assignment?”

  Jesus Christ, Steve thought. I’m totally framed. Only the truth will convince her, but I can’t tell her about the spy plane…”I know how it looks, but you’re wrong. Believe me, you are—”

  “Then prove it!”

  “Okay! I will!” he said desperately. “Why don’t you move here?”

  “Huh?”

  “You move to Washington. Then we could be together.” He took a deep breath. “And then, eventually, I guess we could be … married …”

  Her anger momentarily lessened, but then her flashing blue eyes regained their frost. “You sonofabitch,” she hissed.

  “Me?” he b
lurted, surprised and confused by her reaction.

  “You think you’re so smart! You know I can’t move here! I’ve worked hard for years to become a senior news correspondent in L.A.”

  “You could work for a newspaper here,” Steve said.

  “Oh, sure!” she snapped. “Just that easy, huh, buster? It so happens that jobs for women journalists at my level are few and far between, and don’t pretend that you didn’t know that!”

  “I never thought about it,” he admitted truthfully.

  “Right! You didn’t think!” She jumped off the bed and began pulling clothes out of her suitcase lying on the carpet in the corner of the room.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting dressed and going to my hotel.”

  “Aw, come on …” He tried to think of a way to delay her, to give him time to sweet-talk her out of her anger. “Don’t you even want to take a shower first?”

  “Oh, I’ll shower, all right! At the hotel!”

  “Linda, don’t be this way! I meant it about you living in Washington. I’m sorry I forgot about your job. I was just trying to—”

  “I know what you’re trying to do.” She was pulling on loose-fitting dungarees and a dark brown cashmere turtleneck. She’d been wearing that outfit, and her mink coat—she’d called it her Katharine Hepburn look—when he’d picked her up at the airport on Friday night, and she’d looked outstanding, turning heads as she strode through the gate and into his arms …

  “You don’t have to say another thing—” She was at the mirror above the maple lowboy, simultaneously dashing through her makeup routine and running a brush through her hair. “You’re going to get exactly what you wanted: rid of me!”

  “This is just ridiculous,” he said lamely.

  “I’ll say it is.” She gathered up the rest of her belongings, chucking them into the suitcase. “Our relationship has been ridiculous right from the beginning, but let me tell you something now. We are through.” She said it calmly but firmly. Steve could tell that she was dead serious. “We’re finished. You won’t hear from me anymore.” She pointed her finger like a gun at his chest. “And I don’t want to hear from you.”