“You know she’s engaged. To a nice boy in Whitesboro.”
“Vida!“
Mrs. Cole ignored her husband. She ran her palms across her lap, smoothing and straightening the skirt of her cotton dress. “I’m just pointing out the obvious fact that Mae is not available. I should think Jackson is getting to the age to be looking for a girl who is.”
“Jax, I apologize. . . .”
“No sir. Mrs. Cole is right. My own mama cautioned me not to be taken with a girl who’s engaged to be married.” This was a lie, but Jax needed to put the kibosh on Vida Cole. “I told Mama that I intend to behave as a perfect gentleman. I’m not interested in Miss Mae or her fiancé having any complaint with me. The truth is I’m not in a position to be looking for a wife just now. I need to secure my future first.”
“I should think so,” she said.
“I just thought she’d enjoy getting out of the house,” Jax said.
“She’s out of the house plenty,” said Mrs. Cole.
Jax turned to Mae’s uncle. “Mr. Cole, did you know Ned Turner has gotten himself an airplane? A Curtis Jenny. Army surplus. Reckon you saw plenty of ‘em in the Great War.”
“Yes sir, a few. Well, good for him. Is she in pretty good shape?”
“Just like new. Ned’s a heckuva mechanic.”
“How about that. Can he fly her?”
“Like an ace.” Jax did not mention that Ned was teaching him to fly. Mr. Cole would tell the old man, sure as hell.
Mae walked into the parlor. She was a vision in a pretty summer dress. It had blue checks all over and a wide white collar that lay across her shoulders, leaving bare the tops of her arms. Jax stood immediately. “Where are the others?” she asked.
“They’ll meet us at the hangar,” Jax said. He moved toward the door. “After you, Miss Mae. Mr. Cole, come out and see the Jenny if you can.”
“I might wander out there for a little while after supper.”
Jax looked at Vida, who had not bothered to get up. “Mrs. Cole, always a pleasure.”
“You remember what I told you, Jackson,” she said.
“Yes’m.”
When they were outside, Mae asked, “What was that about? What did Aunt Vida say to you?”
“I don’t think your aunt likes me as much as your uncle does.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mae paused as if she was about to confide something, then she said, “She’s funny that way sometimes.”
Jax opened the passenger door. “Let’s go watch some fireworks.”
“You’re gonna have to put the top up. The wind will muss my hair.”
“Sure thing.” Jax raised the top up as quickly as he could, happy that, for once, the belligerent mechanism cooperated.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jax eased the Sixteen into the hangar and parked. Ned’s airplane sat at the other end, next to the little table on which now sat a radio. The radio was on, and the Mississippi Sheiks keened “Sitting on Top of the World.”
It was hot as the devil inside the hangar, even with the fan running full bore, and Jax wondered what he had been thinking to bring Mae here. What girl in her right mind wanted to spend an evening sweltering in a metal building that smelled like a bucket of oil? She was probably the first woman who had set foot inside the filthy hangar, with its oily rags and engine parts scattered all around. Spiderwebs and dead bugs, grime and dust were everywhere, in places Jax had not thought to clean.
Ned was right there to open Mae’s door as soon as the Sixteen stopped rolling. Ned was the best friend a guy could have, but his pants were too short, his eyeglasses were smudged, and big sweat rings circled the underarms of his thin dress shirt, the only kind of shirt Ned ever wore. “I’m Ned Turner,” he said, grasping Mae’s hand. “Wanna go flying?”
God Almighty, Jax thought. At least let her get out of the car.
Ned pulled Mae to the airplane, and there was Hollister, pouring a tow sack of ice over soft drinks in the washtub. He threw the sack over the ice and turned to greet Mae. He was as tall and blond as a Viking.
“This good-for-nothing loafer is Hollister Caine,” Ned said.
Hollister smiled, showing his big, white teeth. He wiped his palm on his pants leg and shook Mae’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. Sorry, cold hands.”
“Warm heart,” quipped Mae, smiling just as brightly.
“My soul,” said Hollister, putting both hands over his heart. He and Mae laughed, and Jax saw her give Hollister the once-over when he turned away.
“This is Jenny,” Ned said. He rested his hand protectively, possessively, on the leather-wrapped curve of the cockpit.
“She’s beautiful, Ned.”
Ned beamed. “Ready to go up?”
“Sure. I’d love to.”
Ned reached into the front seat and got out a leather helmet and goggles. Mae put her hand to her hair. “Oh, no. I can’t put those on.”
“It’s windy up there. Seventy, eighty miles an hour, at least.”
“I don’t care. I can’t wear that.”
“Wait,” Jax said. “Wait here. I have something.” He went to the Sixteen and opened the glovebox. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was a sleek, white Hermes silk scarf he had ordered all the way from London, the same style as the flying aces wore in the Great War. Jax had been saving it for his first solo flight. He carried the scarf to Mae.
“Is this yours?” she asked as she unfolded the tissue paper.
“I want you to have it.”
She touched the scarf and looked up at Jax. “Are you learning to fly?”
“Yeah, but don’t say anything to your uncle. I don’t want my mama to know. She’s a worrier.”
Mae held the scarf toward him. “I can’t. You’re saving this. It’s special.”
“Go ahead.” He touched her hand. “Take it. It’s your first flight, and I hope you have many more.” He meant it too.
Mae accepted the scarf and pressed her lips together. Jax thought for a minute she might cry, but she did not. She handed the tissue paper back to him and unfolded the scarf. While the three young men watched, Mae lifted her shoulder length brunette curls and in one liquid motion wrapped the scarf into a perfect turban. When she dropped her arms, she had been transformed into an Arabian princess.
“My God,” said Ned.
Hollister pulled a flask from his pants pocket, unscrewed the top, and held it out to Mae. “To a thousand and one Arabian nights,” he said.
Mae accepted the flask and lifted it to her rosy lips, sipped the whiskey, then whistled, as clear and strong as a flute.
“Smooth, huh?” said Hollister.
Mae touched the back of her hand to her mouth. “It must be.”
Jax felt he was losing ground, despite his gift of the scarf, but he could not think of any way to draw Mae’s attention back to him without looking desperate and pathetic.
Ned placed a wooden box beside the airplane and held Mae’s hand as she climbed into the front cockpit. She chastely wrapped the hem of her dress around her legs and lifted in one foot and then the other. She accepted the goggles, and Ned climbed in behind her. Jax and Hollister pulled the airplane out of the hangar, and Jax went to the front and put his hands on the wooden propeller.
“Mags off!” he barked.
“Mags off. Check!” returned Ned.
Jax pulled the big wooden propeller through several revolutions, then yelled, “Contact!”
“Contact. Clear!“ yelled Ned.
Jax pulled hard on the end of one blade and quickly hopped aside. The engine issued noisy coughs, then caught with a throaty roar.
Jax gave a salute, and Mae mouthed, “Thank you,” as they passed.
Jax’s spirit soared.
He and Hollister watched the Jenny take to the air. Ned circled the airfield a couple of times then turned north, disappearing beyond the pines. Jax paced around the hangar, fidgeting with the radio, breaking up the ice, anything he could think of to calm his ner
ves.
“You’re sick, my man,” Hollister said.
“What’s this?” Jax asked, holding up a bottle. “Tonic water?”
“Ned brought it.”
“Gin too?”
“A little.”
“Y’all take it easy, okay? I can’t take her home all lit up.”
“Sure, Jax. For sure. Whatever you say.”
Ned and Mae returned an hour later. The sun was low, and the fireworks crew were making preparation for the show. People had gathered in small groups around the airfield. Ned put the Jenny down in front of the hangar and quickly rolled to a stop.
“Ned could fly that thing downtown for dinner and park it on Market Street,” Hollister said.
Ned cut the engine, and Jax placed the steps beside the plane. “What’d you think?” he asked Mae.
“It was like a dream. It’s too much to talk about.”
“Did you find some cool air?”
“Oh yes! Have you felt that?”
“Yes, I have. It’s aces.”
Mr. Cole arrived at the hangar, and Ned showed him the Jenny, nose to tail. He bragged on Mae, saying she took to flying like a natural and should learn how. Mr. Cole hugged his niece. “Wouldn’t that be something? And wouldn’t your mama just skin me alive?”
“Well,” Mae said. “I don’t know if I could learn, but that sure was fun.”
“I’m proud of you, honey. You’re a brave girl.”
Mr. Cole hung around for the beginning of the fireworks show, then he left, saying he was ready to turn in. When Mr. Cole had driven away, Ned opened a bottle of tonic water and poured some out. He replaced it with gin and handed the bottle to Mae, who hesitated to take it.
“What is it?”
“It’s gin and tonic,” said Jax. “You don’t have to drink it. We have Coca-Cola.” He reached into the washtub.
Ned pointed to the bottle’s label. “See this? It has quinine in it. Now quinine is taken for malaria. This is nothing but good old malaria medicine.”
“You don’t need the hooch,” said Jax. “Tonic water is still malaria medicine without gin.”
“This ain’t hooch,” said Ned. “It’s Bombay. Got it from Royce.”
“Sounds terribly exotic,” Mae said and took the bottle.
Jax did not put up any more objections. Mae was a grown woman, engaged to be married. She could answer for herself to Vida Cole if it came to it.
“Speaking of Royce,” Hollister said, “he’s supposed to be here tonight.”
“He’s probably over there with the colored folks,” said Jax.
“We oughta go over and see what they have to eat,” Hollister said. “I didn’t have any supper.”
“We could do that. That okay with you, Mae?”
“Sure, I could eat a bite.”
Mae had almost finished the gin and tonic, and Ned made her a fresh drink. They walked across the airfield to where a crowd was gathered around picnic tables loaded with pots and platters. In front of the tables, torches had been stuck in the ground around a patch of hard-packed dirt, making a dance floor of sorts. Firelight illuminated the dancers’ sweating faces as they bobbed and weaved to a quick melody played on guitar, banjo, and harmonica. The fireworks were in full swing overhead, lighting the night sky, but no one paid them any mind.
“That dance is called the Big Apple,” Jax told Mae as they approached. Mae’s eyes shone, and Jax thought it was from the gin. They reached the tables, and Jax saw Royce’s mother, Beulah, talking with two other women. “Mama B!” he called.
“Jackson Addington! Get your skinny ass over here!” She met them halfway and gave Jax a crushing hug. “Where you been keepin’ yourself, son?”
“I ran into some trouble in the Quarter.”
“I heard a little bit about that.”
“Yes’m, but it’s all blown over now. I’m back in business.”
“Royce’ll be glad to hear it.” She patted Jax’s flat belly. “I got fresh cornbread over there, and cold buttermilk on ice.”
“That sounds real good, Mama B. Just what the doctor ordered.”
Beulah said hello to Ned and Hollister, hugging each of them in turn. Then she folded her thick arms under her bosom and regarded Mae. “Honey, what in God’s green earth is a pretty thing like you doing tied up with this bunch? Does your mama know you’re out here?”
“No ma’am.”
“Well, I’m your mama tonight, darlin’. Now, y’all come on over here and get some food.”
They grazed the tables and watched the dancers. Mae ate a few oysters and a piece of Beulah’s cornbread. She finished her gin and tonic, and someone handed her a cold beer.
“Is it okay?” she asked Ned.
“Liquor to beer, you’re in the clear,” Ned said.
Mae’s eyes were never off the dancers, and her foot tapped to the beat. As couples wore down and fell out of the whirling ring, others moved in and took their places.
“Do you like to dance?” Jax asked.
“Sure do.”
“Well, let’s get out there.” Jax took the beer from her hand and set it on the table.
Just then, Hollister came out of nowhere and said, “My man, isn’t that Black Olive over there?”
“Who’s Black Olive?” asked Mae.
“Nobody. Let’s go,” said Jax.
“Over there.” Hollister motioned toward Cargie Barre and a man Jax assumed was Cargie’s husband. He was even taller than Cargie and wore a thick black beard and a gray trilby hat. A little girl perched on his shoulders with her arms wrapped around the crown of the hat. They stood near the parked trucks and cars, watching the fireworks.
“That’s Cargie Barre,” Mae said. She looked at Jax.
“Okay, okay,” Jax said. “She gripes about my tickets all the time, like it wasn’t me who brought in all the new business in the first place. Anyway, I got mad about it one day and told this knucklehead that she looks like a black Olive Oyl. I mighta called her Black Olive.” Jax laughed, hoping Mae would think it was funny.
“Oh, Jax. That’s so mean,” Mae said.
Jax felt his countenance fall. He managed a sheepish smile and said, “I was having a bad day.”
Cargie and her husband had walked to a truck, and he opened the passenger door for her. “I’ve never seen her husband or her little girl before,” Mae said. “I never imagined Cargie doing anything except scribbling in those boring old ledgers.”
Jax extended his hand. “Dance?”
He led Mae to the makeshift dance floor. Mae kicked off her shoes, took his hand, and followed him into the circle, where Jax immediately lost her among the dancers. He tried to follow her white turban as it dipped and bobbed, but he could never quite catch up. He danced as long as he could then retired to the sidelines. Mae never slowed down.
The musicians carried the dancers into the Lindy Hop. Jax stepped in to get his partner back, but he was cut off by Royce, who grabbed Mae’s hand and pulled her away. Royce, though tall and thickly muscled, was light on his feet and unerring in rhythm. He improvised, and Mae followed his moves as if she knew them already. They moved with such vigor that clouds of stirred dust hid their shuttling, rolling feet.
The other dancers drifted to the edges, where they stood between the torches, watching and clapping in time to the music. Royce pulled Mae toward him, bent forward, and rolled her across his back. They fell apart again, arms outstretched, connected by their fingertips. Then they both dipped low and wagged their knees. The crowd went wild, whooping and hollering.
“You go, girl!”
“Cut a rug, Royce!”
Beulah came alongside Jax and slipped her arm around his waist. “We gotta put some meat on you, Jaxy. What you been eatin’?”
“Not much.”
They both watched Mae and Royce. “They have to play out soon,” said Jax.
“Royce won’t quit before she does, and I gotta feelin’ she won’t quit before Royce.”
Jax l
aughed then. “I gotta feelin’ you’re right, Mama B.”
Beulah squeezed him. “Be careful what you wish for, baby boy.”
The musicians stopped playing, which was the only thing that stopped Royce and Mae before they collapsed. Folks brought them folding chairs and cold beers. They fell into the chairs and held the bottles to their foreheads while they caught their breath. Mae had tied her turban so securely that it had not moved on her head. Sweat ran down her face and neck.
Royce said, “Lady Sheik, you’re one helluva dancer.”
“You too, mister.”
“You gotta name?”
“I’m Mae.”
“Royce.”
He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her. “Go ahead and take it. It’s clean.”
Mae took it and dabbed at her face and neck. “That was crazy,” she said.
The women carried the empty platters and pots to their vehicles, and the men loaded the tables and chairs.
“Anybody know what time it is?” Jax asked.
Royce consulted his pocket watch. “Getting on toward midnight. About time we moved this party to Bistineau.”
“Lake Bistineau?” Mae asked. “Over in Bossier?”
“Yes’m, that’s the place,” Royce said. “Come along with us.”
Jax knew the juke joint on the lake would be hopping all night, and Hollister and Royce would be there until the bitter, whiskey-soaked end. It was no place for Mae. “Miss Mae,” Jax said. “We better get you home.”
Mae nodded. “Maybe next time, Royce.”
“Yes’m. Anytime. Jax, why don’t you drop by the house Sunday afternoon?”
“I’ll be there.”
Someone had set Mae’s shoes beside her chair. Jax knelt in front of her and lifted one foot after the other onto his pants leg, wiping her soles with his palm and gently slipping them into her tee-strapped sandals. She permitted Jax to take her hand and help her up from the chair. “C’mon,” he said. “I’ll walk you to the hangar.” He didn’t dare leave to get the Sixteen for fear Mae would disappear before he returned to fetch her.
“What’s at Lake Bistineau?” she asked as the two of them walked across the deserted airfield.
Stork Bite Page 17
