by T. E. Cruise
“Perhaps.” Blaize shrugged. “But with all due respect, it is, nonetheless, my decision to make.”
Gold didn’t answer. “Speaking of passions, have you told my daughter of your decision? It seems you two have become pretty inseparable the past seventeen months you’ve been a part of GAT.”
“Well, yes, I have discussed my decision with her,” Blaize said, looking uncomfortable. “I mean, as friends might…”
“And what did she have to say about it?” Gold asked, watching Blaize closely.
“She’s unhappy about it, but…” Blaize looked him in the eye. “If I may be perfectly frank, Suzy and I have a very close, but platonic, relationship…”
“Then she isn’t your sweetheart?”
“I don’t have a sweetheart,” Blaize said gruffly.
Gold wasn’t surprised by the tart reply. He knew that Erica had tried on several occasions to match Blaize with some of the eligible and attractive women they knew. Nothing had ever come of those matches, and not for the women’s lack of trying, Erica had subsequently discovered. Gold and his wife had since concluded that Blaize simply was not interested in the opposite sex, per se. Erica had thought it very eccentric, even for an Englishman, but long ago in Germany Gold had known men like Blaize: chaste men, who sublimated their physical needs in strenuous exercise and demanding work. He respected such men, even if he could not personally comprehend what made them tick.
“Herman, I do hope that you won’t try to manipulate my fond feelings for Suzy in order to get me to stay…”
“Actually, I’m prepared to do anything to get you to stay,” Gold replied, only half jokingly. “Your work here is vital, and I’m not talking about your test piloting.”
Blaize smiled faintly. “You’re referring to that gas turbine notion I’ve been toying with?”
Gold nodded. “If you know anything at all about fighter tactics, you know that superior speed is paramount. A jet engine that would allow a fighter to fly rings around an enemy plane equipped with a piston engine just might make the difference for your country in its war with Germany.”
“There are other people working on airplane gas-turbines,” Blaize said. “Most notably, Frank Whittle. Actually, it was Whittle who first introduced me to the notion. He was doing graduate work at Cambridge University when I was there.”
“I’m familiar with Whittle’s work, and I agree with you that right now he’s the front-runner,” Gold replied. “But it’s very possible that if you put your mind to it you could leapfrog him.”
“Herman.” Blaize smiled. “I do appreciate your confidence in me, but I’d need a lab, and technicians to assist me.”
“Now that the new construction here has been completed, I can supply you with a state-of-the-art lab.”
“Assuming I didn’t blow myself up, we’d eventually have to bring a full-fledged engine-design firm into it.”
“Rogers and Simpson have been supplying GAT with engine designs right from the beginning,” Gold said. “I can assure you that there’s no better outfit. You’ll like working with them,” he added confidently.
Blaize laughed. “And you’re quite a salesman, Herman, but you haven’t sold me. I’d like to stay. I really would, but I feel my country needs my skills as a pilot.”
“I think you should be asking yourself how you can be of greater service to England. Is it through shooting down a few Nazi airplanes, and perhaps getting yourself shot down and killed? Or is it through using your brains to present England with the means to bring down the entire Luftwaffe?”
“Herman, it’s all very enticing.” Blaize smiled. “I wish I could accept. But I believe in action. I’m not the backroom type. Now then, will you please accept my resignation?”
“There’s no way I can persuade you to reconsider?” When Blaize shook his head, Gold nodded, sighing. “Okay, then let me offer you a deal. With the war on, you’re going to have a hell of a time getting yourself passage home to England, right?”
Blaize frowned. “I—I really hadn’t thought about that…”
“I know.” Gold chuckled. “It’s the kind of detail usually forgotten by passionate young men. The deal is this: you give me one more full month, during which you forget about test flying. You just spend the time working with Teddy Quinn and his people, bringing us up to speed on your turbine design so that we can continue working on it while you’re off patrolling the English sky in your RAF Super-shark. In exchange, I’ll pull a few strings to arrange your transatlantic passage on a United States diplomatic flight.”
“A full month?” Blaize asked doubtfully.
“Don’t worry, the war isn’t going to end so fast,” Gold replied. “And it’d probably take you longer than a month to get home on your own.”
“I suppose you’re right about that,” Blaize said slowly.
“Then we have a deal?”
“We do,” Blaize said. “Thank you.”
“All right.” Gold stood up. “Now I’ve got a meeting waiting for me, and you’ve work of your own to do.”
“I’ll start immediately,” Blaize said.
Gold waited for Blaize to leave the office. Young men were all very much alike, he thought. It seemed the less they knew about life, the stronger were their certainties about the paths they wished to take. Gold had never had anyone looking out for him when he was young. Nobody to keep him from making mistakes. His son, and Blaize, were more fortunate… Gold would look out for them.
He went over to Teddy’s desk to use the telephone, dialing his secretary. “Roz, it’s me… what time is it in England?… They’re what? Nine hours ahead of us?” He glanced at his watch. “Hell, then it’s too late over there to catch anybody in their offices with an overseas call… Tell you what, let’s send a wire… yeah, I’ll dictate it to you right now. It’s to Sir Alfred… yeah, the President of Stoat-Black…”
(Two)
Gold Household
Bel-Air
22 November 1939
Gold was working at his desk in his study when his son, Steven, came in. Steven was wearing tan corduroy slacks, leather slip-ons, and a striped, short-sleeved polo shirt with a soft knit collar. Gold smiled proudly. The boy was just fifteen, but he was already six feet tall, and weighed in at one eighty, and all of that was muscle. His son had taken to brushing his thick blond hair straight back, the way Hull Stiles had used to comb his hair. Back when old Hull still had hair…
“What are you doing hanging around the house on a beautiful Saturday afternoon like this?” Gold asked, smiling. His son was staring down at his shoes, looking ill-at-ease. “Is anything wrong, son?”
“Pop, I got an idea a while back, while listening to Suzy blubbering about Blaize leaving for England—”
“I hope you haven’t been teasing your sister,” Gold said sternly.
“Honest, Pop, I haven’t been ragging Suzy about Blaize,” Steven said, and then shrugged. “Well, not much, anyway,” he continued sheepishly. “I mean, I just couldn’t take listening to all of that female blubbering. It’s not like she was Blaize’s girlfriend or anything, right?”
“They’re good friends, Steven. You know how it can be when you have to say good-bye to a friend…” Gold had made good on his promise to Blaize, securing him a place on a U.S. diplomatic flight to London, departing from Washington D.C. on the fifteenth of December.
“Anyway, Pop, listening to Suzy complain about Blaize leaving gave me this idea,” Steven said. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. With Blaize gone you’re going to be needing a new test pilot. You always said that someday I could be one of your pilots—”
“Hold it.” Gold laughed. “You always said that, not me.”
“I could do the job!” Steven said eagerly. “I got my pilot’s license!”
“What about school?”
“I could quit school, Pop!” Steven replied. “What do I need to finish high school for? I know what I’m going to do for the rest of my life. I’m going to work
at GAT.”
“You can’t quit high school, Steven. You’re only fifteen,” Gold said impatiently, struggling to control his temper. He had work to do, and here he was talking nonsense with his son. “Not only that, I expect you to go to college—”
“What for? You don’t learn how to fly planes in college! Blaize didn’t finish college—”
“But at least he gave it a try, Steven,” Gold pointed out. “He had a few years at Cambridge University. He studied engineering—”
“But you value him for being a test pilot.”
Gold shook his head. He glanced at the folder spread open on his desk, and turned it around so that his son could see it. “Look at that,” Gold commanded. “Tell me what it is.”
Steven leaned over the desk and idly flipped through the pages covered with notes and drawings. He shrugged. “Teddy’s chicken scratches concerning some new project, I guess.”
“You guess wrong,” Gold said. “Those notes belong to Blaize.”
“About the BearClaw project?”
“Wrong again! What you’re looking at are Blaize’s notes for a new kind of engine: a gas turbine engine—”
“No kidding?” Steven nodded. “So what?” he asked innocently.
Gold shook his head in disgust. “You haven’t the slightest idea what I’m talking about, and yet you want to quit school!”
“Pop—”
“Be quiet! Don’t interrupt!” Gold snapped. “Blaize came upon the idea of an airplane jet engine back at Cambridge University. Now he’s working on the idea for GAT. Sure, Blaize’s abilities as a pilot are helpful, but it’s what’s inside this folder that makes Blaize invaluable!” He pounded the folder with his fist. “This is what will one day make him a winner! Without his time at Cambridge it wouldn’t have happened!”
Steven frowned. “But what if I don’t turn out to be some kind of inventor like you, or Blaize? What if that isn’t who I am?”
“Of course that’s who you are.” Gold insisted. “I know my son.”
“Pop, I want to be a flier—”
Gold, studying his son, forced himself to let the anger and frustration drain out of him. He wanted to avoid a direct confrontation with Steven—if possible. “Look, I’ll tell you what… If you want, you can start work at GAT—”
“Thanks, Pop!”
“But after school, and on weekends,” Gold cautioned. “You can work upstairs, with me. Or hang around with Teddy and the designers… We’ll find something for you to do. You could file papers, run errands—”
“In other words, be an office boy,” Steven sulked.
“In other words, get a feeling for how GAT operates!” Gold glared at his son.
“Yeah, and everybody will look at me and whisper behind my back, there goes the boss’s son. When are they going to know my name, Pop? When am I going to stop being your son and become my own man—”
“When you do something worthwhile,” Gold shot back.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Steven replied softly. “The problem is we have different ideas about what that ‘worthwhile something’ should be.”
“Look, I don’t want to discuss this nonsense any longer,” Gold said firmly.
“Right. It’s always what you want,” Steven said, clearly angry now. “And what I want for myself you call nonsense.”
“Get out of here,” Gold ordered, shocked at his son’s tone. He felt like he was confronting a stranger.
“Sorry,” Steven said sarcastically. “You’ve been very generous with your time.” He stalked toward the door. “Next time I’ll remember to make an appointment.”
“I’ve been very generous, period!” Gold shouted.
“Right!” Steven yelled back as he left the study. “The only thing you won’t give me is the chance to prove myself!”
(Three)
GAT
Burbank
12 December 1939
Blaize Greene was at his drafting table in the little office he’d been assigned for the duration of his stay at GAT. He’d been working on his turbine blade drawings for the last six hours. He was exhausted, but he was determined to press on. He didn’t have much time left. The few weeks he had promised Herman had zoomed by. Tomorrow he was leaving on a flight to Washington D.C., and on the fifteenth he would depart from Washington to London, on the diplomatic flight that Herman had arranged for him.
Greene stood up, to stretch away the ache in his back from the time spent hunched over his drawings. He’d already decided to work straight through the rest of the day, and all night, up until it was time to stop by the Santa Monica apartment he was vacating to pick up his bags and head over to the airport. Herman had held to his part of the deal, and Blaize intended to do the same. He would do all he could to bring Teddy Quinn up to speed concerning his ideas for the turbine. After that, Teddy could have a bang at it on his own, Greene thought. He himself was fervently looking forward to getting into the cockpit of an RAF Supershark, where he could take far more direct action against the bloody Nazis—
“Knock, knock,” Suze said, standing in the doorway.
Greene looked up, and smiled. “What are you doing here?”
“What kind of greeting is that?” she pretended to scold. “Haven’t you missed me?”
“Since last night, you mean?” Greene chuckled. For over a year now now he and Suze had been spending most of their free time together. Suze had taught him his way around the city, and together they’d enjoyed museums, the theater, concerts, and films. Most every night the two would become involved in long, and deeply intricate, conversations about life and art and a host of subjects. The talk would go on for hours, often while they were parked outside her family’s Bel-Air residence. Those were the times that Greene most loved: when he was staring up at the moon and stars, with the scent of bougainvillea perfuming the evening, listening to Suze’s soft voice…
“Well, then, now that you mention it, I suppose I have missed you,” he said.
“Oh! You mean I had to remind you!” She laughed. “Now I am insulted!”
“Don’t be.” He came around the drafting table to give her an affectionate hug. “You know how it can be… Say you’re whiling away an afternoon reading, and gradually the light fades, but then somebody comes into the room and switches on a lamp?”
“And you didn’t know how much you needed the light until it was there?”
Suze was smiling up at him, her arms warm and comforting around his waist. Greene could feel the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. At times like this the age difference between them seemed needle-thin, but then Greene had to remind himself that time had passed since they’d first met. Suze was almost nineteen.
He kissed her on the forehead, and then gently extricated himself from her embrace. He pretended not to see her subtle frown as he stepped away.
“You look like you’re on your way to the shore,” he said. She was wearing a tan skirt and matching top, both of which buttoned up the front, but he could discern the outline of her dark-colored swimsuit beneath the light cotton fabric.
“I am, and I’ve come to kidnap you for the afternoon,” she announced firmly.
“I can’t!” Greene sighed. “I’ve got so much work to do here! I was planning on working straight through the night.”
“Why worry about it? No matter what you do, you won’t be able to finish it before you leave tomorrow!” she said, her tone artificially bright.
“Suze, we’re not going to get into the matter of my leaving again, are we?” Greene cautioned. “We’ve been all through it so many times…”
“I know, I know!” Suze said cheerfully. “And I promised you I wouldn’t cry anymore, and I won’t. I keep my promises.”
“I know that you do,” Greene said fondly, gazing at her.
“But it’s a beautiful afternoon, just perfect for the beach,” she said. “Since it’s a weekday it won’t be crowded. I brought you a pair of Steven’s swim trunks to wear, a
nd I have a picnic lunch and a bottle of chilled wine in the trunk of my car.”
“It sounds wonderful,” he said longingly.
“Oh, please, come! It’ll be our farewell time together,” she said. “After, I’ll bring you back here and you can spend all night working on your notes if you want… And then tomorrow, you can leave…”
Greene enjoyed watching Suze expertly weave the nimble Jaguar through the Hollywood traffic. Before he knew it she’d spirited them to the sun-drenched coast road, and they were motoring past Los Tunas. The breeze rolling off the Pacific smelled of seaweed. The light sparkling on the white sand and blue water dazzled, and pleasured, the eye.
Greene took the opportunity to study Suze’s profile as she concentrated on her driving. She was wearing red-framed sunglasses. Her skin was tanned, and her blond hair was whipping behind her in the slipstream. She looked absolutely lovely, and he thought that it was a damned good thing he was leaving, because at some point during the year and a half he had been in California he had fallen in love with her. Friendships were one of life’s great pleasures, but the entanglements of love were so messy…
She abruptly glanced his way, and smiled. Greene imagined that she’d sensed his eyes upon him, or perhaps she’d even sensed his thoughts. That had happened between them on occasion, when they’d been deeply, passionately engaged in conversation about music or books, and one had managed to finish the other’s thought…
“This is wonderful!” Greene shouted above the wind’s warm whistling, and the Jag’s buzz. “Thank you for kidnapping me!”
Suze blew him a kiss, almost shyly, and then quickly turned her attention back to the road. Greene, settling back against the burnished leather of the bucket seat, was supremely happy. He felt quite free to love Suze with all his heart, considering it was the eve of his departure…
They’d reached a deserted stretch of shore, with no other cars in sight, when Suze turned off the road and parked. Greene took the blanket and towels and picnic basket out of the Jag’s boot, kicked off his shoes, and followed Suze across the hot, squeaky sand. They spread their blanket in a secluded spot that was close to the water, but sheltered between high dunes.
