by Doug Beason
“What’s it say?” Fred grabbed for the napkin.
Rod swept it away, lifting his glass instead to the girl’s table. He nodded and smiled at the blond, who returned his toast.
Fred looked back and forth, from Rod to the table of woman. “What’s that about?”
Mr. Delante rocked back in his seat and dabbed with his napkin at his mouth. He looked amused. “I think Rod has some good news.”
Rod turned to Fred and said in a low voice. “They want to meet us in the lobby in forty minutes.”
Fred’s eyes lit up. “All four of them?”
“Fat chance. The blonde and the redhead. What do you think?”
“The blonde—”
“I saw her first,” Rod said. “She’s interested in me.”
Fred didn’t argue. “Redheads are fine. Very fine.” He started cutting his steak with fervor. “I’m not particular, and besides, think she’ll enjoy my flying stories?”
Mr. Delante pushed his plate forward and said to Roberto, “Grand Marnier, make it a double. Neat.” He patted his chest and pulled out a cigar. “And make sure that table of young ladies keep their glasses filled with champagne, on me.”
“Yes, sir,” Roberto nodded as he left for the bar.
Mr. Delante took a long smell of the cigar, pulled a cigar cutter from his jacket, and delicately cut off the tip. Wetting it slightly, he lit the cigar. Blue smoke swirled to the ceiling. “Gentlemen, enjoy yourselves tonight. My treat.” He pointed the cigar at Fred. “And you, son, remember this lifestyle. Exploit the Academy, your education.”
They finished their meal and passed up dessert, opting instead to head straight to the lobby. The girls were still involved in intimate conversation. It appeared that they didn’t see the cadets leave, but moments after reaching the high-vaulted foyer, Rod spotted the blond and redhead stepping down the stairs.
Rod pulled himself up and straightened his tie.
The two girls looked elegant. The red wallpaper behind them accented their dresses. They moved past gold lined mirrors, paintings of old San Francisco and dark wood paneling before reaching the lobby area, gently swaying as they walked.
“Man, oh, man,” Fred breathed.
Rod felt his hands grow slick with sweat, and it was hard to focus. Wiping his hand on his trousers, he stepped up to the young ladies. “How do you do? I’m Cadet Rod Simone and this is my roommate Cadet Fred Delante.”
“Hello, Cadet Simone.” The blonde looked slightly amused as she shook Rod’s hand.
Her touch was soft and warm. The faint smell of perfume wafted from her.
“This is exciting,” she said. “I love your accent. Are you French?”
“No, we’re American,” Rod smiled.
“Thank you for the champagne. I don’t think I’ve ever met a real live cadet before.”
“Neither have I,” the redhead said. She said coyly, “I’m Trish Belmont. This is my friend Barbara.”
“Barbara Richardson,” murmured the blonde.
As Barbara looked them over, Rod was lost in her blonde hair and her intense, ice-blue eyes; they were the most amazing color he’d ever seen.
“What kind of cadets are you?” Barbara said. “The waiter was confused.” Her voice was low and incredibly sexy.
“Air Force,” Rod said.
Barbara ran a hand down his jacket. “I don’t recognize these uniforms.”
“They’re not actually uniforms,” Rod said. “We’re supposed to wear this when we’re off campus. And it’s the United State Air Force Academy. You know, the new military academy in Colorado?”
Trish frowned and looked at Fred. “Are you going to go to college when your hitch is up?”
Fred cocked his head. “Excuse me?”
“The Academy is like West Point,” Rod said, as tough as it was for him to make the comparison to the inconsequential trade school. “Or Annapolis, except it’s for the Air Force. It’s a major university.”
“So you take classes?” Trish said, still confused.
“Calculus, Economics, Engineering Mechanics, English, Chemistry, and Military Studies,” Rod said. “And that was just our first semester.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Barbara said. “What’s your major?”
“General engineering. We don’t have specific majors since the curriculum is so broad, just concentrations.”
“Fascinating.” Barbara put her arm through Rod’s and steered him to the lounge, leaving Fred and Trish behind. “You must be having an incredible experience there.”
“It’s been intense. Almost too much so,” Rod said. “Did you know that Cecil B. DeMille designed our uniforms?”
“These?” Barbara lifted an eyebrow.
“Not these. The ones we wear at school. In fact, his first designs were so outlandish that some of the officers proposed that we wear breast plates and shields, a take-off on the old gladiator, jock-straps and spears routine.”
Barbara laughed and drew him near.
As they left he caught a glimpse of Fred making small talk with Trish. Good luck, roomie. You’re on your own now.
They found a corner in the lounge and sat in high-backed, red leather chairs that were next to a polished wood table and a brass floor lamp. Glasses tinkled in the background. People spoke in muted voices. An impressionist painting of two small girls holding hands, standing by a river, and dressed in summer dresses was behind Barbara.
Barbara flipped a handful of blond hair over her shoulder as she crossed her long, tanned legs. As she leaned forward, Rod caught a glimpse down her dress, and felt a sudden loss of breath when he saw the swell of her breasts.
He cleared his throat. “So, how do you know about the Academy?”
“If you want to fly, that’s the place to be.”
“That’s why I’m there. And how about you? Do you want to fly?”
She smiled. “I thought about it. But flying is a technical skill. I don’t want to be a bus driver.”
Rod felt mildly annoyed, so he changed subjects. “Where do you go to school?”
“Stanford, I’m a journalism major. We’re celebrating finishing our freshman year.”
“So are we, in a way. I mean that’s why we’re out here. And after Stanford?”
“I’ll head up to Seattle, or out to St. Louis.”
“St. Louis? After living near San Francisco? What’s out there?”
“MacDac. Besides writing for the trade rags, the cities near McDonnell Douglas and Boeing have the best aviation journalism jobs in the country. I want to make it to the top, and to get there I need to go where the action is.”
Rod nodded. “So you’re going after the big bucks.”
“No, I want to make a difference. And nothing is going to stop me.”
He blinked. “Make a difference.”
“That’s right. I’m convinced the U.S. is poised to lead the world in aviation, maybe even in space, and I want to make an impact, make a mark in the world.” She looked at him intently. “What about yourself? Do you want to do anything else but fly?”
“I guess I want to be an aero engineer.”
“You guess? Is that all?”
Rod shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, if you were going to a normal college. But you’re not. You’re going to an incredibly unique place.” She leaned forward, revealing another amazing view of her cleavage. She was deeply tan and whatever perfume she was wearing made her smell wonderful. “Any aeronautical engineer can design a widget. And they’ll be paid for it, probably pretty well. Fewer people can actually design entire planes. But even then, how many people even know who designed the Gooney Bird?” She paused a beat and looked at him curiously. “Come on, flyboy, there are more Gooney Birds out there than any other aircraft in the world. Surely you know who designed it?”
Rod felt his face grow warm. “I don’t know.” And he thought doolie knowledge had taught him everything.
“How about the F-86? The
F-100? That’s your top of the line fighter, isn’t it?”
Rod shook his head.
“The B-47? B-52?” She watched him, a smile growing at her lips.
Rod tried to think straight, but his eyes kept shifting to her fingers making small circles on the tabletop. Deliciously tight, small sensuous circles; he imagined her tracing her fingertips on his arm.…
“So how much of a difference do you think you can make by designing planes?”
“I guess not very much, unless you’re one of the Wright brothers.”
She took his hand, and her breath quickened. “That’s right. And that’s the point. Designing planes is just the start, a union card. To make a difference, to change things, you have to know everything there is about the airplane industry, and not just how to design a plane or sell them to the airlines. You have to know the industry inside out and anticipate what’s going to be the next big thing.”
“That’s why you know about the Academy.”
“I’ve followed it since I was in high school. You cadets in the class of ’59 are lucky; you’re getting all this attention, and you haven’t even earned it. It’s a great start, but what are you going to do with it? How are you going to change the world, cadet?”
Rod felt offended. “It hasn’t been easy. You don’t know anything about me.”
Barbara seemed taken back. She was quiet for a moment. “You’re right. But what I do know is that you’re talented, and you’re incredibly bright—you’d have to be if you’re in the first Academy class. It looks as though you’re athletic, you’re motivated, and you can make a difference, not just keep the status quo. You’ll be able to change things, if you don’t blow it. Change the world. My God, that’s exciting.”
She seemed out of breath, as if she had just run a race. Her ice-blue eyes bore into him, and she grasped the table so intensely that her hands shook. “Where can we go?”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
He looked for a waiter. “For what, coffee? Where?”
“Your room. Can we go?”
“I don’t have a coffeemaker in the room. But I suppose we can order room service.”
She paused. “Are you cadets really that naïve?”
O O O
Rod leaned his head back against the seat rest. He had the back seat of Mr. Delante’s car all to himself, but he couldn’t relax. Not after last night. It was simultaneously the best, the most intense, and yet the strangest experience he’d ever had.
Fred sat in front with his father, telling him how he had co-piloted an F-86 fighter at the last base they had visited. He hadn’t stopped talking since they got into the car.
Mr. Delante drove over the Bay Bridge and into the Oakland foothills. They whizzed past yucca and brown hills as they headed for Travis Air Force Base.
Fred twisted around to the back of his seat. “Hey, roomie. You’ve been quiet.”
“Just thinking. And I’m not too anxious to go back. Are you?”
Fred hit his hand with his fist. “Are you kidding? Of course I am!”
Rod smiled wanly. “Why?”
“Don’t you like people respecting us everywhere we go? Being a cadet is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t wait to be an upperclassman!” He paused and looked at Rod strangely. “What’s wrong with you?”
Rod hesitated. The memory of last night made him take in his breath. He said slowly, “What do we have to show for all this?”
“For all what?”
“For going on these trips. For being cadets.” Rod pushed up. They flashed by a fruit stand with an AVOCADOS sign set in the back of a pick-up truck. A woman in a white dress watched a small barefoot boy playing by the side of the road. A man in a t-shirt drank a bottle of beer and leaned against the truck, oblivious to the world.
“Uh?”
“How are we going to make a difference?” Rod said.
Fred laughed, using the same braying tone when they were trying to get one over on Captain Justice. “Make a difference? With what?”
“With our lives. With other’s lives. How will being a cadet change the world?”
Fred looked at him curiously. “What the hell do you mean?”
“We can set a high standard and make the Academy what we want it to be, and not just what the officers want. That will affect generations of leaders, perhaps our entire nation.”
Everyone was quiet in the car. Finally, Mr. Delante turned his head while driving. “You didn’t eat much at lunch today, Rod. Are you hung-over?”
“No, sir. I’m fine.” Rod’s memory of breakfast was waking up next to Barbara on the couch in his hotel room.…
They’d been fully dressed, as they had stayed awake until early morning just talking. But it was the best and most intense experience of his life, not only because of her incredibly stunning beauty, but because her entire focus had been on him. He hadn’t even made a pass at her. Her mesmerizing presence had overwhelmed his senses … and in the short twelve hours they’d been together it seemed that he had somehow gotten to know her much better than he had known any other person in his life.
She was incredibly intelligent and beautiful; he’d never met anyone like her. Most girls he knew were more concerned about the latest dance craze, or had their eye on getting married, or as Sandy, might have only liked him because he was a local celebrity, having been appointed to the first Academy class. But Barbara wanted more. What impressed him was that she knew more than he did about technology, politics, and most everything else.
Fred grinned. “Rod! That girl you met last night.” He leaned over the seat and punched Rod. “You sly dog! She got to you, didn’t she? Don’t let her trip you up. Now that we’re out of the fourth class system, girls are going to be more available than ever.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You don’t believe me? Take the pick of the litter, comrade. Spoils of war. Believe me. Letting people know you’re a USAFA cadet is like having a first class ticket to paradise. Forget that girl. What was her name?”
“Barbara,” he said slowly. The most wonderful name he’d ever heard …
“Forget her! I tell you, this Academy aura is for real. An E-ticket at Disneyland.”
“So I suppose you got lucky with Trish last night?” Rod said sardonically.
Fred laughed. He glanced over to his dad, who grinned as well.
Rod felt uneasy, knowing that if his father had been in the car, there was no way this conversation would be taking place. Although he was grateful for Mr. Delante taking him to dinner last night, he was well aware of the vast difference between his father and Mr. Delante … and Fred, as well.
No wonder his father had grown quiet whenever Mr. Delante’s name was mentioned. He and Delante were motivated by entirely different value systems. They were worlds apart in more than just money; their reference to women as chattel turned his stomach.
Fred whispered, “Are you kidding? Her other friends showed up. What a party!”
***
Chapter Seventeen
“Heartbreak Hotel”
August, 1956
Third class Year
United States Air Force Academy
Lowry Field, CO
At twenty years of age, the will reigns.…
—Ben Franklin, US scientist and statesman
Rod felt excited yet apprehensive as he stepped onto the Academy grounds. He glanced one more time at his new shoulder boards that displayed the Third class rank, a squiggle set inside an innocuous straight line at the end of the board. It was the straight line that changed the rank from being a Fourth class doolie, “slave” designation, into a Third class human. It felt great to have the distinction of finally being an upperclassman.
Yet, as he listened to the screams of the basic cadets as they were completing BCT, he felt that someone would yell at him to fall in and start running at attention.
Remembering to stay away from the main cadet area until BCT was over, Rod k
ept to the campus perimeter. He would slip into the dorm when the basics were at lunch. Lieutenant Ranch had cautioned him on not immediately correcting basics, and instead take the lead from the ATOs after he returned from his summer program.
It was going to be weird being on the giving end of Fourth class training instead of the receiving end.
Rod swung his duffle bag over his shoulder and trudged behind the first row of buildings. It was another incredibly clear Colorado day. He passed several enlisted band members as they prepared to play for the noon meal formation.
“Five minutes to first call,” echoed over the campus.
Rod rounded the corner and opened the stairwell door. A stream of basic cadets emerged from inside.
One by one they slammed against the wall, bumping into each other as they spotted Rod. “By your leave, sir!” They smacked against the building like dominoes.
Rod fought the urge to join them. He stammered. It was a standoff.
The basics shouted in unison, this time even louder. “By your leave, sir!”
“Uh, carry on.” He waved them on, embarrassed he didn’t sound more in control.
“Good morning, sir!”
“Good morning, sir!”
“Good morning, sir!”
One by one they greeted him as they sprinted out the door toward formation.
“Good morning, sir!”
Rod made it to the squadron area without running into any more basics. Looking around, he was astonished to see that the dorm area was much smaller than he remembered. But for the past year he had been forced to keep his eyes fixed straight ahead, so he didn’t really have a sense of perspective. The thought made him shiver.
He ran a hand over the CCQ desk sitting in front of the clock. How many times had he stood rigidly at attention, slammed up against the wall calling minutes?
“It looks like you miss this place.”
Rod twirled. Spotting silver bars, he snapped to attention. “Good afternoon, sir.”
Lieutenant Ranch laughed and held out a hand. “You’re an upperclassman, now, Rod. No need to snap to.”
Rod relaxed. He felt sheepish as he shook Lieutenant Ranch’s hand. “Sorry, sir. It’s hard to break an old habit.”
