At the top of the stairs, Parker waited beside the door with a face of stone. He was a handsome man, I’d grant him that. He and Nathaniel were both blondes with bright blue eyes, but where my husband was lean and angular, Parker had the “ideal” physique of a movie star, with a square jaw and cleft chin.
When I came up alongside him, he put a hand on the doorknob and suddenly smiled as if we were the best of friends. The speed with which he turned on the charm left me chilled.
Parker threw the door open, holding it for me to walk through. Of course he would hold the door and smile, now that there were witnesses. The room was full of astronauts, their wives, and reporters here to cover the launch of a new class of spacecraft.
Clemons turned, one of his cigars smoldering in his hand. “There she is. Gentlemen, meet Elma York. One of our computers, and responsible for the calculations that identified the potential of the Sirius engine. Dr. York is also our newest astronaut.”
The room went hot. Cold. Hot. I must have misheard. Surely they would tell me that in private first.
Flashbulbs went off. Blinding me. I couldn’t breathe.
Astronaut.
The room spun around me like I was strapped in a centrifuge chair. Breath pressed out. My vision darkened at the edges.
Astronaut.
3.14159265359 … Someone said my name. If I fainted, what would people think? Parker would like that.
Astronaut.
Why the hell wouldn’t they tell me that in private first? You didn’t blindside someone with a thing like that, unless you wanted to watch them flounder …
Parker. Parker must have suggested this.
Someone said my name again, and I turned to the voice. The room was a blur of sound and light. There wasn’t enough air. Keep your eyes open. Keep talking. This was just another test.
“Gentlemen…” I fought gravity to raise my hands. “Gentlemen, if you all talk at once, I can’t hear you.”
They ignored me and kept shouting over each other. “When will you go into space?” “What does your husband think about this?” “How does it feel to be an Astronette?”
That voice belonged to a round, balding man with his tie pulled loose.
“An astronette? That sounds as if I should be doing kicks in a chorus line.” The laughter gave me a boost to find a smile somewhere. “So, please, I’m just an astronaut.”
Just an astronaut. Ha. I was a goddamned astronaut. Not that they would print that.
“Now, now … you’re the Lady Astronaut, from Mr. Wizard.” Parker smiled genially beside me. “We wouldn’t want anyone to forget that.”
“Is she the only lady astronaut?” Another reporter fired at Clemons.
Damn Parker. That moniker was going to stick, and it would make sure we were always second class to the men.
Clemons waved his cigar, leaving contrails of smoke. “No, she is not. But you’ll meet the rest of them next week at our press conference. I just wanted to give you a preview of the talent and beauty of our lady astronauts.”
Goddamn it. I smiled until my teeth hurt. “Well … this astronaut has some calculations to do.”
“Of course.” Clemons waved me back to the door. “Sirius is waiting.”
The reporters hollered for some more photos, so I had to stand there, smiling, between Parker and Clemons. Both men beamed at the camera, and in the pictures, we all looked like the best of friends.
Then Parker held the door for me, as if he were a gentleman. I stepped into the stairwell and the door shut behind us.
His smile dropped.
“This must really rankle you.” I started down the stairs ahead of him. “After saying you’d keep me grounded.”
His laughter bounced down the stairs after me. “Please. If Clemons hadn’t hired you, it would have been a public relations nightmare. The other women? They’ve earned it. You’re just a publicity stunt.”
Bastard. My heart galloped as if I’d run up five flights of stairs instead of down one. I slammed the door open and stalked onto the floor of Mission Control. A few heads lifted as my heels clicked across the floor.
The reporters were probably still watching. Thank God my back was to them. Whatever Parker said in the stairwell, I was still an astronaut. I’d been selected, and, by God, I was going to go into space. Publicity stunt? Ha. I was going to be the best damn student they had.
Back at my table, the tableau was much as it had been before. Carmouche had evidently made a move, because he was slumped in his chair, shaking his head.
“Did you lose again?”
“No. But she has me in check again. A different one, at least.”
Helen studied the board. “I will try to put you out of your misery quickly.”
“The offer to play against me still stands.” I settled into my chair, smoothing my skirt to wipe the sweat off my palms.
Helen nodded to the skybox, from which all the reporters were staring at us. “What was that all about?”
This was good news, despite Parker, so I smiled, and in smiling found the joy that should have been there already. “I—I made the cut. I’m an astronaut.” Laughter bubbled out of me. “I’m an astronaut.”
For a moment, Helen’s mouth dropped open and then she jumped up. Grinning, she ran around the table and swept me into a hug. “I knew it!” She straightened. “Nathaniel! Your wife astronaut!”
Across the room, Nathaniel’s head jerked up. “What?”
Carmouche had also stood up at some point. “Clemons just told her she made the cut. Dr. York is one of the new astronauts.”
“Yes!” Laughing, Nathaniel jumped up and punched the air. “Yes!”
All around us, engineers and medics and everyone started to cheer.
Bubbles and Carmouche and someone else grabbed my chair and lifted me into the air like I was a bride. I laughed and wept and laughed again, clutching the chair as they paraded me around the room.
Above us, the skybox flashed with cameras going off. When my chair was back on the ground again, I got swept into a long series of hugs and congratulations.
And then Nathaniel had me in his arms. He spun me around, giving me a moment of weightlessness. Kissing him, in front of everyone, sent me into orbit.
When he pulled back, tears brightened his eyes and a smile threatened to split his face. “I am so, so proud of you.”
This was the way I wanted to learn about becoming an astronaut. Not in a room of random reporters, but here. With my peers. With my husband.
“All right, everyone!” Clemons bellowed from the doorway. “We’ve got a rocket to launch. Back to stations.”
I could not stop smiling. Neither Clemons, nor Parker, nor a gaggle of reporters could take this away from me. I was an astronaut. I pulled the numbers for the calculations I’d been doing in front of me, and kept losing my place on the page. I was an astronaut.
Across the table, Carmouche suddenly threw his hands into the air and shouted. “La victoire est la mienne!”
Helen folded her hands in her lap. “Congratulations, Reynard.”
“You won?”
“Finally!” He got up and did the most ridiculous victory dance I have ever seen, involving elbows and hips moving in unlikely ways. “Finally, I have won!”
“Good game.” Helen pushed her chair back and stood. She bowed to him. “Please excuse me.”
My friend, the champion chess player, walked to the ladies’ room, with her head high and her shoulders back. Do I sound self-important to think that there was a correlation between my news and Helen losing a game?
I was an astronaut. Helen wasn’t.
And that needed to change.
THIRTY-TWO
TEMPERATURE ON UPGRADE BUT FALLS SHORT OF ’51 HIGH
CHICAGO, IL, June 25, 1957—At 12:55 p.m. yesterday, the temperature reached 87.7 degrees and the Weather Man, sweltering among his gadgets at Navy Pier, announced that it was heading toward the highest level since the Meteor.
I
suppose I should report that the Sirius flight went flawlessly. Bubbles was thrilled. Nathaniel was as well, since this would reduce costs for moon runs significantly. Not that we’d landed an astronaut on the moon yet, but it was just a matter of time.
And by God, I was going to be one of them.
When we left the IAC campus, close to dawn, the excitement still had me floating. I looped my arm through Nathaniel’s and anticipated another successful “rocket launch” when we got home. We walked out with the other folks, heading across the parking lot for the gates of the IAC.
“There she is!” Flashbulb. “Dr. York!” Flash. “Elma!” Past the gates, a horde of reporters lay in wait. “Over here, ma’am!”
My stomach clenched. Nathaniel turned us around, which is a good thing, because I was moving toward them like a moth to the flame. Or a lemming to the cliff, more like.
He rested his hand on mine and pulled me closer. “We’ll have the company send us home in a car.”
“I didn’t think.”
“Parker should have. Hell. If I’d thought about what happened with him and the rest, I should have.”
I don’t think that Parker knew about my anxiety. In fact, I’m sure he didn’t, or he would have used it to keep me out of the astronauts. But he couldn’t have ambushed me better if he’d planned it.
One of the UN drivers assigned to the IAC took us home, but when we got to our block, he didn’t turn.
Nathaniel leaned forward and looked out the window. “Damn it.”
Huddled inside my coat, I shivered in the dark of the back seat. He sat back and put his arm around me. “Let’s stay at the Aladdin tonight, to celebrate.”
“They have our apartment staked out?”
“Yeah…” He squeezed me tighter, but my trembling didn’t stop. Nathaniel rubbed up and down my arm as if he could chafe the blood back into my veins. “We’ll send someone round to get our clothes.”
“My prescription is in the apartment.” It wouldn’t make the reporters go away, but it would put a haze between us.
“Got it. What do you want to wear tomorrow?”
Clothes? I was supposed to think about clothes, instead of the wall of reporters waiting to talk to me? On some level, I knew this was coming. I’d seen what had happened when the Artemis Seven were announced. But after months of being “the Lady Astronaut,” I thought the level of attention would remain the same.
Of course there would be a difference. I’d just gone from being a wannabe astronaut to the real thing. As the first woman that they announced, it made sense that the reporters would all want a piece of me.
I tucked my head into Nathaniel’s shoulder and let the wool of his coat block out the streetlights.
“Sir?” Our driver turned the car down another street. “Is there a different hotel you could choose?”
Against my cheek, Nathaniel’s chest moved in a sigh. “Let’s head to the suburbs. Just pick the first hotel you spot that doesn’t have reporters.”
* * *
After Nathaniel and I spent the night at a Holiday Inn off the interstate, he called Clemons and explained the situation. I was told to avoid the IAC while the reporters were still there, and that Mrs. Rogers had accepted my resignation with many congratulations.
They hadn’t even let me say goodbye to the other computers.
I wept. Took a Miltown. Burrowed under the covers. And when the first Miltown wore off, I took another.
Nathaniel stayed in the hotel with me while a UN guard sat outside the door. That was probably a good choice.
In the afternoon, our phone started to ring. I don’t know how they’d tracked us down, but they had.
* * *
I was not an astronaut. That was made very, very clear on Day One.
There were seven women selected, and our first meeting was not at the IAC. It was not even in Kansas City. They flew us out to the bunker where Nathaniel and I had met the president right after the Meteor struck.
I guess after the circus I’d been through, they wanted to keep the rest of us under wraps. When I walked into the conference room, I recognized some of the faces. Betty and Nicole had made the cut and were sitting together at the conference table.
Nicole squealed and waved me over. “I wanted to tell you, but they told me I couldn’t say anything because of the reporters hanging all over you.”
I rolled my eyes. “That was a nuisance.” Nightmare. Much the same thing. “Betty. Congratulations.”
She nodded and bit her lower lip. Swallowing, she looked up. “You too.”
That bit of careful social nicety out of the way, I sat down next to Betty and gave the other women my attention. Naturally Sabiha G ök çen had made it in. I was glad she’d come back from Turkey for this, because flying with her had been a pleasure.
Mrs. Lebourgeois, on the other hand … Last we’d spoken at the launch, Violette had only just begun taking flying lessons. I smiled at her and leaned across the table. “Two astronauts in the family? Your husband must be very proud.”
She blushed and waved. “It is an honor, and so unexpected.”
“I can imagine.” I hadn’t even seen her at the testing.
Pausing, I looked around the room at the waiting women. No men. Interesting. I knew that they’d added more men to the corps as well, but they must be training them in a different location.
We weren’t chattering or doing any of the clucking that you’d expect from the movies. All of us were turned out, though—in pants suits, yes, but with makeup and our hair done just so.
Four of us were American. One French woman. A Brazilian woman—Jacira Paz-Viveiros—and Sabiha G ök çen. Seven, all told, to match the original seven men.
If Ida hadn’t primed me for it, I don’t know if I would have noticed that there wasn’t a black candidate in the group.
Clemons, Parker, and two other gentlemen that I didn’t know walked in together. Clemons clapped his hands together. “There are my beauties. First of all, ladies, congratulations on being chosen as astronauts in training.”
One of the men I didn’t know, a slender fellow with a shiny white forehead and ears that stuck out past his regulation crew cut, started passing out binders.
“Now. Our first task is to get you ready for the press conference. This is Mr. Pommier.” He beckoned toward the other fellow, who was in his mid-fifties and had that steel-gray hair that some men acquire as they age. “He’s your stylist, and will help you select your wardrobe and hair for the event.”
I exchanged glances with Nicole, but neither of us raised our hands to ask why we needed a stylist. They had probably gotten one for the men and kept him on for us. If I were going to rock the boat, which seemed inevitable, then it would be over a bigger question.
“Mr. Smith is handing out press kits for each of you. We’re going to go through sample interview questions to prepare you for the conference.” Clemons turned to Parker. “Colonel Parker here is in charge of all the astronauts, as well as you lady astronauts-in-training. He’ll be able to help you understand what’s expected of you in your new role.”
Parker gave one of his trademark earnest smiles. “Good morning. I wish all conference rooms looked this lovely when I walked in.” He caught my eye. “Now, I know some of you are used to being able to say anything you want, but we’ve got to be careful with the information that goes out of the IAC. Besides our security interests, we also have an exclusive contract with Life. Isn’t that right, Miss Ralls?”
Betty nodded, her eyes on the table and her cheeks red. “Yes, sir.”
Well, bless her journalistic heart. Betty hadn’t made the cut. She’d cut a deal.
“To control the image of the space program, all communication with the press must go through the front office.” Parker held up a finger. “And just to be clear, ‘the press’ includes entertainment broadcasts.”
This was not the hardship for me that he seemed to think it was.
“Wait a minute—” Sabiha’s
voice cut through the room. She had her binder open and was frowning at one of the pages. “This question. What is this answer? ‘No. I am not an astronaut. ’”
I grabbed my binder and flipped it open, amid the sound of pages shuffling and covers slapping against the hard wood of the conference table. Sure enough, under the heading “Approved answers to common questions” were a variety of questions about what it was like to be an astronaut.
“Thank you, Colonel Parker. I’ll take it from here.” Mr. Smith, the fellow with the jug-handled ears, had a voice like a revival preacher. The deep resonance rolled out at complete odds with his slight build. “You’ve already opened your binders, ladies, so let me explain. We’ve realized that it would be confusing for the public if we start calling trainees astronauts. It would be like calling someone a pilot when they’d just signed up for flight school.”
“When, exactly, are we considered astronauts?” My voice left frost on the table.
“Fifty miles.” Parker shrugged. “When you’ve been fifty miles above the Earth’s surface, you’re an astronaut. That’s in conjunction with the IAC and the F éd ération A éronautique Internationale in Paris. Until then, you’re astronaut candidates. Abbreviated as AsCans.”
Of course. All nice and proper and completely legitimate. I couldn’t even complain that it was unreasonable—except, of course, that the rule hadn’t applied until they’d added women to the corps.
* * *
At the press conference, I stood in the shadows backstage with Nathaniel holding both of my hands. A film of sweat separated us. The murmur of the crowd rumbled through the curtains at a constant low-frequency hum. You could feel it through the floorboards, like the buzz of an engine. Around me, the new astronauts—excuse me, the new AsCans—milled about in uncertain patterns. The seven women nearly vanished among the thirty-five men they’d chosen. Why had I signed up for this?
Nathaniel stood directly in front of me. “197 times 4753?”
“936,341.”
“Divided by 243?”
“3853.255144032922 … How many decimal places do you want?” The dress that the stylist had asked me to wear had a tight-fitted bodice. It had seemed to fit well enough when I’d tried it on, but now I could hardly draw a breath.
The Calculating Stars Page 29
