Flygirl

by Sherri L. Smith

  “Maybe we should check with the tower,” I say after a minute.

  Lily smiles hopefully. “Of course. But you know Patsy. She’s probably just pranking on old Martin again.”

  I smile back, but I don’t feel it on the inside. “That’s probably it,” I say doubtfully. We stand up. “She never could resist putting him in his place.”

  “And on test day, too,” Lily adds.

  But our bravado rings false. We break into a run outside the ready room. Sergeant Middleton is at the control tower.

  “Keep your pants on, ladies. They were spotted over Baker’s Pond about ten minutes ago. They should be here in about half an hour.”

  “Thank God,” Lily gasps. I want to hug the sergeant, but the look he gives me makes me step back and simply nod at him.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir.”

  He snorts and waves us away, but I notice he’s searching the skies himself. “Damn radio’s probably on the fritz,” he mutters as we leave the tower. “Don’t want to lose another plane.”

  Outside, Lily looks furious. “Another plane, did he say? Why, I ought to give him a piece of my mind!” She turns in her tracks, but I stop her.

  “Let’s go, Lily. He’s just as worried as we are, but he’s an army sergeant. He can’t afford to show it.”

  Lily adjusts her shirt and nods. She lets out a deep breath from somewhere inside that petite body. “Well, thank God we’re not army.”

  I smile. “Come on. Let’s go wait for Patsy.” I pat my pockets as we walk back to the ready room. “Got any nickels?”

  Lily shakes her head. “I never fly with coins in my pocket. I once heard about a pilot who lost his loose change doing a loop. It killed a man on the ground. Can you believe it? They say a dime can do the same amount of damage as a Mack truck if you drop it from high enough up.”

  “Oh, I think a Mack truck dropped from a plane would hurt a whole lot more than a bitty old dime,” I tell her. She rewards me with a poke in the ribs.

  “You know what I mean. What’s the nickel for, anyway?”

  “The wishing well, of course.” The well was actually more of a small fountain outside of the ready room. It’s WASP tradition to toss coins into it for luck or toss WASP into it when they’ve done their first solo flight. “Today’s a big day,” I add. “I think it deserves more than a penny, don’t you?”

  Lily agrees, but we don’t go to the ready room to ask the other girls for change. We don’t leave the field until we see Patsy’s plane on the horizon.

  The sky is turning pale purple when she finally appears over the far end of the airstrip, signaling the tower.

  “She’d better hurry up or she’ll qualify for a night landing,” Lily says.

  “Yeah.” I keep my eyes on Patsy’s plane. She’s been gone too long. Way too long for it to be good news. Neither one of us has mentioned it, but Lily and I both know that this could be a washout offense.

  Patsy lands beautifully and pulls to a stop just a few yards from where we are waiting. But she doesn’t get out of the plane. Even when old Martin hops down with his fussy little goggles clamped tightly to his head, a white scarf—far too romantic for a fellow as tight as Martin—thrown twice around his neck against the late-afternoon chill. Patsy just sits in the cockpit and stares straight ahead.

  Martin walks past us without a word. His face is red, but whether from wind or something Patsy did, I can’t tell.

  “You don’t suppose she really did do a wing walk on him again, do you?” Lily asks.

  “Oh, no, she’s smarter than that.” And then I think of that crowd of people sitting on their trucks and cars, watching us fly overhead. “At least, I think she is.”

  We wait for Instructor Martin to disappear into the ready room before we rush up to Patsy’s plane.

  Patsy doesn’t see us at first. She’s too busy crying. Not sobbing hysterically, the way I would be if I had failed. Not angry, like we’ve seen her before. Just slow, quiet tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

  “Oh, no!” Lily cries.

  I climb up onto the side of the plane. “What is it, Patsy? Did he fail you?”

  Patsy jumps, startled to see me so close. She wipes her eyes, embarrassed. When she speaks, she sounds like her old self.

  “Well, he tried to, the old goose. Made me run through all the paces, basic training, first-week stuff, all the way to Baker’s Pond and back.”

  “That’s why you’re late?” I ask hopefully.

  She nods. “He was looking for a reason to flunk me. But I showed him. I was like you, Lily.” She tips her head toward the other girl. “A perfect student. He said do a loop, I did it perfectly. Do a roll, and I did one, a beautiful one, too. And we come up on Baker’s Pond, and there are all these farmers out there, standing on the hoods of their cars and the backs of their trucks, cheering, like we were the circus and the president rolled into one . . .” Patsy looks at us. The sunset catches her face in its glow.

  “This was the best flight of my life, Jonesy. The best damn flight, ever.”

  “Then why are you crying?” Lily asks, brow furrowed.

  Patsy smiles slowly, but her smile is big and wide. “Tears of joy, hon. Tears of absolute joy.” She laughs. “He passed me. With flying colors, or almost. I had enough demerits for a one-way trip back to nowhere, but even old Martin thinks I’ve got the stuff.”

  She pulls herself out of the plane real slow, like she doesn’t want to leave it.

  “Come on, girls. It’s Friday night. We’re going to town to celebrate.”

  “Town” means the Avengerette Club. Here in Texas they call it a honky-tonk hall. Back home, it’s a juke joint—the kind of place Mama would never let me go. But tonight I’ll walk in with the rest of my friends, not as a teenager, but as a WASP. The brass consider the place an officers’ club of sorts, suitable for WASP and military gentlemen. Nothing special on the inside, just a redecorated room above a store in town, donated by the good people of Sweetwater. Still, tonight is a celebration night. Patsy, Lily, and I indulge in extra-long showers, and we take the time to apply long-discarded makeup and curlers.

  “I’d forgotten how much better I look with curled lashes,” Lily mutters, clamping down on her lash curler in front of the bathroom mirror. Thanks to Patsy’s delayed flight, the rest of our classmates are already at the club. The place should be in full swing by the time we get there.

  This will be our first trip to the Avengerette. I guess part of me feels like I’m here to fly, not dance. And the other part of me knows Mama just wouldn’t approve. Socializing with white men will only get me into the kind of trouble she was worried about. And dancing with soldiers? That’s even worse. But tonight is special. I wish Jolene was here with me. She’s a regular social butterfly, and boy, can she dance.

  The thought makes me sad enough to leave the mirror and take a breather at the foot of my bed. I haven’t written home but once or twice in the month since I got here, and that was just to send home some money and say I was okay. Nobody back home would be interested in basic training, or in my white classmates, or anything I’m doing right now. And besides, I’ve been waiting for something good to tell them. Something that would make Mama and Grandy proud. Today is finally one of those days.

  I pull out the little stack of stationery I bought at the five-and-dime in town last month and put it in my purse. I’ve never been much for dancing. That’s Jolene’s specialty. But with luck, there’ll be a quiet corner where I can get my letter written.

  A sneeze from the other side of the room makes me look up. “God bless you,” I say automatically.

  “Thank you.” It’s Melanie Michaels, one of the girls from the other side of the barracks. She’s pale and yellow-haired, but her face is even paler than usual.

  “Sorry,” she says. “I thought everybody had gone out.”

  “Almost,” I say. I close my purse. Melanie is wearing civilian clothes. So am I, but I’m in a party dress, black with tiny polka dot
s and fluted skirt. Melanie is wearing a tweed travel suit.

  “Melanie? Are you leaving?”

  She ignores the question and squats in front of a footlocker. “This is Nancy’s, right? She borrowed some shoes of mine. I want them back.”

  I put down my purse and go to her side. Melanie and I don’t know each other well, even if we do share a bathroom. She’s from Philadelphia, I think, or Connecticut. I kneel next to her.

  “Yes, that’s Nancy’s locker. But what’s going on?”

  Melanie looks at me and her face crumples like a newspaper, only all the headlines are sad. “Oh, Ida Mae, they flunked me.”

  “What?” I feel a chill all of a sudden, like angels passing overhead.

  “Baker’s Pond. I flunked the test.”

  I scowl. “Martin is a fool. We can appeal it. Go to Jenkins. He’s fair.”

  Melanie wails, “No, I can’t! He’s the one who failed me. Said I was indecisive and it could cost me my life, or my plane.”

  She sniffs through her tears and imitates Jenkins’s warm voice, but with a sneer to it that I don’t remember hearing. “‘Miss Michaels, I’m sorry, but I won’t have your death on my hands. Or this airplane in yours.’ He flew us back. It was so humiliating.”

  She throws her arms around my neck. I hug her, but there is nothing to say. If Hap Martin had flunked her, it would be one thing, but Walt Jenkins . . . I wish I had paid more attention, seen what she could do. All I can think is Jenkins must be right.

  Melanie is the sixth girl to wash out of our flight, the first in our barracks. I try to remember who she was standing next to that first day, when Deatie Deaton said the girl to either side of each of us would fail. Whoever it was must be breathing a sigh of relief. Or feeling the same chill I’ve got right now.

  “It’ll be okay, Melanie.” I say it, but I know it doesn’t help. How could it?

  After a minute, Melanie pulls herself together. “There they are.” She pulls a pair of black pumps out of the locker. “Apologize to Nancy for me. I just . . .” She wipes her eyes. “I just didn’t want to have to tell all the girls.”

  We stand up. “I understand. I’ll let them know.”

  “Oh, tomorrow. Wait until tomorrow. They should be able to celebrate without pitying me tonight.”

  “Sure.” We hug quickly, and she is suddenly all business.

  “Good luck, Ida. You’ve always seemed like a swell girl. If you’re ever in Connecticut, look me up.”

  “I will.”

  I walk with her to the door and watch her walk out into the night, her suitcase dragging along beside her, the pumps she lent Nancy still in her hand. I stare into the darkness after she is gone, glad not to be in her shoes.

  “Leaving without us?” Patsy asks. I jump at the sound of her voice.

  “No, no. I was just . . . looking at the stars.” I shut the door and turn around. I give a low whistle. “Boy, you two sure got dolled up.”

  Patsy is in a sky blue dress with a silk flower on one shoulder. Her straight black hair is curled into waves. Lily’s trapped her own natural curls into a bun with brown netting. A chocolate brown dress picks up the red of her hair and her creamy skin.

  “Thanks, you’re a peach,” Lily says with a shake of her shoulder. She giggles. “Patsy’s been giving me lessons in sass.”

  “She learns quick.” Patsy winks. “Let’s get the show on the road, ladies. Last carload leaves the base in five minutes.”

  I grab my purse and follow them out into the warm Texas night. I don’t feel like celebrating anymore. Melanie Michaels has washed out. Any one of us could be next.

  Chapter 14

  We hit the Avengerette at a slow moment. The building’s certainly seen better days, but you could hardly tell with the music streaming from the doorway and the lights shining so bright.

  “Ready, girls?” Patsy asks, straightening her skirt and primping her hair.

  “As I’ll ever be,” Lily says.

  My eye falls on the WHITES ONLY sign pasted in the window. My stomach fills with butterflies. “Lead on,” I say, setting my jaw and swallowing my nerves. The back of my neck itches when we enter the door, but I don’t let it stop me. I’m a white girl tonight. I’m a WASP.

  No dogs come running and no one throws me out. My teeth unclench and I pause a moment to take it all in. The Andrews Sisters are crooning in three-part harmony on a record player set up on a corner table next to a small soda pop machine. Somebody must flip the records when they end. But it’s smack-dab in the middle of “Dream a Little Dream” right now, and six or seven couples are swaying on the dance floor. I scan the little café tables hemming the dance area. Patsy does the same.

  “My, my. Look at all the pretty boys,” she says with a predatory smile that reminds me of Jolene. I’ve never been to a dance hall before, or a bar. From the drab paint job to the scuffed tables, it’s a lot less glamorous than I expected. “Whites only” isn’t exactly a sign of quality, I guess. Jolene will get a kick out of that.

  “They come in from all over, I hear,” Lily says. “Every base within a forty-mile radius. The WASP are very popular girls.”

  “Not too popular, I hope.” It’s our squadron leader, Audrey Hill, sitting at a nearby table with a group of senior girls. “Mrs. Deaton frowns on fraternizing too often with the enemy.”

  “She means men,” one of the other upperclassmen says. She’s a redhead with high-arched eyebrows. By the way she’s decked out like a regular Rita Hayworth, I’d say she’s looking to engage “the enemy” head-on.

  “Girls, this is Randi, and this is Charlotte.” Audrey introduces us to her friends. Charlotte, who looks a little bored with the whole evening, nods and goes back to nursing her Coca-Cola.

  “What’s that?” Patsy asks.

  “Rum and Coke,” Charlotte says with a drawl that sounds too soft for Texas. She taps a flask peeking out of her purse.

  “Barkeep, three thirsty women with heavy tipping hands!” Patsy calls down to a fella standing by the Coke machine, flipping him some change. Before I know it, there’s a bottle of Coke in my hand. “Don’t worry, it’s a virgin,” Patsy assures me. “See you on the dance floor, ladies,” Patsy tells Audrey and her pals. Lily and I share a look, but we both know Patsy is the leader tonight. She finds us a table with two servicemen, one with big teeth and the other so short that when they stand up to greet us, he looks like he’s still sitting down.

  “I’m Hank!” the big-toothed fellow says, and shakes our hands. “And this is Danny! We fly gunnery at Waco! We ship out next month!” Everything he says sounds like an exclamation. It makes me smile.

  “I’m Lily,” she says, making her own introduction.

  “And I’m Ida.”

  Hank eagerly shakes our hands. “And who’s your friend?” He offers his giant hand to Patsy. Patsy shakes his fingertips delicately.

  “I’m just here to dance, flyboy. Can you shake it?”

  “Boy, can I!” Big-toothed Hank hops up and whirls Patsy out onto the dance floor just as the record flips to some music that really swings.

  Benny Goodman starts heating up his band. Lily looks at the dance floor the way I used to look at the clouds in the sky. “Harry and I used to dance at the Palladium every Friday night.” Even with her legs crossed, Lily’s toe is dipping to the music.

  I catch her eye and nod toward Danny, who is politely watching nothing in particular. Lily takes a deep breath.

  “Excuse me, Danny. I know we’ve just met and it isn’t proper for a lady to ask a gentleman first . . .” She pauses and we both glance at Patsy, whirling around the dance floor, not in the least bit worried about being a proper lady. Lily takes another big breath. “And I know you’re shipping out soon and most likely are looking for some sort of romance, but—” She holds up her diamond engagement ring. “I’m engaged, you see, but I’d like it awfully much if you’d care to dance with me.”

  Danny’s eyes seem to refocus. He looks at Lily like he’s se
eing her for the first time.

  “I’m married, just last week,” he says excitedly. “As long as we’re both taken, I guess it’s okay.” He stands up and he’s exactly Lily’s height.

  “Hank dragged me here looking for a little fling, but I told him I’m not interested. Not when I have my Annie. But it would be swell to dance before the night is over.”

  “Really?” Lily’s eyes sparkle. “Let’s go!”

  I can almost feel myself fade into the background as they hit the dance floor. I thought Patsy could cut a rug, but Lily’s a regular Ginger Rogers out there. Danny’s no slouch, either. The whole dance floor makes room as he flips Lily over his back and around again into a cuddle and a series of half-moons so quick I think she’ll break her neck.

  I have to admit, it looks like a blast. Lily could give Jolene a run for her money. With the whole shack watching the dance floor, I realize Melanie was right. Tonight is about celebrating. If I’d wanted to tell anybody about her washing out, now I simply don’t have the heart.

  Instead, I pull my stationery out of my purse and start my letter home. Dear Mama, I begin. It’s been too long since I’ve last written, but I do have good news. I navigated my first flight today, and I passed. If all goes well, I’ll move on to intermediate training next month. With any luck, I’ll be home after Christmas, and then I’ll be assigned to a base . . .

  My thoughts trail off. Someone is standing over me. Nancy Howard, from my barracks.

  We’ve never been friends, not since that first day, but at least we’re civil.

  “Hey, Jones. Have you seen Michaels? She was supposed to meet up with us tonight.”

  I open my mouth and close it again. “Uh, no.” I shrug. “Sorry.”

  Nancy gives me a funny look, then smiles. “Okay. See you out there.” She jitterbugs back to the dance floor. I finish my letter home, then one to Jolene, telling her about the Avengerette. By the time I’m done, the lights are flickering on and off, announcing one more dance before the club closes.

  It’s only then that I realize Patsy and Lily never left the dance floor. They don’t even look tired out there, although I see Patsy is no longer dancing with Hank. She’s got her arms around the shoulders of some corn-fed redhead. He’s smiling like he’s struck gold, but Patsy only has eyes for the dance floor as she moves, dreamy-eyed, to the music.