The woman with the lovely name exited the taxi and reveled in the warm humid air, glad to again be rid of the Baltimore ice and snow. It was no mere coincidence that her leg felt better after being in Orlando for a day or two, and she looked forward to that.
This time, Wynne’s arrival went unnoticed by management, both of whom were on the 16th floor seeing to a guest who had fallen ill after dinner. The hotel’s physician on call had come to the room and diagnosed acute food poisoning. Predictably, Paula was concerned about the woman’s well-being, while Rusty was rejoicing at the fact that the woman hadn’t dined in the hotel.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Wynne Connelly,” the tall woman answered, presenting her credit card.
“I have your reservation, Ms. Connelly. You’ve booked a single non-smoking room on our Concierge floor for three nights. Is that right?”
“Yes.” Without the charges for high speed Internet access and two meals a day from room service, the upgrade was a virtual wash. Besides, Wynne didn’t have the bar bill of her Dallas counterpart, so she refused to feel guilty about indulging in a little luxury at the company’s expense. The tub was worth it even if she had to pay the extra from her own pocket.
Jolene handed over the room key and walked her through the procedures for reaching the Concierge floor. Wynne politely interrupted the explanation with the assurance that she was already familiar with the routine and the use of the key in the elevator.
“Would you like some help with your bags?”
“No thank you. I can manage.” Wynne folded her unneeded overcoat over her arm.
Turning toward the elevator, she was surprised to see Paula McKenzie rush past her toward the front door, walkie-talkie in hand.
“It’s pulling in right now,” the commanding blonde messaged.
The flashing red lights drew Wynne’s attention to the entrance, where an ambulance had come to a stop directly in front of the door. Surprised by the sudden commotion, she watched the blonde woman calmly but hurriedly direct the attendants to a waiting elevator. Paula’s “take-charge” manner was impressive; if Wynne ever had another emergency, she’d want someone like Paula in charge. Of course, she hoped to never again have an emergency like the last one.
———
Paula studied the Orlando Sentinel’s weather report: sunny and calm, with temperatures climbing to the low seventies; tonight, clear and cool, with a low of 54 — a perfect February day.
It was a red-letter day for central Florida, and for the rest of the country too for that matter. But especially for Paula’s family and all the families like hers on Florida’s Space Coast. Tonight at 9:06, the shuttle Atlantis would lift off. It would be the first such launch since the Columbia disaster, and all of America was holding its collective breath.
A big orange cat landed with a thud in the middle of the newspaper.
“Hi, Slayer,” Paula cooed to her baby. “What’s the matter? Are you feeling neglected?”
As if in answer, the cat began to paw at the corner of the paper with his usual persistence.
It was hopeless to try to continue to read, so Paula gave up.
“Let’s go play,” she coaxed.
The gleeful feline followed her to the sliding glass door, rearing to bolt the moment it was opened. Not that freedom lay on the other side, mind you. The door led to a porch, which Paula had enclosed last year with gray-tinted smoke glass to increase the usable square footage of her two-bedroom second-floor condo. The porch ran the length of her living room and guest bedroom, and a single glass-paned door at the end opened to the master bedroom.
As soon as the door cracked open, Slayer dashed out, crashing at once into the glass against first one lizard, then another.
“My fearless hunter,” Paula chuckled. One of the bonuses of converting the screen to glass was that the cat could no longer rip into the mesh to capture his startled prey. She had grown decidedly unenamoured of his constant presentation of trophies, especially those he brought to her bed in the night.
“Get your toy!” she coaxed.
Not surprisingly, Slayer ignored her; but then, Slayer was after all a cat. He would get his toy when he was damned good and ready.
The orange cat with the big amber eyes had decided two years ago that Paula could keep him and feed him. In return, he would bring her prizes from the wild and allow his nails to be clipped on occasion. At the time, she was living in an apartment that didn’t allow pets. Good thing, too, because Slayer didn’t like pets. So when Paula’s grandmother died and left her a small inheritance, she used it for a down payment on this condominium to have a place to call her own. Or Slayer’s own, as the case seemed to be.
Paula interrupted the play session to take a call in the kitchen.
“Hello…Hi Mom.” The blonde woman grew up about an hour away in Cocoa Beach, a small upscale community in the shadow of the launch pads at Cape Canaveral. Her father, Raymond McKenzie, had worked as a NASA public information officer since 1967.
Neither she nor her brother Rodney shared their father’s aptitude in science and engineering, but they had always been proud of their link to the space program. In her whole life, no days were more difficult than those in which the Challenger and Columbia were lost.
“Yes, I’ll be watching…probably up on the roof. It’s a pretty good view that high, because there aren’t any lights to worry about…I don’t know, maybe just by myself, but I promise I’ll watch.”
As she talked on the phone, she gathered her overcoat and purse and finished her preparations to go to work. Lastly, she fed Slayer, who would eat when he was damned good and ready.
“Listen, I’ll call you at T minus 10 minutes to see if you’ve heard anything.” Once the countdown was begun, it was always possible — likely even — that the NASA ground crew would build in a few holds for specific purposes, so the launch didn’t always go off at exactly the designated moment. “Gotta run! Give Dad a hug for me, okay?...Yeah, I’ll see you all Saturday.”
———
Wynne opened the cover of the report that detailed the market research on co-branding the travel agency with the tour company. The findings were another nail in the coffin for the old guard at Gone Tomorrow Tours. Low name recognition made it less likely that Eldon-Markoff would preserve that brand; rather, they would incorporate it under their own moniker. At least that’s what she would do if the decision were hers.
“How was lunch?” Cheryl Williams dropped her leather folder onto the conference table, ready for the afternoon’s work. At 47, her collar-length brown hair was sprinkled with gray, and her small frame caused many to underestimate her toughness.
“It was fine, thank you. I feel a little guilty about enjoying your weather so much when I know that Baltimore got seven inches of new snow last night.” Wynne had bought a sandwich at the deli down the street and sat outside on a bench in Eldon-Markoff’s courtyard.
“Don’t sweat it. Somebody in Baltimore probably deserved it,” the vice president quipped. “I saw you outside. You know, you’re welcome to have lunch in the executive dining room on the top floor any time you like.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll save that one for a rainy day.”
Cheryl checked the door and pulled her chair close to Wynne’s. “Listen, I wanted to let you know how much I value your input on this plan. You’ve obviously worked very hard at Gone Tomorrow, and you have a real nose for this stuff.”
Both women looked up as Doug returned from lunch and took his seat on the opposite side of the table. Wynne sensed that Cheryl wanted to say more, but Doug’s arrival squelched any further personal talk.
“Shall we resume?”
———
The staff at the WR knew that this night was special for Paula, and all were willing to do whatever it took to free her up for the next hour or so. She was an understanding boss when one of them had an emergency or needed to leave early. As a supervisor, Paula McKenzie was demanding, but s
he was always fair and even-tempered. In her nine years at the WR, she had fired only a handful of workers, and no one disputed her judgment on those.
Paula caught the updated coverage on CNN as she grabbed her coat, cell phone, and walkie-talkie. The launch was on, T minus 22 minutes.
Wynne Connelly relaxed with a news magazine in the Concierge lounge, weary from an afternoon of deflecting Doug’s objections to everything that threatened his operation in Dallas. The young man was less concerned with what was good for the overall company — not to mention the stockholders, as it was publicly traded — than he was about preserving his own turf, and that was making their work more difficult than it had to be.
She didn’t know how she was going to deal with one obstacle after another from him for the next 10 weeks.
“Hi.”
Wynne was startled to see Paula McKenzie standing right in front of her. She’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t even seen her approach.
“Hi, Paula…I mean Ms. McKenzie,” she stammered. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be so familiar.”
The blonde woman chuckled. “Paula’s fine. In fact, I’d prefer it.”
“Well, then, in that case, please call me Wynne.”
“Oh, I don’t think I can do that. It…wouldn’t sound very professional to the other guests. Besides, all my staff would have coronaries on the spot,” she grinned.
“I guess they’re used to the formality.”
“I should hope so. Listen, I stopped by to see if anyone in the lounge would be interested in going up to the roof to watch the shuttle launch. It’s a great view, and it’s going up in about 15 minutes.”
“Wow, I’d love to,” Wynne enthused. She’d just been reading about America’s return to space.
“Great! You should get your coat and meet me right back here so we can go up together. I’m going to see if any of these other folks want to join us.”
Secretly, Wynne hoped they’d all say no, but it was not to be. Only three minutes later, Paula was leading a line of six up two flights of stairs to a locked door on the roof.
When they started up the steps, Paula looked back to see the woman grasp the rail to pull herself up, always leading with her right leg. She had stupidly forgotten about Wynne Connelly’s limp, not thinking what a hardship it might be, and was relieved that one of the businessmen had stayed back to help.
When they emerged through the door at the top of the stairs, Paula explained jovially that they were not insured for falling off the roof or through the skylights, but there was room to sit on the various three-foot-high block walls that surrounded the massive air conditioner units. Accordingly, the five other guests broke out into the same clusters they were in when she found them in the lounge, leaving her standing alone with the tall woman from Baltimore.
“Why don’t we sit over there?” She gestured to an empty wall and both women began to walk. “I need to call my mother to see if it’s still a go.” Stepping away for a moment, Paula quickly placed her call and confirmed a six minute hold. Atlantis would launch in 12 minutes.
“Your mom follows the launches too?”
“We all do. My dad works for NASA. He’s there tonight at the Cape. I’m sure they’re all holding their breath right about now.”
“What does he do?”
“He helps put together the press kits, and he briefs reporters on the technical aspects of the launch. He’s been there through the whole shuttle program.”
“Wow, it must have been exciting growing up with all that.”
“It was. We’re all space junkies.”
“So you’re from Florida? I didn’t know anyone was actually from here,” Wynne joked.
“There aren’t many of us, I’ll say that. Now the shuttle’s going to launch right over there,” she explained, pointing to a spot on the southeast horizon. “I grew up just to the right of that pad, in Cocoa Beach.”
“So I bet you’ve seen a lot of these.”
“Eighty-eight, to be exact. This is number 113 for the shuttles, so I’ve actually missed about 25 of them. But if you add in all the rocket launches, I’ve seen about 200.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No, that’s what space junkies do.”
“Have you ever gotten really close?”
“Yeah, I’ve been to the press site a few times, but it’s not a bad view from the beach at Cocoa. That’s where my friends and I would go.”
“And how many launches have you seen from up here?”
“About 20 or 30. But night launches aren’t all that common.”
“Well, then I really lucked out, not just because I’m here in Orlando to see it, but I have my very own expert right here with me.”
“I’m no expert, but I like being close to it.” Paula chided herself inwardly for liking the idea of being Wynne Connelly’s very own anything. “Have you always lived in Baltimore?”
“Always.” Wynne didn’t mean to groan when she said that, but it still came out that way.
“Sounds like there’s a story in there somewhere,” the blonde woman kidded.
“No, there’s not really a story. But sometimes I feel like I’ve gotten too settled there, like I might be missing out on something because I stayed close to home.” And maybe if I left, the other Connelly women would be forced to take care of themselves. At least I wouldn’t have to.
“You mean career-wise?”
“That’s a lot of it. Now that Eldon-Markoff’s bought up our company, I doubt my marketing role will get any bigger. In fact, if things keep going in the direction they’re headed, I could be out of a job before too long.”
“What would you do?”
“I’m not sure,” Wynne answered honestly. “But maybe that’s what I’d need: a good excuse to move out of Baltimore. And maybe I’d push myself to do something careerwise other than just go to work every day.”
“Somehow you don’t strike me as the kind of person that just mails it in.” On the contrary, Paula got the impression that Wynne Connelly was a lot like her when it came to that old-fashioned Puritan work ethic.
“No, I wouldn’t say that I did that. I guess I’d like to do more, though. And I don’t think that’s going to happen if I limit myself to Baltimore.”
“Yeah, I can relate to that. I’ve passed up a few chances to move up over the years because I didn’t want to leave Orlando. But if I’m ever going to break into daytime management, that’s what it’s going to take.”
“So you really like it here?”
“Oh yeah. I mean Orlando’s okay. It’s a pretty quick shot over to the beach. But what I really like about this place is this hotel. If I had to name my ideal job, it would be running this hotel.”
“Well, from what I can see, I’d say you’re already doing that,” Wynne offered, “and you’re doing it very well.”
“Thanks, but I’m only helping to hold down the fort at night. I don’t get to make the real decisions that affect how things are done. But that’s my goal, and like I said, I’ll probably have to relocate if I’m ever going to see it.”
“Who knows? Maybe things will work out.”
“Maybe…but I’m not holding my breath,” Paula lamented. “Hey guys, two minutes!”
The women settled back in anticipation of the spectacular show, each glad for this occasion to get to know a little about the other. Though their jobs were very different, it was interesting to realize how much they had in common, at least from a career standpoint. It was nice to think they might be able to forge a friendship, even if it fell away when Wynne’s work in Orlando was done.
“There it is!” Paula shouted, pointing to an orange glow on the dark horizon. A bright yellow burst slowly became a towering stream that arced across the night sky.
“Wow!” That was all that Wynne could articulate.
“Yeah, pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
“Wow!” The woman from Baltimore had never grasped the reality of the space program until just this
minute. Sure, she’d read the news, especially the coverage of the disasters, but seeing that trail of fire gave it a personal meaning she’d never felt before.
In less than three minutes, it was gone, the glowing orange vapor trail its only visible remnants.
“That was one of the most magnificent things I’ve ever seen,” Wynne gushed with obvious emotion. “I mean, it was almost surreal thinking about those seven astronauts riding on the top of all that fire. I just…I don’t know, it’s like I just kept thinking about the people in it.”
“That’s the same way I see it, and the way most of the folks at NASA see it.” Paula was both astounded and pleased to see Wynne so moved by the experience. Most people never looked past the thunderous rocket to see the humanity, which was to Paula and her family the heart and soul of the space program.
Wynne laid her hand on the shoulder of her new friend. “Paula, I can’t thank you enough for bringing me up here tonight. I’m going to remember this for a very long time.”
“I’m really glad you were here. Not many people get it like you did, you know, that it’s not just a bunch of technology strapped onto a giant Roman candle.”
“Well surely after the Challenger and Columbia, people can see past all that.”
“They do for a while, but then they start to take it all for granted again. Believe me, that never happens at our house.”
“I don’t think it’s ever going to happen again at mine,” Wynne said sincerely. “Really, thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome,” Paula answered smiling. “Well I, uh…suppose I should be getting back to work.” What she really wanted to do was sit up here on the roof for a few hours and learn all about this woman from Baltimore.
“That’s too bad. It would be nice if we could just go have a drink.” It was a bold statement and Wynne knew it, but she had an inkling that Paula would be receptive, at least to the idea of talking more; but the point was obviously moot, as she was on duty.
“I really wish I could.” The hotel manager meant that and more. You probably wouldn’t ask if you knew what I really wanted. “Maybe it’ll work out sometime so that we can.”
Just This Once Page 3
