by Robyn Carr
“You heard me?” he asked, clearly trying to look surprised.
“Yes, bits and pieces. I gathered you’re very committed to New Century, which is a relief. But I was wondering—if anyone should ask for your résumé, may I have your permission to pass it along?”
He looked genuinely perplexed. “Who might be asking?”
“Not sure,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve tried to stay in touch with other airlines, especially the young and the start-ups, to compare notes on our progress and mutual concerns, and frankly, I’ve been asked for my résumé a few times. I’ve also been asked if there’s anyone else around New Century who could be persuaded into a better position once the company is established and no longer in need of certification expertise. I’ve had a couple of tempting offers, as I gather you have, but hell, I just bought a house and got my kids in schools here.”
She watched his face. It was as good as a map. She was sure he had set up that phone call to make him appear sought-after in front of the boss. Now it was beginning to dawn on him that there might actually be something out there, something that would put him closer to his goal of having a presidency.
“I’m sure you’ve been talking to your counterparts at other carriers and have had some of the same experiences.”
“Ah, certainly,” he said, very uncertainly.
“Do you happen to have a résumé in your file? Or I could just refer people to the DOT filing on the Internet,” she said, and again she was met with his surprised expression. He wasn’t aware that his résumé would be there, right in the public documents section. A résumé that was filled with exaggerations and bold-faced lies.
“Just to make things simple, if anyone should ask, just have them give me a call,” he said.
“Good enough. See you later, then.”
“You’ll be sure to let me know?” he asked as she was leaving.
“Let you know?” she mimicked.
“Yes. If anyone should ask about me.”
“Oh! Of course!”
Nikki actually had been talking to her counterparts at other airlines. She’d called to introduce herself to their chief pilots and found them enormously helpful in sharing some of their work rules and policy, not to mention tips for managing sticky personnel problems. But no one had asked for her résumé, and no one was likely to be asking for Bob’s.
He was going to get on the horn now, she knew. He’d not only call the headhunter that got him this job, but start sniffing around airlines to find out what was going on in their management. Here was a guy who looked so good on paper, his carefully fictionalized paper, and could make a positive personal impression as long as you didn’t spend too much time with him. Close scrutiny didn’t show his best side; he was especially annoying when cooped up in a cockpit for hours on end. But the fact that Joe Riordan had been impressed enough to hire him was proof positive that Bob Riddle could pull off the scam. With any luck, Joe wouldn’t be the last to be fooled by him.
It wasn’t going to be too long, Nikki believed, before Riddle would find himself a new job. He was much better at getting them than keeping them.
Carlisle called Nikki at the office. “I know this is a lot to ask, and if the answer is no, I will understand, I promise. But it’s my mother. She’d like us to have Thanksgiving together. And Nikki, I just don’t think I can go back to another day in chilly Anoka, Minnesota.”
The other thing that became chilly was Nikki’s blood. Suddenly her veins turned to ice. “What are you asking me?” she said warily.
Heavy sigh. “May I invite Ethel to Thanksgiving?”
Nikki’s head fell into her hand. Her eyes closed.
“She won’t stay with us, because there certainly isn’t room for that. I’ll be putting her up in one of the hotels, or I might even see what Dixie has complicating her life right now….”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Oh-oh. She’s fallen off the wagon again, hasn’t she?”
“Her cheeks are aglow—all four of them.”
“Oh, God, the lucky stiff. Anyway—”
“Sure, Carlisle. Ethel can’t be any worse than Opal. But with Buck and Pistol here and the dogs constantly snapping and snarling, it might only insure that she’ll never be back.”
He laughed. “It sounds fabulous. I’m going to tell her to come ahead. She’ll arrive Thanksgiving week.”
“One thing. I’m not sure where I’ll be. It’s the busiest flying season of the year.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll prepare as many turkey dinners as it takes until you’re sitting at the head of your table.”
She felt a smile struggle to her lips. “We missed you so much when you were away. We didn’t eat very well with you in Anoka.”
“I’m glad to do what I can. Opal has been fussing over me as if I’m the one dying,” he joked.
“She seems to be doing quite well for someone who doesn’t have much longer to live, isn’t she.”
Oh, compassion, Nikki scolded herself. After all, one of these days Opal would die, like it or not. One day it wasn’t going to be just another of her melodramatic ploys for attention. And then Nikki would hate herself for being so dismissive.
At the end of the day, Dixie stuck her head in Nikki’s office. “The job posting is done—it’s on the company intranet bulletin board. And if you don’t need anything more, I’m going now.”
“Dixie, come in a sec.” Nikki turned away from her computer. “I’m sorry about this morning. There was a lot of pressure, I was shocked, it was—”
“It’s Danny,” she said abruptly.
Nikki’s mouth hung open. “Danny Adams?” she finally asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Dixie said quite proudly. “The first time it occurred to me how much I liked him was way back at Aries, when we talked at dinner on a San Francisco layover. We talked about him coming up here. And I’ve been seeing him ever since, but he didn’t make the move until…Well, until…”
“I know,” Nikki said. “Sex sure does agree with you. I’ve never in my life known anybody to show the rapture all over her face like you do.”
She grinned. “It’s always worked for me, that’s a fact.”
“Well, I have to say, I’m a little surprised.”
“I don’t know why. He’s—”
“He’s a wonderful guy. Shy and thoughtful and smart. You usually go for the arrogant, useless types.”
Dixie sat down on the edge of the chair that faced Nick’s desk and leaned toward her. “Nikki, you just can’t believe how wonderful he is. Why, when he takes me into those arms and—”
“Stop!” Nikki said, holding her hand up and closing her eyes tightly. “You cannot tell me anything intimate about him. Number one, he works for me. Number two, I haven’t had sex in so long I’ve forgotten which armpit the vagina is in.”
Dixie giggled. “But it’s okay, isn’t it, Nick? I mean, boss?”
“Yeah, what the hell. It’s an airline. It’s almost required.” Then, facing her friend more seriously, she said, “He won’t hurt you, you know. He is a man of high principles—not at all what you’re used to. And though I’ve never known you to treat a man unkindly—even the absolute worst men on record—do not hurt Danny Adams. I mean it. Because I don’t know if there’s anyone for whom I have greater respect.”
“You know I won’t. I’m a one-man woman. Always have been. And so I was just wondering, can I bring him to Thanksgiving?”
That night, a full week before the holiday, Nikki’s house was fairly quiet. She should be exhausted, having been up at the crack of dawn to look at that engine change and talk to the Wrench. But the day had been so wildly crazy that she was wired.
She had come home to find April doing homework in front of the fireplace, Jared in his room on the computer, and Opal resting from a rough day at the beauty shop. After a light dinner of soup, salad and sandwiches, everyone seemed to go to their corners except Opal, who availed herself of the big scre
en in the family room to watch her favorite bug-eating reality shows.
Nikki sat cross-legged in the middle of her queen-size bed and thought about what the next week was going to bring. The reservations had been heavy for Thanksgiving week since before operations started, and although all the flights were crewed, it was possible that someone would call in sick and she would have to take a flight at the last minute. Barring that, she had made a commitment to be at the airport, anyway, to help load bags and serve a turkey dinner to the employees who were stuck at work.
Be that as it may, she was still planning a family holiday. If at the last minute she didn’t make it, she’d catch the rerun on the next day or the next.
Her briefcase sat next to the bed and she reached for it. She retrieved the phone log and scanned the numbers, then called Sam. He answered on the second ring. “Hi, Sam. It’s Nikki Burgess.”
“Boss,” he answered.
He was right, she did kind of like it. “Next week is going to be insane, you know.”
“I know. But we should do fine.”
“Are you planning Thanksgiving with your daughters?”
“Not this time. I’m flying Wednesday, back Thursday afternoon. Not enough time to hitch a ride to Colorado. The younger one will be with her older sister and her husband.”
“Well, look. I won’t know until I’m actually sitting down at the table if I’ll make it, but we’re having family and almost-family here. It’s quite a group. Would you like to join us?”
He was quiet a moment. “You’re going to show me to your family?” he asked.
“Hmm. It’s more like I’m going to show them to you. This may finally bring you to your senses.”
“Are they scary?”
“Let’s see—there are two kids, both at ‘that age’—my son is eleven and my daughter fourteen. There’s my gay housekeeper-nanny who is bringing his mother. Oh, and there’s my dying mother Opal and her six-pound poodle named Precious, who is mean as a snake.”
“She’s dying?” he asked. “My God, what’s the matter with her?”
“She’s not dying. She’s been saying that since I was about eleven. She looks quite well and has tons of energy. And my dad will be coming with his dog, who hates the poodle. His dog, Pistol, is a Labra-doodle-cocka-dachsie. If there is a God, he will eat Precious for Thanksgiving. I think that’s everyone.” She could hear him laughing. “Oh! I almost forgot. My secretary and friend, Dixie, and her boyfriend, the director of training.”
“Danny Adams? And Dixie McPherson? When did that happen?”
“They’ve just come out. I don’t want any more details than that. So, what do you think? Want to meet my circus for Thanksgiving?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Eighteen
After two weeks of operating a drastically downsized airline by using management personnel as pilots and flight attendants, Aries Airlines announced it was suspending operations. The management blamed the unions, insisting they had absolutely nothing more to give in such a bleak economy and airline environment, and the unions complained of a management so inept it couldn’t bring their employees above poverty-level wages.
Aries bought a page in the Monday business newspaper listing average wages by employee group. Unions bought a half page in the Tuesday paper with an entirely different set of numbers, considerably lower.
Passengers stood in long lines that moved slower than bureaucracy, looking for transportation on any carrier that would take them. Despite the fact that nearly every commercial airline was willing to honor Aries tickets, this was Thanksgiving week, and there were very few available seats.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, which this year was the last Wednesday of the month, was traditionally the busiest travel day of the year. The airport was standing room only and Security was backed up with at least a couple hours’ wait. The management of New Century Air had chosen this time of year, this month as their kickoff, for precisely this reason—they were almost guaranteed good passenger loads even as a new and virtually unknown entrant. For a brand-new airline, good loads were better than half-full planes. Under current circumstances, the planes were filled to capacity.
For most of the New Century employees, the strain of this flood of humanity was too much. There were the inevitable delays and oversights. Not the kind of problems that would cause an airline disaster, but the kind that created havoc and pissed people off.
Knowing the potential for such problems, management was very much in evidence around the airport, pitching in, offering advice. The day started under control. Nikki donned a New Century ramp jumpsuit and steel-toed shoes to help throw bags, as did Joe Riordan, the Wrench, customer service and In-flight management, and even Bob Riddle. Predictably, when the demands of Joe Riordan’s office called him from the airport, Riddle disappeared. The first couple of flights left the gate on time and were uneventful. Both were going to West Coast cities and would be back by early afternoon. By noon the crush of passengers had at least doubled, as had the impatience of travelers.
And then that phenomenon well known to airline people occurred: when it starts getting crazy, the crazies come out in spades.
It started when a hassled and harried gate agent in Los Angeles boarded a man who was rambling about his mission in Las Vegas to get even with casino bosses. Everyone ignored him. He was a perfect example of a passenger who was going to be more trouble to detain than to turn over to the aircraft crew and let them deal with him.
His rambling became more precise and threatening above ten thousand feet when he asked to use a crew member’s cell phone to call Scotland Yard to speak to the bureau chief and turn himself in for the soon-to-be-committed murder of a major casino CEO. He claimed to have weapons and sufficient ammunition in his checked bags to do impressive damage.
It was highly doubtful he had weapons and ammunition in his luggage—unless the security equipment was faulty or some bags had been missed in the wackiness of the busiest travel day of the year.
“Why in God’s name did they board him?” Nikki asked.
“What? And give up his revenue?” the dispatcher said with a shrug.
Las Vegas Metro was there to pick him up when he arrived, along with a couple of dogs to do some sniffing around the baggage area, on the off chance.
But a similar thing happened on the inbound from San Francisco. A young gentleman in the gate area was very excited about his Thanksgiving holiday in the gaming city and had had quite a few cocktails. Again, the harried gate agent thought if he could just get him out of the gate area and onto the plane, there wouldn’t be a delay. Taking a delay was always a problem, and one that was pursued until fault could be found. The agent figured once the guy was buckled in and under way, very likely he would settle down…or pass out.
He didn’t.
Or rather, he settled down until the flight attendants started serving drinks. He was given one, and when his demands for a second were not immediately acted upon, it brought a string of profane insults from his lips. He was warned by the pretty young flight attendant, then by the largest male attendant onboard, after which he slipped into the lav, took off all his clothes and sprinted up and down the aisle of the plane until someone finally tripped him. Splat—flat on his face, unconscious and completely naked.
Las Vegas Metro came to get another one, no dogs necessary this time.
The problems weren’t limited to NCA by any means. There were fisticuffs on United, and some out-of-control peanut tossing on American, and a flight attendant on US Airways had a drink thrown on her before a little old blue-hair was subdued with the Tuff-Cuffs.
It wasn’t always the fault of a gate agent foisting his or her troublemakers onto the aircraft crew. There were problems aplenty at ticket counters, gates and baggage areas everywhere across the United States. A seeing-eye dog expired on a flight, a woman gave birth while waiting in line to check bags, and three unaccompanied minors got on the wrong plane.
But by the e
nd of the day, New Century Air won the prize for the biggest caper of them all.
“Well, Nikki, your number’s up,” the dispatcher told her over her cell phone. “We have a no-show on the 4:00 p.m. departure to Chicago. It lays over there and comes back tomorrow afternoon at 3:00 p.m.”
“Who’s the no-show?”
“Jeff Hayden.”
“No way. He’s so dependable.”
“Maybe he’ll make it, but it’s time to preflight and board.”
What the hell, she thought. At least there was no way they could call her to fly on Thanksgiving Day—she’d already be flying. There wouldn’t be any flights left after her return the next day.
“I’ll call my kids and sitter if you’ll have someone with a ramp vehicle go to the office and pick up my uniform and overnight bag,” she instructed.
“Done,” said the dispatcher.
“Oh, and who’s my first officer?”
“That would be Captain Landon. He’s already on the plane.”
A warm flush passed through her as she thought about a layover in the same city with Sam. It wasn’t going to be a sex circus; she just wasn’t in that place yet. But it would be fine with her if they managed a quiet dinner together.
“Captain Burgess?”
“Hmm?”
“If you’ll go ahead and board, your uniform and bag will be delivered to the cockpit.”
“Thanks. Did Captain Landon get the paperwork for this flight?”
“All set. He’s walking around now.”
“Thanks. Tell the gate agent that a last-minute crew change might cause a slight delay, but we’ll try to catch up.”
“Uh-uh. All respect, Captain, it’s Ms. Pissant up there and I’m not going any more rounds with her today. After two nutballs before dinner, she’s wound a little tight.”
“Fine,” Nikki laughed. “Leave her to me.” She went upstairs to the gate area. New Century used only two gates, the first two on the concourse, while a number of other airlines used a total of twenty, ten on each side of the concourse, all the way to the end. It was a coup to get the closest gates, which meant the shortest distance from parking, ticketing and security—very convenient for their passengers. She dialed her phone as she went. The answering machine came on at her house and she hated leaving them a message that she wasn’t coming home tonight. Before resorting to that, she tried Carlisle’s cell phone.
