Aces (34 page)

Erica nodded, slipping her arm around his waist. “Hull did confide to me that he thinks you’ve been unduly worried about how
the post office is going to react to the G-1…”

“‘Unduly worried’, is it?” Gold frowned. “That’s Hull’s opinion, but he doesn’t have quite as much invested in this baby as
I do.”

“Actually, Hull and the others who work for you have quite a lot invested,” Erica said evenly.

Gold nodded. “You’re right, of course,” he sighed. “I know I never would have gotten this far if everyone hadn’t accepted
stock certificates in lieu of cash for their salaries.”

“Hmm.” Erica nuzzled his cheek. “I think I like it when you’re humble.”

“Yes, I do owe so much to so many.” Gold slid his palm over the taut, silky fabric stretched across the curve of her bottom.
“I shall never forget that I’m not all alone in this. I want to thank all the little people who’ve—”

Erica laughed. “Not
that
humble, darling.” She gently took his hand from her rump. “And no handprints on the merchandise, at least not until this
evening. Speaking of little people, we
do
have a kindergarten recital to go to, remember?”

Gold nodded. “I shall restrain myself.”

“That’s better.”

“But I don’t know how I’ll manage it—”

“That’s better still.” She patted his fly.

Gold laughed. “Come on. I’ll change my clothes in Hull’s office, and we’ll be on our way.”

Erica held on to his arm. “Before we go, darling, do tell me why you think the post office might not buy the G-1?” Her large
brown eyes searched his. “Hull says that it’s a dream to fly and does everything it’s supposed to do. Why would the government
ever
turn it down?”

“There’s no question in my mind that it’s a successful design,” Gold began. “One that totally fulfills what we set out to
achieve…”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Gold frowned. “She doesn’t look like any other airplane, inside or out.
That’s
the problem. I believe that the G-1 is a superior design, but the men who buy airplanes for the government are cautious and
conservative. I just hope that the G-1’s more flashy innovations don’t blind them to her other qualities.”

Erica looked thoughtful. “What you need is something to capture public opinion.”

“Huh?”

“You know, like when you were fighting for your CAM routes? Something to rally the public to your side. So that the postal
service can’t possibly refuse you.”

“You have any ideas, I’m ready to listen.”

“Well, I don’t,” Erica admitted. “I just know that what we need is something to capture the headlines. Really put the government
on the spot…”

“The old razzle-dazzle,” Gold mused. “Too bad Captain Bob isn’t around.”

“That fellow with the megaphone you used to fly for when you were barnstorming?” Erica smiled. “God, I haven’t thought of
him in years. What made you bring him up?”

“He was a master of publicity,” Gold said. “He knew just how to stage an event to capture the public’s imagination…” He stopped
abruptly, gazing at Erica.

“What?” She smiled tentatively. “You have an idea?”

Gold nodded, grinning. “Captain Bob just whispered it into my ear. I know exactly how to prove to the world just how superior
the G-1 is to anything else in the air.”

Gold was in his office, perched on his high stool, working at his drafting table, when Tim Campbell came in. Campbell was
in his shirt-sleeves. His collar was unbuttoned and his tie was loose. As usual, he had a cigarette tucked into the corner
of his mouth.

Gold set down his compass. He arched his back, stretching his arms above his head. He was wearing the green, shawl-necked
cardigan that he kept in the office to ward off chills. Erica and the kids had given it to him last Christmas. He liked to
wear it when he was working on design problems. The sweater made him feel secure and relaxed. Helped him be creative. “Well?”
he asked.

“Well, yourself,” Campbell grumbled wearily. “What are you working on?”

“Come see. It’s the design for something new.”

“
Another
plane?” Campbell laughed. “Optimistic bugger, ain’t we?”

“It’s a variation on the G-1; a closed cockpit, six-passenger transport version that Teddy and I are thinking about. We’re
tentatively calling it the G-1a Dragonfly.”

“Nice, I guess,” Campbell said. “You know I can’t make heads or tails out of those scribbles you engineering types call designs.”

He moved away from the drafting table to slump into the swivel chair behind Gold’s desk, the only other chair in the office.
“I feel like I’ve got a telephone growing out of my ear. I’ve been at it all morning, calling every newspaper and radio station
in town.”

“And?”

“And about half promised me they’ll be there tomorrow, at Mines Field, at noon, to witness the G-1’s test flight. The rest
said maybe they’d come.”

“Good work.” Gold smiled.

“You sure as hell didn’t make it any easier for me,” Campbell griped, squinting through the smoke curling up from his cigarette.
“I had to do some pretty fancy talking to convince those newshounds to come around to watch a routine test flight, without
being specific. Why couldn’t I tell them what was going to happen?”

“Because then I would have had to tell
you
what was going to happen.” Gold chuckled.

Campbell scowled. “And don’t you think your C.E.O. ought to know?”

“If I told you, I’d be honor-bound to tell Teddy, and what about Hull?” Gold explained. “You all probably would have tried
to talk me out of it.”

“It’s that bad, huh?” Campbell asked bleakly.

“Let me put it this way: if the postal service got hold of it, they’d probably cancel the test flight.”

“Oh, God,” Campbell moaned. “My ulcers.”

“You don’t have ulcers.”

“I know, but I’m practicing. Working for you, I’m sure to develop some.
Please
tell me what you’re planning?—”

“Razzle-dazzle is what I’m planning. You want to know anything more than that, you’ll have to wait for tomorrow, along with
the rest of the world. Believe me, those reporters who
do
come will be very grateful to you for tipping them off.”

“I hope so,” Campbell said irritably. “I had to use up a lot of favors on this one. Does Erica at least know what you’ve got
planned?”

Gold winked. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

Campbell stood up. “Cute, real cute. You need me for anything else, I’ll be in my office… Updating my resume.”

Gold got to the field at seven o’clock in the morning. Teddy Quinn was already there, haranguing the mechanics who were attired
in freshly laundered turquoise overalls and scarlet caps. Teddy was wearing his “don’t bother me” expression. Gold knew his
old friend well enough to know that Teddy needed to stay busy in order to remain calm. He stayed out of his chief engineer’s
way as Teddy supervised the fueling, and the last-minute maintenance on the G-1, fretting like a mother hen as she was wheeled
out of her hangar onto the airstrip, where she gleamed in the sun like a silver bird.

There was nothing for Gold to do but wait for events to unfold. He studied the cloudless sky, and the wind socks gently undulating
in the breeze. It had been unusually warm for the past week. Today the weather report predicted a high of eighty degrees,
with low humidity: perfect flying conditions.

About eleven-thirty a black Ford sedan turned into the gates and parked. Out of it stepped the trio of postal service purchasing
agents who would pass judgment on the G-1. At quarter of twelve, the newspeople began to trickle in. Teddy Quinn, his snap-brim
fedora pulled down low over his brow to hide his face, began flitting around the edges of the crowd, chainsmoking and muttering
darkly to himself. Sometimes Teddy liked to act a little touched in the head; it kept people at bay.

Gold had arranged for a sun-shield awning to be erected on the grass bordering the airstrip. Campbell, dressed like the banker
he used to be, was under the awning now, chatting with the Feds, who were wearing wide-brimmed hats and somber-colored suits.
Campbell was good at making small talk. Gold left him to it until the last possible moment, and then he went over to greet
the postal service representatives. Gold was wearing an uncharacteristically conservative, navy blue chalk-stripe double-breasted
suit, a plain white shirt, and a dull, crimson and black striped tie. As he stepped beneath the awning, joining all the other
serious-looking men in their dark suits, he felt as if he were at a funeral. He hoped he was mistaken.

Morton Brenner, the senior purchasing agent for the post office, was fanning himself with his hat, and frowning. “Mister Gold,”
he began. “I don’t appreciate having all of these reporters and photographers around.”

Brenner was in his sixties. He was medium height, and built portly. His thinning gray hair was cut short, waxed, brushed back,
and somewhat parted on the side. He had a florid complexion, a neatly clipped white moustache, and hard, hazel eyes behind
a gold-framed pince-nez. His jowls, spilling over his shirt collar, were shaved as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Gold couldn’t
begin to imagine how a man could shave that closely—

“I must confess, if I’d known these reporters were going to be here, I would have postponed today’s evaluation,” Brenner was
saying.

“Well, sir, I do apologize,” Gold replied mildly. “But it is a free country, sir. If the media wishes to witness the test
flight, I don’t see how I could possibly forbid them…”

“Yes, well—” Brenner noisily cleared his throat. He removed his pince-nez and massaged the two angry red spots it had left
on the bridge of his nose. “Just so you’re aware that the reporters’ presence does not help your cause. As a matter of fact,
on the contrary…”

We’ll see about that, you old goat
, Gold thought. Tim Campbell was standing just behind Brenner, and had been eavesdropping as the senior government man was
sounding off. Gold saw Campbell wince and roll his eyes.

“Mister Gold,” Brenner said. “Your airplane is a very unusual design.”

“Thank you.”

“We at the post office don’t like that,” Brenner flatly declared. “We appreciate that which has withstood the test of time.”

“The most venerable of designs have had to start somewhere,” Gold replied. “All I ask is that you withhold judgment until
after you see the G-1 fly.”

“Well, let’s get on with it.” Brenner took a pocket watch from his waistcoat and studied it. “Our schedule is tight. We’re
due at Turner Aircraft Works in precisely ninety minutes.” He smiled thinly at Gold. “Turner builds a fine airplane, don’t
you think? And has been building them the same way,
for years
…”

The sound of the G-1’s engine turning over saved Gold from having to think up a reply. Everyone turned toward the airplane
as the Rogers and Simpson radial caught, then settled down into a fluid growl.

The mechanic who’d started up the G-1 climbed down from the cockpit as the pilot, covered from head to toe in a leather helmet,
goggles, white silk scarf, gloves, bulky shearling flight overalls and boots, appeared in the doorway of the hangar. The pilot
waved toward the awning, but went directly to the airplane.

“My God, it’s got to be close to eighty out here,” Brenner remarked, watching as the pilot climbed up into the cockpit. “How
cold does it get, flying?”

“You’d be amazed,” Gold replied cheerfully. He sensed Campbell coming up behind him. “I thought Hull was going to do the flying?”
Campbell whispered. “Whoever that is looks kind of short to be Hull—”

“Just keep your fingers crossed,” Gold murmured.

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Campbell said. “Hey, where’s Erica? I can’t believe she’d miss this—”

Gold sighed worriedly. “She’s around.”

“Just remember, she’ll give you plenty of notice before she stalls—”

Hull’s voice echoed in the empty hangar as he watched Erica step into the flight overalls. “And just remember, be ready on
the rudder pedals when you use the C-Gull flaps—”

“I’ll remember, I hope,” Erica muttered as she shrugged the supple, shearling suit up over her wool trousers and long-sleeved
cotton blouse. “Help me zip this thing up.”

“You know, it’s still not too late to back out,” Hull fretted.

“I know.” Erica pulled on her boots and then tucked her hair into the close-fitting leather helmet, buckling it under her
chin.

“I could take over for you,” Hull said.

“Uh-huh.” She adjusted her goggles and then wrapped a white silk scarf around her mouth and chin. “Well, how do I look?” she
asked, her voice muffled.

“Like a short pilot,” Hull said.

“But not like a woman?” Erica persisted as she put on her gloves.

“Nah.” Hull shook his head. “The suit hides you fine. I’m sure Herman will think you’re giving yourself away, because he knows
it’s you, but the others have no reason to suspect anything, so they won’t. Just go right to the plane. At the distance the
others are standing, they won’t notice a thing.”

Erica nodded. Both she and Hull were quiet as they listened to the sound of the G-1’s engine starting up. “Well,” she laughed
uneasily, “I guess it’s show-time.”

“Erica—”

“Hull, if you tell me one more time that I don’t have to go through with this, I’ll scream.”

“It’s just that you’ve only had two chances to practice handling the G-1 since Herman came up with this harebrained scheme.”

“She flies like a dream,” Erica said firmly. “The mechanics have checked her out, and today’s flying conditions are perfect.
There’s no reason I can’t do this. And I
want
to do it. Not only for Herman, but also for myself, and all the other women pilots struggling to take their places in aviation.
In just a few moments I’m going to make history as the world’s first woman test pilot.”