Airport (90 page)

“I wouldn’t have mentioned the insurance bit,” Tanya said, “if I’d known it would send you so far away from me.”

Though the recollections which had flashed through his mind occupied only seconds of time, Mel was conscious once again of Tanya’s perceptiveness concerning himself. No one else that he could remember had ever had quite the same facility for divining his thoughts. It argued an instinctive closeness between them.

He was aware of Tanya watching his face, her eyes gentle, understanding, but beyond the gentleness was a woman’s strength and a sensuality which instinct told him could leap to flame. Suddenly, he wanted their closeness to become closer still.

“You didn’t send me far away,” Mel answered. “You brought me nearer. At this moment I want you very much.” As their eyes met directly, he added, “In every way.”

Tanya was characteristically frank. “I want you too.” She smiled slightly. “I have for a long time.”

His impulse was to suggest that they both leave now, and find some quiet place together… Tanya’s apartment perhaps… and hang the consequences! Then Mel accepted what he already knew; he couldn’t go. Not yet.

“We’ll meet later,” he told her. “Tonight. I’m not sure how much later, but we will. Don’t go home without me.” He wanted to reach out, and seize and hold her, and press her body to his, but the traffic of the concourse was all around them.

She reached out, her fingertips resting lightly on his hand. The sense of contact was electric. “I’ll wait,” Tanya said. “I’ll wait as long as you want.”

A moment later she moved away, and was instantly swallowed up in the press of passengers around the Trans America counters.

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D
ESPITE HER
forcefulness when she had talked with Mel a half-hour earlier, Cindy Bakersfeld was uncertain what to do next. She wished there were someone she could trust to advise her. Should she go to the airport tonight, or not?

Alone and lonely, with the cocktail party babel of the Friends of the Archidona Children’s Relief Fund around her, Cindy brooded uneasily over the two courses of action she could take. Through most of the evening, until now, she had moved from group to group, chatting animatedly, meeting people she knew, or wanted to. But for some reason tonight–rather more than usual–Cindy was aware of being here unaccompanied. For the past few minutes she had been standing thoughtfully, preoccupied, by herself.

She reasoned again: She didn’t feel like going unescorted into dinner, which would begin soon. So on the one hand she could go home; on the other, she could seek out Mel and face a fight.

On the telephone with Mel she had insisted she would go to the airport and confront him. But if she went, Cindy realized, it would mean a showdown–almost certainly irreversible and final–between them both. Commonsense told her that sooner or later the showdown must come, so better to have it now and done with; and there were other related matters which had to be resolved. Yet fifteen years of marriage were not to be shrugged off lightly like a disposable plastic raincoat. No matter how many deficiencies and disagreements there were–and Cindy could think of plenty–when two people lived together that long, there were connecting strands between them which it would be painful to sever.

Even now, Cindy believed, their marriage could be salvaged if both of them tried hard enough. The point was: Did they want to? Cindy was convinced she did–if Mel would meet some of her conditions, though in the past he had refused to, and she doubted very much if he would ever change as much as she would like. Yet without some changes, continuing to live together as they were would be intolerable. Lately there had not even been the consolation of sex which once upon a time made up for other inadequacies. Something had gone wrong there too, though Cindy was not sure what. Mel still excited her sexually; even now, just thinking about him in that way was enough to arouse her, and at this moment she was conscious of her body stirring. But somehow, when the opportunity was there, their mental separation inhibited them both. The result–at least in Cindy–was frustration, anger, and later a sexual appetite so strong that she had to have a man. Any man.

She was still standing alone, in the plush La Salle Salon of the Lake Michigan Inn, where tonight’s reception for the press was being held. The buzz of conversation around her was mostly about the storm and the difficulty everyone had had in getting here; but at least–unlike Mel, Cindy thought–they had made it. Occasionally there was a mention of Archidona, reminding Cindy that she still hadn’t found out which Archidona–Ecuador or Spain…
damn you, Mel Bakersfeld! Okay, so I’m not as smart as you are–
her charity was directed at.

An arm brushed against hers and a voice said amiably, “No drink, Mrs. Bakersfeld? Can I get you one?”

Cindy turred. The questioner was a newspaperman named Derek Eden, whom she knew slightly. His by-line appeared in the
Sun-Times
frequently. Like many of his kind, he had an easy, confident manner and air of mild dissipation. She was aware that each of them had taken note of the other on previous occasions.

“All right,” Cindy said. “A Bourbon and water, go lightly on the water. And please use my first name; I think you know it.”

“Sure thing, Cindy.” The newspaperman’s eyes were admiring and frankly appraising. Well, Cindy thought, why not? She knew she looked good tonight; she had dressed well and made up carefully.

“I’ll be back,” Derek Eden assured her, “so don’t go away now I’ve found you.” He headed purposefully for the bar.

Waiting, surveying the crowded La Salle Salon, Cindy caught the glance of an older woman in a flowered hat. At once Cindy smiled warmly and the woman nodded, but her eyes moved on. She was a society page columnist. A photographer was beside her and together they were planning pictures for what would probably be a full-page layout in tomorrow’s paper. The woman in the flowered hat motioned several of the charity workers and their guests together, and they crowded in, smiling obligingly, trying to look casual, but pleased that they had been selected. Cindy knew why she had been passed over; alone she was not important enough, though she would have been if Mel were there. In the city’s life, Mel rated. The galling thing was–socially, Mel didn’t care.

Across the room the photographer’s light gun flashed; the woman in the hat was writing names. Cindy could have cried. For
almost every charity…
she volunteered, worked hard, served on the meanest committees, did menial chores which more socially prominent women rejected; then to be left out like this…

Damn you again, Mel Bakersfeld! Damn the bitching snow! And screw that demanding, stinking marriage-wrecking airport!

The newspaperman, Derek Eden, was coming back with Cindy’s drink and one of his own. Threading his way across the room, he saw her watching him and smiled. He looked sure of himself. If Cindy knew men, he was probably calculating what his chances were of laying her tonight. Reporters, she supposed, knew all about neglected, lonely wives.

Cindy did some calculating of her own concerning Derek Eden. Early thirties, she thought; old enough to be experienced, young enough to be taught a thing or two and to get excited, which was what Cindy liked. A good body from the outward look of him. He would be considerate, probably tender; would give as well as take. And he was available; even before he left to get the drinks he had already made that clear. Communication didn’t take long between two reasonably sensitive people with a similar idea.

A few minutes earlier she had weighed the alternatives of going home or to the airport. Now, it seemed, there might be a third choice.

“There you are.” Derek Eden handed her the drink. She glanced at it; there was a lot of Bourbon, and he had probably told the barman to pour heavily. Really!–-men were so obvious.

“Thank you.” She sipped, and regarded him across the glass.

Derek Eden raised his own drink and smiled. “Noisy in here, isn’t it?”

For a writer, Cindy thought, his dialogue was deplorably unoriginal. She supposed she was expected to say
yes
, then the next thing he would come up with would be,
Why don’t we go some place where it’s quieter?
The lines to follow were equally predictable

Postponing her response, Cindy took another sip of Bourbon.

She considered. Of course, if Lionel were in town she would not have bothered with this man. But Lionel, who was her storm anchor at other times, and who wanted her to divorce Mel so that he, Lionel, could marry her, Cindy… Lionel was in Cincinnati (or was it Columbus?) doing whatever architects did when they went on business trips, and wouldn’t be back for another ten days, perhaps longer.

Mel didn’t know about Cindy and Lionel, at least not specifically, though Cindy had an idea that Mel suspected she had a lover somewhere, stashed away. She also had a parallel notion that Mel didn’t mind much. It gave him an excuse to concentrate on the airport, to the total exclusion of herself; that goddanined airport, which had been fifty times worse than a mistress in their marriage.

It had not always been that way.

Early in their marriage, soon after Mel left the Navy, Cindy had been proud of his ambitions. Later, when Mel was rapidly ascending the lower rungs of aviation management, she was happy when promotions, new appointments, came his way. As Mel’s stature grew, so did Cindy’s–especially socially, and in those days they had social engagements almost every evening. On behalf of them both. Cindy accepted invitations to cocktail parties, private dinners, opening nights, charity soirees… and if there were two the same night, Cindy was expert at judging which was more important, and turning down the other. That kind of socializing, getting to know prominent people, was important to a young man on the rise. Even Mel saw that. He went along with everything Cindy arranged, without complaining.

The trouble was, Cindy now realized, she and Mel had two different long-term aims. Mel saw their social life as a means to fulfilling his professional ambitions; his career was the essential, the socializing a tool which eventually he would dispense with. Cindy, on the other hand, envisaged Mel’s career as a passport to an even greater–and higher level–social life. Looking back, it sometimes occurred to her that if they had understood each other’s point of view better in the beginning, they might have compromised. Unfortunately, they hadn’t.

Their differences began around the time that Mel–in addition to being general manager of Lincoln International–was elected president of the Airport Operators Council.

When Cindy learned that her husband’s activity and influence now extended to Washington, D.C., she had been overjoyed. His subsequent summons to the White House, the rapport with President Kennedy, led Cindy to assume they would plunge forthwith into Washington society. In roseate daydreams she saw herself strolling–and being photographed–with Jackie or Ethel or Joan, at Hyannis Port or on the White House lawn.

It hadn’t happened; not any of it. Mel and Cindy had not become involved in Washington social life at all, although they could have done so quite easily. Instead, they began–at Mel’s insistence–declining some invitations. Mel reasoned that his professional reputation was now such that he no longer needed to worry about being “in” socially, a status he had never cared for, anyway.

When she caught on to what was happening, Cindy exploded, and they had a first-class row. That was a mistake, too. Mel would sometimes respond to reason, but Cindy’s anger usually made him stand firm to the point of obstinacy. Their dispute raged for a week, Cindy becoming bitchier as it progressed, thus making things worse. Being bitchy was one of Cindy’s failings, and she knew it. Half the time she didn’t intend to be that way, but sometimes, faced with Mel’s indifference, her fiery temper got the better of her–as it had on the telephone tonight.

After the week-long argument, which never really ended, their quarrels became more frequent; they also stopped trying to conceal them from the children, which was impossible, anyway. Once–to the shame of them both–Roberta announced that in future after school she would be going to a friend’s house first, “because when I stay home, I can’t do my homework while you’re fighting.”

Eventually a pattern was established. Some evenings Mel accompanied Cindy to certain social events which he had agreed on in advance. Otherwise, he stayed longer hours at the airport and came home less frequently. Finding herself alone much more, Cindy concentrated on what Mel sneered at as her “junior league charities” and “silly social climbing.”

Well, maybe at times, Cindy thought, it did look silly to Mel. But she didn’t have much else, and it so happened she enjoyed the social status competition–which was what it was, really. It was all very well for a man to criticize; men had plenty of activities to occupy their time. In Mel’s case there was his career, his airport, his responsibilities. What was Cindy supposed to do? Stay home all day and dust the house?

Cindy had no illusions about herself so far as mental acuity went. She was no great intellect, and she knew that in lots of ways, mentally, she would never measure up to Mel. But then, that was nothing new. In their early years of marriage, Mel used to find her occasional mild stupidities amusing, though nowadays when he derided her–as he had taken to doing lately–he seemed to have forgotten that. Cindy was also realistic about her former career as an actress–she would never have made the grade to stardom, or have come close to it. It was true that, in the past, she sometimes implied that she might have done so if marriage had not ended her theatrical activity. But that was merely a form of self-defense, a need to remind others–including Mel–that she was an individual as well as being the airport manager’s wife. Within herself Cindy knew the truth–that as a professional actress she would almost certainly not have risen above bit parts.

The involvement in social life, however–in the
mise en scène
of local society–was something Cindy could handle. It gave her a sense of identity and importance. And although Mel scoffed, and denied that what Cindy had done was an achievement, she
had
managed to climb, to be accepted by socially conspicuous people whom she would not have met otherwise, and to be involved in events like tonight’s… except that on this occasion she needed Mel as escort, and Mel–thinking first of his goddamned airport, as always–had let her down.