Trophy for Eagles (34 page)

"What do you hear about their stopping the mail subsidy?"

"Nothing but rumors so far, but I believe it will happen. The government might start to fly the mail again."

"Yeah, that's what I hear too. Say, I didn't want to mention it in
front of Bineau, but why only ten passengers in the new transport?"

"It's the only way we could use the same wing as the bomber. If
we wanted more passengers—sixteen or twenty—we'd have to build
two completely different airplanes, and we just don't have the capital or the engineering capacity to do it."

"The next one has to be bigger," he answered.

That afternoon, Charlotte took him out to the small hangar next
to the main factory. Inside was a gleaming red-and-white Gee Bee
Model Y Senior Sportster monoplane, a tiny open-cockpit two-seater whose big engine gave it a hydrocephalic look. Standing under a trimotor's wing it looked like a child's pedal toy.

"How do you like my baby? I'm going fly it in the National Air
Races at Cleveland."

Bruno made a swift assessment of the gains versus the risks.

"No,
mein Gott,
that's too risky. I'd rather you just stuck to flying
the company planes for publicity."

"Dammit, Bruno, I'm bored. I need the challenge of the competition."

"We can't afford to lose you—I couldn't stand it if something happened to you. Leave the races to people like Amelia Earhart."

A sudden pleasure at Bruno's rare compliment was washed away
immediately in resentment.

"Look, I'm tired of hearing about Amelia Earhart. She's just a beginner—I don't think she can fly worth a damn."

"She must be doing something right." Bruno knew immediately it
was the wrong tack.

"It's her husband, Putnam! He works it so that she can't cough without getting a headline."

A wave of foreboding that he didn't understand passed over Bruno. "Every time I fly one of our planes the press just assumes
that I'm along for the ride," she said. "They act as though some other pilot is doing the work. In a race, I'll be the only one in the airplane."

"Charlotte, racing is a man's game. You don't need to take chances pushing an airplane around the pylons, fifty feet off the ground. Too many people get hurt that way."

Even as he took her hand, he felt his mood changing. In the past
Charlotte had been just a valuable business asset, someone to use to
get where he wanted to go. Yet the more valuable she had become to him in business, the more he resented depending upon her.

He hadn't minded when she had played around sexually—he'd done plenty of that—although the business with Rhoades was becoming too long-term, and that bothered him. He understood too
how she manipulated him; he permitted that. But this self-assertive
independence was something else, something that might not be tolerable. And there was more. The realization that he needed her for comfort as well as for strength annoyed him. He didn't want to be dependent on anyone. Yet after fighting the world for years, he had isolated himself from it. Charlotte was his connection, and he didn't want her killed in some stupid race.

"Charlotte, I don't want you to do it. I forbid it."

She was resolute. It was an issue that had to be faced.

"Bruno, I won't give in on this one, no matter how much you bluster. I'm going to race whether you like it or not. You're just worried that you won't have someone to run the plant if I kill myself."

He was silent, uncertain of his own feelings. In a quiet voice, he said, "Be careful. That's a mean little bastard, and a Gee Bee killed
Lowell Bayles last December. We can't have anything happen to you.

"I'll watch it. You watch it too."

She was content; she'd won all the meaningful points, and he was still not enraged. She let him slip his arm around her as they walked
back to the factory. Rhoades watched from the window, shaking his
head in a mixture of jealousy and amusement.

*

Sayville, Long Island/June 16, 1932

Patty and Stephan lived in a guest cottage near the enormous Tudor
mansion Bruno had bought Charlotte after she had sold the Army the A-11. In the years that Patty had been away in France, Bruno
and Charlotte had somehow assumed totally new personalities. Her
stepfather, formerly frivolous in his work habits, was obsessively
preoccupied with the aircraft plant. In the past he'd been willing to
delegate, to let Armand Bineau and his crew pretty well run things,
with Charlotte there to protect his interest. He had to be at the
center of every meeting, kibitzing, making notes, demanding more
and more frequently that things be done his way.

Charlotte told him that he was driving everybody crazy, but the changes had some totally unexpected side benefits. He was much
easier to live with; his hours were predictable, and at home he
would work in his little office till late at night. He'd developed a new
hobby, photography, and was buying camera equipment almost every week. Two rooms and a tiny bathroom in the basement had
been converted to a professional darkroom, and he spent hours
developing his own prints.

On balance, Charlotte seemed content. She and Bruno had separate bedrooms, and Patty no longer saw any indication of intimacy in their conduct. She remembered that earlier in their
marriage, when she was just a child, their randy sexual activity had
caused her more than one embarrassing moment, and she had
learned to make plenty of noise before coming into a room she knew
they occupied. Then there was the debacle in Orleans!

Yet with it all they seemed still to be friends, to enjoy the house,
the business.

She stopped Charlotte on the veranda and said, "Stephan will be
competing in the National Air Races this year. Will you be there?"

"There? I'm going to be competing too, in my Gee Bee."

She sighed, rolling her eyes, and it came to Patty what the real
change in her mother was. She was no longer inveterately flirta
tious; she had grown beyond the
femme fatale
manner of just a few
years ago. It was a becoming difference, one more suitable for her age and work at the aircraft plant.

Charlotte's voice was pensive as she said, "It won't be easy to get
away. The factory is running full-tilt, and Bruno is into everything. I have to follow him around, patching up the personnel problems he causes with his damn buttinsky attitude."

"You've changed, and so has he. Do you mind if I say you're both
easier to live with?"

Charlotte laughed. "Not if you mind if I say you're not. You
remind me of myself ten years ago, vaguely discontented and ready
for adventure. Do you want to talk about it?"

Patty laughed. "Translated roughly from motherese, that comes out as 'Where the hell are my grandchildren?' "

"Right. It's one thing to be modern and control the size of your family—it's another not to have any kids at all."

"It's a bigger problem than being modern. We've tried for years. Stephan and I have both been to doctors. They say it's just fate, that
it will happen in time. I'm ready to adopt a baby, but I know Stephan won't agree."

"It would be tough for his family to accept."

"That's not the trouble. It's his ego. What do you think we should
do, Mother?"

Charlotte leaned over and took Patty's hand, just as she had when
her daughter was a child.

"Patty, I'm going to ask you a favor. Don't call me Mother, call me Charlotte. It's not because I'm worried about growing old, but
because I want to be able to treat you as a woman, not just as my
daughter. I don't have many people I can really talk to."

"Sure, it's very modern. I'll slip, but sure."

"You have many more chances in life than I did, especially in
flying. I never really mastered instrument flying, and Stephan says
you're very good."

"What's come over you, Mother—I mean, Charlotte? You seem to be entirely composed, rested, content."

"I've grown up. Thank God." She looked a little embarrassed,
and stared straight into Patty's eyes. "I don't need men or flying as I
once did."

Patty glanced out over the lawn. The openness was even more startling than the change in demeanor.

Charlotte was arranging flowers in a vase, an activity so out of
character that Patty couldn't comment on it.

Patty nodded approval of the flowers, and, pressing, asked, "Why
are you so content?"

"Well, I have my daughter back with me for a while. The
businesses are doing well, and damn few people in America can say
that. Bruno's been on his best behavior around here; I can't remem
ber the last time we had a fight. It's funny, because he was more nervous than I've ever seen him when he came back from Germany. I thought someone had threatened him."

She was quiet for a while, then went on, "Mainly, though, I
think I'm happy because I've finally admitted to myself that I'm hurt
because what I've done for flying hasn't been recognized. I want to set some records, to win some races, to make my name known. In the past I wouldn't admit that to myself."

Patty shook her head. "You're being too hard on yourself. Every
one knows that your demonstration flights have been the main factor in Hafner Aircraft sales."

"That's part of the problem. The Army knows, sure, but not the
public. Practically the only flying I've ever done was for the busi
ness."

Patty's eyes lit up. They were getting closer to the subject she
wanted to broach when Charlotte sailed the conversation into totally
uncharted waters.

"And, of course, there's the fact that I have a decent lover."

Patty struggled to keep her face composed, her voice even. They
had never discussed any subject like this before.

"Should I ask who, or be politely silent?"

"You don't have to ask. I'll tell you, because I want you to know.
It's Dusty Rhoades. Surprised?"

Appalled
might be a better word, Patty thought. "No. Why not?
You've been associated a long time, and propinquity is almost
always a factor in things like this." She paused. "And you weren't
exactly discreet, even in Orleans."

"This isn't a 'thing like this,' but propinquity is certainly part of the cause." She watched Patty, amused at her attempt at nonchalance. "Let me fill in the blanks I see on your face. Yes, he's still
handsome but he's put on weight. Yes, he is kind. Yes, I'm going to
marry him someday. No, I don't know when. I'd have to get a settlement from Bruno that protected you, and I don't see that happening. Any others?"

"No, and don't worry about protecting me. Stephan takes good care of me."

"Well, the question you should have asked, because I know you
must have heard the rumors, is 'What about his drug problem?' Right?"

Patty nodded.

"That's part of it too. He
needs
me, and that's something new for
me in a man. I'm going to help him beat his habit, rehabilitate him."

There was doubt and anguish in Patty's face.

"Why am I telling you all this? Because I don't want to bother to
cover up with you. I have to with Bruno, of course, although I'm
sure he knows. But it would be inconvenient to make up stories with
you too. What difference does it make? It's my business, and you're a grown woman."

Patty stood up and paced the floor. Charlotte was right, but it was a lot to take in. "Maybe we ought to talk about something else. Like
flying. When can I get checked out in the Hafner airplanes? And if I
do, will I be a threat to you?"

"Not a threat, a blessing. I'm not crazy about your flying, but I know how you feel. I felt the same way at your age. I'll turn it all over to you as soon as you can handle it. I will have to do the demonstration flights for a while; Bruno thinks I have a special
rapport with the Air Corps. But you'd fit right in." She paused. "I've
got a tip for you. Do your record-setting flying from city to city. There are a million records out there that have never been set—Kokomo to Hoboken, Cucamonga to Mojave—and the first time
you fly it, you set a record. The press eats it up, and it's easy. Stay
away from the pylon racing; it's too dangerous."