16. Bill
CHAPTER 16
Bill
What he does not need is the third degree from Jo. Bill doesn’t need her coming into their bedroom and trying to peel back the layers of what’s eating him; he gets enough of that from Dr. Sheinbaum. He does not need her leaving him at home with the kids while she goes out with Frankie Maxwell on one of their evening walks, smoking and strolling as they nitpick their husbands’ behaviors. He definitely doesn’t need that.
Bill is driving along the darkened streets of Stardust Beach with the top down on his convertible. The lights overhead barely illuminate the sidewalk on one side of the street, and on the other, the sand and the sea spill out into the blackness of night. He pushes down the accelerator and drives faster. It’s nearly eight o’clock, and most of the people he knows will be gone from The Black Hole at that hour—after work drinks take place from about five-fifteen to six-thirty—but he needs to sit at the bar alone and nurse a drink. He needs to be alone with his thoughts. He needs to be away from Jo for a while.
At the bar, Bill parks his car in the lot and pockets the keys. The open-air bar beckons from its spot on a slightly elevated plot of land, the loud sounds from the jukebox rolling out into the evening air. The colorful lights strung up around the wooden bar make everything look like Christmas, and Bill can already feel the soothing sensation of a good glass of whiskey making its way down the back of his throat. He steps aside and lets a couple of pilots spill out of the bar, their laughter lingering in the air as they stumble out to the lot.
Inside, the bar is populated with unfamiliar faces, which suits Bill just fine. He sits right at the bar, which is something he never does when he and the NASA crew make their way there after work.
“What can I get for you, chief?” asks a female bartender in skin-tight white capri pants and a red top sprinkled with white polka dots. Her hair is in a neat ponytail, and she has flat Keds on her feet. She smiles at him and places a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of Bill as she waits.
“Whiskey, neat,” he says.
The bartender nods, turns to the bottles on the shelves behind her, and chooses one, pouring the amber liquid right into a tumbler and passing it his way. “Let me know when you’re due for a refill,” she says firmly, setting the bottle back on the shelf and moving on to another customer.
Bill sips and blocks out most of what’s going on around him, which is pretty much just pilots who are passing through town and hoping to take a girl back to their hotel rooms for the night. He glances at the telltale white strip of skin where a wedding band should be on the man next to him. This guy—a mustachioed pilot who hasn’t even bothered to take off his work uniform—is smiling lazily at a busty blonde who has clearly had too many drinks. Every time the girl laughs, the pilot moves an inch closer. Before Bill knows it, the woman will be in his lap. Or vice versa. He picks up his whiskey, swirls the rest of the liquid around in the glass, and knocks it back.
“Could I get another?” he says to the bartender, lifting a hand. “I’ll be right back. I need to use the payphone.”
Bill slides off his stool as she refills his glass, and he makes his way to the hallway where the restrooms are tucked behind two mahogany doors. On one wall of the hallway is a payphone. Bill slips a dime into the slot and dials the number he has stored in one corner of his brain.
“Hello?”
“Jeanie?” Bill coils the silver cord around his finger as he stares at the coin return slot.
“This is she,” Jeanie says, sounding puzzled.
“Hey, sorry to call so late,” Bill says, hoping that he sounds nonchalant. “Actually, I’m sorry to call your house at all without asking first whether it was okay?—“
“Bill?” She cuts him off. “Is that you?”
“Yes, sorry for that, too. This is Bill,” he says, hoping that his voice doesn’t sound like he’s already one whiskey into the evening.
“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
Bill coughs lightly. “Actually, no. I’m at The Black Hole. Do you think you could meet me here?”
“Bill, what’s wrong?” Jeanie’s voice is soft. Pleading. “Is it work? Something at home?”
Bill pauses. “Both,” he says. “I think it’s both.”
There is silence at the other end of the line and a new song comes on the jukebox out in the bar: “Love Is Like An Itching In My Heart” by the Supremes.
Jeanie sighs audibly. He can imagine her looking at the narrow watch on her wrist. Or maybe she’s already in a robe, with her hair in pink curlers for the evening. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t feel like I needed to talk,” Bill says, trying not to sound like he’s begging. Which he most definitely is.
Jeanie sighs again. “Alright,” she says. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Sit tight. And don’t drink too much.”
Bill wants to protest that he can hold his liquor, but before he can, she hangs up the phone and he’s left holding a receiver that’s buzzing with a dial tone. He hangs up and goes back to his stool at the bar.
“Here you go, champ,” the bartender says, setting his drink on the napkin that still has a wet ring of condensation from his first drink. Bill lifts it in the air to her and then takes his first sip.
It’s actually only twenty-four minutes later when Jeanie comes through the door of the bar, her eyes scanning the scene before they finally land on Bill. Relief washes over her face, and Bill feels—just for a moment—like a little boy who has gotten lost and now his mother has found him. He waves her over.
Jeanie sets her purse on the bar and climbs up onto the stool next to Bill’s.
“Get you something, gorgeous?” the bartender asks Jeanie.
“I’ll take a G she looks right at him. “I’m serious. You and Jo need to figure things out, and that has nothing to do with me.”
Bill stares into his glass of whiskey; he suddenly feels like an idiot. A tired, confused, lost idiot. He nods.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Bill says softly, moving the glass around on the bar in a way that makes the remaining liquid swirl like a whirlpool. He thinks of the things that he’s always trying to escape: the small town he grew up in; a first marriage that ended badly; losing his first baby; his memories of Korea; the fear that he’s not enough in his career, as a father, in his marriage to Jo.
But those are all excuses—those are all fears that he lets run the show, when in truth, he’s a decorated Air Force veteran. A Lieutenant Colonel. He’s an astronaut, for God’s sake. Bill mentally shakes himself and straightens his shoulders, sitting upright.
“Thanks for coming, Jeanie,” he says to her, trying to meet her eye but instead looking at a spot just over one of her ears. “I appreciate you, your friendship, and your willingness to come to a bar and meet me when I call you.”
“Bill,” she says, the protest clear in her voice.
But he barrels on. “I won’t call you again. I hear you, Jeanie. I hear you when you tell me you can’t do this, and I have to honor that.”
“Bill,” she says again. This time she puts a hand on top of his, trying to still him. It doesn’t work, and Bill slips his hand out from beneath hers. He stands up, pulls his wallet from the back pocket of his pants, and pulls out a few bills.
“I’m really sorry, Jeanie,” he says, sliding his wallet back into his pocket. He pats the counter with his hand as he turns to go. “You have a good night.”
* * *
Things are not strained at work between Bill and Jeanie because he avoids her entirely in the following weeks. He’s able to stay busy most days with trainings, meetings, and prep for the August launch, and while there is a definite overlap between Bill’s work and Jeanie’s engineering projects, he relegates communication to memos and messages sent via other coworkers. For her part, Jeanie appears focused on her own things.
By some miracle, Bill is able to re-try the nose to TDA simulator and he manages to dock them successfully on the first try. It might be that the crowd watching is smaller, and it could be that Jeanie isn’t standing on the sidelines, observing his every move, but Bill feels far less pressure, and he zooms in with laser-sharp focus to get the job done.
Towards the end of June, he has mastered the task and his confidence about the mission is building. Bill has been rigid about his appointments with Dr. Sheinbaum, seeing her once a week and keeping her updated on anything that feels important. At some point, he'd let the floodgates open about Jeanie, and after he'd admitted to the kiss, he hadn't been able to stop himself. By now, Dr. Sheinbaum knows most of the things he feels about Jeanie, and he'd even told her about the night he called Jeanie from The Black Hole and the way they'd parted at the bar.
For her part, Dr. Sheinbaum has listened with no discernible judgment, but her leading questions have given Bill the distinct impression that she thinks he needs to end all contact with Jeanie and to do his best to avoid personal discussions with her of any kind. For the most part, he's been able to do this, but what he cannot put a stop to is the way his heart beats faster each time he glimpses her.
Jeanie walks the halls of Cape Kennedy just like everyone else there, arms full of folders, a smile on her face as she greets a coworker. She stops in the lunchroom for a cup of coffee midday--sometimes just as Bill is about to do the same himself--and she walks through the open area of their giant office space, weaving between desks, stopping to talk to people, flipping her long hair over one shoulder as she chats animatedly or explains something technical. Bill tries his hardest not to look at her, but he always knows where Jeanie Florence is in any room. Always.
"Let's check in," Arvin North says as Bill passes him one afternoon in the hallway. "My office. Ten minutes."
Bill gives him a small salute and finishes the task at hand before appearing in North's doorway with a light knock.
Arvin North looks up from the paper in front of him and beckons Bill in with two fingers. "Come in. Close the door. Sit."
Bill does as he's told.
North steeples his hands in front of his face as he appraises Bill with a keen eye. "Report has come back from the good doctor," he says, pressing his lips together grimly. Bill's pulse ratchets up several notches as he waits. "She says you're ready."
Bill lets out a long breath, exhaling on a relieved laugh. "Wow. That's good to hear."
"Sure. I can imagine." North looks at him for a beat. "Did you think it would go otherwise?"
"Sir?"
"Did you think Dr. Sheinbaum would pull a thread that unraveled the whole sweater?"
Bill almost laughs out loud at the imagery. "No, not really." He glances out the window. “But, like anyone else, I’m sure I have things that need to be resolved."
"Do you feel you've resolved them?" North leans back in his chair, elbows on his armrests.
"I feel like I've learned a lot. I think there are things to keep working on," Bill says carefully. "Have I 'graduated' from therapy?"
North turns his palms skyward. "You met with a NASA-approved therapist for six months, as required, and she's given you the all clear. So, in a manner of speaking, I guess you have."
Bill has plenty of thoughts and feelings about this, but instead of voicing them, he smiles at North. "Thank you for giving me the option to do this as a way of redeeming myself after the New Year's Eve debacle."
Arvin North says nothing for what feels like a very long time. In reality, it's less than a minute, but when he speaks, Bill can feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with anticipation.
"You've been my front-runner all along, Bill," North says gravely. "My money's been on you, and it still is." His eyes flash. "But we cannot have another outburst--of any sort. When you see Ted Mackey next, all I want from you is a handshake and a smile. Do you hear me?"
A glob of bile rises in Bill's throat at Ted Mackey's name. That man and his irritating, arrogant ways pushed Bill to act out and to jeopardize his career. He does not relish the idea of ever seeing Ted again. But instead of letting that sentiment be known, he nods.
"I hear you," Bill says, holding Arvin North's gaze.
This is their tacit agreement to proceed, full steam ahead, towards what they both want. Their goal is unspoken, but it hangs between them in the office: they both want Bill on the shuttle to the moon.
"Alright," North says with finality. "Dismissed. Carry on, Lieutenant Colonel."
Bill stands and nods crisply, as is his habit with North. "Sir," he says.
North waves him off and returns to the paperwork that's strewn across his desk.