10. Bill
TEN
bill
“This is Jeanie Florence.” Arvin North is standing before the men, who are seated around the long, rectangular table in the same room where the psychological evaluation took place. “She is joining our team directly from MIT. Jeanie is an aerospace engineering technician, and she will be working closely with our team to prepare for space flight.” North pauses and takes a long, sweeping look at the five men. In his gaze Bill can see that there is no room for even the slightest lifted eyebrow between the astronauts, so instead of catching the eye of Vance, Todd, Jay, or Ed, Bill looks at the paper on the table in front of him and picks up a pen, as if he might be about to take notes.
Arvin North cedes the floor to Jeanie, who—to her credit—makes eye contact with each of the men separately. She steps up to the green chalkboard hanging on the wall and picks up a piece of chalk. Without hesitation, she turns her back to them and begins to scrawl her name and job title in cursive, and it’s then that Jay catches Ed’s glance and they share a look that travels between one another and Jeanie’s rounded behind, which is outlined in her slim pencil skirt. Bill notices this exchange, but then studiously goes back to looking at his paper.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you gentlemen,” Jeanie says, dropping the chalk in the tray and turning back to them as she brushes her hands against each other to release the chalk dust. She smiles at the group with just the slightest hint of hesitation. “Mr. North has given me a brief introduction, and I’d like to immediately address the obvious in order to dispel any rumors that might start amongst you: I am, in fact, a woman.”
There is silence in the room for a full ten seconds, and then Vance laughs. “I was kind of thinking you might be,” he says with a playful smile. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
Jeanie puts her hands on her hips. “I’ve encountered more pushback than you can possibly imagine during my brief time in the world of engineering, but I want to be clear with you all up front that I’ve got what it takes to work with you. Mr. North has been extremely forward-thinking when it comes to selecting me for this team, but I understand that there can be—on occasion—some disbelief about women working in science.” She lets her hands fall from her hips and her attitude shifts, her face softening. “I have spent my entire life looking up at the heavens and wondering what’s out there. When I applied to MIT, the female students only accounted for about one to two percent of the entire population, so any jokes or comments you can think of are ones I’ve undoubtedly already heard. I’d like to ask you to treat me just as you would any other team members, and to put your faith in my work, just as I put mine in yours.”
The room is silent, and Bill glances at Arvin North, who is standing off to the side of the chalkboard, arms folded over his stout chest. He’s nodding at everything Jeanie says. “I assume that there will be no issues whatsoever,” North says, addressing the men again. “If you have anything you’d like to discuss, my door is open. But my expectation is that we will work in lockstep as a team, and that there will be no issues.” His tone leaves no room for misunderstanding: he expects them to put their nonsense aside and behave professionally, and Bill, for one, is ready to do that.
Jeanie is watching Arvin North as he speaks, and when he’s done, she steps forward again. “I’m sure you all heard about the engineering test in Seattle this past weekend,” she says, eyebrows lifted like a teacher who is waiting for her pupils to jump in and join the class discussion. “Five engineers at Boeing undertook what should have been a thirty-day test of the life support systems that would sustain a crewed space station. They were working in their space chamber, which was the first of its kind in the U.S. It included all the necessary life-support equipment that would have been required for a multi-person, long-duration mission.” Jeanie looks around at the men, who are listening with interest; at this point, Bill starts jotting notes on his paper. “This project was built for NASA’s Office of Advanced Research and Technology, and the crew simulated some very unique and specific problems of spaceflight. These issues included environmental control, waste disposal, food preparation, and how to address the personal hygiene needs of the crew.”
Bill is watching Jeanie as she talks, as are the other men. She appears to be in her early to mid-twenties, with rich, chocolate brown hair and eyes, and her skin is rosy and untouched by makeup. Her round eyes are slightly magnified by the thick, tortoiseshell-framed glasses she’s wearing, and her skirt is a plain navy blue, with a white blouse tucked into it neatly. It’s simple and appropriate for work. Jeanie is clearly a beautiful girl, but unlike Debra at the front desk, Jeanie Florence looks freshly scrubbed, devoid of the time-consuming constraints of fashion and makeup, and as if perhaps she’d fallen asleep the night before with a physics textbook open on the bed next to her. Her schoolgirl charm combined with a brilliant mind makes her undeniably attractive.
“Unfortunately,” Jeanie goes on, pacing back and forth in front of the chalkboard as Arvin North continues to watch her, “this weekend the test came to an abrupt end after only five days when the crew and engineers realized that they were working with a faulty reactor tank. This was obviously only a test situation, but it underscores the fact that we have light years to go when it comes to reaching our ultimate goal of sustained space travel.” Bill glances at Jeanie’s hands, which are now clasped lightly in front of her: no rings. He drags his eyes back to her face. “I am extremely honored to be amongst you all as we reach for the stars, and work toward someday having an international space station—a time when astronauts of both genders will be out there exploring the universe.”
Jeanie is swept away to an office after this introduction, and the men are quickly engaged in a day-long training about aircraft flight readiness, broken up only by their daily one-hour Russian language class. Over lunch in the break room with its humming vending machines (tuna on white bread for Bill, with a shiny red apple and a thermos of chicken noodle soup), there are a few comments about Jeanie, but they’re mild and mostly whispered.
Bill tries to focus on reading his copy of The Florida Star , folding the newspaper in half and tucking it beneath one corner of his lunchbox as he holds his sandwich.
“Cute and smart? She’ll get nabbed by a recent college grad. Probably give birth to a few little future astronauts, and then forget all about being an engineer,” Vance Majors predicts as he bites into a banana.
“I’d like her to tutor me in astrophysics,” Ed says in a mocking, lecherous tone. “I wish my high school teachers had looked like her. I bet my grades would have been top-notch.”
The other men laugh.
It’s on the tip of Bill’s tongue to defend Jeanie, to remind the other guys that a woman can be more than a teacher or a mother to future astronauts, but he himself isn’t immune to thinking or saying the wrong thing on occasion, so he keeps his mouth shut and flips to the sports page.
“You think she’d like to join us at the Black Hole?” Ed goes on. “Maybe get to know the team on a more personal level?”
Bill scans the news, reading casually about the US Women’s Golf Open that coincided with the solar eclipse the previous Saturday. Mary Mills won her first title by three strokes ahead of runners-up Louise Suggs and Sandra Haynie. Jack Nicklaus won the PGA championship the next day, and the photo of him holding up a ball and his club, his sandy blonde hair loose in the breeze, dominates the page. By contrast, the column on the US Women’s Golf Open is small and has no accompanying photo. Bill’s brow furrows as he compares the two articles.
He’s never been one to think too deeply about the differences between men and women—or the differences in their lives, for that matter—but raising two daughters has given him a whole new perspective on things. Bill wants nothing more than for Nancy and Kate to be able to do anything they want to do in life. He turns the sports page and finds a brief blurb about NASA’s announcement the day before that Dr. George Mueller would succeed D. Brainerd Holmes as the head of the Apollo program, something he’s already heard about.
Bill chews his tuna sandwich thoughtfully as he looks out the window at the midday sky. He’s spent his entire life reaching for the next goal—the next thing he wants to achieve. He climbed the ranks in the Air Force, becoming a Lieutenant Colonel and flying the F-104, and the F-4 Phantom II. He wanted to be an astronaut, and he reached for that goal. He has a beautiful family, and a happy life, and never once has he been forced to choose between his own dreams and anything else. So why is it so hard to imagine that Nancy and Kate, or Jeanie Florence—or even Jo—should have the same right?
“Booker,” Ed Maxwell says, slamming his metal lunchbox closed with a clank . “I’m hitting the latrine. Meet you back in there?”
The two men have been partnered up for an afternoon training session. Bill nods at him absently, turning back to his lunch. He shoves the last bite of sandwich into his mouth as he closes his own lunchbox and then takes the apple with him. The break room has emptied out as he sat there, thinking his own deep thoughts. Bill tosses his apple in the air and catches it in one hand just as Debra passes by the open door of the break room, flashing him a bright smile.
The thought that has been tickling his brain as he eats has gotten away like a butterfly escaping from a net, but a seed has been planted there nonetheless. He isn’t sure about Jo and her crazy feminist books and ideas, but he is sure that she has the right to be happy and fulfilled.
Jo is waiting at home that evening with a pinched look around her eyes. She’s dishing up a chicken and green bean casserole and pouring iced tea into glasses, but she is also clearly avoiding making eye contact with Bill.
“Hi, kiddos,” he says, setting his briefcase down just inside the door from the garage. “How was your Monday?”
Jimmy is sorting through a stack of baseball cards, putting the most important ones to the side and reading the stats on each one as he goes. “Good,” he says simply, not looking at his dad.
“I read a whole book this afternoon,” Nancy boasts. “It was about a girl who went to stay with her grandparents all summer on their farm, and she became friends with a horse and a rabbit.”
“Sounds like a great story, Nanny-goat,” Bill says, reaching out to ruffle his middle child’s hair. “How about Kate the Great?”
Kate tips her head to one side and looks up at the ceiling like she’s sifting through a million things and choosing the most important items to share. “WELL,” she says. “I played with my Barbies and then Mommy let me swim for a while and then I had to wash the cor-teen out of my hair,” she says.
“ Chlorine , ding-dong,” Jimmy corrects his kid sister.
Kate rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “And then I was going to ride my bike in the driveway but for some reason I laid on my bed and I just FELL ASLEEP,” she adds dramatically, shrugging like it’s one of the great mysteries of the universe.
“Wow,” Bill says, still eyeing Jo and wondering what’s eating at her. “I wish I would have gotten a midday nap.”
“It wasn’t a nap, Daddy,” Kate insists. “I just closed my eyes and slept like it was night time.”
“That’s pretty much a nap,” Jimmy says drily, still looking at his baseball cards.
“What’s for dinner?” Bill asks Jo, though it’s obvious at that point what they’re having.
“Casserole and applesauce,” she says, flicking a glance at the kids. “Go wash up, and put your baseball cards away, Jimmy,” she says with a touch of impatience. “Dinner will get cold while I’m waiting on all of you.”
Bill sits down in his chair and rests his elbows on the table. As soon as the kids are down the hall, washing up in their Jack-and-Jill bathroom, he clears his throat. “What’s going on, JoJo?”
Jo picks up an envelope from the counter and walks it over to him, dropping it on the placemat in front of her husband without making eye contact. “You got a letter today from Desert Sage.”
Bill’s heart drops; the envelope is still sealed, but they both know that any correspondence from Desert Sage is going to be about his first wife, Margaret. He picks up the envelope and taps the edge of it against the tabletop. “I should open this later,” he says.
Jo gives a single-shouldered shrug. “Whatever you think is best,” she says with a touch of frost in her voice. Jo is possibly the most even-tempered woman Bill has ever known, but when she’s got something stuck in her craw, it’s not exactly a well-kept secret.
In general, Bill knows that the less said about Margaret, the better, but he also knows that the less said, the more likely Jo is to ice him out over the coming days. He sighs, accepting that he probably can’t win this one.
“Or I can open it now,” he says, feeling a hundred years older than he had when he walked in the door just minutes earlier.
Again, Jo shrugs just the one shoulder. “Do what you need to.”
Bill slips a finger under the flap and opens the envelope, sliding the single sheet of paper out and unfolding it so that he can scan it quickly before the children come back to the table.
Dear Mr. Booker,
We are writing to inform you of your ex-wife’s status, which you have requested that we do at any time if there are major changes. With the passing of her parents, you have agreed to be her next-of-kin, and though we understand that you and Margaret are no longer legally married, you are the only person she can count on in this world.
Bill pauses and rubs his eyes tiredly before reading on.
In the past week, Margaret has become something of a danger to herself and to the nurses on the ward. We have reassessed her needs, and determined that she will be better served by moving from the second floor up to the third floor, where patients are in locked rooms that have been prepared without anything that can be used for potential harm to self or others. This means no bedsheets, nothing with wires or blades, no bath tub, no windows that open to the outside. It may sound restrictive, but, Mr. Booker, this is absolutely necessary to ensure Margaret’s safety.
With this increase in care will obviously come an increase in cost, and I am happy to speak to you about this over the phone so that you are aware what the change in monthly fees will be. Please call me at your earliest convenience so that we might get this worked out and agreed upon before the August bill comes due.
With best wishes for continued partnership in Margaret’s care ? —
The kids come skittering back into the kitchen just as Bill finishes, and he shoves the letter back into the envelope, passing it surreptitiously to Jo as she walks by. He gives her a single nod, meaning that it’s okay for her to read the letter, and so she steps into the living room as the kids take their seats, reads the letter, and returns with it tucked into the pocket of her apron.
“Well,” Jo says with faux brightness as she takes her seat at the table. “Daddy is all caught up on the day.” She turns a high-wattage smile towards Bill that he can tell is clearly not a true reflection of her mood. “So I think we should eat dinner here, and then after I clean up, I think he should do an evening swim with you guys again so that I can take a walk with Frankie and get some exercise.”
The kids hoot and holler with joy as Jo surely knew that they would, and Bill catches her eye across the table. He knows from the look on her face that this is her way of saying she needs to process the letter and that they’ll talk about it later once the kids are asleep. Making any sort of grumbling noises about her going out walking with Frankie will only exacerbate things, so Bill takes it all in stride.
“Good for you, Jojo,” he says, accepting the bowl of applesauce that she passes. “Getting out there and walking in the evenings. You and Frankie are quite the duo.”
Every word between them seems loaded with some sort of unspoken meaning. They had talked about Bill’s feelings towards Frankie as a sitter for the kids while Jo volunteers at the hospital, but they’d tabled that discussion and not brought it up since. Digging that up now might only make things worse in the face of this issue with Margaret’s care, and the increase in monthly fees that comes with it.
“Frankie and I do get along,” Jo says with a tight smile. “Like birds of a feather.”
The rest of dinner is just chitchat and listening to the kids talk about their new friends in the neighborhood, and Jo quickly washes the dishes and sets the kitchen right again before changing into shorts and Keds and a sleeveless shirt.
“I’ll be back in a while,” she says to Bill, kissing each of the kids in turn. “You three get to bed and don’t give Dad any trouble, you hear?”
Bill watches as the front door closes behind his wife before rallying the troops for their evening swim.