Chapter 6
Millie collapsed on the sleek, Maurice Dufrêne chaise longue when she got home. Its lines echoed those of her roadster. Never had a piece of furniture for lounging looked so fast. She probably shouldn’t have bought it, but it was her present to herself after the breakup with Barney.
Peace at last. Her roommate, Beth, wasn’t due home for another half hour or so. Not that she didn’t adore Beth. They’d been friends for years, but sometimes a woman needed to wallow in solitude.
She closed her eyes, and there was Ernie Pritchard, inches from her nose, his manly scent wreaking havoc with her senses.
Heat pulsed through her, and it wasn’t the heat of anger.
Oh, no, this was something else entirely—something that had to be buried deep down where it could never rear its head again.
Picking up a throw pillow, she mashed it over her head as if she could hide from the memory.
She could not be attracted to that cad. It was a moment of madness, nothing more.
It had been a stressful day with that tricky landing.
His rare moments of kindness had thrown her off guard.
And then she’d stepped too close when they were arguing about Vera.
Watch yourself, Mildred. Don’t you let another playboy turn your head.
Sitting up, she composed herself. The madness had passed, and nothing had come of it. She just had to make certain it never happened again.
There was a sound at the door, and Millie hurriedly sat up and put on a nonchalant expression.
Beth walked in, tall and lithe, fresh from tennis practice. Somehow her short brown hair always managed to look pristine, even after heavy exercise. It wasn’t fair.
“You’re home early,” Millie said.
“Coach twisted his ankle. We called it a day.” Beth tossed her gear bag into her room. “How was your first trip with the airmail?”
“As good as could be expected. They’re all hoping I quit, but I made it through without any major mishaps.
The same can’t be said for the man tasked with teaching me the routes.
He had to do an emergency landing outside of Philadelphia because of an issue with his drive shaft.
Fortunately, I was there to save the day. ”
Beth smiled. “Lucky him.” Her blue eyes sparkled as she arched her eyebrows.
“And he didn’t even thank me. Can you imagine?” He acted as though landing in a pumpkin patch was the normal course of business.
“The nerve.”
“Though he did grudgingly compliment me on my flying at the end of the day.” Mm. That was a delicious compliment. So hard won.
“You softened him up with your usual sweetness?”
“Come now. We both know I don’t do sweet.”
Beth observed her carefully for a long moment then pursed her lips. “You like him.”
Dammit. Millie grabbed a pillow and threw it at Beth. “Do not.”
“Oh, you really like him,” Beth said, eyes wide. “Is he handsome?” she asked, throwing the pillow back.
Millie grimaced.
“My, my! You’re blushing. I’ll take that as a yes.” Beth went over to the sideboard with geometric wood inlay and opened a cabinet door to pull out gin, vermouth, and olives. “Martini?”
“Yes, please.”
Beth ducked into the kitchen to get ice from the Frigidaire.
The damned thing cost more than a Model T, but it was worth its weight in gold.
She’d bought one for her parents too, of course, even though Mom swore her regular icebox did just fine.
What was the point of making a small fortune in show business if you couldn’t spoil your family?
“So when are you seeing him again?” Beth asked as she mixed the drinks.
“Monday. We’re supposed to fly to Chicago. I’ll be gone a week.”
“A week away with this mystery man. Should I be planning a wedding?” Beth handed Millie a drink.
“Hardly. He’s a playboy, and his attitudes toward women are appalling. He’s trying to get me to quit, and I don’t think he treats his girlfriend with the proper respect.” She took a drink.
Beth shook her head. “He’s taken? Then why the interest?”
Millie narrowed her eyes. “I’m not interested, but I need to make him see the error of his ways.
The sweet woman he’s dating clearly thinks they’re about to walk down the aisle, and you should have seen his cringe when she casually mentioned grandchildren.
He’s stringing her along, and it’s inexcusable.
The man needs to learn that women aren’t toys. ”
“Oh, no. You can’t be serious. You’re going to try to reform him?” Beth’s wide eyes peered at her over the top of the martini glass.
“How can I stand idly by and let him treat the women in his life like this? I’d be doing a public service.”
Beth shook her head and drank deeply. “I know you can’t resist a challenge, but this is going too far. You’re not going to change him. No one will thank you for trying.”
People never appreciated Millie’s pigheaded persistence, but when did that ever stop her?
“I don’t need thanks. The knowledge that I’ve done a good deed is enough for me.”
“I bet you twenty dollars that every single person involved in this will be worse off by the time you’re done scheming, yourself included.”
Millie sipped and considered. On the rare occasions Beth gambled, she always won. That made this all the more tempting. Wouldn’t it be delicious when Millie emerged victorious against all odds?
“You’re on.”
Millie held out her hand, and they shook on it.
“I can’t wait to collect,” Beth said with a half-smile, raising her glass. “There’s a necklace I’ve had my eye on. By the way, when are we judging this? There needs to be a time limit.”
“One month?”
“Sounds reasonable. One month it is.”
Millie loved Beth. And Beth could not be allowed to win. It should have been illegal for Beth to win as much as she did. She won at tennis. She won at gambling. She won that dance competition when they were sixteen that Millie made her enter on a dare.
When Millie first earned her way into a small fortune and had to navigate the upper echelons of society, Beth, a delightfully wayward Park Avenue-born bluestocking, had volunteered to show her how things were done, and Millie had been so grateful to follow her lead.
But as Millie got her feet under her, their friendship evolved into a cheerful rivalry, and Beth had uncanny luck at besting everyone she met.
One day, Millie was going to win. It would be a day of glorious vindication.
Millie could practically taste sweet victory already.
That twenty dollars was hers. She would use it to buy herself an enormous trophy engraved with her name and the date and time of her victory.
It would be so big it would break the damned shelf that was already groaning under the weight of Beth’s trophy collection. Millie’s would be the biggest.
Not that she was competitive.
And she really did love Beth. Millie downed the rest of her martini. “I have to change. I have a meeting with Mr. Burleson.”
Beth raised her eyebrows and took a sip of her drink. “The head of the Postal Service? My, my! Best of luck, dear!”
Millie ducked into her room to dress for her appointment, already scheming how she was going to get Pritchard to change his ways. But first, she had to survive this meeting with Mr. Burleson.
She put on a long-sleeved green gown with a scoop neck, a low waist, and a full skirt that just covered her knees in the front and draped down to her ankles in back.
It was the most conservative dress she owned, and she could only hope it did its job of convincing Mr. Burleson she was serious about their deal.
She twisted her hair into a haphazard chignon and tied a band of green ribbon that matched her dress around her head.
She pulled on light wool coat to keep away the autumn chill and bid her friend goodbye.
“You really should let me do your hair, you know,” said Beth.
“I don’t have time, but thank you for offering.” She kissed Beth on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
Millie took a cab to Manhattan’s main post office on Eighth Avenue.
It was so large that it took up an entire city block.
Above the grand colonnade around the entrance was inscribed the motto of the Postal Service.
Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.
As she climbed the marble steps, she tried not to think about the deadly consequences for pilots of living this motto.
After asking directions several times and climbing more staircases than she cared to count, she arrived at the heavy door to Mr. Burleson’s corner office. His ancient secretary looked up from pecking at the typewriter at the speed of a sloth. “Miss Aldrich?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman nodded slowly. “He’s expecting you. Go right in.” She turned back to her typing one key at a time without a second glance.
Millie opened the heavy door with a shiny brass knob and entered the dark, wood paneled office with a desk roughly the size of a delivery truck.
The walls were hung with photographs of Mr. Burleson’s accomplishments—the first airmail flight with President Wilson looking on, opening post offices in rural areas, holding up a newspaper article with the headline ESPIONAGE ACT ENFORCER for his role in wartime censorship.
She’d heard rumors that he was a strict segregationist, and sure enough, everyone in the photos was white, making her gut churn. Not to mention male. If he wanted to keep minorities down, he must have loathed letting women gain a foothold.
She turned her attention to the man himself, enthroned behind his desk in a chair fit for a king, his face cast in shadow until he leaned forward.
“You’re two minutes late,” he grumbled before getting up to shake her hand. “Please take a seat, Miss Aldrich.”
As during their previous meetings, he looked imposing in his perfectly tailored suit with his sharp eyes and receding snowy hair.
There was a calculating look to him that never seemed to leave him, as if in every situation, he was weighing his strategic advantage.
The man had a ruthless reputation, and Millie didn’t trust him an inch.
But Mr. Burleson was nothing if not an opportunist. He needed her however much he hated it, and she knew it.
“Good evening, Mr. Burleson.” She took a seat in the unpadded, straight-backed chair opposite him. Was it her imagination, or was the seat lower than usual? It was as if he chose the chair specifically to make whoever was in his office ill at ease. “You wanted to meet with me?”
“Yes, I want an update on your progress. Have you settled in with the airmail operation?” His gruff tone of voice made it clear that he wasn’t asking to be nice.
“Yes, Mr. Burleson. I’ve settled in.” She wasn’t about to mention the hazing she’d received. Any signs of weakness would get her thrown out on her ear.
“Good. Good.” His smile held no warmth. “And how soon can you break a record so that we can do a newspaper feature?”
Wasn’t it a bit early for him to be asking? “Mr. Burleson, I thought I had until Christmas.”
He made a rumbling noise in his throat. “I’m afraid I need you to speed things up.
The Senate Appropriations Committee wants to cut the airmail operation altogether, and I need to show broad public support for it as soon as possible, or that’s the end of flying the mail.
I need to show that women voters are on my side. You have a month.”
Millie gulped. That was barely enough time for her to learn the routes let alone set a new record.
“You look like you have doubts. Should I find someone else? Maybe I could get Katherine Stinson to come back.”
Millie happened to know that Katherine wouldn’t come back no matter what Mr. Burleson offered, but there were plenty of other lady aviators out there anxious to make their marks.
And Millie didn’t want it to be anybody but her.
She hated losing out to anyone on anything and wasn’t about to let someone else steal this opportunity.
“I’ll do it, Mr. Burleson. Have no fear. There’s no need to get anyone else.”
“Good.” His gaze bored into her, and she wished she could get up and leave. “And you’ll stick to the rules?”
For a moment, a vision of blond hair, brown eyes, and a swallow tattoo made her cheeks heat, but she shook it away. There was no chance she’d break the rules for that low-life cad. “No fraternization, and our deal is a secret. I’ll stick to the rules.”
Too much depended on her. It was a heavy enough weight to know she was fighting for women to be allowed to fly the mail, but having the fate of the entire airmail operation on her shoulders made success an absolute necessity.
“I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that you do not say a word about any of this to anyone else, especially about the potential budget cuts. I don’t want anything to distract the men from running the best damn airmail service the world has ever seen.”
“I promise I won’t.” She wouldn’t dare. The consequences if the news got out would be too dire.
The pilots would start looking for other jobs.
Confidence in the airmail operation would plummet.
And, of course, women would never be given the opportunity to fly the mail.
She had to keep this secret at all costs, no matter how hard it might be to look her fellow pilots in the eyes over the month ahead.
Mr. Burleson nodded. “That is all. You’re dismissed.” He turned his attention to some papers on his desk and didn’t bother to rise to say goodbye.
She rose and hurried out, descending endless staircases until she emerged onto the busy thoroughfare of Eighth Avenue.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if someday there was a Postmistress General who would right all the wrongs of her predecessors?
But given how long it had taken for women to win the vote, she didn’t have high hopes it would be anytime soon.
In the meantime, she had no choice but to play by Mr. Burleson’s rules.
As she flagged down a cab, a newfound determination settled in.
In the month ahead, she had to break a record, woo the press, save the airmail, and convince Ernie Pritchard to be a better man. That shouldn’t be too hard, should it?