Chapter 20
Ernie’s note was burning a hole in Millie’s pocket as she set out for her second trip to Chicago.
She didn’t know whether to be upset or relieved that she would no longer see Ernie at work.
But would she see him outside of work? That was entirely up to her, it seemed.
She’d avoided giving Ernie her contact information, but now that she had his, would she use it?
Through the entire flight to Bellefonte, she thought of little else. As she checked into the Brockerhoff, heated memories assailed her. Everything reminded her of Ernie, his knowing touch, the sinful feel of his body against hers.
When she’d bumped into Thompson at Heller earlier, he said Ernie was in hot water with Mr. Dickson for standing up for her.
Did Ernie really do that? Did he risk his career to argue for her to stay?
She never would have thought it possible when they first met, but Ernie surprised her, and not for the first time.
It seemed he placed a lot of faith in her.
Was she going to repay it by leaving him hanging?
On the other hand, continuing to see him would be madness. A clean break was for the best. No one ever needed to find out what had happened between them. Maybe Beth. She couldn’t lie to her best friend for long. Beth would never tell a soul. But no one else, especially no one at work.
At dinner, she saw Turk Bird sitting alone and decided to go over to speak to him. She’d only met him a couple of times, but he seemed nice enough. He had a friendly, welcoming face and cropped brown hair that was still plastered to his head from wearing an aviator cap all day.
“Turk, it’s good to see you. Where are you flying in from?”
“Cleveland. Join me. It would be nice to have some company.”
He gestured toward the chair across from him.
“With pleasure,” she said, sitting down.
“How were conditions yesterday? I’m flying to Cleveland tomorrow.” With luck, this would be her last practice flight before she made a record attempt on the flight back. She’d already made arrangements to have access to a plane with the necessary fuel capacity.
“About as good as one can expect this time of year. It was sunny and clear, though still cold enough to freeze your…” He cleared his throat. “Freeze your fingers off.”
Funny how they all suddenly felt the need for propriety when she was around. “Just your fingers, Turk?”
He chuckled. “Unlike some of my colleagues, I haven’t lost all my manners. I’m not going to go mentioning unmentionables in front of a lady.”
“I’m not a lady. I’m a pilot.”
He shook his head. “You’re a lady pilot. An aviatrix, as they like to call you in the papers.”
The waiter arrived and took their orders. When he was gone, she asked, “You’ve read about me in the papers?”
“Sure, I have. Hasn’t everyone? My wife can’t read enough about you. She keeps begging me to ask you home for dinner. We’d love to have you, by the way, if you’re ever in the mood. I warn you, though, that she’ll hardly let you eat with all her questions.”
Sometimes she hated being a celebrity. It would have been nice to have dinner with the Gardners, but she didn’t want to be given the third degree all through it. Still, it was only polite to give an answer.
“If our flying schedules allow…”
“Ah. That might be the tricky bit. I think I’m on the opposite schedule of you. We only overlap in the middle, here in Bellefonte.”
Saved by Mr. Dickson. Thank heavens for small miracles.
“Oh, well. If anything changes, we can give it a try.”
Their food arrived, and for several minutes, they ate in companionable silence.
“You know, Pritchard has nothing but good things to say about your flying,” Turk said, breaking the silence.
“Oh?” She couldn’t help but be curious about what Pritchard told his colleagues about her.
“He couldn’t stop gushing about how you landed safely in Cleveland on your first trip without a guide. Did you know I did the pathfinding mission to establish the route? Flying Hell’s Stretch without a guide is no joke.”
“So I’ve learned,” she said, trying not to dread tomorrow’s flight. And the flight home when she’d have to fly over Hell’s Stretch without a break.
“And I heard the weather was against you too. No visibility.”
“That’s the truth. I ended up flying above the clouds, following my compass without being able to see anything below.” It was, frankly, terrifying. And here she was about to attempt Hell’s Stretch again, this time solo.
“Well, we’re all impressed, though none more so than Pritchard. He can’t say enough about you. I guess you really made an impression.”
Yes, she did, but not with her flying. Or at least she hadn’t thought so before talking to Turk. Maybe Ernie respected her as a pilot after all? Would he be upset when she broke his record, or would he be happy for her?
Christ, she missed him. But no good could come of their continuing their affair. It would be foolish in the extreme. She shouldn’t call. No, she definitely shouldn’t call.
“I’d like to hope that if I’m successful, I’ll pave the way for other women. There are a lot of talented female pilots out there looking for a chance to do something more than making spectacles of themselves as barnstormers.” That wasn’t giving too much away about her plan, was it?
Turk gave her a skeptical, indulgent look. “You don’t say. I’ve met few enough women who can handle an automobile, let alone an airplane.”
A flash of anger ruined her good mood.
“I think you’d be surprised what women are capable of,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.
“Well, you certainly surprised me,” Turk continued, oblivious. “I thought Katherine Stinson was one of a kind, and then you came along.”
Her jaw clenched, and she stabbed some carrots with unnecessary violence. “Katherine is certainly unique, but she’s far from the only woman out there flying an airplane. You should see what some of my barnstorming friends can do. I bet they could outfly anyone on the airmail team any day.”
Turk burst out laughing. “No wonder Pritchard likes you. You’re very funny, Miss Aldrich. I can just imagine this competition of yours—a bunch of ladies in frilly dresses climbing into airplanes and attempting loop-the-loops while they clutch their pearls. It sounds better than the circus!”
She saw red. It was all she could do to stop herself from smacking him upside the head.
Stand up and walk away, Mildred. You can’t afford to get into a confrontation. You’re already on thin ice with Mr. Dickson.
“Excuse me. There’s a phone call I need to make.”
Leaving a dollar on the table to cover her meal, she hurried off before he could say anything more.
She headed for one of the phone booths in the lobby and picked up the receiver.
“Hello, Operator? Can you connect me to Manhattan 89502, please?”
“Right away. That’ll be fifty-five cents for the first three minutes and fifteen cents a minute thereafter.”
Millie put the coins into the slot and heard the call connect.
“Beth Gilcrest speaking. Who may I ask is calling?”
“I hate men,” Millie grumbled into the phone.
“Millie?”
“Yes, of course it’s Millie. Who else could it be?” She twisted the phone cord as if wringing Turk’s neck, but it wasn’t really Turk she was angry with. It was all of them.
They all thought women pilots were a joke, an aberration, a circus act. What did it take to prove she was a serious pilot and that women could be just as successful as men in this field?
“Oh, dear. What’s got you riled up this time, darling?”
“Men. All of them. Worthless.”
“Now, now. Let’s start at the beginning. What happened that’s got you so worked up?”
Millie gave the phone cord a vicious yank. “I was having dinner with Turk Bird, and—”
“Turk Bird? What kind of name is that?”
“He got nicknamed Turkey Bird for his wobbly landings, but it got shortened to Turk. His real name is Eddie Gardner, but that’s beside the point.”
“Go on.”
Millie took a deep breath. “We were having a perfectly pleasant conversation about flying, and then he had to go and make a comment about women drivers. And then he made a joke about lady pilots, and I just stormed off. And here we are.”
Beth was silent for a long moment. “You’re right. Men are worthless,” she said at last.
Thank God for Beth! Someone who understood.
“But they have their uses,” Beth continued.
“And can you really blame him for parroting what everyone thinks? And it isn’t only men who share his views.
Closed-mindedness is a disease of our age.
Do you think it would have taken us nearly this long to win suffrage if every woman in the country had joined the cause?
But no. It was only a portion of us fighting the good fight.
My dear, you are a trailblazer, proving what women can do.
They haven’t seen it done before. Is it any wonder the world thinks women can’t fly? ”
Beth was right, of course. Turk was hardly unique in his views. In fact, she couldn’t think of a single man aside from Ernie she’d managed to convince of her perspective.
“You’re right, but men are still infuriating.”
“Is Ernie Pritchard infuriating?”
Millie could hear Beth’s grin through the phone.
Ernie was the most infuriating man of all, even if he was coming around to her point of view. Who else could leave her so restless and unsettled? He got under her skin, no question. And God help her, she liked it.
“Yes. Yes, he is.”
Beth laughed. Millie wanted to strangle her.
“And how furious does he make you?”
Clearly, Beth was trying to goad her into admitting something, but the Ernie conversation wasn’t one she wanted to have over the phone. Millie bit her tongue.
“Your silence speaks volumes, my dear. When you come home, we’re going to have a nice long chat about Ernie Pritchard over martinis, and you’re going to tell me everything.”
Clearing her throat, Millie said, “I should go. I have an early morning tomorrow.”
“Fine. Keep your secrets. For now.”
“See you Monday.”
“Goodbye.”
Millie pulled the piece of paper with Ernie’s number on it out of her pocket and stared at it. So tempting. So very tempting.
No. She wasn’t going to give into this…this…thing between her and Ernie. Naming it would make it feel too real. Men were worthless. All of them. No exceptions.
She stuffed the paper in her pocket and stormed up to her room.
Though she was on another floor, the room was nearly identical to the one she had shared with Ernie.
It was impossible not to imagine him in the bed across from her, clad in nothing but his boxer shorts, waiting for her to give in to the inevitable.
If he was here, she would give in yet again. Perhaps it was a blessing temptation had been removed. Mr. Dickson’s punishment for Ernie was her saving grace. She needed to stay focused on breaking the Chicago record.
To escape the fervid images flickering through her mind as she looked at the beds, she hurried to the bathroom and ran herself a bath.
The steaming water leached away the last of the bone-deep cold from her flight, and she lay back and relaxed at last.
Of course, it would have been nice to relax with Ernie.
More than nice. She closed her eyes and imagined him kneeling beside the tub, soap in hand, slowly cleaning and massaging every inch of her, starting with her feet, and working his way up.
When he reached her head, he washed her hair, fingers moving across her scalp, releasing the last of her tension and sending shivers down her spine, despite the hot water.
Then his slick, bubbly hands dipped down to her breasts, and—
No. She was torturing herself. Ernie was a bad habit she had to quit. Fantasizing was only going to make it worse. Best to keep her mind on safer things.
Hell’s Stretch. She traced the route in her mind’s eye, following the landmarks from the maps she’d studied until her eyes ached. Her shoulders tensed, despite the steamy water. So much for relaxing. But she had to be ready. The morning would arrive all too soon.