Chapter 7 #3
Nikrent scowled in her direction. But there wasn’t much he could say because reporters so far had spent an inordinate amount of time discussing how they all looked and why some of the women wore white jumpsuits while others wore jodhpurs and blouses.
The headlines called them “Petticoat Pilots” and “Flying Flappers.”
“Pictures in five minutes,” one of the photographers called to the women.
Pancho let out a sound of frustration.
“Come on.” Marvel tugged Pancho along with the rest of the group as they retreated behind the first row of planes.
Blanche said firmly, “We’re not going to go out there looking ragtag. Tuck in your shirts. Everyone, comb your hair, put on some lipstick, and powder your nose.”
The women all dutifully pulled out combs, compacts, and tubes of lipstick, except Pancho, who crossed her arms over her chest.
“Howdy, folks!” Will Rogers said as he stepped up to a microphone stand in front of the movie camera set up to record this moment.
The crowd let out a cheer, and he waved back.
“I’ve just got to say how excited I am to be here with these amazing aviators!
We’ve got an amazing turnout of important people here.
Howard Hughes, Roscoe Turner, and everyone knows Wiley Post!
Wiley will be the pilot flying our race officials! ”
The crowd roared with approval.
Amelia commented, “Well, look who’s here. Agent Pullman has shown up to watch the show.”
“He’s about as useful as a milk bucket beneath a steer,” Pancho muttered.
Phoebe chimed in, “He’s only here to make sure I wasn’t lying to him about being a dope runner and am really in this race.”
Blanche offered a compact to Pancho. “Come on. You’ve got owl eyes.”
“We all have owl eyes,” Pancho groused. All the women were pale around their eyes, where their flight goggles protected them from the sun. The rest of their faces were tanned. Amelia, with her closed cockpit, was the exception.
Blanche wasn’t taking no for an answer and poised a powder puff dusted with brown powder in front of Pancho’s face. “Close your eyes or be blinded by this stuff right before the race,” she warned.
“Fine,” Pancho huffed, closing her eyes for Blanche, who went to work dabbing away her goggle rings.
Will Rogers spoke into the microphone as he looked over to where the women were finishing up primping before their official race photo. “Well, I’ll tell you what . . . it looks like a Powder Puff Derby over there!”
There was a collective snap of compact cases in response.
Blanche and the other women scowled at the humorist. Nikrent replaced Will at the microphone.
“If you will all take your seats in the stands, I’m going to give final instructions to the aviators.
Now, ladies, remember, you’re divided into two classes for the race: heavy-engine planes and light ones.
You’ll take off one minute apart, releasing your brakes when the starter waves his green flag at you. The first stop is San Bernardino.”
“Duh,” Pancho grumbled under her breath. The other women grinned at her.
Photographers gestured for them to stand closer together, and the women looped their arms around one another’s shoulders. Their irritation evaporated as the moment to begin finally arrived. Even Pancho smiled brightly.
Cameras clicked, and the movie camera whirred, capturing this historic moment with all the best women pilots in the world gathered together for the very first time.
Marvel turned her head toward Pancho. “Your persistence paid off. We’re really doing this, and on our terms. Honestly, I was afraid they were going to take this away from us at the last second.”
Several of the other women murmured in agreement with Marvel.
“Cliff didn’t give in easily,” Pancho responded. “No one on the race committee did.”
Amelia spoke up. “I’m not going to be a sack of potatoes ever again.”
“None of us are. We’re going to show them women fly as well as men,” Pancho replied.
The women murmured in collective approval.
Nikrent went down the line of pilots, introducing them again for the movie reel. Finally, he released them to go to their planes.
As they started to scatter, a pilot who’d come from Germany to fly in the race, Thea Rasche, said with quiet urgency, “Ladies. A moment. Please. It is important.”
Pancho stopped, surprised. Thea had been keeping a very low profile ever since she arrived for the race, no doubt because of the tensions between her homeland and the United States.
Thea was Germany’s first female pilot after the Great War and Germany’s first female aerobatics pilot.
Nicknamed the “Daredevil of the Skies,” she was widely acknowledged to be one of the world’s best pilots.
“I must trouble you to please read this, how you call it, telegraph,” Thea continued in a thick German accent. She withdrew a folded sheet of paper from her jumpsuit pocket. “What do you think of this?”
Pancho, Marvel, and Amelia leaned in to read the telegram printed on the yellow paper: “Thea Rasche, Clover Field, 3200 Airport Ave, Santa Monica, CA. Beware of sabotage. Stop.”