Артур Хейли – Airport / Аэропорт (страница 2)
The “t” was for Tanya – Tanya Livingston, passenger relations agent for Trans America, and a special friend of Mel’s. Mel read the note again, as he usually did messages from Tanya, which became clearer the second time. Tanya, whose job combined troubleshooting and public relations, objected to capitals[16]. She even asked a Trans America mechanic to remove all capitals from her ofifce typewriter.
The Vern Demerest in the note was Captain Vernon Demerest, also of Trans America. He was one of the airline’s more senior captains, a militant campaigner for the Air Line Pilots Association, and, this season, a member of the Airlines Snow Committee at Lincoln International. The committee inspected runways and taxiways during snow periods and pronounced them fit, or otherwise, for aircraft use. It always included an active flying captain.
Vernon Demerest was also Mel’s brother-in-law, married to Mel’s older sister, Sarah. However, there was little cordiality between Mel and his brother-in-law, whom Mel considered snobbish and arrogant. Others, he knew, held the same opinion. Recently, Mel and Captain Demerest had had an angry exchange at a meeting of the Board of Airport Commissioners, where Demerest appeared on behalf of the pilots’ association. Mel suspected that the critical snow report – apparently initiated by his brother-in-law – was his revenge.
Mel was not greatly worried about the report. He knew they were coping with the storm as well as any organization could. But the report was a nuisance. Copies would go to all airlines, and tomorrow there would be inquiring phone calls and memos, and a need for explanations.
Mel supposed he had better get ready. He decided he would make an inspection of the present snow clearance situation at the same time that he was out on the airfield checking on the blocked runway and the stuck Aéreo-Mexican jet.
At the Snow Desk, Danny Farrow was talking with Airport Maintenance again. When there was a moment’s break, Mel interjected, “I’ll be in the terminal, then on the field.”
He had remembered what Tanya said in her note about having coffee together. He would stop at his own oficf e first, then, on his way through the terminal, he would drop by Trans America to see her. The thought excited him.
02
Mel used the private elevator to descend from the tower to the administrative part of the building. He entered his own interior oficf e. From a closet, near the wide desk he used in daytime, he took out a heavy topcoat and fur-lined boots.
Tonight Mel himself was without specific duties at the airport. The reason he had stayed, through most of the three-day storm, was to be available for emergencies. “Otherwise,” he thought, as he pulled on the boots, “now I would be home with Cindy and the children.”
Or would he?
“No matter how objective you try to be,” Mel reasoned, “it is hard to be sure of your own real motives.” Not going home, in fact, has become the pattern of his life lately. His job was a cause, of course. It provided plenty of reasons to remain extra hours at the airport. But – if he was honest with himself – the airport also offered an escape from the quarrels between himself and Cindy which occured nowadays whenever they spent time together.
“Oh, hell!” Mel’s exclamation cut across the silence of the ofifce.
He had just recalled that tonight there was another of his wife’s boring charity affairs. A week ago, reluctantly, Mel had promised to attend. It was a cocktail party and dinner, downtown. What the charity was, he didn’t remember. But it made no difference. The causes with which Cindy Bakersfeld involved herself were depressingly similar. The test of worthiness – as Cindy saw it – was the social importance of her fellow committee members.
Fortunately, for the sake of peace[17] with Cindy, the starting time was late – almost two hours from now. So he could still make it[18], even after inspecting the airfield. Mel could come back, shave and change in his oficf e, and be downtown only a little late. He decided to warn Cindy, though. Mel dialed his home number.
Roberta, his elder daughter, answered.
“Hi,” Mel said. “This is your old man[19].”
Roberta’s voice came coolly down the line. “Yes, I know.”
“How was school today?”
“Could you be specific, Father? There were several classes. Which do you want to know about?”
Mel sighed. Roberta, he could tell, was in what Cindy called one of her bad moods. “Do all fathers,” he thought, “abruptly lose communication with their daughters at age thirteen?” Less than a year ago, the two of them had seemed as close as father and daughter could be. Mel loved both his daughters deeply – Roberta, and her younger sister, Libby. There were times when he realized they were the only reasons his marriage had survived. As to Roberta, he had known that as a teenager she would develop interests which he could neither share nor wholly understand. He had been prepared for this. What he had not expected was to be shut out entirely or treated with a mixture of indifference and disrespect. Though, to be objective, he supposed the conflict between Cindy and himself had not helped. Children were sensitive.
“Never mind,” Mel said. “Is your mother home?”
“She went out. She said if you phoned to tell you that you have to be downtown to meet her, and for once[20] try not to be late.”
Mel felt irritation. Roberta was undoubtedly repeating Cindy’s words exactly. He could almost hear his wife saying them.
“If your mother calls, tell her I might be a little late, and that I can’t help it[21].” There was a silence, and he asked, “Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” Roberta said. “Is there anything else, Father? I have homework to do.”
He said, “Yes, there is something else. You’ll change your tone of voice, young lady, and show a little more respect. Furthermore, we’ll end this conversation when I’m good and ready.”
“If you say so, Father.”
“And stop calling me Father!”
“Very well, Father.”
Mel smiled and asked, “Is everything all right at home?”
“Yes. But Libby wants to talk to you.”
“In a minute. I was just going to tell you – because of the storm I may not be home tonight. There’s a lot happening at the airport. I’ll probably come back and sleep here.”
Again a pause, as if Roberta was thinking whether or not she could answer:
“Yes, I will. Goodnight, Robbie.”
“Goodnight.”
There was an impatient shufelf as the telephone changed hands, then Libby’s small breathless voice.
“Daddy, Daddy! Guess what!”
“Let me think,” Mel said. “I know – you had fun in the snow today.”
“Yes, I did, but it wasn’t that.”
“Then I can’t guess. You’ll have to tell me.”
“Well, at school, Miss Curzon said for homework we have to write down all the good things we think will happen next month.”
He thought affectionately: he could understand Libby’s enthusiasm. To her, almost everything was exciting and good, and the few things which were not were brushed aside and quickly forgotten. He wondered how much longer her happy innocence would last.
“That’s nice,” Mel said. “I like that.”
“Daddy, Daddy! Will you help me?”
“If I can.”
“I want a map of February.”
Mel smiled. Libby had a verbal shorthand of her own which sometimes seemed more expressive than conventional words. It occurred to him that he could use a map of February himself.
“There’s a calendar in my desk.” Mel told her where to find it and heard her small feet running from the room; the telephone was forgotten. It was Roberta, Mel assumed, who silently hung up.
Mel left the general manager’s oficf e. He carried the heavy topcoat with him.
On the main concourse[22], he headed toward the Trans America wing. Near the check-in counters, a uniformed supervisor stepped forward. “Evening, Mr. Bakersfeld. Were you looking for Mrs. Livingston?”
“No matter how busy the airport became,” Mel thought, “there would always be time for gossip.” He wondered how widely his own name and Tanya’s had been linked already.
“Yes,” he said. “I was.”
The supervisor nodded toward a door marked, AIRLINE PERSONNEL ONLY.
“You’ll find her through there, Mr. Bakersfeld.”
03
Mel knocked at the door. It opened, and he leaned in. “I was coming by,” he told Tanya.
She said brightly, “Hullo. You got my note?”
“I came to thank you for it.”
Tanya looked at him. Her eyes – a bright, clear blue – had a quality of directness. Her head was tilted, and an overhead light reflected red highlights from her hair. A slim figure, yet with a fullness which the airline uniform heightened… Mel was conscious, as at other times, of her desirability and warmth.
“I might invite you to my place today,” she said. “If you let me cook you dinner. Say, a Lamb Casserole[23].”