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: So what else is new? Apparently she decided not. “Will you speak to Libby now?”

“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].”

He hesitated, then reluctantly shook his head. “I wish I could. But we’ve some trouble here, and afterward I have to be downtown.” He got up. “Let’s have coffee, anyway.”

“All right.”

Mel held the door open, and they went out into the noisy main concourse.

As they made their way through the crowds and increasing piles of luggage, she moderated her normally brisk pace to Mel’s slower one. He was limping rather more than usual, she noticed. She wanted to take his arm and help him, but supposed she had better not^[24]. She was still in Trans America uniform. Gossip spread fast enough without helping it actively. The two of them had been seen a lot lately in each other’s company, and Tanya was sure that the airport rumor machine had already taken note. Probably it was assumed that she and Mel were sleeping together, though, that was untrue.

They were headed for the Cloud Captain’s Coffee Shop in the central lobby.

“About that Lamb Casserole,” Mel said. “Could we make it another night? Say, the day after tomorrow?”

The sudden invitation from Tanya had surprised him. Although they had had several dates together – for drinks or dinner – until now she had not suggested visiting her apartment. Of course, going there could be for dinner only. Still… there was always the possibility that it might not.

Lately, Mel had sensed that if their meetings away from the airport continued, there could be a natural and obvious progression. But he had moved cautiously; instinct was warning him that an afaf ir with Tanya would be no casual romance but a deeply emotional involvement for them both. It was strange, he thought, that when a marriage was secure it seemed easier to manage an afaf ir than when the same marriage was shaky. Just the same^[25], Tanya’s invitation seemed too tempting to pass up.

“The day after tomorrow is Sunday,” she said. “But I’ll be off duty, and if you can manage it, I’ll have more time.”

Mel grinned. “Candles and wine?”

“Okay,” she said. “Candles and wine.”

Mel had forgotten it would be Sunday. But he would have to come to the airport anyway because, even if the storm moved on, there would be aftereffects. As to Cindy, there had been several Sundays when she had been out, herself, without an announced reason.

As they entered the coffee shop, an energetic hostess recognized Mel and led him, ahead of others, to a small table, marked RESERVED, which airport ofifcials often used. When they sat down, Tanya said, “Did you ever see such crowds? This has been the wildest three days I remember.”

“If you think this is a big crowd tonight, wait until the civil version of the C-5A^[26] goes into service,” answered Mel.

“I know – we can barely cope with the 747s^[27]; but a thousand passengers arriving all at once at a check-in counter… God help us!” Tanya shuddered. “Can you imagine what it’ll be like when they collect their baggage? I don’t even want to think about it.”

Mel was amused to find that their conversation had already drifted into aviation. Airplanes and airlines held a fascination for Tanya, and she liked talking about them. So did Mel, which was one of the reasons he enjoyed her company.

“You remember,” he said, “a few years ago, when the jets first started flying – what conditions were like at airports which had been designed for DC-4s^[28].”

“I remember,” Tanya said. “I worked at one. On normal days you couldn’t move for the crowds; on busy days you couldn’t breathe. We used to say it was like holding the World Series in a sand lot.”

“What’s coming in the 1970s,” Mel predicted, “is going to be worse. And not just people congestion. We’ll be choking on other things, too.”

“Such as what?”

“Airways and trafifc control for one, but that’s another whole story. The really big thing is that we’re moving toward the day – fast – when air freight^[29]