Wings. Part 18

"I will. And I'm sure you're right. I feel like a moron for not thinking of it." And the next time she saw her, she realized that Desmond's explanation fit completely. Nancy was short with her more than once, and a little brittle when Ca.s.sie asked her advice about some detail of the wedding. And from then on, for Nancy's sake, Ca.s.sie took Desmond's advice and kept her distance.

She did her best to cope with the press herself, but at times they were truly impossible to deal with.

"Don't they ever stop?" Ca.s.sie gasped one day, as she ran into Desmond's house through the kitchen, and collapsed into a chair, exhausted. She had been trying to move some of her things from her apartment, but someone must have tipped them off. They had arrived en ma.s.se before she ever got through the door, and from then on it was sheer circus.

Desmond came in the front door half an hour later, and they besieged him, and finally he convinced her to come out and pose for a few pictures with him and get it over with. He had a great way with them. He always gave them just enough to keep them happy.

"Are you nervous yet?" one reporter shouted at her and she grinned back at them and nodded.

"Only about you tripping me on my wedding day," she quipped back, and they laughed and shouted at her.

"We'll be there."

Desmond and Ca.s.sie went back inside a few minutes later, and after that the reporters went away, until the following morning.

Her parents arrived the day before her wedding day, and Desmond had arranged for a suite for them at the Beverly Wils.h.i.+re. None of her sisters had come, finally. It was just too complicated with all of their children. And Ca.s.sie was especially touched that Desmond had asked Billy to be his best man. It was really going to be the home team at their wedding. Her father would give her away, even though the ceremony was being performed by a judge. And she had asked Nancy Firestone to be her matron of honor. Nancy had balked at first, claiming that one of her sisters really should be. But in the end, she'd relented after Desmond talked to her. They had selected a gray satin dress for her, and an exquisitely made white one for Ca.s.sie, by Schiaparelli. I. Magnin had made her a little hat to match, with a short white veil, and she was going to carry a bouquet of white orchids, lily of the valley, grown locally, and white roses.

Desmond had given her a string of his mother's pearls and a spectacular pair of pearl and diamond earrings.

"You'll be the bride of the year," her mother said proudly as she looked her over at the hotel. There were tears in Oona's eyes, as she thought she had never seen Ca.s.sie look so lovely. She looked radiant, and very excited. "You're so beautiful, Ca.s.s," her mother breathed, and then added proudly, "Every time I look at a newspaper or a magazine, we see your picture!"

And the next day was all that they had expected. Photographers, reporters, and newsreel crews waited outside the judge's home where they were to be married. Even the international press were there. They threw rice at her, and flowers as the wedding party left to return to to the Beverly Wils.h.i.+re, where Desmond had arranged a small reception in a private room. There were even crowds outside and in the lobby of the hotel, because someone had leaked to the press that that was where they were going. the Beverly Wils.h.i.+re, where Desmond had arranged a small reception in a private room. There were even crowds outside and in the lobby of the hotel, because someone had leaked to the press that that was where they were going.

Desmond had invited about a dozen friends, and several of his more important designers were there, particularly the man who had designed Ca.s.sie's plane for the Pacific tour. It was an impressive group, and the bride looked like a star in a movie. She was the most beautiful thing Desmond had ever seen, and he beamed as they danced a slow waltz to the "Blue Danube."

"You look ravis.h.i.+ng, my dear," he said proudly, and then he smiled even more broadly. "Who would have ever thought that the little grease monkey I met under a plane less than two years ago would have turned out to be such a beauty. I wish I'd had a picture of you that day... I'll never forget it."

She rapped his shoulder with her bouquet and laughed happily as her parents watched her.

It was a perfect day, and after Desmond, she danced with her father, and then Billy. He looked very handsome in the new suit he had bought for the occasion. He was having a great time in L.A., particularly with all the money he was making. And he was enjoying some of the best flying he had ever done, in planes he had longed all his life to get his hands on.

"You have a wonderful daughter, Mrs. O'Malley," Desmond said warmly to his new mother-in-law. Ca.s.sie had bought her a blue dress the same color as her eyes, and a little hat to go with it, and she looked very pretty, and very much like her daughter.

"She's a very lucky girl," Oona said shyly. She was so impressed by Desmond's elegance and sophisticated air, she could hardly speak to him. But he was very polite to her and very friendly.

"I'm the lucky one here," he disagreed with her. And a little while later, Pat toasted them and wished them many happy years and many children.

"Not till after the Pacific tour!" Desmond qualified, and everyone laughed, "But immediately thereafter!"

"Hear! Hear!" her father said proudly.

Desmond had decided to let the press in for a round of pictures of them. They were in the lobby anyway, and he thought it was better to do it it in a controlled situation. They arrived en ma.s.se, led by Nancy Firestone, and they got a very pretty picture of the bride dancing first with Desmond, and then her father. They made a big deal about his being a flying ace from the last war, and Ca.s.sie gave them all the details, knowing it made her father feel important. in a controlled situation. They arrived en ma.s.se, led by Nancy Firestone, and they got a very pretty picture of the bride dancing first with Desmond, and then her father. They made a big deal about his being a flying ace from the last war, and Ca.s.sie gave them all the details, knowing it made her father feel important.

And then, finally, they escaped to a waiting limousine in a shower of rose petals and rice. Ca.s.sie was wearing an emerald green suit, and a big picture hat, and the photographs of her afterward were spectacular, as Desmond lifted her easily in his arms, and put her in the limousine. They were both waving from the rear window as they drove away, and her mother was crying and waving. Her father had tears in his eyes as he stood beside her.

The newlyweds spent the night at the Bel Air Hotel, and the next morning they flew to Mexico, to a deserted beach on a tiny island off Mazatlan, where Desmond had rented an entire hotel just for them. It was small, but perfectly private. The beach was as white as as pearls, the sun was brilliant and hot, there was always a gentle breeze, and at night they were serenaded by mariachis. It was the most romantic place Ca.s.sie had ever seen, and as they lay on the beach and talked, Desmond reminded her that some of the places she would go on her tour would be even lovelier and more exotic. pearls, the sun was brilliant and hot, there was always a gentle breeze, and at night they were serenaded by mariachis. It was the most romantic place Ca.s.sie had ever seen, and as they lay on the beach and talked, Desmond reminded her that some of the places she would go on her tour would be even lovelier and more exotic.

"But I don't suppose I'll be spending much time lying on beaches," she smiled at him, "or with you. I'll really miss you."

"You'll be doing something incredibly important for aviation, Ca.s.sie. That's more important." He said it firmly, as you would to a child who was not paying attention to her homework.

"Nothing is more important than we are," she corrected him, but he shook his head.

"You're wrong, Ca.s.s. What you're going to do has far, far-reaching importance. People will remember you for a hundred years. Men will attempt to follow your example. Planes will be named for you, and designed after yours. You will have proven that plane travel over vast expanses of ocean can be safe, in the right aircraft. A myriad of people and ideas will be affected. Don't think for a moment that it isn't of the utmost importance," He made it sound so serious, so solemn, that it didn't even sound like flying. And she wondered sometimes if he attached too much importance to it, like a game that had stopped being fun and had become so vital that people's lives depended on it. Hers did of course, and Billy's, but still... she never lost sight of the joy of it. But he did.

"I still think you're mote important than anything." She rolled over on her stomach in her new white bathing suit, resting on her elbows. And he smiled down as he saw her.

"You're too beautiful, you know," he said, looking at the gentle cleavage between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She had a very exciting body. "You distract me."

"Good," she said comfortably. "You need it."

"Shame on you." He leaned down and kissed her then, and a little while later they went back to their room. He was amazed, and so was she, at how easily they had adjusted to each other. She had been afraid of him at first, and of what physical love might be, but he had surprised her by not forcing it, and spending their night at the Bel Air merely holding her, and stroking her, and talking about their lives, and their dreams, and their future. They had even talked about the tour and what it meant to them.

It had allowed her to feel at ease with him, just as she always did. And it was only when they reached the hotel in Mexico the following afternoon that he permitted himself to undress her. He peeled her clothes gently away from her, and stood looking at her astounding body. She was long and tall and lean, with high round b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and a tiny waist that curved into narrow but appealing hips, and legs almost as long as his. He had taken her slowly and carefully, and in the past week, he had shown her the exquisite ecstasies of their joined bodies. And as with everything he did, he did it expertly and well, and with extraordinary precision. And she had been ready for him. She wanted to be his wife, and to be there for him, and to make love to him, and prove to him that someone loved him. She was healthy and young and alive and vital and exciting. He was much more restrained, but she pushed him to heights he had forgotten for a long time, and he found himself enjoying the unexpected youth and abandon she brought him.

"I don't know about you," he said hoa.r.s.ely, after they made love that afternoon, "you're dangerous." He enjoyed making love to her enormously, much more than he had expected. There was a warmth and sincerity to her, which added to her pa.s.sion, surprised him and touched him.

"Maybe I should give up flying, and we should just stay in bed and make babies," she said, and then she groaned at herself, thinking that she was becoming just like her sisters. It made her wonder if this was what had happened to them; it was just so easy to be swept away, in the arms of a man you loved, and abandon yourself to the pleasures of the flesh, and their obvious rewards, in the natural order.

"I always thought they were missing so much by marrying so young, and having so many kids," she explained to him as they lay side by side on the bed, their bodies hot and damp and sated. "But I guess I can see now how it happens. It's just so easy to let things be, to be a woman, and get married and have babies."

But Desmond shook his head as he listened to her. "You can never do that, Ca.s.s. You're destined (or far greater things."

"Maybe. For now." If he said so. Right now, she felt as though she were destined (or nothing more than his arms, and she didn't want more. That was enough (or her. Just to be his. Forever. Her sudden introduction to the physical side of him had swept her to a place she had never known, or understood before, and she liked it. "But one day I'd like to have kids." And he had said he would be willing if that was what she wanted.

"You have a lot to do first. Important things," he said, sounding like a schoolteacher again, and she grinned, and turned over to look at him and run a lazy finger enticingly around him.

"I can think of some very important things...." she said mischievously, as he laughed and let her do as she wanted. The results were inevitable. And the sun was setting on their desert island when they fell from each other again like two bits of lifeless flotsam in the ocean.

"How was the honeymoon?" the reporters shouted at them from their front lawn as they got home. As usual, they had somehow learned when the Williamses would be arriving, and as the limousine drove up, the reporters rushed forward. Sometimes it made her wonder how they always knew where they would be and where they were going.

They could hardly get through the door into the house, and then as usual, Desmond stopped for a moment and spoke to them, and while he did, they snapped a thousand pictures. The one on the cover of life the next week was of Desmond carrying Ca.s.sie over the threshold.

But from that moment on, for Ca.s.sie, the honeymoon was over. They had been gone for two idyllic weeks, and the first morning back, he woke her at three, and she was back in training in her North Star North Star by four o'clock that morning. by four o'clock that morning.

Their schedule was grueling and she and Billy were put through their paces a thousand times. They simulated every disaster possible, taking off and landing with one engine, then two, flying in with both engines cut, and practicing landing on the shortest of runways and in ferocious crosswinds. They also simulated landings in all kinds of conditions, from the difficult to nearly impossible. They also simulated long distance flying for hours at a stretch. And whenever they weren't flying, they were poring over charts, weather maps, and fuel tables. They met with the designers and engineers, and learned every possible repair from the mechanics. Billy spent hours practicing with the radio equipment, and Ca.s.sie in the Link Trainer, learning to fly blind, in all conditions.

She and Billy flew hard and flew well; they were a great team, and by April, they were doing stunts that would have dazzled any air show. They spent fourteen hours together every day and Desmond brought her to work at four A.M. A.M., and picked her up promptly at six o'clock every night. He took her home, where she bathed, and they ate a quick dinner. Then he retired to his study with a briefcase full of notes and plans for the tour, and recently with requests for visas. He was also busy arranging for fuel to be s.h.i.+pped to each of their stops. And of course he was negotiating contracts now for articles and books afterward. Generally he brought papers for her to look over too, about weather conditions around the world, important new developments in aviation, or areas they would have to watch out for on the tour, given the sensitivities of the world situation. It was like doing homework every night, and after a long day of flying she was seldom in the mood to do it. She wanted to go out to dinner with him once in a while, or to a movie. She was a twenty-one-year-old girl, and he was treating her like a robot. The only times they went out at all were to the important social events that he thought were useful for her to be seen at.

"Can't we do anything that doesn't have to do with the tour anymore?" she complained one one night when he had brought her a particularly thick stack of papers, and reminded her that they needed her immediate attention. night when he had brought her a particularly thick stack of papers, and reminded her that they needed her immediate attention.

"Not now. You can play next winter, unless you've planned another record-setting flight. Right now, you have to get down to business," he said firmly.

"That's all we do," she whined, and he looked at her with disapproval.

"Do you want to end up like the Star of the Pleiades? Star of the Pleiades?" he asked angrily. It was Earhart's plane, and there were times when Ca.s.sie was sick of hearing him say it.

She took the papers from him, and went back upstairs, slamming her study door behind her. She apologized to him later on, and as always, he was very understanding.

"I want you to be prepared, Ca.s.sie, in every possible way, so there will never be a mishap," But there were elements they both knew he wouldn't be able to antic.i.p.ate for her, like storms, or problems with the engine. But so far, he had thought of everything, down to the merest detail.

Even Pat was vastly impressed by what she told him of their preparations. The man was a genius at planning and precision. And more so at public relations. Even if he was compulsive about all his plans, he had her safety in mind, and her well-being.

And as a reward for her hard work, he took her to San Francisco for a romantic weekend in late April, and Ca.s.sie thoroughly enjoyed it, except for the fact that he had set up three interviews for her when they got there.

Their publicity stepped up radically in May. There were press conferences every week, and footage of her flying in newsreels. She and Billy made appearances everywhere: on radio and at at women's clubs. They did endors.e.m.e.nts and posed for photographs constantly. She felt sometimes as though she had no life of her own anymore, and in fact she didn't. And the harder they worked, and the closer they got to the tour, the less time she and Desmond spent together. He even went to his club a few hours at night sometimes, just to get a breather. And more often than not, by late May, he read papers in his study until he fell asleep there. women's clubs. They did endors.e.m.e.nts and posed for photographs constantly. She felt sometimes as though she had no life of her own anymore, and in fact she didn't. And the harder they worked, and the closer they got to the tour, the less time she and Desmond spent together. He even went to his club a few hours at night sometimes, just to get a breather. And more often than not, by late May, he read papers in his study until he fell asleep there.

She was so sick of it that he suggested she go home for a weekend in May, for a break, and she was relieved to go. She was also happy to see her parents. This time it meant not being with Desmond on her birthday, but he gave her a beautiful sapphire bracelet before she left and told her they'd be together for the next fifty. Even she didn't feel it was a tragedy to miss this one. She was too tense now before the tour to enjoy it much anyway. And she and Desmond seemed miles apart these days. All he cared about was the tour.

It was ridiculous; she was turning twenty-two years old, married to one of the most important men in the world. She was one of the most celebrated women herself, and she was feeling restless and unhappy. All Desmond talked about was the tour, all he wanted to do was read about it, all he wanted her to do was pose for pictures, and spend fifteen hours a day flying. There was more to life than that. At least she thought so, but he didn't seem to know she was alive these days. And in some ways, she wasn't. There was certainly no romance in their life. Just the tour and its myriad preparations.

"How much G.o.dd.a.m.ned flying can we do?" she complained to Billy on the way home. He had decided to come with her for the long weekend. "I swear, sometimes I think I'm beginning to hate it."

"You'll feel better once we get under way, Ca.s.s. It's just rough waiting to go now." The tour was only five weeks away, and they were both getting tense about it. Ca.s.sie could feel it. And on top of it, she had been married for three and a half months, and she felt as though she were no closer to Desmond than before they got married. Their nights together certainly weren't romantic, she thought to herself as they flew east, but she didn't say anything to Billy.

Instead they talked about the press conferences Desmond had set up in L.A. and New York. And he wanted them to go to Chicago for an interview after the weekend, but so far Ca.s.sie hadn't agreed to do it.

"G.o.d, it's exhausting, isn't it?" She smiled at Billy when they were halfway there. She was glad she was going home. She needed to see her parents.

"I figure that later we'll think it was all worth it," Billy encouraged her, and she shrugged, feeling better.

"I hope so."

They flew on in silence for a while, and then he looked at her. She had looked particularly tired and unhappy lately. He suspected that the constant pressure from the press was getting to her. They were a lot easier on him. But they devoured Ca.s.sie, and Desmond never seemed to protect her from them. On the contrary, he liked them.

"You okay, Ca.s.s?" Billy asked after a while. She was like a younger sister to him, or a very best friend. They spent almost all their time together every day, and they never argued, or snapped at each other, or got tired of each other's company. She was going to be the perfect companion for the Pacific tour, and he was gladder than ever that he was going.

"Yeah... I'm okay... I'm feeling better. It'll be good to get home and see everyone."

He nodded. He had gone to San Francisco the week before, to see his father, who was so proud of him. He knew how much Ca.s.sie's family meant to her. She needed them right now, just as he had needed to see his father. And then, suddenly, alone in the plane, he found himself wanting to ask her something he had felt awkward asking her before. But she seemed very relaxed now.

"Do you ever hear from Nick?" he asked casually, and she stared out into the clouds for a long time and then shook her head.

"Nope, I don't. He wanted us both to be free. I guess he got what he wanted."

"Docs he know?" Billy asked quietly, sorry that things hadn't worked out for them. Nick was a great guy, and Billy had always sensed how much Ca.s.sie loved him. Right from the first day he'd met them. It was as though they belonged to each other.

"About Desmond?" she asked, and he nodded. "No. Since he didn't want to write, I figured he'd just hear eventually. I didn't want to write and tell him." She also didn't want to write him and upset the balance.

Something like that could make you just loose enough to make a fatal mistake in a fighter plane, and she didn't want that. "He must know by now. I know he writes to my dad sometimes." But she had never asked Fat if he had told him. It was still too painful to even think about, and she forced him from her mind as they flew over Kansas.

The press was waiting for them as they touched down in Illinois. They had spent the entire day waiting for them at her father's airport. And she knew there wasn't going to be any peace anymore, not until after the tour. It was just too close now.

She did what Desmond always wanted her to, gave them plenty of time, lots of photographs, satisfied them by answering some questions, and then she called it a day, and said she was anxious to go home to her mother.

Her father had been waiting for her, and he posed for photographs with her too, as did Billy. And then finally, the photographers left, and she heaved a sigh of relief, as she and Billy threw their things into her father's truck, and he looked at her with a long, slow smile. But she had noticed as soon as they'd arrived that her father didn't look well.

"You okay, Dad?" He looked kind of gray, and she didn't like it. But she figured maybe he'd had influenza. She knew her mother had when they returned from California. And he worked hard for a man his age. Harder now that Nick was gone, and she and Billy, and Chris.... He had to rely entirely on hired hands, and the usual nomadic crews of wandering pilots.

"I'm fine," he said unconvincingly. And then he looked anxiously at his daughter. Oona said he should have told her on the phone, but he wasn't sure what to say. But she had to know now. Pat hadn't told Nick either. And amazingly neither had anyone else. He had only arrived the night before though.

"Something wrong?" She had sensed his hesitation. Billy was unaware of it, as he looked at the familiar landscape out the window.

"Nick is here," he said all at one gulp, looking straight ahead.

"He is? Where is he staying?" she asked uncomfortably.

"At his own place. But I imagine he'll come by the house eventually. I thought I'd better warn you."

"Does he know I'm coming?" Pat shook his head, and Billy watched her eyes. He had just heard what her father had said, and he hoped it wouldn't upset her too much.

"Not yet. He got in last night. He's just here for a few days. I didn't have a chance to tell him." She didn't dare ask if he had told him she was married.

She said not another word, and a few minutes later she was in the arms of her mother. Billy carried in her things, and Pat took him into Chris's room. His things were still everywhere, and it was a shock to walk in and see it. It made Ca.s.sie's heart ache to look around. It was as though he would be home any minute.

She settled into her old room, and her mother had dinner waiting for them. It was a hot, simple meal of the things Ca.s.sie liked best, fried chicken, corn on the cob, and mashed potatoes.

"I'd be the size of this house if I lived here," Ca.s.sie said happily between mouthfuls.

"Me too," Billy grinned happily, and her mother was flattered.

"You've lost weight," Oona reproached her with a worried frown. But Billy was quick to explain it.

"We've been working pretty hard, Mrs. O'Malley. Test flights fifteen hours a day. Long distance runs all over the country, we're testing everything we can before July."

"I'm glad to hear it," Pat said.

And as Oona cleared the table and prepared to serve them apple pie with homemade vanilla ice cream, they heard footsteps on the porch, and Ca.s.sie felt her heart stop. She was looking at her plate, and she had to force her eyes up to look at him as he came through the door. She didn't want to see him, but she knew she had to. And when she did, he took her breath away. He was more handsome than he had ever been, with his jet black hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a dark suntan. She almost gasped when she saw him, and then she blushed bright red, and no one moved or said a word. It was as though they all knew what was coming.

"Did I interrupt something?" Nick asked awkwardly. He could sense the tension in the room, like another person. And then he saw Billy. "Hiya, kid. How's it going?" He strode around the room to shake his hand, and Billy stood up, grinning, his face still freckled, his eyes alight with pleasure to see him.

"Things are great. What about you, Stick?"

"I'm starting to sound like a limey." And then, inevitably, he looked down at her, and their eyes met. There was a world of sadness in hers, and a look of wonder in his. He had missed her more than he had ever wanted. "Hi, Ca.s.s," he said quietly. "You're looking good. Getting ready for the tour, I guess." The last newsreel he'd seen had talked about it, but it was five months old. They were a little behind the times at Hornchurch, for obvious reasons. He had done nothing but fly for the last year, every moment, every hour, every second. That and pull the bodies of dead women and children from burning buildings in London. It had been a tough year, but he felt as though he were being useful. It was better than sitting here, picking corn from his teeth and waiting for mail runs to Minnesota.

Oona offered him dessert, and he sat down cautiously. He could sense that he had interrupted something, or that they all felt awkward with him. Or maybe he just imagined it. He wasn't sure, but he chatted amiably with Billy and Pat, and Ca.s.sie said nothing. She went out to the kitchen to help her mother. But she had to come back eventually, while they all ate dessert. She didn't touch her apple pie, even though her mother knew she loved it. Pat knew what was wrong with her. And so did Billy. But Nick had no idea what had happened.

He lit a cigarette afterward, and stood up and stretched. He had lost a lot of weight too, and he looked young and firm and lean and very healthy.

"Want to go for a walk?" he asked her casually. But there was nothing relaxed about the question. He knew something was wrong, and he wanted to ask her himself. For a terrifying moment, he wondered if she'd fallen in love with Billy. Nick hadn't been home in almost a year, not since Chris had died. It was just an odd quirk of fate that he had come back when she was here. But as always, he was glad to see her. More than that, it filled his soul with light and air, and all he wanted to do was kiss her, but she was holding back purposely and he knew it. He figured she was probably mad at him. He had made a point of not writing to her all year. He didn't want to lead her on. He had meant what he said when he left her.

"Something wrong, Ca.s.s?" he asked finally, when they reached the stream that ran along the far edge of her father's property. She had said not a single word until then.

"Not really," she said softly, trying not to look at him, but she had to. She couldn't keep her eyes from him. No matter what she had told herself that year about being ready to move on, about caring for Desmond and his needing her, she knew without a doubt she was still in love with Nick, whether he loved her or not. That was the way it was between them. But she would never have betrayed Desmond. She remembered her father's words when she'd told him she wanted to marry Desmond. And she was going to honor her marriage, if it killed her. But it might, she realized, as she looked up at Nick. Just seeing him made her heart ache.

"What is it, sweetheart?... You You can tell me... whatever it is, if nothing else, we're old friends." He sat down next to her on an old log, and took her hand in his, and then as he looked down, he saw it. The thin line of gold on her third finger, left hand. She hadn't worn her engagement ring home this time, just her wedding band, that said it all, as his eyes met hers and she nodded. "You're can tell me... whatever it is, if nothing else, we're old friends." He sat down next to her on an old log, and took her hand in his, and then as he looked down, he saw it. The thin line of gold on her third finger, left hand. She hadn't worn her engagement ring home this time, just her wedding band, that said it all, as his eyes met hers and she nodded. "You're married married?" He looked as though she had just hit him.

"I am," she said sadly, feeling, despite all her explanations to herself, and the fact that he had told her to move on, that she had betrayed him. She could have waited. But she hadn't. "I got married three months ago... I would have told you... but you never wrote anyway... and I didn't know what to say..." Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, and her voice caught as she told him.