Flying Too Close to the Sun Page 11

  “A little over three years. Right now I’m using it to supplement my Shuttle Air pay.”

  “She also mentioned you fly for Shuttle Air. From what we’ve read, the airline’s future looks promising.”

  “In fact, I saw your picture I saw in the New York Times the other day,” Sal broke in. “Everyone quoted said Mister Preis did a great job handling the emergency. I love the way everyone in their stories is always called Mister or Miss, never John, Erik or whomever. I still have a copy around here, somewhere,” he muttered while sliding a pile of papers around.

  A smiling Erik replied, “I’d heard there was a piece, but didn’t know there was also a picture. I just did my job like I was taught. Captain Shepard was the person who landed safely in the lousy weather.”

  Carol broke in. “She was attractive and had her arm around you.”

  “She was real happy with the way I did my job,” Erik replied. “Lots of passengers hugged us as they deplaned. They were really scared.”

  “Carol was very proud of you,” Anita interjected. “She called her friends and told them you were famous.”

  “That’s better than having Mister Preis’ mug shot hanging in some post office,” Erik joked.

  Sal pointed to his watch and told Anita, “We’re due at the party in only a half-hour. We’d better get moving.”

  “Whose party are you going to?” Carol asked.

  “Mom and I were invited to Aunt Pauline’s house for a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary get-together. Where are you guys headed?”

  She looked at Erik, not really certain.

  “I figured we’d go for dinner at a French restaurant in the city. I’ve been there a couple of times and the food is great.”

  Erik was dressed in a charcoal-colored, lightweight sports jacket that fit nicely and went with his black trousers and leather loafers. But, it was his crisp, light green shirt and striped tie matching his eyes that caught Carol’s special attention. “Is that why you wore a jacket and tie?” she asked.

  “It’s a bit on the fancy side.”

  “Then I guess I’d better change.”

  “No! You’re fine.”

  They all departed together.

  While driving, Erik told her, “I was really flattered by what your parents said. And thanks for the tee.”

  “You really are an honest-to-goodness hero. There aren’t many around these days. Your parents must have been thrilled.”

  Erik nodded his head, but couldn’t bring himself to tell Carol neither parent had uttered a word.

  They were headed to Chez Nous, a small French bistro on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. The owner was Monsieur Jean DuBois. His son Peter, From the Woods, aka Woodsy was a close friend of Erik’s. Because of their friendship he and Carol would probably receive above and beyond treatment. When making the reservation Erik made certain Mr. DuBois knew he would be coming with a girl on their first date.

  They drove in Erik’s blue Chevy, making light conversation enroute. Upon entering the crowded eatery, he was surprised when Monsieur DuBois personally greeted them and ushered them to a flawless center stage table surrounded by stylish art nouveau and urns of lush, exotic plants awash with colorful flowers like peace lilies. Pointing to Carol, DuBois inquired, “And who is this stunning young lady?”

  “She’s a very good friend of mine, Carol Rodriguez.”

  The owner kissed her hand, in the process mentioning Erik was fortunate to take such a lovely young woman on a dinner date.

  God bless the French. They certainly know how to make you feel important.

  First came two glasses of smooth champagne. They clinked glasses and spoke in whispers in the soft light, mostly about flying. As she twirled the stem on her champagne glass and inspected the menu, both decided on the Steak Diane. Next came a bottle of fine Chateau Latour served in fluted glasses. Usually a beer man, Erik found the smoothness and fine taste of the red wine a bit bewildering. They enjoyed a leisurely dinner served in individual sterling hotplates, along with escargot. A delicious orange soufflé dessert rounded everything out beautifully. The cultural differences between them quickly vanished in the flood of tasty food and wine. Finishing up their café-au-lait, Erik requested the check and was informed by the maitre d’ that the dinner was courtesy of Monsieur DuBois.

  “You must be pretty important,” Carol cooed. “We come to this fantastic place and don’t even have to pay. Not too shabby.”

  “It’s probably because Monsieur DuBois’ son, Pete and I were friends throughout high school, actually closer to brothers.”

  “You’re so unassuming. It’s probably because he saw your picture in the newspaper.”

  Erik left a nice tip for the waiter and as they were leaving, DuBois stopped them and offered in a heavily accented voice, “I hope you enjoyed your meal.”

  “Everything was fabulous,” a beaming Erik replied, as Carol shook her head in agreement. “And thank you so much.”

  “It was the least I could do. I immediately recognized your picture in the Daily News, and read about how you helped save the planeload of people.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “Ah, but it was,” DuBois offered, shaking his finger.

  “And, how is my friend Woodsy doing?”

  “He is fine. He’s working as a junior member of an accounting firm here in Manhattan. Sometimes he stops in for lunch, but I usually do not see him often because he is so busy with work. He said he eventually wants to become a CPA and a partner in the firm.”

  “That’s great! Please, tell him I said hello.”

  “Where can he reach you?”

  “I’m still living with my parents,” a suddenly deflated Erik replied. “They have the same phone number.”

  “I will tell him to call.”

  Erik made a mental note to write a thank you note to DuBois for the dinner and red carpet treatment.

  . . .

  It was a clear and warm evening on the crowded Manhattan streets with couples strolling and a sky full of twinkling stars visible, even from the sidewalks in the mostly residential East Side. While the city lights burned brightly on Fifth Avenue and the cabs’ muted horns could be heard off in the distance, Erik said, “Where to now? Wanna mosey around here for a while?”

  “Let’s go back to my house instead. After what the owner said, I don’t want to vie with any of the other eight-million people for your attention. Don’t forget, you’re my personal hero.”

  “I’ll never forget that,” a smiling Erik told her. They conversed about lots of things while driving and Erik detected a certain street shrewdness in Carol, an unanticipated trait that surprised him. They were so engrossed with each other she had to remind Erik where to exit. Once inside the darkened Rodriguez home, Carol asked, “Go downstairs and turn on the television while I get us something to drink.”

  Erik descended into a comfortably furnished basement room, plopping down, a remote control in hand on the end of a large white L-shaped couch, which when combined with the paintings and framed pictures lent a seashore atmosphere to the casual room. Carol came down a moment later.

  “I brought you a beer and also made some tea. Which will it be?”

  “Beer will be fine.”

  They watched TV for a few moments. “You want anything else?” she asked.

  Erik didn’t respond but began nervously scanning the channels, bypassing all of the dumb shows the entertainment industry produced for American viewers. He finally laid the remote on the end table. “I doubt if you’d give it to me,” he said, sliding over and placing his arm around her.

  Carol could
feel her heart hammering against her ribcage. This was a new sensation for her because in the past she could always control herself and it was the guy who had trouble. For reasons unknown, this time was different.

  “You probably say the same thing to all your girlfriends.”

  “There are no others.”

  In response, she put her arm around Erik and kissed him on the lips. Carol’s kiss felt as though it contained alternating current electricity and he quickly became aroused. He kissed her neck, which caused a pleasant shiver to run down her spine. As he moved one hand to her breast, she made no attempt to stop him. Her breathing became labored as he gently fondled her hardened nipple and moved his other hand to the light blue, flowered panties and began to rub her. With their tongues now rolling against each other he attempted to slip his hands inside, but when he touched her she immediately pulled away, blurting out, “We only met.” But Erik felt as though he had known her for his entire life and the chemistry between them rendered those words meaningless. Just then, however, the telltale rattling of the electric garage door opening could be heard.

  “My parents! Quick, the bathroom!” she whispered, pushing him in that direction. He felt as though he’d just jumped from a sauna into a snowdrift. Did she have time to straighten her clothing?

  “Hi Mom, Hi Dad. Gee, you’re home early. I’m downstairs, c’mon down.”

  “Lots of people got tired,” her father replied as Erik heard the thumping of shoes on the steps. I guess that’s the price you pay when you’re older? But it certainly beats the alternative.” “Did Erik leave? I thought I saw his car out front.”

  “No. He wanted to wait ‘til you returned. He’s in the bathroom.”

  “Did you guys have a nice time?”

  “It was fantastic. We went to this French restaurant in the city called Chez Nous. It was great.”

  Erik patted his hair down, smoothed out his crotch as best he could and checked for any other telltale signs. Finding none, he flushed the toilet and upon leaving the washroom feigned surprise.

  “Hi. Carol said you’d be a while and I thought I’d keep her company ‘til you returned.”

  “That was nice of you. All of the old folks started to leave, so we did the same,” Sal said, adding with a wink, “actually I didn’t want to spend any more time with my wife’s family. They’re a bunch of—”

  “The true reason was you lost so much money playing poker,” Anita chimed in.

  “It wasn’t that much.”

  “Well, you’re home, so I can leave now.”

  “No, please stay and finish your beer.”

  “It’s getting late,” he said, furtively gazing longingly at Carol. “Plus, I have to work tomorrow.”

  Good-byes were exchanged and Carol walked Erik to the front door. Wrapping her arms around his neck she imparted a long, sensual kiss. Feeling his hardness against her she sighed, “Call me when you have a few moments.”

  “Definitely.”

  He drove home swollen but strangely content, thinking about what might happen the next time they were together alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After hearing David leave for work, Christina donned her favorite tee and loose-fitting jeans and took out the same pad to put some finishing touches on her brainchild. Erik Preis had to be involved because her project couldn’t get off the ground without him. On account of his monetary situation and difficulties with O’Brien, she counted him in. One other person was also needed and she had decided hopefully, Juni Rosario would be that someone. Soon, the sun was high in the blue sky and Christina went to the old stove-top and put up a pot of coffee. This job would be carried out in the same manner as she flew her jetliner, meaning everything would be planned so as to stack the odds as much as possible in her favor. The rich aroma of the coffee beans, combined with the delight knowing everything was quickly coming together kept her functioning at takeoff power.

  While flying the first shuttle later that day, the stimulation of anticipation flowed through her veins as quickly as sound travels through the air and enabled her to take precise mental notes of many topographical features while approaching Logan. On the second Boston flight Christina flipped up the paddle switches, placed the plane on autopilot, turned and casually asked Erik, “Just like we did today, we make most of our takeoffs in Boston on runway 22-Right. Know why?”

  “Probably ‘cause during the warm months the prevailing winds are from the south or southwest and we always take off into the wind.” Why is she asking me a basic aviation question?

  “That’s true, but there’s lots of history when it comes to the Logan field. Like you said, from day one every pilot is taught to take off and land into the wind because it’s safer due to the slower ground speed; basic common sense. But for years common sense was one commodity lacking in the people who ran Logan. Ironically, the airport was named after General Edward Logan, a Spanish American war hero who never even saw a plane. Never having flown must have also been the case with the Massachusetts Port Authority bureaucrats, ‘cause these idiots made noise-abatement procedures take precedence over flight safety by forcing us to make tail wind and horrendous crosswind takeoffs. Can you imagine, speeds over a hundred and fifty miles per hour and their procedures added on another ten or fifteen with needless tailwinds. This continued until a bunch of pilots, including yours truly, went public stating the situation was so dangerous it was a disaster just waiting to happen, but none of the pencil pushers cared. After lots of prodding, our union hierarchy finally sent up a red flag and the entire matter turned into a big political football. But the union held firm, publicly stating flight safety must take precedence over noise abatement. It was the ultimate threat of total noise abatement by airline pilots, no flights in or out of Logan, which finally brought the idiots to their senses.”

  “That little tool works every time,” a smiling Woody interjected.

  Christina still savored the victory. “Strict regulations were enacted, which is why we use 22 Right for takeoff during the warmer months when the prevailing southerly winds bring in heavy fog right around sunset. When we land on the seven o’clock shuttle, you can see the fog banks just lying in wait over the water, ready to cloak the airport. When the sun sets and the landside temperature drops, usually right around our final departure time, the fog rolls in so quickly the visibility is reduced to near zero in a heartbeat. On 22 Right we only need an eight of a mile for takeoff, six-hundred and sixty feet, which is damned little. This translates into almost always using that runway. The noise footprint on 22 Right is also fairly low, so everyone’s happy. We get home safely and our takeoffs don’t upset the locals who apparently vote with their ears.”

  Shortly after their Boston arrival Woody jetted off to the employee cafeteria. Erik was about to leave when Christina’s feathery fingers softly touched his left shoulder. “Let’s chat—privately. Please close and bolt the cockpit door so one can enter, even with a key.”

  Christina swiveled around and faced him with her crystalline blue eyes seemingly taking in everything, but her expressionless image gave back nothing. It was just the two of them surrounded by hundreds of dials and gauges, the myriad of blinking lights reflecting off their faces, giving both a luminescent, bizarre appearance. When Christina finally spoke, her voice was a mere whisper. “Shuttle Air is a small airline and I figure it’s going to wind up in the garbage heap when the larger airlines and the government subsidized high speed trains take us on in the shuttle market. So because of your immediate financial problem and my difficulties, it would be nice to have a sizeable nest egg for future peace of mind for the both of us.”

  “Amen,” Erik replied. What could be coming next?

  To let her words sink in further she told him, “I double-checked i
n Volume One, the official Shuttle Air pilot handbook and your bank problem puts your job at stake. Let me read you an excerpt.” Reaching into her frayed black leather flight bag, she retrieved an approximate two-hundred-page, small, dark blue covered book with large white lettering entitled, Shuttle Air Flight Operations Manual. “This is the bible to management and addresses virtually every aspect of the airline from a pilot’s perspective; how operations are to be conducted, dress code, on and off-duty conduct, stuff like that.” She turned to a folded-back page with a paragraph entitled Fiscal Responsibility and read it aloud: “‘Assignment, attachment, garnishment of wages, complaints from creditors, and/or proven financial irresponsibility will subject the pilot to severe disciplinary action, including discharge.’ It’s crystal clear. If the bank goes to O’Brien and demands your debt be withheld from your paycheck, your employment will be history.”

  “Why are you..?”

  She put up her hand. “But, if you participate in what I’m about to propose, all that goes by the wayside.”

  Erik added in an unusually shrill voice, “Enough!” sounding like he had a degree in advanced whimpery. “What is it?”

  Pavlov was right, she thought. “This is about money,” she stated matter of factly, raising the brows above her previously cool blue eyes, now afire. “And, a nice amount,” attempting to come across as Miss Confidence. “You’ll be able to repay your bank debt and we can both secure our futures no matter what happens to Shuttle Air. I can’t do this by myself. It’s illegal and we’ll both do time if caught, although I’m certain that won’t happen.” She gave Erik a moment to absorb what was said and continued. “Before revealing any more, I need your solemn pledge what I tell you will go no further. We’ll be in this together, all the way with no turning back.” After a short pause adding, “There’s money onboard our last flight and we stand to make a lot...”

  “How much?”

  “Do I have your word you won’t repeat this to anyone?”