narrow stairs from the apartment to the street. In the mean lower hallway, snow had blown under the outer door and covered the bare boards of the floor. Outside, Inez saw, the snow was even deeper than when she came in. The cold, bleak wind assaulted her as she left the building's shelter, whipping more snow into her face.
There was no telephone in the Guerreros' apartment, and although Inez could have used a pay phone in the lunch counter on the lower floor, she wanted to avoid a meeting with the proprietor, who was also the building landlord. He had threatened eviction tomorrow if the Guerreros' arrears of rent were not paid in full. That was something else which Inez had pushed from her mind tonight, and which---if D.O. failed to return by morning---she would have to face alone.
A drugstore, with a pay phone, was a block and a half away. Picking her way through deep snow on uncleared sidewalks, Inez headed there.
The time was a quarter to ten.
The drugstore telephone was in use by two teen-age girls, and Inez waited almost ten minutes for it to be free. Then, when she dialed the Trans America number, a recording informed her that all lines to Reservations were busy, and would she please wait. She waited while the recording repeated itself several times before a brisk woman's voice declared that she was Miss Young, and could she help?
"Please," Inez said, "I want to ask about flights to Rome."
As if a button had been pressed, Miss Young replied that Trans America had direct non-stop flights from Lincoln International to Rome on Tuesdays and Fridays; through New York there were connections daily, and did the caller wish to make a reservation now?
"No," Inez said. "No, I'm not going. It's about my husband. Did you say there was one on Fridays... a flight... tonight?"
"Yes, madam---our Flight Two, The Golden Argosy. It departs at ten o'clock local time, except that tonight the flight has been delayed one hour, due to weather conditions."
Inez could see the drugstore clock. By now, it was nearly five past ten.
She said quickly, "You mean the flight hasn't gone yet?"
"No, madam, not yet."
"Please..." As she often did, Inez found herself groping for words. "Please, it's important for me to find out if my husband is on that flight. His name is D. O. Guerrero, and..."
"I'm sorry; we're not permitted to give out that information." Miss Young was polite but firm.
"I don't think you understand, miss. It's my husband I'm asking about. This is his wife."
"I do unjerstand, Mrs. Guerrero, and I'm sorry; but it's a company rule."
Miss Young, and others like her, were well drilled in the rule and understood its reason. Many businessmen took secrctaries or mistresses along on air trips, listing them as wives, to take advantage of family plan fare reductions. In the past, a few suspicious, genuine wives had checked up, causing trouble for the airlines' customers---the men. Later, it was the men who complained bitterly about breaches of confidence, with the result that airlines nowadays made a policy of not disclosing passenger names.
Inez began, "Isn't there any way..."
"There really isn't."
"Oh, dear."
"Do I understand," Miss Young inquired, "that you think your husband might be leaving on Flight Two, but you're not sure?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Then the only thing you might do, Mrs. Guerrero, is to go out to the airport. Probably the flight hasn't boarded yet; so if your husband is there, you could see him. Even if the flight has boarded, they might help you at the departure gate. But you'd have to hurry."
"All right," Inez said. "If that's the only thing, I suppose I'd better try." She had no idea how she would get to the airport---more than twenty miles away---in less than aa hour, in the storm.
"Just a moment." Miss Young sounded hesitant, her voice more human, as if some of Inez's distress had penetrated through the phones. "I really shouldn't do this, Mrs. Guerrero, but I'll give you a little tip."
"Please."
"At the airport, when you get to the departure gate, don't say you think your husband is aboard. Say you know he's aboard and you'd like to speak to him. If he isn't, you'll find out. If he is, it will make it easier for the gate agent to tell you what you want to know."
"Thank you," Inez said. "Thank you very much."
"You're entirely welcome, madam." Miss Young was her machine-like self once more. "Good night, and thank you for calling Trans America."