Catch Me If You Can Page 0,21
year," I said, and wished immediately I'd said six.
None of the three evinced any surprise, however. It apparently was a tenure compatible with my rank. "What kind of equipment are you on?" queried the co-pilot.
"Seven-o-sevens," I said. "I was on DC-8s until a couple of months ago."
Although I felt like I was sitting on a bed of hot coals all the way to Miami, it was really ridiculously easy. I was asked where I had received my training and I said Embry-Riddle. I said Pan Am had hired me right out of school. After that, the conversation was desultory and indifferent and mostly among the three Eastern officers. Nothing else was directed toward me that might threaten my assumed status. At one point the co-pilot, who was handling traffic, handed me a pair of earphones and asked if I wanted to listen in, but I declined, saying I preferred a rock station. That brought a laugh. I did monitor their talk diligently, storing up the slang phrases that passed among them and noting how they used the airline jargon. They were all three married and a lot of their conversation centered around their families.
The stewardess who served the cabin was a cute little brunette. When I went to the toilet I stopped en route back to the cockpit and engaged her in a conversation. I learned she was laying over in Miami and before I returned to the cabin I had made a date with her for that night. She was staying with a girl friend who lived there.
I thanked the flying officers before deplaning. They casually wished me luck and the captain said the jump seat was generally available "anytime you need it."
I'd never been to Miami before. I was impressed and excited by the colorful tropical vegetation and the palms around the terminal, the warm sun and the bright, clean air. The lack of tall buildings, the seeming openness of the landscape, the gaudy and casual attire of the people milling around the airport terminal made me feel like I'd been set down in a strange and wonderful land. I was inside the terminal before I realized I didn't have the slightest idea where Pan Am housed its people in Miami. Well, there was an easy way to find out.
I walked up to the Pan Am ticket counter and the girl behind the counter, who was busy with passengers, excused herself and stepped over to face me. "Can I help you?" " she asked, looking at me curiously.
"Yes," I said. "This is my first layover in Miami. I'm here on a replacement status. I normally don't fly trips in here, and I came in such a hurry that no one told me where the hell we stay here. Where do we lay over here?"
"Oh, yes, sir, we stay at the Skyway Motel if it's going to be less than twenty-four hours," she responded, suddenly all aid and assistance.
"It will be," I said.
"Well, it's only a short distance," she said. "You can wait on the crew bus or you can just take a cab over there. Are you going to take a cab?"
"I think so," I replied. I knew I was going to take a cab. I wasn't about to get on a bus full of real Pan Am flight people.
"Wait a minute, then," she said and stepped over to her station. She opened a drawer and took out a claim-check-sized card and handed it to me. "Just give that to any of the cab drivers out front. Have a good stay."
Damned if it wasn't a ticket for a free cab ride, good with any Miami cab firm. Airline people lived in the proverbial land of milk and honey, I thought as I walked out of the terminal. I liked milk and I knew I was in the right hive when I checked in at the motel. I registered under my phony name and put down General Delivery, New York, as my address. The registration clerk took the card, glanced at it, then stamped "airline crew" in red ink across its face.
"I'll be checking out in the morning," I said.
She nodded. "All right. You can sign this now if you want, and you won't have to stop by here in the morning."
"I'll just sign it in the morning," I replied. "I might run up some charges tonight." She shrugged and filed the card.
I didn't see any Pan Am crewmen around the motel. If there were any around the pool,