never felt in jeopardy. Acapulco is not a place one goes to talk shop.
I stayed on after the stewardess returned to her base in Miami. And the hotel manager became friendly with me, so friendly that I decided to sound him out on my dilemma.
He joined me at dinner one night and since he seemed in an especially affable mood, I decided to make a try then and there. "Pete, I'm in a helluva jam," I ventured.
"The hell you are!" he exclaimed in concerned tones.
"Yeah," I replied. "My supervisor in New York just called me. He wants me to go to London on the noon plane from Mexico City tomorrow and pick up a flight that's being held there because the pilot is sick."
Pete grinned. "That's a jam? I should have your troubles."
I shook my head. "The thing is, Pete, I don't have my passport with me. I left it in New York and I'm supposed to have it with me all the time. I can't make it back to New York in time to get my passport and get to London on schedule. And if the super learns I'm here without a passport, he'll fire me. What the hell am I gonna do, Pete?"
He whistled. "Yeah, you are in a jam, aren't you?" His features took on a musing look, and then he nodded. "I don't know that this will work, but have you ever heard of a woman named Kitty Corbett?"
I hadn't and said so. "Well, she's a writer on Mexican affairs, an old dame. She's been down here twenty or thirty years and is real respected. They say she has clout from the Presidential Palace in Mexico City to Washington, D.C., the White House even, I understand. I believe it, too." He grinned. "The thing is, that's her at the table by the window. Now, I know she plays mamma to every down-and-out American who puts a con on her, and she loves to do favors for anybody who seeks her out wanting something. Makes her feel like the queen mother, I guess. Anyway, let's go over and buy her a drink, put some sweet lines on her and cry a little. Maybe she can come up with an answer."
Kitty Corbett was a gracious old woman. And sharp. After a few minutes, she smiled at Pete. "Okay, innkeeper, what's up? You never sit down with me unless you want something. What is it this time?"
Pete threw up his hands and laughed. "I don't want a thing, honest! But Frank here has a problem. Tell her, Frank."
I told her virtually the same story I'd put on Pete, except I went a little heavier on the melodrama. She looked at me when I finished. "You need a passport real bad, I'd say," she commented.
"Trouble is, you've got one. If s just in the wrong place. You can't have two passports, you know. Thaf s illegal."
"I know," I said, grimacing. "That worries me, too. But I can't lose this job. It might be years before another airline picked me up, if at all. I was on Pan Am's waiting list for three years." I paused, then exclaimed, "Flying jet liners is all I ever wanted to do!"
Kitty Corbett nodded sympathetically, lost in thought.
Then she pursed her mouth. "Pete, get me a telephone over here."
Pete signaled and a waiter brought a telephone to the table and plugged it into a nearby wall jack. Kitty Corbett picked it up, jiggled the hook and then began talking to the operator in Spanish. It required several minutes, but she was put through to whomever she was calling.
"Sonja? Kitty Corbett here," she said. "Listen, I've got a favor to ask..." She went on and detailed my predicament and then listened as the party on the other end replied.
"I know all that, Sonja," she said. "And I've got it figured out. Just issue him a temporary passport, just as you would if his had been lost or stolen. Hell, when he gets back to New York he can tear up the temporary passport, or tear up the old one and get a new one."
She listened again for a minute, then held her hand over the receiver and looked at me. "You don't happen to have your birth certificate with you, do you?"
"Yes, I do," I said. "I carry it in my wallet. It's a little worn, but still legible."
Kitty Corbett nodded and turned again to the phone. "Yes, Sonja, he has a birth certificate... You think