the stewardess said. “There is no cocktail service on this flight.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t make the rules, Sir,” the stewardess said.
“In that case, bring me two glasses of ice water, please,” the young man said.
And in that moment, with his face turned to look up at the stewardess, Roberta Whatley recognized him. He looked at her, too, but with neither interest nor recognition. But now she was sure. He was a Navy officer, a naval aviator like Tom. The last time she had seen him was at Pensacola, and he had been wearing a high-collared white uniform with golden wings pinned to the breast.
She stole another glance at him to be sure. It was him, all right. His name was Richard Canidy, and he was a bachelor with a terrible reputation. If the stories could be believed, he had carried on with half the unmarried women at Pensacola—and some of the married ones. A dangerous man, a real wolf.
The stewardess appeared with a tray. He folded down the little table on the back of the seat in front of him and put the glasses of ice water on it while Roberta did the same thing with her Coca-Cola.
After the stewardess had gone back down the aisle, Richard Canidy took a swallow of his water, then took a silver flask from his pocket and poured whiskey into the glass.
I know it’s him!
Tom had known Canidy’s roommate, Lieutenant (j.g.) Edwin H. Bitter, at Annapolis; and when they’d had Ed Bitter to supper, even they—the men—had been upset at Canidy’s romantic escapades.
As if he sensed her looking at him, he looked at her. “Would you like a little taste?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” Roberta said primly. “I think it’s against the rules.”
“It’s the only way to fly,” Canidy said.
And then he returned to his puzzle.
He looked at me. If I recognized him, he should have recognized me.
“You’re Lieutenant Canidy,” Roberta accused.
He looked at her. He had very dark eyes. They seemed to look right inside her.
“I’m used-to-be Lieutenant Canidy,” he said. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Tom Whatley’s wife,” Roberta blurted.
“Oh,” he said. “And we’ve met?”
“At Pensacola,” she said. “I didn’t mean that.”
“You didn’t mean what?”
“I’m not Tom’s wife,” she said. “Not anymore, I mean. We were divorced. Just now. That’s what I was doing in Chicago.”
“Oh,” he said. “In that case, are you sure you won’t have a little nip? Either to celebrate or the reverse?”
He reached for the flask, and she didn’t stop him.
Rule One2 had worked, Dick Canidy decided. When he had seen this one walking out to the airplane, and knew becauseit was the only vacant seat that she would be sitting beside him, he decided he would have a shot at her, if for no other reason than that it would make the Chicago- Cleveland-Washington flight pass more quickly. Now it looked as if he might strike gold. His experience was that divorced women had a hunger to prove to themselves that they were still desirable. It followed that that particular flame would burn especially bright a few days after a divorce.
“Just now divorced, you said?” Canidy asked.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Roberta said.
Bingo!
“You said ‘used-to-be’ Lieutenant?” Roberta asked.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Canidy said.
“Sorry,” she said.
“I’m out of the Navy,” Canidy said. “I got out about a year ago.”
“I didn’t know they were letting officers resign,” she said.
“It was decided I would be of more value as an engineer than as an airplane driver,” he said. “And I wasn’t a very good aviator anyway—and a worse naval officer.”
“You don’t mind not being in the service?”
“They’re shooting at naval aviators these days,” he said. “Haven’t you heard?”
I like that, Roberta Whatley decided. Not only is it exactly opposite from what Tom would say, but it’s honest.
“And you like what you’re doing now?”
“It’s all right,” he said.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“Research, in airfoil design for Boeing,” he said.
“I don’t know what that means,” she said.
“An airfoil is a wing,” he said. “As a wing approaches the speed of sound, strange things happen. We’re trying to find out exactly what and why.”
“You mean you’re a test pilot?”
“The only thing I fly is a slipstick,” Canidy said. “Behind a desk.”
“Oh,” she said.
“What happened between you and Tom?” Canidy asked. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I don’t like to talk about it,” she said.
“Excuse me,” he said.
“He wasn’t at Great Lakes three weeks before he started running around,” she said.