Flying Blind

“Amy, now please don’t get mad, but considering the events of the evening, I’m having just a little difficulty ascertaining who or what your ‘type’ might be.”

She ducked the question. “Maybe I should say I’m not Paul’s type. You’ve seen Myrtle. She’s his type.”

“Armed and dangerous, you mean?”

She snorted a little laugh. “That’s no joke. He likes flamboyant, outgoing, drop-dead gorgeous ‘dames.’…”

“You ain’t chopped liver, kid.”

The sheet around her had fallen down below the small, perfectly conical breasts. “No, but I’m no curvy cutie- pie, no dolled-up starlet. And on a daily basis, half the little Jean Harlots in Hollywood are throwing themselves at Paul.”

“But is he catching?”

“Yes! Which is why poor old Myrtle is half-bonkers. I’m probably the only woman in California under forty he’s not having an affair with. He’s a ladies’ man, a tomcat from the word go, which is also why he’s not my type. He doesn’t respect women.”

“He has great respect for you. You’re his star pupil.”

Her eyes and nostrils flared. “That’s what I mean! He’s a stunt pilot, and a good one, but he doesn’t begin to have the list of records I have. What sets him above me?”

“Why do you put up with him, then? I would’ve guessed you were very fond of him.”

She shrugged, sighed. “I am. I guess I look at him and see a kindred spirit. He loves to fly, and he’s got adventure in his soul.”

“Well, tonight he had a wife with a .32 in his bedroom.”

“Maybe he’s a little too adventurous. And I respect him. He’s got connections in the aeronautics industry second to none; the guys at Lockheed love him. He knows people, and he knows his stuff.”

“But he’s also a cocky little bastard.”

“Yes. Can I ask you something, Nathan?”

“Shoot…as long you’re not packing a .32.”

“What do you think these are?” she smirked as she pulled the covers up over her breasts. “Listen. You were around the two of us, Paul and me, and even knowing me as well as you do, you thought the two of us might be having an affair, correct?”

“I was convinced of it. I was hoping it wasn’t true, because I couldn’t imagine why any sane woman would prefer that little son of a bitch to a handsome so-and-so like yours truly…but sure. I made you two for an item.”

She mulled that over. “Then G. P. really may have sent those notes himself.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Nathan, tonight…when you saw me in bed with Toni…what did you think?”

“What do you think I thought?”

“Probably that I like to be with women.”

“A reasonable assumption.”

“Yes, but…I like women, uh…You see, I went to several girls’ schools, and that’s where I had my first, oh…this is embarrassing.”

“Then don’t talk about it.”

She swallowed, steeled herself. “There have been women in my life, casually…and a few men, too…. Does that shock you?”

I gave her my best smartass smirk. “So you fly a biplane. So what?”

She tapped my chest, with a playful fist. “I’ll hit you again….”

“It doesn’t shock me, Amy. I’m from Chicago. Takes a cattle prod to shock a Chicagoan.”

“Good. Because I need you to understand my relationship with G. P., and it’s not, uh…Saturday Evening Post material.”

“Not something Norman Rockwell might paint?”

“Not exactly. I was sort of G. P.’s…discovery.”

“I know. He cast you as ‘Lady Lindy’ to make a bestseller. Then the bestseller was such an enormous success, he decided to latch onto you for the sequels.”

“That’s about it, but the whole truth is, I also latched onto him…. Nathan, I didn’t have money. I’m a nurse, a social worker, a teacher, and flying is an expensive…obsession.”

“I remember.”

“He was married, when we were first associated. It sounds ugly, but it’s true: I wrote my first book, about the Friendship flight? Under his and his wife’s roof. Dorothy was wonderful to me…I even dedicated the book to her.”

“I’m sure that made up for you taking away her husband.”