friendand that gives me the right to tell you when I think you're making a mistake. And I think you'll be making a big mistake if you don't grab whatever the big boys decide to give you.'
McLanahan sighed and shook his head. 'It's not that simple, Dave. You know it isn't. My mom… Catherine…
they're both down on this Air Force thing. Have been for a while.
Ever since my dad died it's been a real struggle for my mom to keep the bar going. I've had to watch over things. And Catherine-well, you know Catherine. Her idea of the good life has nothing to do with being an Air Force wife. She keeps prodding me to separate from the service and go into business.
Lately, it's begun to make some sense.'
' Shit, ' Luger said, 'what are you saying to me?That you'd rather be in a three-piece suit shuffling papers, or helping your mom out with the bar?That doesn't make sense. Here, at Ford, you're the best.
Hell, you're probably the best damn navigator at SAC.What would you be outside of the service?Just another guy picking up a paycheck, that's what. 'Luger shook his head. 'It's just not you, Pat. You've got a talent. And you can't turn your back on it. 'McLanahan looked out across the airfield at a B-52 taxiing down the runway, then turned back — to Luger. 'Sometimes,' McLanahan said, 'I think it might not be bad being a civilian again. At least, I'd be making a difference, getting things done, having an effect. Sometimes it seems as if all we do here is run simulations, conduct exercises. 'He paused. 'Take that trainer session today. A part of me sees the point, and another part sees it as just another game.'
'It's a game that could save your life someday,' Luger said, 'but you don't need me to tell you that.'
'No, I guess not,' McLanahan said. He gestured toward his car.
'Listen, Dave, I… I gotta get going. See you tomorrow, okay?'
Luger nodded. He waited until McLanahan had made his way to the parking lot, then called out. 'Hey, Muck!'
McLanahan turned.
'We make a good team, don't we, buddy?'
McLanahan smiled and flashed him the thumbs — up sign.
Thirty minutes later, McLanahan parked his car in front of 'The Shamrock,' the family restaurant and bar, and made his way through the side entrance upstairs to his third-floor apartment. For some reason, he had no desire to run into his mother or siblings just yet.
An assignment!The more he thought about it, the more confused he became. He knew that this time there weren't going to be any more extensions or delays. If he turned down another important assignment it was probably the end of his Air Force career, He threw his flight jacket and briefcase in the closet and dropped onto the sleeper sofa with a tired thud. Unzipping his flight suit to the waist, he looked around his tiny efficiency apartment and shook his head.
The place was spotless-but not because he was a tidy person. Despite the fact that he lived alone, his mother came by every day at ten o'clock and cleaned and straightened it up.
He once tried to discourage her by locking the door and not giving her the key, but his mother, assuming that the lock had broken somehow, had Patrick s brother Paul call a locksmith to open it. She never considered the possibility that her son might just want his privacy He got up, kicking his flight boots into a comcr of the dining room, and went to the kitchen. He found three six-packs of beer in the refrigerator. Popping open a can, he chuckled to himself. His mother hated to see him drinking anything but milk and water, but she always kept his refrigerator stocked.
Without looking, he knew there were fresh towels hanging on the rods in the bathroom and clean dishes in the cupboards.
For a brief second, he felt a pang of guilt. Christ, he thought, what's wrong with this setup?Shouldn't he be happy, living with his family, not worrying about cleaning or cooking?
Luger would probably give his right nut to have such a life.
Around his family, McLanahan was treated as much more than just the oldest sibling. He was the father, the head of the household, the provider and the decision-maker. It was Paul who ran the restaurant and tavern, and it was his mother who cooked and cleaned and served, but Patrick was the oldest, the manager, and therefore got top treatment. That was the way it was supposed to be. That's how Patrick McLanahan, Senior, was treated. That's how things were. Patrick was not even called 'Patrick junior' or 'Junior' or even 'Pat, ' the way his family used to differentiate between him and his father. Patrick was now Patrick, Senior, even though it was unspoken.
Patrick's father was a city policeman who knew nothing else but work from age twenty to age sixty. After he retired from the force, he took jobs as a security guard and private investigator until Paul was old enough to Find 'The Shamrock,' and even then he slaved over his new enterprise like a teenager. The tavern was everything-not a gold mine, but a family symbol, an heirloom.
Patrick's mother turned immediately to her oldest son after the death of her husband. Selling the tavern, and the apartments that went with the building, was unthinkable. Maureen McLanahan gathered her children around her, told them that selling out would be a dishonor, and charged them with keeping the business open. Because Patrick was the oldest, it was up to him to see they did not fail.
With help from his brothers and sister, and large infusions of his Air Force paycheck for improvements, Patrick kept the old tavern in business. He had been determined to turn that money into the security he wanted for his family, and his mother knew he would succeed. After all, he was the head of the household, n am and he was a McLanahan.
The thought of failure never entered Maureen McLanahan's mind.
Surprisingly, the Air Force had cooperated. They had assigned Patrick to a base close to his family and had extended him a few extra years so that he could finish a master's degree and work on the family business' ' His success at the annual SAC Bomb Competition two years in a row, plus his knowledge and skill as a navigator, now made him a very valuable commodity But that extension was about to run out. His future destination-SAC Headquarters in Omaha, Nebraska; the Pentagon in Washington; or a staff position in a B-1 Excalibur unit in South Dakota or Texas-meant high-visibility and prestige, but it also meant moving to a location light-years from home. It was a painful thought.
Why is it so painful?McLanahan asked himself. Why is it so difficult?
'Hello there.'
McLanahan jumped- 'Christ, Cat, ' he asked. 'Did you ever hear of knocking?'
Catherine McGraith glided over, took a genteel sniff of him in his hot, sweaty flight suit, and daintily kissed his lips at a maximum distance.
'I thought I'd surprise you,' she asked. 'Evidently, I succeeded.'
Just seeing Catherine seemed to make things better, he thought. For a moment, he forgot what it was that had been bothering him. Catherine's slender figure-skater body, her tiny upturned nose, her white skin and glistening hair, always made him stop and just watch her, study her, take her in.
He reached out, gathered her in his arms, and kissed her full on the lips. 'Hmmm. You look very nice,' he said. He proceeded to carry her into the living room and fall back with her onto the sofa.
'Patrick!' Catherine said. She pushed him away, but not too hard.
'You'd think you were on alert for a whole month.'
'You make me crazy all the time,' McLanahan asked. 'It doesn't matter how long I've been on alert.'
'It must be the green,' Catherine asked. 'The green flightsuits, the green planes, the green buildings-all that green must make you guys terminally horny.'
'You make me terminally horny,' he said.
Catherine finally managed to push herself away. 'C'mon, now,' she said, rising to her feet. 'I finally succeeded in perfectly timing your arrival home. We have a reservation at the Firehouse in Old Sacramento for seven-thirty. Your mom had your suit cleaned, and you can-' McLanahan groaned. 'Oh, Cat, c'mon. The trainer today was crazy. I had to manually bail out. Besides, I go on alert tomorrow.
I'm really not in the mood for-' 'Alert!Again?You just got back from Bomb Comp. They should give you guys a rest. 'She paused, looking at him.
'Oh, Patrick. Nancy and Margaret from school will be there tonight.
Please, let's go?'
McLanahan looked up at the ceiling. 'I think they are getting rid of me,' he said?'
