Wings

Desmond came in the front door half an hour later, and they besieged him, and finally he convinced her to come out and pose for a few pictures with him and get it over with. He had a great way with them. He always gave them just enough to keep them happy.

“Are you nervous yet?” one reporter shouted at her and she grinned back at them and nodded.

“Only about you tripping me on my wedding day,” she quipped back, and they laughed and shouted at her.

“We'll be there.”

Desmond and Cassie went back inside a few minutes later, and after that the reporters went away, until the following morning.

Her parents arrived the day before her wedding day, and Desmond had arranged for a suite for them at the Beverly Wilshire. None of her sisters had come, finally. It was just too complicated with all of their children. And Cassie was especially touched that Desmond had asked Billy to be his best man. It was really going to be the home team at their wedding. Her father would give her away, even though the ceremony was being performed by a judge. And she had asked Nancy Firestone to be her matron of honor. Nancy had balked at first, claiming that one of her sisters really should be. But in the end, she'd relented after Desmond talked to her. They had selected a gray satin dress for her, and an exquisitely made white one for Cassie, by Schiaparelli. I. Magnin had made her a little hat to match, with a short white veil, and she was going to carry a bouquet of white orchids, lily of the valley, grown locally, and white roses.

Desmond had given her a string of his mother's pearls and a spectacular pair of pearl and diamond earrings.

“You'll be the bride of the year,” her mother said proudly as she looked her over at the hotel. There were tears in Oona's eyes, as she thought she had never seen Cassie look so lovely. She looked radiant, and very excited. “You're so beautiful, Cass,” her mother breathed, and then added proudly, “Every time I look at a newspaper or a magazine, we see your picture!”

And the next day was all that they had expected. Photographers, reporters, and newsreel crews waited outside the judge's home where they were to be married. Even the international press were there. They threw rice at her, and flowers as the wedding party left to return to the Beverly Wilshire, where Desmond had arranged a small reception in a private room. There were even crowds outside and in the lobby of the hotel, because someone had leaked to the press that that was where they were going.

Desmond had invited about a dozen friends, and several of his more important designers were there, particularly the man who had designed Cassie's plane for the Pacific tour. It was an impressive group, and the bride looked like a star in a movie. She was the most beautiful thing Desmond had ever seen, and he beamed as they danced a slow waltz to the “Blue Danube.”

“You look ravishing, my dear,” he said proudly, and then he smiled even more broadly. “Who would have ever thought that the little grease monkey I met under a plane less than two years ago would have turned out to be such a beauty. I wish I'd had a picture of you that day… I'll never forget it.”

She rapped his shoulder with her bouquet and laughed happily as her parents watched her.

It was a perfect day, and after Desmond, she danced with her father, and then Billy. He looked very handsome in the new suit he had bought for the occasion. He was having a great time in L.A., particularly with all the money he was making. And he was enjoying some of the best flying he had ever done, in planes he had longed all his life to get his hands on.

“You have a wonderful daughter, Mrs. O'Malley,” Desmond said warmly to his new mother-in-law. Cassie had bought her a blue dress the same color as her eyes, and a little hat to go with it, and she looked very pretty, and very much like her daughter.

“She's a very lucky girl,” Oona said shyly. She was so impressed by Desmond's elegance and sophisticated air, she could hardly speak to him. But he was very polite to her and very friendly.

“I'm the lucky one here,” he disagreed with her. And a little while later, Pat toasted them and wished them many happy years and many children.

“Not till after the Pacific tour!” Desmond qualified, and everyone laughed, “But immediately thereafter!”

“Hear! Hear!” her father said proudly.

Desmond had decided to let the press in for a round of pictures of them. They were in the lobby anyway, and he thought it was better to do it in a controlled situation. They arrived en masse, led by Nancy Firestone, and they got a very pretty picture of the bride dancing first with Desmond, and then her father. They made a big deal about his being a flying ace from the last war, and Cassie gave them all the details, knowing it made her father feel important.

And then, finally, they escaped to a waiting limousine in a shower of rose petals and rice. Cassie was wearing an emerald green suit, and a big picture hat, and the photographs of her afterward were spectacular, as Desmond lifted her easily in his arms, and put her in the limousine. They were both waving from the rear window as they drove away, and her mother was crying and waving. Her father had tears in his eyes as he stood beside her.

The newlyweds spent the night at the Bel Air Hotel, and the next morning they flew to Mexico, to a deserted beach on a tiny island off Mazatlan, where Desmond had rented an entire hotel just for them. It was small, but perfectly private. The beach was as white as pearls, the sun was brilliant and hot, there was always a gentle breeze, and at night they were serenaded by mariachis. It was the most romantic place Cassie had ever seen, and as they lay on the beach and talked, Desmond reminded her that some of the places she would go on her tour would be even lovelier and more exotic.

“But I don't suppose I'll be spending much time lying on beaches,” she smiled at him, “or with you. I'll really miss you.”

“You'll be doing something incredibly important for aviation, Cassie. That's more important.” He said it firmly, as you would to a child who was not paying attention to her homework.

“Nothing is more important than we are,” she corrected him, but he shook his head.

“You're wrong, Cass. What you're going to do has far, far-reaching importance. People will remember you for a hundred years. Men will attempt to follow your example. Planes will be named for you, and designed after yours. You will have proven that plane travel over vast expanses of ocean can be safe, in the right aircraft. A myriad of people and ideas will be affected. Don't think for a moment that it isn't of the utmost importance,” He made it sound so serious, so solemn, that it didn't even sound like flying. And she wondered sometimes if he attached too much importance to it, like a game that had stopped being fun and had become so vital that people's lives depended on it. Hers did of course, and Billy's, but still… she never lost sight of the joy of it. But he did.

“I still think you're mote important than anything.” She rolled over on her stomach in her new white bathing suit, resting on her elbows. And he smiled down as he saw her.

“You're too beautiful, you know,” he said, looking at the gentle cleavage between her breasts. She had a very exciting body. “You distract me.”

“Good,” she said comfortably. “You need it.”

“Shame on you.” He leaned down and kissed her then, and a little while later they went back to their room. He was amazed, and so was she, at how easily they had adjusted to each other. She had been afraid of him at first, and of what physical love might be, but he had surprised her by not forcing it, and spending their night at the Bel Air merely holding her, and stroking her, and talking about their lives, and their dreams, and their future. They had even talked about the tour and what it meant to them.

It had allowed her to feel at ease with him, just as she always did. And it was only when they reached the hotel in Mexico the following afternoon that he permitted himself to undress her. He peeled her clothes gently away from her, and stood looking at her astounding body. She was long and tall and lean, with high round breasts, and a tiny waist that curved into narrow but appealing hips, and legs almost as long as his. He had taken her slowly and carefully, and in the past week, he had shown her the exquisite ecstasies of their joined bodies. And as with everything he did, he did it expertly and well, and with extraordinary precision. And she had been ready for him. She wanted to be his wife, and to be there for him, and to make love to him, and prove to him that someone loved him. She was healthy and young and alive and vital and exciting. He was much more restrained, but she pushed him to heights he had forgotten for a long time, and he found himself enjoying the unexpected youth and abandon she brought him.

“I don't know about you,” he said hoarsely, after they made love that afternoon, “you're dangerous.” He enjoyed making love to her enormously, much more than he had expected. There was a warmth and sincerity to her, which added to her passion, surprised him and touched him.