Aces (36 page)

“I’m not telling you this expansion notion is out of the question,” Gold remarked. “All I’m saying is that it has me worried.
This is my company, after all.”

“Yes, sir,
Mister Gold
—”

Gold chose to ignore Campbell’s sarcastic tone. He wanted to keep the lid on this.

Campbell’s fingers tapped impatiently on his desk. “Herman, can I speak frankly?”

“Of course.”

“Gold Aviation—the whole business of designing airplanes—is your baby.”

Gold nodded. “And it’s your job to oversee the financial health of the company, and sell our airplanes.”

“But that’s not enough for me, Herman. I want to do more. I want to do for Gold Transport what you’ve done for Gold Aviation.
I want our colors to dominate the skies.”

“Big dream,” Gold quietly remarked.

Campbell shrugged and smiled. “No bigger than the dream somebody had about building an airplane based on a goddamned sea gull’s
wing…”

“Point well taken.” Gold chuckled.

“Give me this chance.” Campbell said solemnly. “I can make it happen.”

“Okay,” Gold said. “You’ve got your chance.”

“Thank you, Herman.”

“Fuck that.” Gold waved him quiet. “I owe you. I wouldn’t have made it this far if you hadn’t been backing me up.”

“You won’t regret this.” Campbell grinned.

“Hope not.” Gold nodded, heading for the office door. “Just remember one thing, Tim. This is still my company, and I believe
that GAT’s ace in the hole is its design talent. I intend to exploit that talent by increasing our manufacturing capability.
As long as there’s extra money in the till, you can play. But Gold
Aviation
will
always
come first.”

Gold stopped off at his office to change out of his suit into corduroy pants, a faded blue work shirt, and a pair of old oxford
brogues. He went downstairs, and out to his car. He left Santa Monica, driving northwest on Ventura; after about ten miles
he left the city of Los Angeles behind, entering into the open country of Burbank.

The Stutz raised a cloud of dust as it traveled through the acrid, tawny landscape studded with patches of pale-green sage
and shaggy desert palm. Gold saw hawks circling in the flawless azure sky. Now and again brown jackrabbits the size of dogs,
their long ears folded back over their lean haunches, would dart across the macadam ahead of the Bulldog Tourer’s wire-spoked
wheels. Gold turned off the main road, onto a dirt access road that led up to a barbed-wire fence. Erica’s green Packard roadster,
coated with dust, was parked on the shoulder. Erica was out of the car, standing near the gate, which sported large
KEEP OUT: PRIVATE PROPERTY
signs. She was wearing a pink cotton sundress, leather sandals, and a floppy-brimmed, white linen sombrero. She smiled and
waved to him as he pulled up.

Gold set the brake on the Stutz and got out of the car. “You look so good, you must be a desert mirage,” he said, taking her
in his arms.

As she tilted back her head to receive his kiss the sombrero fell to the ground. She’d been spending a lot of time out-of-doors
sunbathing. Her skin was tan, and her blond hair shimmered with highlights in the sunshine.

“I still don’t know why you dragged me out here,” Erica murmured, her arms sliding around his waist.

“I told you. it’s a surprise. Now come on, get in the car.”

Gold opened the gate. He drove the Stutz along the bumpy, packed-dirt trail. All around them as far as they could see there
was nothing but sand and rocks and chaparral, the parched monotony occasionally, inexplicably, shattered by vibrantly colorful
wildflowers: poppies the rich yellow of egg yolk; fire engine red scarlet gilia; bright baby blue-eyes.

Gold drove slowly, mindful of the Stutz’s suspension. They crawled along for a bouncing, jolting quarter mile, and then he
stopped the car. In the sudden silence they heard a faraway coyote’s mournful yodel. “We’re here,” Gold said.

Erica looked around. “How can you tell?”

Gold pointed out several foot-high wooden stakes fluttering scraps of red cloth. “That’s where the ground-breaking ceremony
for the new plant is going to take place.” He got out of the car and went around to open the trunk. “I thought we’d have a
little picnic.” He took out a blanket and spread it out on the ground. “Just the two of us. To celebrate.”

“That’s your surprise?” Erica demanded, amused.

He went back to the trunk to fetch a wicker basket and a red metal cooler. “I brought champagne. Dom Perignon. Had to special-order
it from our buddy Freddie the bootlegger.”

Erica smiled. “Darling, you know how I get when I’m tipsy.”

“That’s what I was hoping.” Gold plopped the basket and cooler onto the blanket and settled down. Erica followed him over
and sat down beside him. She began to rummage through the basket. “I see fruit, and cheese, and crackers, but no champagne
glasses.”

“Damn, I knew I forgot something,” Gold said, opening up the cooler and removing the champagne. “Oh well, we’ll just have
to pass the bottle.”

“How swank…” Erica shook her head, laughing.

Gold shrugged. “This is our land,” he said proudly as he stripped the foil from the neck of the emerald champagne bottle.
“We can do what we like on it. Our closest neighbor is a movie studio, and they’re miles away. We’ve got one hundred and nine
acres of pristine wilderness that is not long for this world. Where the bees are buzzing and the jackrabbits fuck is soon
to be a mammoth airplane factory—”

“Darling, do leave that part about the bunnies out of your speech at the actual ceremony.”

“—with hangars. And parts and fuel-storage facilities, and paved roads, and a pair of runways, and a big sign that tells the
world it all belongs to Gold Aviation and Transport.”

“In other words, to you.”

Gold, struggling to pop the champagne cork, looked up and smiled.

“But right now, I think you’d better direct your attention to something
else
that belongs to you…” She untied the bows on her shoulder straps, letting the sundress slip down to her waist. Her breasts
were startlingly white in the sun.

The cork finally popped. The champagne, jostled from the bumpy ride, overflowed the lip of the bottle. Gold sprayed her breasts
with foaming wine. Erica laughed. Gold pinned her down on the blanket. He licked her pink nipples, glistening with droplets
of champagne.

She drew his head up, to kiss him. “I love you very much, you know.”

“And I love you, and this is only the beginning for us,” Gold swore to her. “We’re back on top, and this time we’re going
to stay there.”

STOCK CRASH HAS MARKET IN UPROAR—

Congress Presses for Investigation into Wall Street—

Hoover Reassures the Nation that Business Is
Fundamentally Sound—

New York Business Journal

AIR INDUSTRY FLIES HIGH DURING NATION’S
HARD TIMES—

Local Congressman Charges Defense Projects Bolster
Aviation Stocks And Asks: “If Aviation’s on the Dole,
        Why Not Auto Industry?”—

Detroit Telegraph

WATRES ACT PASSES CONGRESS—

New Law Aimed at Corruption and Waste in Air
Transport Industry—

Act Nixes All but Largest, Most Experienced Air
Carriers—

Washington Star Reporter

KNUTE ROCKNE AMONG THOSE KILLED IN FIERY KANSAS PLANE CRASH—

Investigators Point to Wood Rot in TWA Fokker
Tri-motor—

All Fokkers Grounded for Inspections—

Los Angeles Gazette

CRISIS AS BANKS CLOSE THEIR DOORS TO THE COUNTRY—

President-Elect Roosevelt Blames Big Business for Woes
and Vows His “New Deal” Will Bring Sweeping
        Changes—

Boston Times

JAPAN INVASION REACHES CHINA’S GREAT WALL—

Japan Quits League of Nations to Protest Vote
Condemning Invasion—

Milwaukee Sun

GERMANY ELECTS HITLER CHANCELLOR—

Receives Nazi Salute From Cheering Throngs—

Miami Daily Telegraph

Gold stared at the two envelopes on his desk. In one was Tim Campbell’s resignation: just a few, cursory, typed lines on a
sheet of stationery tinged yellow, gone brittle with age. Campbell had hand-delivered the resignation seven years ago, when
he’d come to work for what was then Gold’s down-on-its-luck, seat-of-the-pants operation.

The other envelope had arrived in the morning’s mail. Inside it was an anonymous, typed note claiming that Campbell was trying
to take over Gold’s company behind his back.

Gold swiveled in his leather chair to stare out his office windows. His top-floor view overlooked the complex’s airfields,
where planes were scattered like children’s toys; the yellow shack of a security-guard outpost; the high, chain-link fence
topped with barbed wire; and beyond all that, the immutable, tawny, California hills. Gold couldn’t claim that he didn’t miss
his old view of Santa Monica Bay, but these hills had their own serene beauty.

As Gold gazed out the windows, the light changed. Suddenly he could make out his own ghostly reflection in the glass. He was
wearing a new, double-breasted, gray sharkskin suit. His tailor had suggested the double-breasted suit style as a way to “slim”
the paunch he’d seemed to have developed, and, in general, to look more “youthful and vigorous.”

The tailor had seemed anxious when he’d made the comments, but Gold hadn’t taken offense. He could look in a mirror as well
as anyone. He was only thirty-six, but he’d lost most of his hair on top. He was just one of those people who happened to
look a little older than they really were…

Gold forced his attention back to the envelopes. The thing to do was confront Campbell, hear what the man had to say. Gold
buzzed his secretary. “Tell Mister Campbell I want to see him immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” A few moments later she was back on the line to say that Campbell was on his way.

Gold stared sadly at the envelopes, realizing that one way or the other, a precious, sustaining friendship was about to end.
As he waited for Campbell to arrive he thought about how far he and Tim had come.

Back in 1927, GAT and its competition were ready and eager to capitalize on the growing public interest in air travel spurred
by Charles Lindbergh’s solo flight across the North Atlantic. Investors who were once reluctant and had to be coaxed to put
their money behind airline ventures now flocked to make aviation stocks the toasts of Wall Street. GAT, American Airways,
Eastern Air Transport, United Aircraft, Transcontinental Air Transport, and the other big aviation companies flourished in
the economic boom times.

Thanks to Campbell’s aggressive expansion policy, Gold Transport now controlled half the major CAM routes, as well as the
large share of the private freight and passenger business as far east as Kansas City. The original GAT stock was split, and
new issues were offered. Its value kept skyrocketing.

Early one morning in the fall of 1928, Gold, Tim Campbell, Hull Stiles, and Teddy Quinn gathered at the Burbank construction
site, where phase one of the factory/office complex was nearing completion. All four men had owned sizable holdings in GAT
ever since the stock had first been issued. As they watched the sun rise on the sprawling building, they passed a bottle of
scotch between them, quietly joking and congratulating each other on becoming millionaires.

GAT’s G-1a Dragonfly six-passenger airliner hit the market in the first quarter of 1929 and was a success. Campbell, with
Gold’s blessing, used the occasion to restructure GAT into two separate companies. GAT remained the airplane design and manufacturing
concern, while Gold Transport changed its name to Skyworld Airline.

Skyworld now had its own annual stockholders’ meeting and board of directors. Tim Campbell and Hull Stiles sold their GAT
holdings back to Gold, giving up their seats on GAT’s board, in order to invest heavily in Skyworld. Campbell became president
and C.E.O. of the new airline. Hull Stiles, who knew the air transport business better than anyone in the industry, became
executive vice president and chief operating officer. Gold, who held a majority of GAT, and a twenty percent controlling interest
in Skyworld, remained chairman of both companies.

Due to Campbell’s prodding, Gold had originally been enthusiastic about the restructuring, but as soon as it was a
fait accompli
, he began to regret what he’d been talked into. When it had all been one company, Gold’s relationship with his partners had
been straightforward: he was the king and they were his ministers. Now things were more complicated, and Gold often thought
of himself as being like Shakespeare’s King Lear: his realm was passing from his control. Take Hull Stiles, for instance.
These days Hull was working out of Skyworld’s new, luxurious airport terminal and office complex in Los Angeles. Hull had
used to report to Gold on a daily basis, but since the restructuring, Gold rarely heard from his old flying buddy. Now Hull’s
reports were going directly to Campbell, who was juggling his time between the airport facility and Burbank. Gold toyed with
the notion of reestablishing his direct control of Skyworld—after all, he was still chairman of the airline—but he hesitated,
not wanting to further disrupt what had become a stressed relationship with Campbell.

From the beginning, Campbell’s expertise had allowed Gold to devote more time to his first love, aeronautical design and engineering,
and so Gold had been happy to delegate his authority to Campbell on financial, managerial, and administrative matters. Since
the restructuring, Campbell had changed from being Gold’s right-hand man into an advocate for his “own company.” Gold often
found himself arguing with an increasingly belligerent Campbell. Days would pass during which they would do their best to
avoid each other in the halls. Gold was uncomfortable with the situation, but he didn’t know how to address the problem. If
he took the drastic step of acting to remove Campbell from his position, the move would deeply divide the airline’s board
and create concern on Wall Street. Gold wasn’t even sure he could convince the rest of the Skyworld board to go along with
him. Campbell was doing a terrific job, even if he
was
freezing Gold out of the day-to-day operation.