Flygirl (30 page)

I close my eyes for just a second, to let it really sink in. “I know.” I realized it before she said it. She looks so happy. Otherwise, I could never let her go. “Well, I guess I'm flying the rest of this war without you.”

Lily smiles at me and touches my cheek. It's an odd gesture, coming from her. “You looked like my mother when you did that,” I tell her.

Lily smiles even wider. “You know, Ida Mae Jones, you were born to be a WASP. You'll do just fine without me.”

 

I stop with my pen above the paper. I don't know what comes next. All I do know is that I've never felt so alone in all my life since Lily left.

“Do you think you'll ever go home, too?” she asked me when I dropped her off at the train station this morning in a borrowed jeep. “Your family would love to have you back.”

“Yeah, I suppose they would,” I told her. “But . . .” There were so many things I couldn't say, so I said nothing. Lily shook her head.

“Like I said, born to be a WASP. Well, stay safe, Jonesy. And good luck.”

“To you, too, Lil.” We hugged for a long time. I promised to come visit, and then she was gone.

I'm not a drinking person, but if I were, I'd have a drink right now. I leave my letter to Jolene unwritten and head across base to the officers' club, where I can get a cold Coca-Cola and enough warm bodies around me not to feel quite so alone.

This is Delaware. The air is damp and cool here. It smells like a summer rain might be on its way. I put my hands in my pockets and walk faster.

The door to the OC swings shut behind me.

“Well, if it isn't Jones.”

“Leave it open, we could use the breeze.”

I peer into the afternoon gloom and see a blond head turned my way. It's Audrey Hill, my old squadron leader from Avenger Field.

“Audrey!” I rush toward her and our vigorous handshake becomes a hug.

“Hey, it's just like the old days at the Avengerette,” Audrey says. She's smoking a cigarette and looks tired around the eyes, but I almost believe her.

“You remember Randi?” She nods to the sultry redhead on the next bar stool, the same one she introduced me to that first night out on the town during training.

“Sure, I do. Men are the enemy, prepare to do battle,” I say echoing our last conversation.

Randi gives me a big smile. “Those were the days, weren't they?” She shakes my hand.

“Say, where's the little gal you used to fly with . . . Lori, was it?”

“Lily.” I feel the temporary ban on my blues vanish. “Well, believe it or not, she got married and she's having a baby.”

“That's a one-way ticket home for sure,” Randi says.

“Good for her,” Audrey exclaims. “See, Randi, that's the way to do it. Find yourself a good man and settle down.”

Randi snorts and I realize there's rum in the Cokes they've been drinking.

“That's what I've been trying to do,” Randi replies.

I fidget with my shirt buttons. “So, what sorrow are you girls drowning today?”

“Sorrow?” Audrey laughs. “No, we're celebrating. You should join us.” She offers me the empty stool beside her. I sit down, glad of the company, even if it is tipsy.

“Barkeep, a drink for the lady,” Audrey says, sounding more than a little like Patsy.

“Coca-Cola, please,” I add.

When the drink comes, I hold it with both hands. I don't seem to know what to do with them otherwise.

“So, what are we celebrating?” I ask again.

“Operation Overlord, of course!” Audrey says, waving her glass in the air. “Don't tell me you don't listen to the news.”

“Or the scuttlebutt,” Randi adds.

“Well, sure,” I reply. “But—”

Audrey interrupts me. “Nine hundred thousand men storming the beaches of France. We've broken the Nazi line, Jones.”

“The war will be over in a week,” Randi exclaims.

“Hear, hear!” Audrey salutes her. “Bloody messy, though,” she adds more quietly. “We lost as many as we took.”

“So I hear,” I say. It's an understatement. Six thousand dead, and they've not finished counting the wounded. I take a sip of my cola. It's gone flat. Quite a celebration.

“I ferried some of the fighters they used in the cover mission,” I tell them. It was an Allied gamble that had worked. Eisenhower faked an attack up the coast of France with phony tanks and a few real planes. Hitler had his eyes on the northern town of Calais when the Allies stormed Normandy to the south.

“Congratulations, Ida.” Audrey clinks her glass against mine. “Consider yourself a toe in the boot that kicked Hitler's arse.”

For the first time, I smile. “I'll drink to that.”

“Now, what else should we celebrate?” Randi asks. She looks like she's celebrated plenty enough to me. But I remember my good news.

“Oh, I know. I'm off to Florida for officers' training. It looks like Jackie Cochran's going to get us militarized after all,” I announce.

I raise my glass, but the other two girls just laugh.

“Aw, Jones, don't you know it's just a show?” Audrey asks. “Like Eisenhower's fake attack over Dover. Jackie thinks if she gets us into planes, the army will keep letting us fly.”

“Well, they have, haven't they?”

“Sure, but not without a lot of complaints. Besides, you heard Randi. Scuttlebutt says if all goes well in France, this war will be over soon. The minute those soldiers come home, it's all over for us WASP.”

“It's not,” I insist. “The men will come back, sure. But we've proven ourselves. We're some of the best pilots they have. We fly safer than any of those flyboys.”

“Sister, you're preaching to the choir,” Audrey says.

Randi nods, her face pressed up against her glass. “What a world, what a world.”

“We've
been
to officer school, Ida,” Audrey explains. “And look at us . . .” She waves her glass around the sad little room. “We're lower than a couple of first-years. It's enough to make you wonder why we ever even signed on in the first place.”

I think of my handkerchief, back in my room, and wonder if I'll be tying on another worry knot soon, but I say nothing. I sip my flat Coke. It tastes like metal on my tongue.

“Go to Florida, have a good time,” Audrey suggests with a pat on my shoulder. “Get a tan. It's fun. But if you wake up one day and you're not an officer in this man's army, remember that's not why you signed on originally. It might take some of the sting out of it.”

Randi rouses herself from where she's slumped against the bar.

“I did it for love.” She burps softly. “For the love of my daddy. Dear old Dad. He always wanted a boy.”

Audrey nods. It's like I'm back at Slidell Methodist, listening to the women testify. “I did it for a fella,” Audrey confesses. “My ex-fiancé, who said I didn't ‘have the head or the heart' to fly.”

“You showed him,” Randi says, slapping her pal on the back.

“What about you, Ida Mae Jones? Whatever made a pretty little thing like you want to go to Sweetwater?”

I blink. It seems so obvious. “I wanted to fly, and my country needed me.”

Audrey smiles and shakes her head, like I've missed the punch line to some huge joke.

“Really? Did the army ask for you? Did President Roosevelt send you a letter requesting your help?”

I shake my head and look at my glass. Once upon a time, I thought that's how it would be, but it wasn't.

“They did for the Originals, you know,” Randi offers.

“Nancy Love's girls, the WAFS.” I nod. “So I've been told.”

“Well, then, Jones, why'd you come?”

I frown at the glass in my lap. It's getting warmer by the second, ice cubes melting away to nothing.

“I came because I knew I could do it, and it beat sitting at home collecting silk stockings while my big brother was getting shot to bits in the Philippines.”

“Aha!
Cherchez l'homme,
” Randi cries triumphantly.

“Yes, indeed.” Audrey salutes me this time. “Isn't it funny, ladies, how there's always a man at the bottom of everything we do? Why, I bet men do all kinds of things that don't involve women.”

“Like fight wars.” Randi hiccups.

My head aches now, almost as much as my heart did when I came in. What Randi says used to be true, but not this time. Men are not the only soldiers in this fight. Whether they like it or not, whether the army wants it or not, we're WASP. And we're helping to end this war.

I finish my Coke and stand up. “The way I see it, ladies, we're still in this one. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go see about a flight to Florida.”

“To Florida!” Audrey and Randi clink their glasses together.

“All right, Jones,” Audrey says to me. “Safe journey. But don't forget, we came to fight a war. When it's over, go home like a good little girl. Uncle Sam promises he'll call us in the morning.”

I leave them laughing at each other in the officers' club. It's colder outside than early June should be, and it leaves me feeling uneasy. That feeling doesn't go away until the next morning, as I board my plane to Florida.

It's just like Avenger Field all over again, only this time, the buses are real Army regulation unit and the air is thick and humid instead of bone dry. Patsy and Lily aren't with me, either. There are other WASP here, of course, even a few faces I recognize from Sweetwater and the places in between, but the most familiar face is one I least expect.

“Ida! Ida Mae Jones!”

Not many men know my name in Florida, especially since it's only the first day of training. But a man is calling it out, clear as day, across the green paths between administrative buildings. I glance at my watch. I'm early for class, so I turn around and look for the source of the voice.

Walt Jenkins comes jogging across the quad toward me, a warm grin splitting his handsome face. I feel a flush rise in my cheeks. It's good to see him. I'm just surprised at how good.

“Instructor Jenkins!”

“Ida,” he says, falling into step beside me. “Please, it's Walt now.”

“Of course . . . Walt.” I blush again just saying it to his face. I clear my throat. “What brings you to Florida?”

“Same thing as you, I'm guessing. Officers' training?”

I blink. “But you're a civilian. And you already work for the army. Why would you enlist?”

“Drafted is more like it. We're full to the top with flight instructors, thanks to you girls being so damn good at your jobs. So, it was officers' school or the infantry. They still need men there.”

My blood goes a little cold. Being a foot soldier is as good as being dead in Europe or the Pacific. “You're a smart man, Walter Jenkins.”

“Why, thank you, Miss Jones.”

Unlike flight school, officers' training is coed. Simply not enough women to set up a whole new school, I guess. Walt Jenkins and I are in the same class. We reach our classroom and still have a few minutes, so we sit on a low brick wall and enjoy the warm breeze that is only slightly cooler than the hot still air. His shoulder brushes against mine and I want to lean against him. Somehow, it feels right to be by his side.

“I'm glad to see you made it down here,” Walt says. “And I was proud of the work you did on the B-29.”

I feel a little tingle of pride. “You heard about that, did you? Lily Lowenstein was my co-pilot. Couldn't have done it without her.”