The Hot Pilots (13 page)

Gold nodded. “Okay, Tim.” He reached across the table to shake hands. “You got yourself a deal.”

Campbell grinned. “You know, it sure is a real pleasure doing business with you again, amigo.”

“Apple pie and coffee in a fresh mug,” the waitress said as she placed the food in front of Campbell.

“Put everything on one check,” Campbell told her. “My treat,” he said regally, winking at Gold.

Mrs. Susan Harrison’s new house was a rambling, single-story ranch in the better part of Brentwood. It was set off from the
road by an adobe wall, and further hidden from view by the overgrown landscaping that shaded the front porch. The house had
a terraced swimming pool, set like a glittering topaz in a fragrant garden. A red brick path twisted its way through the wooded
grounds beyond the pool, to a gazebo overlooking a goldfish pond, and then to a serenely isolated brick patio beneath shady
eucalyptus trees.

The sprawling, easygoing house had seemed the essence of Southern California to Susan, and she had tried to furnish it remaining
true to that spirt, with lots of leather upholstery, Shaker-style cedar furniture, Mexican pottery, and bright cotton rugs.
There were rooms that remained empty—a lot of the furniture was still on order—but Susan had no doubt that in time this house
would be a showpiece …

Whether it would ever feel like
home
was yet to be seen …

Susan was having breakfast with her husband and her son in the solarium when she mentioned that her brother was going to be
in Los Angeles in the spring.

“Oh, really?” Don said absently between sips of coffee. The newspaper was propped in front of him. He was scanning the business
section.

“You know what else, Don?” Robbie said excitedly. “When Uncle Steve comes in April, the two of us are going camping!”

Don seemed to flinch. He was frowning as he set down his cup, then crossly called for the maid to come take away the remains
of his breakfast. “What about school, sport?”

“Don, it’ll be spring vacation—” Robbie said.

“He’s got a week off at the end of April,” Susan elaborated, munching on toast.

“I see …” Don angrily looked toward the kitchen. “Where the hell is the maid? Damned woman is as lazy as they come,” he complained.

“Well, what did you expect?” Susan said defensively. “I hired the best person I could find, but you’ve got to realize that
gems like Ramona are few and far between.”

“You know what else?” Robbie was busy bragging to Don. “Uncle Steve said he was gonna teach me to hunt.”

Don shook his head, wincing. “Look, sport, I don’t know if it’s such a good idea for you to be spending your vacation with
your uncle …”

“Huh?” Robbie’s green eyes went wide. “Sure it’s a good idea, Don,” he said patiently.

Susan had to smile. At times like this her fourteen-year-old son was the spitting image of his father. In addition to his
father’s green eyes, thick, straight, coal black hair, and chiseled features, Robert Blaize Greene had inherited his father’s
determined air; once her son had set his mind on something, nothing could dissuade him.

“Hunting is dangerous—” Don began as the maid finally trudged in to clear the table.

“What you mean is that hunting isn’t something sissy.” Robbie was sulking. “Like chess, or model building, and that stuff
you
like—”

“Watch your tone, young man,” Don warned.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Robbie snapped. “You’re not my father!”

“Dammit!” Don exploded.

“That’s enough, both of you,” Susan said quietly but firmly. “Robbie, you go get ready for school.”

“But Don said I can’t go with Uncle Steve—” her son protested.

“Of course you can go with your uncle,” Susan replied. Don looked about to say something, but she silenced him with her eyes.
“But vacation is in April. School is
now
. Get going.”

Don waited until her son had trudged out of the room. “That’s just great,” he complained. “I thought we’d agreed that we weren’t
going to contradict each other in front of him…”

“I’m sorry, darling, but whatever got into you?” Susan asked. “How could you think you could forbid him to spend time with
his uncle?”

Don shrugged, looking away.

“I don’t know why you developed this animosity toward Steve,” Susan continued. “Whenever you see my brother you can hardly
bring yourself to say two words to him.”

“You’re imagining things,” Don said.

Susan sighed. She got pretty much the same evasive response whenever she queried her brother. Her intuition told her that
something had happened between Don and Steve, but the two men were clearly determined to keep it from her.

“I guess I’m just a little jealous about the way that Robbie looks up to Steve,” Don sighed. “Sometimes I think he can hardly
abide me.”

“Now you know that’s not true,” Susan soothed. “He is fond of you, but …” She hesitated.

“But he
loves
his Uncle Steve,” Don said dejectedly . “Is that what you were going to say?” He ruefully chuckled. “I just wish Robbie wouldn’t
call me by my first name … I wish he would call me … Dad … or Pop. … Something like that …”

“Maybe he will, eventually, darling,” Susan murmured. “But you can’t rush the boy…”

“How long am I supposed to wait for him to come around?” Don demanded. “How am I supposed to compete with his war hero Uncle
Steve, the fighter ace, the sportsman, the hunter …”

“You must be patient,” Susan said. “Robbie’s at that age where feats of physical prowess are important to him. When he’s older,
more mature, he will come around … Meanwhile, try to see things from
his
point of view. We did spring the idea of our marriage on him—”

“Suzy, we’d been going together such a long time—”

“And then we took him from his grandparents’ house where he grew up, and moved him here.”

“We’re not even five miles away,” Don muttered. “Chris-sakes, Suzy, you take the kid over there most every day.” He paused,
looking sour. “So what
you’re
telling me is the same thing
he
told me: that I’m not his father, and I’m not to forget that fact, right?”

Susan shrugged. “You’re my husband whom I love, and my son’s stepfather, but yes, you’re correct in saying that you’re not
Robbie’s father.”

“Which means that as far as you’re concerned, I have no authority over him?” he demanded, sounding angry.

“Oh, Don—”

“I want Robbie to spend that vacation week with us,” he declared.

“You’re making this so impossible for me,” Susan said, feeling herself near tears.

“Will you back me or not?”

Susan shook her head. “I’m sorry, darling, but the decision is Robbie’s to make.”

“I see.” Don was staring at her, and for an instant she thought she saw something unfamiliar and frightening in his eyes,
but then he smiled. “Look at the time!” He stood up. “I better get going to the office.”

“Darling? You’re not angry with me, are you?”

“Of course not,” he said. “But I’ve got to run. I’ve got a meeting this morning with your father,” he rattled on. “Don’t want
to be late—”

“I love you—” Susan beseeched.

He paused in the doorway. “And I love you, very much,” he said quietly. “But that was never the issue we were discussing,
was it?”

Susan had no reply to that. He shrugged and left.

She wished that she were going to the office with him, but Don had insisted that she leave her job in order to supervise their
new household. Now, as she sat staring out the windows at her azure pool and her pretty gardens, she couldn’t help feeling
that her marriage had cast her in the role of referee in the never-ending sparring match that had arisen between her husband
and her son.

“Goddammit,” she morosely complained to the empty room, thinking that she loved them both so much; how could two people so
beloved be causing her so much pain?

“
Goddammit—
”

“Something bothering you, Don?” Herman asked.

“No!” Harrison said, startled.

“You sure?” Herman was scrutinizing him. “You looked a million miles away—”

Harrison forced a grin. He was in Herman’s office for their meeting. They were seated in armchairs, a coffee table littered
with folders between them. The meeting had been going on for an hour, but Harrison had been having trouble concentrating.
His mind
had
been elsewhere; brooding over this morning’s confrontation with his stepson and his wife.

He truly loved Susan, and he’d started out feeling genuinely strong affection for Robert. Robbie had seemed to like him, at
first, but as Harrison became more seriously involved with Susan the boy had begun to hold him at arm’s length.

Now Harrison wasn’t born yesterday. He was educated; had read some psychology back in his college undergraduate days. He understood
what Susan had been trying to tell him about Robbie’s insecurities, but what Susan and Robbie seemed to be ignoring were
his
feelings of insecurity. Why couldn’t they ever see it from
his
point of view? Why couldn’t they see that they were always playing it two against one: mother and son against the “wicked”
stepfather? Take this morning: What had he asked for? Only the opportunity to spend some time with his stepson—

—who preferred his Uncle Steve. It made Harrison so fucking angry! It looked like Steven Gold was not going to be content
with stealing away Linda Forrester. Good old war hero Steve was intent upon destroying Harrison’s marriage by turning his
stepson—and through Robbie, his wife—against him …

“Everything okay at home?” Herman suddenly asked.

“Yes, of course!”
Jesus Christ
, Harrison thought, trying to regain his composure.
What’d he, read my mind?

“Good.” Herman was nodding. “Then shall we get back to the matter at hand? We were discussing the European proposal.”

Harrison nodded. “What I still don’t understand is why you feel we have to build a new jetliner for the European market when
we’ve already got a perfectly good plane to sell them.”

“You mean the 909a?” Herman asked.

“Yeah, I do. When we designed a smaller version of the original 909 intended for use on short domestic hops, I thought it
was in the back of our minds that the 909a would be perfect for the European market?”

“I agree with you.” Herman smiled. “Unfortunately, the Europeans want nothing to do with it. They want a homegrown airplane.”

“That’s just so stupid,” Don fumed, frustrated.

“Ah, well.” Herman shrugged. “We ran into exactly the same thing over there back in ‘thirty-six, when we were trying to market
our Monarch GC series of commercial transports. The Monarch series was state of the art then, and the Europeans were dying
to buy them, but jingoistic national pride wouldn’t let them. We got around that problem by subcontracting to the British
firm of Stoat-Black, the manufacturer of our airliners for the European market.”

“That’s how you met Sir Hugh Luddy?” Harrison asked.

“Right. That’s what started GAT’s long association with Stoat-Black,” Herman replied, leaning back in his armchair and fondly
rambling on. “You know, that’s how Susan met her first husband Blaize Greene … Blaize was a test pilot for Stoat-Black in
those days …”

Dammit!
Harrison thought,
If I’m not battling Steve Gold, I’m up against this sonofabitch of a ghost Blaize Greene
—

Herman must have read something in Harrison’s expression. “Of course, that was all a long time ago,” he said quickly. “The
point is, our association with Stoat-Black turned out to be extremely productive, and profitable. That’s why I’m so enthusiastic
about this Skytrain project. GAT, along with Stoat-Black, will be entering into a consortium with the French firm, Aérosens
Aviation, to be called Sky-train
Industrie
. Our transatlantic partnership’s initial project will be to build a short-hop jetliner to be called the Skytrain
Pont
I.”

“The preliminary specs for which,” Harrison said dryly, “appear to be based on our 909a.”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Herman confessed. “Like we’re reinventing the wheel. In a sense, we are, but we’ll make some money
doing it, and long-term, we alone of the American aircraft industry will have established a beachhead in the European market.”

“But only as a member of the Skytrain
Industrie
consortium,” Harrison pointed out.

“We can’t get in on our own.” Herman shrugged. “A slice of the pie is better than none.”

One of Herman’s secretaries appeared in the office doorway. “Excuse me, sir,” she addressed Herman. “I’ve got Hull Stiles
returning your call—”

“Tell Mister Stiles I’ll be right with him,” Herman told his secretary, and then asked her, “Did you get that delivery schedule
from Tyson?”

Harrison perked up. Leo Tyson was the chief of the Commercial Transport production division.

“Not yet, sir,” the secretary said. “He’s working on it.”

“How about Gleason, in sales?” Herman asked, standing up.

“He’s out of the office,” the secretary said. “I left word with his secretary that Mister Gleason is to call as soon as he
comes in.”

“What’s up, Herman?” Harrison asked. “It sounds like you’re selling airplanes to Skyworld?” When Herman nodded, Harrison complained,
“But I haven’t heard anything about this …”

Herman hesitated. “It’s all happened rather suddenly. Just this morning, as a matter of fact.”

“I see …”

“Don, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take this call in private.”

“Sure, Herman …”

“Hull, old buddy—” Harrison heard Herman laugh as he left the office. “Hull, old buddy, it looks like we’re back in business
again—”

Not my day at all
, Harrison thought as he waited for the elevator to carry him down to his office in the R & D department. It seemed that here
at GAT, as in his own home, he was the odd man out, the second choice after Herman’s true son, Steve and Suzy’s first husband,
Blaize. That was why Herman was making deals without him, Harrison brooded. Why Suzy and Robbie were freezing him out at home.
It evidently didn’t matter how hard Harrison worked for Herman, or how much he loved his new family. As far as the Golds were
concerned, he was a second-class citizen. Here at work he could be usurped at any time by Steven, Herman’s flesh and blood,
while at home he seemed unable to exorcise Blaize Greene’s ghost from his stepson’s heart—