Blue Skies. Robyn Carr
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And he’s all swishy.”
“And a little squishy, too,” Carlisle said.
By contrast, Carlisle was quite handsome and solid. Thirty-eight, a real blond, he had classically handsome features—high cheekbones, strong chin, great smile. They always were the cute ones.
“All right, Carlisle,” Robert said from inside the house. “He’s gone. Come inside.”
Robert stood in the doorway, very much at ease and unembarrassed. As if he’d been caught picking his nose, not screwing around on his partner. Even knowing he was gay, a woman could be stirred by the Latino’s strong good looks. While Carlisle sometimes exhibited that telltale effeminate affectation, Robert—or Roberto—was what they liked to teasingly call “a man’s man.”
Carlisle’s going to do what he says, Dixie thought in near despair.
“I don’t think so, Robert. I’m going to help myself to some ‘think time.’”
Yay!
“Let’s not drag this out,” Robert said. “That’ll only make it worse.”
Carlisle grabbed his overnight bag and began to pull it down the sidewalk toward the street. Dixie happily trotted along behind him.
“If you leave now, you might not be welcomed back!”
Without turning around, Carlisle lifted his hand in the air and gave him the middle-finger salute. Behind him the door slammed shut.
He didn’t look back. After stowing his suitcase in Dixie’s back seat, he climbed in front.
Dixie got in beside him. “I know that was hard for you, buddy. I’m proud of you.”
He shrugged. “Now what?”
“My house,” she said. “We’ll have a couple of drinks, something to eat and maybe a little bonfire in the backyard grill. I have some pilot clothes I’m thinkin’ of lightin’ up.”
It wasn’t until the very last leg of Nikki’s three-day trip that the work started to get interesting, and not just the flying part. It was Chicago to Phoenix, the sky was a crystal, unmoving blue, and she was ready to put this trip behind her. She had kids to get back to, a dead ex-husband’s personal effects to sort through, and she was more than a little worried about Dixie. The hollow sound in her friend’s voice had alarmed her, and she knew there was more to the injured-first-officer story than she had heard so far. She sincerely hoped Dixie wasn’t homicidal. And to add to her worries, Nikki’s first officer, Bob Riddle, was driving her nuts.
Bob was one of those distinguished-looking men in his early fifties with a deep voice that took on a slightly Southern drawl when he was on the radio and PA. It was a condition often referred to as sky drawl, when a pilot without a Southern accent turned into Chuck Yaeger whenever he got on the radio. Bob was tall and tanned, salt and pepper at the temples, full head of thick dark hair and a strong chin. Upon close inspection it appeared he colored his hair and used tanning cream on his face—those telltale orange stains on his cuticles and in the creases of his palms were dead giveaways. But you had to get close.
His mannerisms were laid back and slow-moving, aping Chuck Yaeger’s loose yet deliberate movements. Except on Bob it was all just affectation, and he had a tendency to look and sound more like that hapless Ted Knight, the anchorman on the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Although married, he was flirtatious and suggestive, and their cabin crew for the last day and a half was all female and seemed to enjoy him a lot more than Nikki did.
Nikki supposed that if the only time you saw him was when you brought a cup of coffee or meal to the flight deck, you might be impressed with his style, but a couple of days alone in the cockpit with him revealed a copilot who was arrogant and barely competent. He acted as though he’d just brought in the space shuttle when, in fact, he had squeaked by his last two check rides, the evaluation of flying ability judged by the company’s check airmen every six months. Nikki had to watch him every second, but so far his stupid oversights had not put them in mortal peril.
This lack of skill seemed incongruous with his background. He’d been flying for thirty years and had held significant management positions along the way, including chief pilot or something at a small regional airline that had been driven under by the economic crises following 9/11. But he was used to smaller and less-complicated aircraft, and this jumbo jet was a lot of airplane for the guy. He’d been flying F.O. for a good year and a half now and still he struggled.
Yet he had the temerity to seem surprised that Nikki was capable of handling a 767. When they met in the cockpit for their first flight together, he had said to her, “Well, let’s see what you got, little lady.”
She had leveled him with her iciest stare. When she finally found her voice, she said, “Look, Bob, I’m not one of those touchy women who overreact to every little sexist remark, but I would like to explain one important thing to you. I have been a check airman and training captain in this aircraft for more years than you’ve been flying it, and I am your captain, not your little lady. If there’s any show-and-tell going on here, you’re the one on stage. Are we clear?”
That had put a burr under his saddle for a while, but now he limited himself to occasional grumbling comments about having held positions a lot more stressful and challenging in the business than she had. Too bad he couldn’t limit his arrogance and incompetence, as well. Nikki wondered for the millionth time why the two always went together. But at least this trip was nearly over.
There was one bright spot, however. He had a hilarious habit of using words that didn’t exist, and did so with typical overconfidence. Nikki found herself mentally repeating them over and over so she wouldn’t forget, and it took all her willpower not to laugh out loud. “The pilots in this company are facing a madrid of problems with our management,” Bob would complain, when he obviously meant myriad. Or, “I wouldn’t have any quelms about participating in a slowdown if it came to that.”
But any humor she felt was quickly disappearing at this moment. While Nikki was in the cockpit, tapping her fingers impatiently on her knee, Bob slowly, oh so slowly, completed the outside walk around preflight inspection of the aircraft. If he were any slower, he’d be going backward, she thought. She finally heard him in the forward galley. “Well, I guess I better strap this baby to my butt and get you ladies back to Phoenix,” he said to the flight attendants. Then he sauntered into the cockpit and took his place…as second in command.
“Mind if I come along, Bob?” Nikki asked.
He looked at her crossly, but forced his lips into a smile. “You’ve got the cutest little sense of humor, Nikki. I love flying with you.”
Yeah, you love it because I keep saving your life, she thought. But she didn’t say anything. This trip was almost over and there was no need to make the last leg miserable.
The ops supervisor came aboard and stuck her head in the cockpit doorway. “Captain, I have two air marshals preboarded and waiting in first class. As soon as you’re ready, we’ll board the rest of the passengers.”
“I’m more than ready,” she said. “I don’t want a late push back. I’ll go talk to them and you can tell the gate agent to get the passenger preboards ready.” She jumped out of her seat. “Bob, prepare to run the checklist while I brief the air marshals and crew.”
Ever since the tragedy of 9/11 and the impending threat to future commercial flights, the undercover armed air marshals were part of the new routine. They were only on random flights, and the crew didn’t know if they were coming until they showed up and flashed their credentials. Dressed as ordinary passengers, they would preboard via the air stairs from the ground outside, not through the jetway at the gate where all the passengers waited. They would be seated close to the cockpit, either in the first class section or the first rows if there was no first class.
The captain’s job was to check their IDs and badges, make sure the numbers matched, and then they would go through a little briefing with the cabin crew. The