Blue Skies. Robyn Carr
Читать онлайн книгу.
her anger at Opal. After all, her mother had had far more faith in Drake than in her own daughter.
Once Opal had married Mayer Gould, a neurosurgeon, and moved to San Francisco, Nikki had only seen her mother on her rare and brief visits to Phoenix. But after Nikki married Drake and moved into the big house in the gated community, Opal had visited more often. And in the last couple of years, since Mayer’s death, Opal was constantly turning up, ostensibly visiting her grandchildren, but Nikki thought it just as likely she was visiting Drake.
And Drake, who couldn’t get along with anyone, had allowed this. According to April, Opal fussed over him, constantly praising everything he said or did. It was as though she had finally found someone who cared as much about money and style as she did, and Drake had found a mother to worship him. Nikki hadn’t cared a whit about that at the time, grateful not to have to deal with her mother herself. And Opal was good with the kids, probably because she was just about as mature.
But now Nikki had to get her life back together, which would be hard enough without Opal questioning every decision she made. Her mother would have to go.
When she got back to the house, Nikki found Opal in the living room, cradling Precious and a magazine on her lap, her two-hundred-dollar shoes kicked off and her slim, pedicured feet up on the ottoman.
Nikki ignored the poodle’s welcoming growl and sat down on the sofa opposite her. “Mother, I’m afraid you’re going to have to go home and let me have some time alone with the kids.”
“What?” she said, straightening.
“I know you’d like to stay, Mother, but we really need some time alone.”
“But won’t you be going back to work? I assumed I’d simply…”
Nikki shook her head. “I have a week off, then a couple of trips. The kids can stay with Buck, like they always have. They have bedrooms there. That’s where I’ve lived the past four years.”
Opal made a derisive sound, as though Buck’s place was beneath them.
“I have to go through Drake’s things, Mother, and I need privacy for that. You can visit again when our life is more organized, and stay as long as you like.”
“I think April and Jared would like me to be here now,” she argued. “And who knows how much time I actually have. I’m not getting any younger, you know. The last time I saw the doctor, he was concerned about a few things.”
By sheer dint of will, Nikki kept from rolling her eyes. Her mother had been suggesting her impending death since she was in her thirties. “You seem very well. I’m sure you’ll be around for many years to come.”
“Don’t be too sure. Carolyn Johanson was three years younger than me, never had a sick day in her life, and—”
Nikki cut her off, unwilling to go down that path again. “I want the kids and I to make decisions about our life without any outside influence.” Like whether we stay in this house or not, she thought, but didn’t dare say that. Opal loved Drake’s house. “I’ll buy you a first-class upgrade to go with your pass,” she bribed.
“Well…”
“And I don’t want you to make this hard on the kids by complaining that I’m sending you away.”
“Well, if the shoe—”
Nikki set her lips in a firm line and shook her head, brooking no argument. Opal traveled free on Aries Airlines at the courtesy of Nikki, a privilege that could be rescinded by Nikki at any time she chose. “Let’s not make things any tougher on the kids than they already are. I’m sure you didn’t bring enough luggage for a long visit, anyway.”
“I did come rather quickly.”
“You don’t want to stick around and bake in this desert heat when you have a lovely home in California.”
“I’ve never minded the heat—”
“And there’s a flight tomorrow afternoon with plenty of room in first class.”
“I much prefer first class,” she admitted.
“Yes. I know.”
Opal scooted to the edge of her chair and wiggled her feet around until they found her shoes. “You’re in mourning,” she said, hanging on to Precious. “You should be indulged right now. I’ve lost a husband, remember. I know what this is like. I wish Mayer’s children from his first wife had left me alone to go through his belongings, but they were not nearly as considerate as I.”
That was Opal. Ousted with all the delicacy of a cattle prod and taking credit for being considerate.
I’m not in mourning! Nikki wanted to shout. I’m enraged! I am so damn tired of getting screwed!
Two
Nikki was back at work a week later—a week in which she had neither gone through Drake’s things nor talked to the kids about their lack of legacy. Now, as she made her way to airport security, she forced her thoughts from her current problems and let her mind wander back to the days when she’d first fallen in love with the aviation industry.
When she was a little girl in the sixties, the airport was a mystical, magical fantasyland and the air crews were like movie stars—so exotic, so glamorous, so beautiful. The pilots were tall and handsome. Women would tilt their heads and gaze dreamily at them, and small children reached out to tentatively touch the silver bands on their sleeves. The “Stews,” as they were called in those days, were slender beauties who showed up to work in narrow skirts and high-heeled shoes, each with a matching square makeup bag that held her cosmetics. The crew would enter the airport en masse—two or three stately, distinguished pilots and their gaggle of long-necked beauty queens—and glide down the concourse toward the big shiny planes. As they passed, the crowds would part like the Red Sea. They were magnificent.
“Do you want to be like one of them when you grow up?” Opal had asked her one day when they were at the airport together.
“Oh, yes,” Nikki said with a deep sigh of longing. “Do you think they’ll let girls be pilots of big heavies by then?”
Opal had groaned, but Buck had smiled down at her. “If they don’t, you can be the first,” he promised.
“You’re hopeless,” said Opal.
It wasn’t just the flight crews that were different, Nikki recalled, but the entire airport scene. And the industry was regulated. The government established the routes for the carriers and there wasn’t much competition, so flights were expensive. Damned expensive. It cost more to fly from New York to Los Angeles in 1975 than it did in 2002. There was a certain formality to flying then. Women wore dresses, sometimes hats and gloves, and men were in their business suits.
Security in those days was almost nonexistent. Crews and passengers alike entered the airport and went quickly to their planes without being subjected to bomb-sniffing dogs and metal detectors. And passengers were extremely well-trained. They did as they were told. They were civil. Polite. No yelling at the gate agent, no demanding compensation for a delayed or canceled flight. Airlines were admired, pilots were revered. If a flight was delayed to repair a mechanical problem, your life had just been saved by their diligence, their skill. Through the flight, passengers were well-behaved. God forbid one of those beauties who served the meals—and they were meals, make no mistake—be abused in the commission of her duties.
There was no denying that times had changed. As Nikki passed through security in her pilot’s uniform, complete with ID badge, she was curtly reminded to take her hat off her head and empty her pockets. Randomly chosen, she was told to step to the side, remove her shoes and extend her arms so she could be scanned with the magic wand. Now, it wasn’t as if just wearing the flying costume should get you special treatment; she could as easily be a bad guy as anyone in civilian clothes. But—
“Hi, Virg,” she said to the security agent with the wand.