Flying Jenny Page 9

  As Jenny moved the nose of the plane down in her glide, she could see people the size of little ants moving below and felt a compassion for them that she never felt face to face: how dreary for them that they couldn’t skim along the rim of the world the way she was doing.

  The plane would always support you; just handle it right, and it would do as you said. She’d been guiding dancing partners around the floor since grade school with more effort than this.

  Leaning over the side again, she set her path for what looked like an airport runway. The sweet silence was beginning to be broken by the muffled noises of the city below. She had to set her sight lines now, because she would have no front vision once she pulled her nose up to set her down. She grinned. That apparently was exactly what happened to Pancho Barnes during the derby when she’d landed on a car coming into the airport in Pecos. Dumb driver had pulled right under Pancho, and plop! Everyone had been talking about it in Cleveland before Jenny left.

  She saw a line of cars that must be running on a highway. It was difficult to tell if they were moving because of her own speed, but surely they were. No reason for them to be in a line otherwise. As she drew nearer, looking over the side, she saw how close several cars were to the spot she was aiming for. She could also see people coming out of hangars on the field—at least they knew she was heading in. She hoped the motorists had the sense to see her and get out of her way. But with no noise from her shut-down engine, and the rattle of their own little traps, she knew they probably had no way of hearing her approach. She was swooping down with the silence of a large bird. She gripped her stick, lifted the plane’s nose, and prepared to set down right in front of that middle hangar.

  “Here I come, ready or not!” she yelled to the wind. She felt a slight bump, a glancing blow, just before she set the Bellanca down on the spot she had picked out. Oops, hope my wheels didn’t leave too big a dent in his car roof, she thought. At least she hadn’t tapped the guy hard enough to tear off a wing like Pancho had done. But shoot, the driver ought to pay closer attention to road conditions.

  As a hangar flier ran out with parking chocks to block her wheels, Jenny returned his smile and said, “There’s some driver back there who ought to get a horse.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SEEING DOUBLE

  Jenny couldn’t believe her eyes when, after a long harrowing flight, she climbed out of the cockpit in a darkened field in Ponca City, Oklahoma, and saw the spitting image of herself come striding toward her—jodhpur breeches, boots, even the white short-sleeved shirt.

  “Why did you steal this airplane?” the woman demanded.

  “I didn’t steal anything.” Jenny moved off, searching for something large enough to chock her wheels.

  The woman followed, wouldn’t let up. “What about it?” she demanded again.

  Jenny shoved a big rock under a Bellanca wheel before finally responding: “It’s Roy’s plane and he asked me to go get it.”

  “I got here hours ago. What took you so long?”

  “I had to stop for gas a couple of times,” Jenny replied. “Where’s my plane?”

  She took a good look around at what passed for the airstrip in Ponca City. She saw a rutty, weed-filled, wind-swept lot; a desolate-looking, apparently empty hangar; a limp wind sock; no planes; and this rude woman. “Three suitcases?” Jenny said, an incredulous look spreading across her face. “Of all the silly things.”

  “You must have done more than stop for gas,” the woman persisted. “You had an eight-hour head start on me.”

  “So I had some engine trouble. I stopped to eat. And just who are you?” Jenny countered. But of course she knew. This was the woman who had been pumping her in the Cleveland restroom, and she suspected it was the same anonymous rude voice from Roosevelt Field, probably the same one who had kept writing speculative stories about her license. She’d never seen a woman reporter before, there couldn’t suddenly be two, much less three. Strange, unladylike job.

  “You know who I am. Laura Bailey, a reporter. We’ve met before. Didn’t the authorities have that plane impounded?”

  “Pooh.” Jenny gave a barely discernible, dismissive shrug. “Roy said it was just some politician running for reelection.”

  “Someone died,” Laura persisted.

  “Yes, that was horrible—the poor woman.” Jenny’s face clouded before she squared her shoulders in a defiant stance. “That didn’t have anything to do with the plane. Roy takes people up all the time for jumps, and gives them clear instructions. It was some sort of weird accident.”

  “Weren’t you scared?” Laura asked.

  “Of what?” Jenny’s eyes were wide in innocence; she was laughing to herself. Of course there were things to have been afraid of in the last few hours. Like running out of gas, or handling a plane she wasn’t familiar with, or finding her way across the Oklahoma border before it got dark. She’d known there were no fields nearby that had landing lights. The local politician surely was wrong, but it had still felt urgent to get out of Kansas. None of that would matter to this nosy woman whose big concern was clothes and snooping around other people’s lives.

  “You didn’t worry you’d get in trouble?”

  This person, Laura, was like a dog with a bone; she wouldn’t let up. “I don’t usually worry about things very much,” Jenny said.

  “I guess not. You already had your license suspended for a few days. Weren’t you afraid that would happen again? I just can’t believe you’re that frivolous.”

  Jenny laughed. “Well I’ll be. You go running around all over the country writing stories about ordinary things I’ve done, making something out of nothing. And you’re calling me frivolous? That’s rich.”

  “You call flying under bridges ordinary?”

  “It seems pretty natural to me—more normal than prying into other people’s lives. But I’m sick of this stupid conversation, when the important question is where is my plane?”

  The pilot’s voice sounded almost panicky. “What plane?” Laura asked, instinctively looking around even though she knew perfectly well that there was no plane on the field except the one Jenny had just landed.

  “My Jenny. Roy should’ve gotten here before me.” The pilot’s voice was high-pitched, skirting the edge of panic. A hot August wind blew her words around in circles.

  “Aren’t you Jenny? What are you talking about?” She’s finally losing her devil-may-care attitude, Laura thought with satisfaction. Now we’re getting someplace—I can get under her skin and figure out what her real story is.

  “My plane! That’s what it’s called. Don’t you know anything?”

  Laura could feel her face reddening, although she hoped that it wasn’t discernible in the waning light. “You’re expecting another plane, one of those old trainers? I’ve been meaning to ask if that’s where your name came from. I’ve got to get out of here, there’s no phone. Why can’t we just leave in that plane you flew in?”

  “That’s a mouthful,” Jenny responded. “Is that what reporters do, scatter out a whole bunch of questions and hope that one will get answered?”

  “Why are you so hostile toward me?” Laura asked. “You’ve been angry ever since I asked you on Long Island about flying in men’s clothes. I didn’t understand because I’d never been in an airplane. I had to find out the hard way. Okay?” Maybe if she fessed up her ignorance about this business, it would help. She realized she was at this woman’s mercy, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. How would she get out without Jenny’s help?

  “Is that why you’re dressed like me?” Jenny said, her tone hard.

  “Look,” Laura said in a reasonable voice, but determined not to back down, “I bought a white shirt and those riding things that you said were the only pants around. I’m just doing my job.”

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t get it. It’s beyond me why people would want to snoop into other people’s lives.”

  The wind played with an old newspaper, skipping it acros
s the field and wrapping it around Laura’s legs. The little dance she was doing to disengage herself caused her voice to come out breathless and much harsher than she intended. “Don’t you understand at all that the public is fascinated by people who have the nerve to go into the air without anything holding them up? Especially a woman. It’s more exciting than being a movie star. People want to know what makes you tick.”

  Jenny blushed. “Well, it’s embarrassing. I once had a reporter try to follow me around when I was grocery shopping.”

  Laura bent down and busied herself unwinding the paper. So, she thought, that’s her problem—already got the celebrity disease. Put my picture in the paper, but otherwise leave me alone. All the glory with no pain. No way to fight that, I’ve just got to plow ahead. She paused, trying to decide how to tackle Jenny, and began folding the paper to use as a fan against the heat. It didn’t work. The gusts of wind kept breaking up the folds, or blowing it back into her face. “So who’s this Roy, your boyfriend?” she asked, finally tossing the paper away.

  “My instructor,” Jenny replied. “He holds several loop records—taught me what I know about stunt flying. He was in a jam. I helped him out, that’s what friends do.” She frowned as she smoothed out her cloth helmet and stuck it in her pants pocket. “I can’t imagine where he is with my Jenny. I’m worried sick.”

  “About him or the plane?”

  “Both. Don’t be stupid. That sounds like a typical reporter’s question. Then you can write a headline that says I care more about a silly airplane than a human being.”

  Laura grinned. “Sad to say, you kinda got that right. But just for the record, reporters don’t write the headlines. Listen, you’re the only one who knows where we are. Let’s just hop in that plane of yours and get out of here.”

  “I told you, it’s not my plane. It’s Roy’s. I’m not going anywhere until he shows up.” She put her right hand up to shade her eyes as she scanned the horizon, then looked around her once more with a troubled expression.“I read a story that they were building an airport in Ponca City. I guess the news reports are wrong again.” She gave Laura a hard look. “And I think you ought to leave the same way you came.”

  “I’ve got to find a phone.” Laura ignored Jenny’s remark. She had decided the best plan was to let Jenny get used to the idea that she was stuck with her. “Do you think there’s a diner or something around?”

  “Why didn’t you make whoever brought you stay?”

  “No choice. He said he had to get right back, couldn’t fly in unknown terrain in the dark. Since I had to talk to you, I had to wait.”

  Jenny’s tinkling laugh came back. “And you call me a daredevil!”

  “Yeah, well, okay.” Laura grinned. “Meanwhile, know any place where I can find a phone?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DELIVERANCE

  Laura looked at her watch, it was past eight o’clock. The sun was still awake, but just barely. Dusk was moving in, night wouldn’t be far behind. Her geography schoolbooks hadn’t exaggerated about the wide-open, windswept plains. This remote spot that apparently passed for an airfield was desolate, deserted. Huge chunks of weeds or some sort of vegetation were being picked up and tumbled about in spurts and gusts. She was stranded in a big way. It gave her some satisfaction, though, that at least this smarty girl Jenny was too.

  “We’ve got to do something, we can’t just stand around,” Laura said. “What’s that metal building over there?”

  “It’s a hangar,” Jenny replied irritably. “There won’t be anything there.”

  “Let’s check it out anyway,” Laura said.

  And so they did, and Jenny was right. After inspecting it all the way round, they found it locked. There weren’t even any windows to peak into.

  They both paced a bit more then finally sat down glumly on Laura’s luggage. Ten minutes must have gone by and neither had said a word.

  Suddenly Jenny leaped up from her hatbox perch and pointed at a distant speck in the sky. “I bet that’s Roy!” She seemed close to jumping up and down in her excitement. They watched as the plane approached, then flipped, flying over them upside down.

  “My gosh,” Laura yelled, “he’s close enough that I can see the color of his scarf! It’s bright red!”

  “Fun, isn’t it?” Jenny turned to her with a serene look on her face.

  It’s as though she were in church, Laura thought.

  The plane flipped again, and dropped to a spot right in front of them. The pilot climbed from his cockpit, stepped on the wing, took a quick look around the field, then jumped to the ground.

  “Good girl,” he said to Jenny. “I see you’ve brought the Bellanca. I knew I could count on you.”

  Then, with a wide sweep of his arm, he bowed slightly as he pulled off his cloth helmet and swung it as though it were the plumed hat of a cavalier. “Sorry to keep you ladies waiting. I had to stop for gas.”

  “That must be the catchphrase in this business,” Laura said.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure.” The man turned to her with a smile. He was short, barely taller than Laura, with a dark, debonair mustache and a cowboy bandanna tied around his throat. He was shrugging out of a leather jacket. “Do you mind if I remove my coat? It’s hot here, even at night.”

  “Laura, Roy,” Jenny said with a wave of her arm that encompassed the two. “So what do we do now?” she asked him. “It’s too late for me to fly home.”

  “I made arrangements for a fellow I know to give us a lift into town. Or at least to the roadhouse that’s nearby. You’ll clearly have to spend the night.”

  “Oh dear,” Laura said, visions in her head of Barnes yelling. “When do you think your friend will be coming? I’ve got to get to a phone.”

  Jenny turned to Roy. “This woman’s a reporter, and she wants to blab about everything we’ve done.”

  Roy raised his eyebrows. “You’re serious? How did you end up here?”

  “It’s a long story,” Laura said. “We’ll fill you in another time if you think it’s worth the bother.” She turned to Jenny. “Now look, I’m going to have to call my story in. Do you want to tell me your side of this, or shall I just go with whatever I can surmise from the fact that you’re here with someone else’s plane?”

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “That’s what I’d call blackmail.”

  “So,” Laura said with a grin, “what’ll it be?”

  “I told you, Roy’s my instructor. Why don’t we let him tell you what a great student I am?”

  “That sounds good for over dinner. It’ll give me a follow-up. Right now I need the details on the jumper’s death, and why you took the plane.”

  “I’ve nothing to hide,” Roy said. “I can give you that fast and easy. Two other pilots and myself have been going from town to town in two planes for the last several weeks. Doing some exhibition stunts, and then taking folks up for rides or jumps, whichever they preferred. A buck and a half a ride and two bucks fifty to use the chutes.”

  Laura pulled the stub of a pencil and a slim notebook from the pocket of her riding pants. She flipped the cover. “Go on,” she said.

  “Sure.” Roy looked over at Jenny with a shrug. “An attractive young woman, probably in her midtwenties, showed up. Said she’d watched shows before and always envied the sense of sky-floating with a white parasol overhead. Those were her words, white parasol. We gave her the usual instructions, harnessed her chute properly.” He lifted his arms, made two fists, and gave a hard tug back as though tightening a harness on someone. “We took all the precautions, and she never pulled the cord to open the chute. It was awful, we felt so darned helpless. We were yelling at her, even dove down to keep screaming at her as she fell. But she didn’t do anything. Just had a smile on her face as she hurtled down.”

  “She didn’t look frightened or anything?” Laura lifted her head from her notebook.

  “Nope. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “She had a four-year-old
son,” Laura said, looking at Roy in disbelief.

  “So I’ve heard from the DA. But so help me God, she made no attempt to open that chute. And I saw her face, she didn’t look scared. Just happy. Probably a heart attack. They’re doing an autopsy.”

  Headlights suddenly played across the field. “Hey, I bet that’s Clem Donohue coming to get us,” Roy said, starting to walk in the direction of the lights.

  Laura grabbed his arm. “Sorry, but we’ve got to finish this. Didn’t the DA impound your plane?”

  Roy’s eyes widened, startled. He looked at Laura with a smile that slowly took over his face, clearly making a decision to stop and answer. “Right, impounded. With no reason. They checked over the Bellanca, which had nothing to do anyway with whether the chute was proper. It was; they checked that too. The guy was running for office, what can I tell you? I needed the plane to meet a commitment for a show here tomorrow. If I’d gone near the plane, they would have stopped me. I knew they’d be watching Jenny fly in, and not expecting her to fly right back out.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SEND MONEY STOP

  Laura stood at the Western Union counter in downtown Ponca City trying to write—in the briefest stop-start telegramese she could devise—her story of tracking down Jenny. The sparsely furnished, barren office was deserted, except for a pimply faced clerk who seemed as dim as the single bulb dangling from a cord overhead. She thought of her increasingly perilous situation: dubious friends, no bed for the night, little money. And she could lose her job if she didn’t produce something here pretty quick that would pass Barnes’s muster. SEND MONEY STOP. That would be a good start. Naw, be serious, she admonished herself. Get this story written and sent. She was probably already past deadline for the morning street editions. She’d decided she was better off not talking to her office. Barnes was just liable to tell her to get home fast. Not a good idea. She felt there were plenty more excellent stories here. But SEND MONEY was serious. She had almost none left after paying for jodhpurs, plane rides, and hotels.