LITMIR.BIZ

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As airport general manager, Mel was closest to an over-all authority, but there were areas where he knew better than to intrude. Air Traffic Control was one, airline internal management another.

      Mel remembered about the note delivered to him fifteen minutes before.

      M —

      Thought shd warn u—airlines snow committee (on demerest’s urging …why does your bro-in-law dislike you?) preparing critical report becos run-ways & taxiways snow clearance inefficient… report blames airport (meaning u) for flight delays… also claims 707 wouldn’t have stuck if taxiway plowed sooner, better … and where are you?… buy me coffee soon.

luv t

      The “t” was for Tanya—Tanya Livingston, passenger relations agent for Trans America, and a special friend of Mel’s. Mel read the note again, as he usually did messages from Tanya, which became clearer the second time around.

      The Demerest in the note was Captain Vernon Demerest, also of Trans America. As well as being one of the airline’s more senior captains, Demerest was a campaigner for the Air Line Pilots Association, and, this season, a member of the Airlines Snow Committee at Lincoln International.

      Vernon Demerest also happened to be Mel’s brother-in-law, married to Mel’s older sister, Sarah. However, there was little cordiality between Mel and his brother-in-law, whom Mel considered conceited and pompous. Others, he knew, had the same opinion.

      Mel was not greatly worried about the report. Whatever shortcomings the airport might have in other ways, he knew they were coping with the storm as well as any organization could.

      Mel decided he would make an inspection of the present snow clearance situation at the same time that he was out on the airfield checking on the blocked runway and the mired Aéreo-Mexican jet.

      He had remembered what Tanya said in her note about having coffee together. He would stop at his own office first, then he would drop by Trans America to see her. The thought excited him.

      2

      Mel entered his own interior office. The only reason he had stayed through most of these three-day storm was to be available for emergencies. Otherwise, he mused, as he put on a heavy topcoat and fur-lined boots, by now he would have been home with Cindy and the children.

      Or would he?

      No matter how objective you tried to be, it was hard to be sure of your own real motives. Not going home seemed lately to have become the pattern of his life. His job was a cause, of course. But—if he was honest with himself—the airport also offered an escape from the quarrels between himself and Cindy which seemed to occur nowadays whenever they spent time together.

      “Oh, hell!”

      A glance at a typed reminder from his secretary confirmed what he had just recalled. Tonight there was another of his wife’s tedious charity affairs. A week ago, reluctantly, Mel had promised to attend.

      Fortunately, the starting time was late—almost two hours from now. So he could still make it, even after inspecting the airfield. Mel would be downtown only a little late. He had better warn Cindy, though. Mel dialed his home number. Roberta, his elder daughter, answered.

      “Hi,” Mel said. “This is your old man.”

      Roberta’s voice came coolly. “I know.”

      “How was school today?”

      “Could you be specific, Father? There were several classes.”

      Mel sighed. Did all fathers, he wondered, abruptly lose communication with their daughters at age thirteen? Less than a year ago, the two of them had seemed as close as father and daughter could be. Mel loved both his daughters deeply—Roberta, and her younger sister, Libby. There were times when he realized they were the only reasons his marriage had survived.

      “Never mind,” Mel said. “Is your mother home?”

      “She went out. She said, if you phoned, to tell you, you have to be downtown to meet her, and for once try not to be late.”

      Roberta was undoubtedly repeating Cindy’s words exactly.

      “If your mother calls, tell her I might have to be a little late, and that I can’t help it.”

      “Libby wants to talk to you.”

      “In a minute. I was just going to tell you—because of the storm I may not be home tonight. There’s a lot happening at the airport.”

      “Will you speak to Libby now?”

      “Yes, I will. Goodnight, Robbie.”

      “Goodnight.”

      The telephone changed hands.

      “Daddy, Daddy! Guess what!” Libby was always breathless as if, to a seven-year-old, life were excitingly on the run and she must forever keep pace. “Well, at school, Miss Curzon said for homework we have to write down all the good things we think will happen next month.”

      He could understand Libby’s enthusiasm. To her, almost everything was exciting and good, and the few things which were not were brushed aside and speedily forgotten.

      “That’s nice,” Mel said.

      “Daddy! Will you help me? I want a map of February.”

      Mel smiled. Libby had a verbal shorthand of her own which sometimes seemed more expressive than conventional words.

      “There’s a calendar in my desk.” Mel told her where to find it and heard her small feet running from the room, the telephone forgotten.

      3

      There was a knock at the outer door of Tanya Livingston’s office, and Mel Bakersfeld leaned in. “I can drop back later, if you like.”

      “Please stay.” She smiled. “We’ve almost finished.”

      He saw her fill in a voucher for a young girl, and hand it to her. “Give this to the taxi dispatcher, Patsy, and he’ll send you home. Have a good night’s rest, and we’ll expect you back tomorrow.”

      When the girl left, Tanya turned to Mel. She said brightly, “Hullo. You got my note?”

      “Hi! What was that about? Battle fatigue? I’m tired, too. How about sending me off in a taxi?”

      She looked at him, inquiringly. Her eyes—a bright, clear blue—had a quality of directness. She had a slim figure, yet with a fullness which the trim airline uniform heightened… Mel was conscious of her desirability and warmth.

      “Only if the taxi goes to my place, and you let me cook you dinner.”

      He hesitated, then reluctantly shook his head. “I wish I could. But we’ve some trouble here, and afterward I have to be downtown.” He got up. “Let’s have coffee, anyway.”

      The sudden invitation from Tanya had surprised him. They had had several dates together, but until now she had not suggested visiting her apartment.

      Lately, Mel had sensed that if their meetings away from the airport continued, there could be a natural and obvious progression. But he had moved cautiously, instinct warning him that an affair with Tanya would be no casual romance but a deeply emotional involvement for them both.

      In the coffee shop, Mel glanced around. He nodded toward the outer door through which they could both see a moving, surging swarm of people.

      Tanya shuddered. “Can you imagine what it’ll be like when they collect their baggage? I don’t even want to think about it.”

      “Nor do a good many other people—who ought to be thinking about it, right now.” Their conversation had already drifted into aviation. Airplanes and airlines held a fascination for Tanya, and she liked talking about them. So did Mel.

      “The really big thing, however, which most airport planning hasn’t caught on to yet is that we’re moving toward the day when air freight business will be bigger than passenger traffic. Not long ago, hardly anybody wanted to

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