Amerika Page 6

  ‘While that old fireman hid in the locomotive.’

  ‘Don’t blame him. You weren’t there to see what happened.’

  She scowled. ‘If I’d been there, I’d have gone out with Pop-Pop to save those men. And maybe I could have saved him too.’

  ‘Maybe so.’

  ‘I know so.’

  She clenched her jaw, looked straight at me and her brown eyes seemed to darken. ‘And if I hadn’t been sick and stayed with Grammy that night, maybe I could have saved Mommy and Baby Eddy. But they’re dead, and it’s all because of the Nazis, they’re worse than any damn hurricane!’

  She pulled the release pin and swung the control wheel over to me. ‘I don’t want to fly anymore.’

  She sat there, arms folded, head down and frowning while I corrected our course and re-trimmed the flight controls. I finally said, ‘If I hadn’t been out on my trip, maybe I could have saved them too.’

  ‘But you were, and they died and why did you go, Daddy? Couldn’t you have said ‘no’ just once?’

  I bit back the truth and lied, ‘It was my job, honey. I had to.’

  She folded her arms tighter. ‘If that’s what it’s like to have a job, I’m never going to have one as long as I live.’

  ‘What are you going to do to stay alive?’

  ‘Be like you and Uncle O.’ She patted the armrest. ‘Have my own airplane and fly lobsters and stuff.’

  ‘Then it’s time you start learning what it takes to do just that.’ I swung the controls back. ‘You have the aircraft.’

  I expected her to smile, but she sat up and looked straight at me, her face serious, and in that instant I saw Estelle looking at me instead. I wanted to look away but couldn’t.

  ‘I have the aircraft, sir,’ she said.

  After our Miami delivery, Abby slept all the way home to Key West, despite the constant engine roar. Been that way ever since she was a baby. Sleeps through anything. No need to tiptoe. Just bang and clang and she’ll snooze away. Her sleep, minus the serious face, seemed sweet and simple. I wished she could stay that way forever. But too much had happened in her short life to think that could ever be.

  Had I been like this at ten? I think so. In fact, I think all kids are, but grownups don’t realize it. To them we’re in a state of unending bliss, when in fact we’re living in a jungle filled with wild beasts, and it’s up to the grownups to help us make it out alive. And if they can’t help us, then at least, please get the hell out of our way.

  I tugged Abby’s seatbelt tighter and then and contacted Key West tower. As the operator rattled off the landing information, I throttled back and entered the downwind leg of the landing pattern.

  As usual, I was the only thing flying in the sky, but not forever. I had twenty-nine days left on the Nazi’s ‘Limited Commercial Flying Permit.’ After that I had to come up with another thousand dollars up front, and five hundred more in under- the-table bribes to extend it another ninety days. The boys from Berlin were making a mint off private airlines like mine trying to make a living up and down the east coast.

  I knew damn well that shipping Mike’s bi-weekly lobster catch was never going to keep Carter Aviation in the air. I had to hustle fishing charters and critical-cargo companies if I wanted to survive.

  Thank God -- and thank Rosie for having taken out ads in the Miami and Jacksonville newspapers at her own expense - because she had landed a three-day, island-hopping, fishing charter for next week. Probably some real estate lawyer from Jacksonville and his cronies.

  I could see them now: cigar- smoking, whisky-drinking, well-heeled ‘sport fishermen’ strutting their way onto the plane, all decked out in their outfits, ready to drink and cuss and lie like Hemmingway. Fine by me. I’d fly them to kingdom come if they wanted to, as long as they paid me for doing so.

  Just as I began my final turn to line up with the runway, my heart stopped: a bright red, Beechcraft Staggerwing soared off the runway and headed straight for me like a rocket. For some inexplicable reason, the sleek, blunt-nosed executive biplane had taken off downwind instead of upwind and was on a direct collision course.

  I firewalled the throttles, banked hard left and shouted into my mike, ‘Beechcraft, break right, break right!’

  Abby woke with a start and started screaming as the high-powered airplane blasted past us in a shuddering roar, oblivious to my radio message.

  Within seconds, nothing remained except its dwindling red and green wingtip navigation lights fading in the dusk sky.

  A tight voice broke the silence. ‘Carter Air four-five, be advised aircraft your immediate vicinity.’

  ‘That bastard almost hit us. Which runway did you give him?’

  A long pause.

  ‘Two-six.’

  ‘He damn well used the opposite end.’

  ‘We’ll file a report.’

  The image of the sleek, high-priced aircraft flashed through my mind. Most likely belonged to some steel or oil tycoon.

  ‘Fat lot of good that’ll do.’

  By the time we taxied up to the ramp, dusk had surrendered to nighttime. Our landing lights picked out the small shack attached to the small hangar that I leased from the airport. I wouldn’t park the plane inside tonight, because Orlando had filled the floor with parts of the engine he was overhauling. Not to worry. The Florida night air was surprisingly sweet and clear, the moon bright, and conditions perfect for sleeping beneath the wing under the stars. And that’s just what I intended to do; like back in the old days when I was learning to fly by following barnstormers.

  As my engines rattled to a stop, the office door banged open and Rosie hurried toward me. Her face looked more serious than I wanted at this hour.

  Abby leaped over onto my lap, slid down the window and shouted,

  ‘Grams, I flew all the way to Miami!’

  Rosie tried to look interested but failed. ‘Good for you, dear.’

  ‘And I slept all the way back, except for when that crazy bastard almost hit us.’

  ‘Uh huh,’ she said distractedly.

  ‘Something the matter?’ I said.

  She shrugged. ‘Yes and no. We have visitors.’

  ‘Nazis?’

  ‘A woman. I know I’ve seen her someplace before - and a man. They just came in on that Beechcraft.’

  I felt a quick stab of anger. ‘They came to apologize, I hope.’

  ‘Actually, they want to talk to you. About a charter.’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t conflict my fishermen gig, I’ll fly them anywhere.’

  ‘It won’t, I’m sure. It’s just that...’ She trailed off, folded her arms, pursed her lips and paused.

  ‘What’s wrong, Grams?’ Abby said.

  ‘Nothing, dear.’

  I patted Rosie’s shoulder. ‘Grams is just having one of her premonitions, honey. Fasten your seatbelt.’

  ‘I can’t help it if I get these feelings.’

  ‘Think they’re good for the money?’

  ‘They have cash and will pay up front.’

  ‘Then I can’t help it if I get the feeling that if we don’t pay our bills,

  Carter Aviation is out of business.’

  I unfastened my seatbelt. ‘Tell them to meet me over in the hangar. I’m going to check up on Orlando.’

  My business partner had spread out the spare engine like a vast, unfinished jigsaw puzzle across the hangar floor: manifolds, pistons, rods, exhaust ports, reduction gears. To the unpracticed eye like mine, utter chaos, but to Orlando, it made perfect sense. Ever since we were boys he had torn apart clocks, radios, fans, and small engines and put them back together again. Nothing had changed, just bigger stuff.

  ‘What’s your best guess?’ I said.

  He straightened up from where he’d been working on a piston. ‘Three, maybe four hours.’

  ‘To put all this back? Not a chance.’

  ‘It’s easy when you know how everything fits - lobsters get there okay?’ I patted my shirt pocket. ‘Our
first payday.’

  He lifted the heavy piston in salute. ‘Here’s to many more.’

  ‘We might have another one sooner than you think. Rosie said some folks want a charter.’

  ‘That so?’

  ‘Captain Carter?’

  The woman’s voice drifted from the shadows of the hangar, low and melodious. I turned but saw nothing. The single light bulb above Orlando’s work space created a small pool of light. Beyond that, darkness.

  ‘That’s me,’ I said into the void. ‘But it’s Mister Carter, not captain. And you are?’

  ‘Ava James.’

  She walked into the light and my mouth went dry. It’s one thing to see a movie star on the screen, but to see one in person is unnerving. At least for me. All I could do was mumble like an idiot, ‘I… I saw you in Ceiling Zero, with Jimmy Cagney and Pat O’Brien. You were great.’

  She smiled and brushed back a strand of reddish-blonde hair. ‘Thanks, but the pleasure was all mine. Quite an honor to work with those two.’

  She stopped in front of me and I was surprised at her height.

  ‘Jimmy Cagney’s not that tall,’ I said. ‘How did you... I mean, what did you...’

  ‘Mr. Cagney stood on his toes a lot.’

  ‘Never would have known.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Movie magic, Mr. Carter.’

  She half-turned and said over her shoulder. ‘Are you going to spend the rest of your life in the shadows? Get the hell out here.’

  A short, egg-shaped man scurried out of the darkness into the light, eyes bright, hand extended, hair slicked back and smiling like there was no tomorrow.

  ‘Didn’t want to spoil your entrance, darling. Never would, never could.’

  I took his small, pudgy hand; like shaking hands with a dishcloth.

  ‘Name’s Nathan Siegel, I’m Ava’s agent, but everybody calls me Ziggy. You can too, Mr. Carter - and who might this gentleman be?’

  Orlando wiped the grease from his hand and took Ziggy’s. ‘Orlando Diaz.’

  ‘What a handle! I could get you movie work with a name like that.’

  ‘I prefer planes.’

  ‘In pieces or all together?

  The Bull of Key West just stared.

  ‘A joke, kid, a joke. Pay me no mind. I come with the furniture in the mighty House of Ava James.’

  Ava’s slightly hooded eyes lowered. ‘One of these days you’re going to talk yourself off a cliff.’

  ‘True. Don’t doubt it. Probably happen.’

  ‘And I won’t be there to catch you.’

  ‘True. Don’t doubt that either.’

  She turned back to me. ‘I have a proposition, Mr. Carter - Mr. Diaz, too.’

  ‘Wrong word choice,’ Ziggy said quickly. Don’t you mean -’

  A sharp uplift of her chin ‘Don’t tell me how to run a scene, okay?’

  ‘Sorry, kid. I’m a sphinx. Lips zipped. Promise.’

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked up and down on his heels, a perpetual motion machine.

  ‘I’m listening,’ I said.

  ‘Have you eaten dinner, Mr. Carter?’

  ‘No?’

  ‘It’s always good to talk business on a full stomach, and I haven’t eaten since - since when, Ziggy?’

  ‘Chicago. That’s where we refueled. Noon or so. You had half a sandwich, I had a…’

  Ava rode over his endless answer and said to me, ‘Your mother said the Blue Heaven was a nice place to get a bite.’

  ‘Not for us,’ I said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because...’ I stopped.

  ‘The color of my skin,’ Orlando added. ‘The Conchs, God bless their white hides, don’t like colored folks like me eating in their fancy restaurants.’

  Ava shrugged. ‘So where can we get something to eat without that kind of crap on the menu?’

  Orlando smiled. ‘Sugar Cane Club’s got pretty good chow.’

  Ziggy said, ‘White folks allowed?’

  ‘The right kind.’

  The chubby agent straightened up. ‘I can assure you we’re more than that. We’re the best. In fact, just the other day, I was saying to -’

  ‘Knock off the sell job,’ Ava said. ‘You’ve got to forgive Mr. Siegel, gentlemen. Agents can’t stop selling. Especially this one. Even does it in his sleep.’

  ‘How would you ever know, darling?’ he leered.

  She rolled her eyes, patted her small wine-red shoulder purse and said.

  ‘My treat. Times wasting. Let’s go.’

  In all the years I’d been coming to the Sugar Cane, I never knew exactly what it looked like on the inside. Mostly because the cigarette smoke and dim lighting made everything look sort of vague. Liquor helped, too. But if you ever go there, don’t order something called the ‘Sugar Cane Special.’ Take it from me, it’s special all right. The next morning your head will feel like a sack of hammers.

  Ziggy ordered one, even though I warned him not to. Orlando did too, but he can hold his booze as good as his bible lessons. I figured Ziggy wanted to impress us. Be one of the gang.

  The three-piece combo was playing the intro to The Man Who Got Away. The vocalist stood in the small spotlight waiting for her entrance, shoulders swaying to the beat. The place was half-empty and wouldn’t get busy until later.

  Ava glanced at the menu, put it down and smiled brightly at Orlando.

  ‘What do you recommend, Mr. Diaz?’

  ‘Fried chicken and gravy’s as good as it gets.’

  ‘You’re on.’

  Ziggy said, ‘Is it kosher?’

  Ava’s eyes locked on target. ‘Who writes your material?’

  ‘I do, darling.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  I felt like I was watching a movie, having the real Ava James sitting across from me, exchanging snappy lines back and forth with Ziggy. The way she talked, the way she held her shoulders and fiddled with her drink, reminded me of a scene she and Cagney did in Ceiling Zero. I did my best to make conversation.

  ‘So, Miss James, what movies have you been in lately?’

  Her face tensed and right away I knew I’d said something wrong.

  Ziggy gulped his drink and leaned forward. ‘We’re in between pictures at the moment…sorting through scripts… trying to make up our mind. Not easy. Lots and LOTS of options.’

  ‘Cut the hot air, you little sap,’ Ava said. ‘What Ziggy means is that I haven’t worked for over a year. In Hollywood, that’s as good as dead and buried.’

  Ziggy would not be derailed. ‘Wait until Warner Brothers hears my latest. It’s the perfect story of boy meets girl.’

  ‘What my agent isn’t saying is that I can’t get arrested in Hollywood.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She looked away. ‘Nice voice. She been here long?’

  Orlando said. ‘Two years almost.’

  I said, ‘Orlando’s in love. The fallen woman scenario appeals to his preacher values.’

  Orlando looked pained. ‘How can a woman who sings like an angel be fallen?’

  Ava brightened. ‘You two seeing each other?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Jasmine.’

  ‘Nice.’

  I said, ‘Tell her what you do on your dates.’

  He looked away and then back again. ‘We read scripture together.’

  Ziggy gulped, his eyes widened and he started coughing.

  Orlando glowered, ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  Ava said, ‘Yeah, what’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing at all. This drink’s like a stick of dynamite.’

  A long silence. Jasmine’s velvety voice handled the lyrics like a sad confession. I felt nervous, on edge, so like a jerk I said, ‘You didn’t answer my question. Why won’t anybody hire you?’

  She hesitated. ‘Walked out on a film.’

  Ziggy squirmed. ‘Let’s not get into that just now
, shall we, darling?

  How about another round? My treat. Love this stuff.’

  ‘Do you mind motor-mouth?’ Ava said, ‘I’m talking with Mr. Carter.’

  ‘Call me Sam.’

  ‘Ava.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She smiled, drained her glass and put it down.

  ‘Long story short: mother lives in New Orleans, she had a stroke last year, nobody worth a damn to take care of her, so I walked off the set, headed home and did it myself. Took me almost a year to get her back to normal. She’s doing pretty well now.’

  Ziggy said, ‘All it cost was your career.’

  ‘Lousy movie anyhow. Annie Sheridan got roped into it after I left.’

  ‘What’s it called?’ I said.

  ‘Dark Surrender. Seen it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t. Even with Annie in it, it’s a stinker.’

  Jasmine finished her song to scattered applause, Orlando’s the loudest. She smiled and gave a shy, half-wave to him and then slipped into the shadows.

  Our meal arrived, and the next half-hour was spent, heads down as we tucked away chicken and gravy, greens, and biscuits, all washed down with ice cold beer.

  Ziggy finished first. ‘I haven’t eaten this good since I left Brooklyn.’

  I said, ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘Fifteen years ago this month. That’s when I headed west to make my fortune.’

  Ava said, ‘And here you are in Key West eating chicken with an unemployed actress. Some fortune, huh?’

  Ziggy touched her arm. ‘For better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Besides, what goes down must come up. And it will, I promise you.’

  ‘Unless mother gets sick again and they won’t let me out of my contract to take care of her.’

  ‘We’ll make that a pre-condition.’

  I said, ‘You did the right thing. Taking care of her, I mean.’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder...’ A long pause. She nibbled a piece of dry biscuit. ‘Maybe I could have arranged my exit with a little less drama.’

  Ziggy said, ‘Throwing a lamp at Jack Warner was bad enough, but a lamp in his own office.’