I Was Amelia Earhart (Vintage Contemporaries) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Jane Mendelsohn
optimistic.
The sun has just fallen above the hangars, where it sits in a pool of blood. When he looks at her, she’s looking at something he can’t see. He says he hopes that she’s being careful.
Fifty-fifty, she says, smiling past him, past the sunset. I think I can live with that.
I had to take Noonan with me because we had run out of money and he was the cheapest navigator we could find. G.P. said he was the best, and that may have been true, but he was definitely the cheapest. He was cheap because he’d been fired from Pan Am for drinking and he couldn’t find another job. I didn’t want to take him. I didn’t want to take anybody. I wanted to be alone.
It’s two days before the flight, and she’s driving to the airfield. G.P. reads telegrams to her while he drives. Best of luck. Best wishes. Your courage is an inspiration. We applaud you. We salute you. We admire you.
Where is the one from Eleanor and the President?
I read it to you.
Read it to me again.
He reads it again and they both smile.
That’s awfully nice of them, isn’t it? She has the window rolled down, and bursts of breeze blow in. Her sleeve ripples in the wind.
It’s going to be hot today.
It’s a scorcher.
They pass streets lined with palms and Spanish-style houses, a strip of stores with handwritten signs. Then groves of oranges, rows of squat trees, the leaves dark and thick on the branches. By the side of the road, a man sells fruit out of a crate. A family showers under a hose. A buzzing in the air from the electrical wires. Black birds line the wires, like stubble.
She looks over at him and nods her head.
Hey, she flirts, read it again.
When we get to the airstrip I pull the car up onto the field and stride over to my plane with my hands in my pockets. I’m already wearing my coveralls and I’m smiling, scrunching my nose up and squinting against the sun. Several mechanics are talking in the shade of the hangar; some sit on fuel drums, some are standing. I head over to them and they say hello and some kick the ground and put out their cigarettes. We walk over to the plane and begin working. We work on the fuel gauge and fix a wire on the engine. We patch up the leaking oil lines. Overhead, early traces of cloud have blown away and the sky is a brilliant mirror. Two technicians fiddle with the radio and ask me if it’s true that I only use it to listen to music. They joke with me about this and I laugh and say it’s true and at around twelve noon a beat-up Fordpulls up and a man gets out and we stop joking. He wears a dark double-breasted suit and polished shoes and he’s carrying a paper bag. A white handkerchief peeps out of his breast pocket. His white shirt is starched and cleanly pressed and he is not wearing a hat. He wears his hair lightly slicked, and it shines like leather in the sun. He’s tall and his stride is long and athletic, although he isn’t in a hurry. As he approaches the plane he is smiling and very handsome and he glances around. Then he looks at me.
When I saw Noonan, he was the last person in the world I wanted to see.
I look at the paper bag and then look at him. What a surprise. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.
He says he couldn’t stay away. He says hello to the mechanics. How does she look? he says, looking at me.
I climb down from the plane and hold out my hand.
She’s looking fine. We’re working on the radio.
I have grease on my face and a screwdriver in my hand. He knows that I don’t like him.
He plants a kiss on my cheek and I smile wanly.
What’s in the bag, I ask, looking him straight in the eye.
A pint. He gives me a confessional expression. Oh, don’t look so sad, Captain. I’m only kidding. Come back here, I’m only joking.
He hands me the bag and I open it up. I pull out two pairs of eyeglasses.
Spectacles, Mr. Noonan?
I told you I was joking.
That’s what I need, a blind navigator.
I drop the bag on the ground and walk away. He bends down and
The sun has just fallen above the hangars, where it sits in a pool of blood. When he looks at her, she’s looking at something he can’t see. He says he hopes that she’s being careful.
Fifty-fifty, she says, smiling past him, past the sunset. I think I can live with that.
I had to take Noonan with me because we had run out of money and he was the cheapest navigator we could find. G.P. said he was the best, and that may have been true, but he was definitely the cheapest. He was cheap because he’d been fired from Pan Am for drinking and he couldn’t find another job. I didn’t want to take him. I didn’t want to take anybody. I wanted to be alone.
It’s two days before the flight, and she’s driving to the airfield. G.P. reads telegrams to her while he drives. Best of luck. Best wishes. Your courage is an inspiration. We applaud you. We salute you. We admire you.
Where is the one from Eleanor and the President?
I read it to you.
Read it to me again.
He reads it again and they both smile.
That’s awfully nice of them, isn’t it? She has the window rolled down, and bursts of breeze blow in. Her sleeve ripples in the wind.
It’s going to be hot today.
It’s a scorcher.
They pass streets lined with palms and Spanish-style houses, a strip of stores with handwritten signs. Then groves of oranges, rows of squat trees, the leaves dark and thick on the branches. By the side of the road, a man sells fruit out of a crate. A family showers under a hose. A buzzing in the air from the electrical wires. Black birds line the wires, like stubble.
She looks over at him and nods her head.
Hey, she flirts, read it again.
When we get to the airstrip I pull the car up onto the field and stride over to my plane with my hands in my pockets. I’m already wearing my coveralls and I’m smiling, scrunching my nose up and squinting against the sun. Several mechanics are talking in the shade of the hangar; some sit on fuel drums, some are standing. I head over to them and they say hello and some kick the ground and put out their cigarettes. We walk over to the plane and begin working. We work on the fuel gauge and fix a wire on the engine. We patch up the leaking oil lines. Overhead, early traces of cloud have blown away and the sky is a brilliant mirror. Two technicians fiddle with the radio and ask me if it’s true that I only use it to listen to music. They joke with me about this and I laugh and say it’s true and at around twelve noon a beat-up Fordpulls up and a man gets out and we stop joking. He wears a dark double-breasted suit and polished shoes and he’s carrying a paper bag. A white handkerchief peeps out of his breast pocket. His white shirt is starched and cleanly pressed and he is not wearing a hat. He wears his hair lightly slicked, and it shines like leather in the sun. He’s tall and his stride is long and athletic, although he isn’t in a hurry. As he approaches the plane he is smiling and very handsome and he glances around. Then he looks at me.
When I saw Noonan, he was the last person in the world I wanted to see.
I look at the paper bag and then look at him. What a surprise. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.
He says he couldn’t stay away. He says hello to the mechanics. How does she look? he says, looking at me.
I climb down from the plane and hold out my hand.
She’s looking fine. We’re working on the radio.
I have grease on my face and a screwdriver in my hand. He knows that I don’t like him.
He plants a kiss on my cheek and I smile wanly.
What’s in the bag, I ask, looking him straight in the eye.
A pint. He gives me a confessional expression. Oh, don’t look so sad, Captain. I’m only kidding. Come back here, I’m only joking.
He hands me the bag and I open it up. I pull out two pairs of eyeglasses.
Spectacles, Mr. Noonan?
I told you I was joking.
That’s what I need, a blind navigator.
I drop the bag on the ground and walk away. He bends down and
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