In the Unlikely Event

“Natalie,” Miri said.

They both jumped up and followed Miri downstairs, where Natalie was still spinning to Judy Garland. “Get ready for the Judgment Day…”

Miri pressed the off button on the jukebox. The room fell silent, except for Natalie’s taps. Dr. O grabbed her. “Natalie…sweetheart…” He lifted her into his arms. “My god. She’s light as a feather,” he said to Corinne.

Natalie’s feet kept moving. Somewhere she or Ruby was still tapping.

“Call Harry Reiss,” Dr. O said to Corinne. Dr. Reiss was a doctor, but also their friend. He was at their New Year’s Eve party, in the conga line.

“It’s Sunday,” Corinne said.

“Call him at home,” Dr. O said.

“No.”

“Call him, Corinne, or I’m taking her straight to the hospital.”

“You have no idea what’s going on in this house, Arthur. You’re too busy solving everyone else’s problems to see that your son is in despair and your daughter is losing her mind. You think giving her a dance studio at home is going to fix this?” She swept her arm around the room. “Don’t you see…” Corinne began to cry. “I’m utterly alone. I don’t even have Mrs. Barnes to help and she’s never coming back.”

“You have friends.”

“I wouldn’t tell my friends one word about what’s happening to us. Not one word.”

Miri didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to witness the end of the perfect family. The end of her fantasies. Now Natalie was slumped against her father like a rag doll.

Miri snuck up the stairs and out the back door while Corinne’s and Dr. O’s voices rose and fell and rose again. She rode her bike home and collapsed into Irene’s arms. “What’s wrong, sweetie pie?” Irene asked, holding her. And for once, she didn’t ask any more questions.

There’s Plenty to DO and Plenty to SEE Wherever You Go in

Florida

From the Northwest tip to the Romantic Keys,

You’ll Find Infinite Variety.

That’s Why So Many Thousands Come Down and Enjoy

the Glorious Sunshine

Outdoor Sports

and Scenic Wonders

Get in the NATIONAL Habit

Fly National Airlines

Airline of the Stars

Finest Aircraft! Finest Service!

21

Gaby

Gaby Wenders always wanted to fly. She’d wave to the planes as they flew across the wide-open fields behind her grandmother’s house on their approach to Vandalia Airport between Dayton and Springfield, imagining the exciting lives of the passengers inside the silver ship—all of them rich and good-looking, all of them dressed in the stylish travel clothes she’d seen in her older sister’s fashion magazines.

At thirteen, she’d stand in front of the mirror and practice. Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen, she would say in her new, well-modulated voice. I am your lovely and perfectly groomed air hostess, Miss Gabrielle Wenders. Your pilot today is Scotty Champion. She’d smile ever so slightly, her fingertips touching the silver wings on the lapel of her suit jacket. Captain Scotty Champion would be so handsome the female passengers would swoon at the sight of him. She might marry Scotty Champion someday, but not for many years, at least three, because she’d worked hard for her career and wasn’t about to give it up for marriage.

In high school Gaby sent away for a brochure. She’d memorized it in the first week but she still liked to see it in print before closing her eyes at night.

Girls Wanted to Enter Flight Stewardess Training Group

Here is the Career Opportunity for Which You Have Been Waiting!

If you are interested and feel that you can meet all of the qualifications below, please write in detail and attach a full length photograph.

HEIGHT: Between 5′2″ and 5′6″

WEIGHT: 135 pounds maximum

ATTRACTIVE: “Just below Hollywood” standards

Plenty of Personality and Poise

GENDER: Female

MARITAL STATUS: Single, Not Divorced, Separated or Widowed

RACE: White

AGE: 21–26 years old

EDUCATION: Registered Nurse or Two Years of College

VISION: 20/20 without glasses

Must be a US citizen and available for training within 6 months.

If you feel you qualify—

If? Gaby thought. Come on! She qualified with a capital Q. To get her parents’ blessing she showed them a line in a magazine about how being a stewardess was a career for “Wives-in-Training.” She knew they’d approve of that.

Getting her RN degree at the local hospital took two years, and Gaby worked for a year after that, until she could apply, which she did, on her twenty-first birthday. At the time she was still living at home with her parents and her younger brothers, her older sister long married, with four-year-old twins, another on the way and a husband who operated a forklift. They lived in a little white house near her grandmother’s place. “You’ll be able to wave to me,” she told her young nieces, “the way I used to wave to the planes.”

“Will you wave back?” one of the girls asked.

“Of course I will.”

Gaby chose National Airlines, in part because she’d read that American received 20,000 applications the year before, for just 347 stewardess positions. Not that she doubted her qualifications, not for a minute, but Gaby went for National anyway, and was accepted, the only applicant out of 29 being interviewed on the same day. She was jubilant. Hard work and a positive attitude paid off.

She’d been careful about dating after high school, not wanting to get serious with some local boy who’d expect her to give up her dreams for his, produce two babies, preferably one of each sex, wear an apron over her shirtwaist dress and have dinner on the table every night at 6 p.m. No thank you. There was a young doctor at the hospital but he was almost as dangerous as the others. If she confided her dream to him he’d drop her like a hot potato. Still, she went out with him, not that he had much time off, but she never told her mother. And sometimes, when their breaks coincided, they’d get into his car and kiss until the windows steamed up. She’d stop him when he tried to get his hand under her skirt. “Please,” he begged. “Just this once. I’m a doctor. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Ha! Gaby had a goal, and no doctor or anyone else was going to dissuade her. She knew there would be plenty of nurses for him to flirt with once she was out of the picture. Nurses who would let him get under their skirts. She couldn’t worry about that. If some other nurse got him to put a ring on her finger while Gaby was flying, well, so be it.

“Oh, Gabrielle,” her mother cried as she’d packed her bag to head for training in Newark. “I’d hoped you’d meet a handsome doctor at the hospital and give up this crazy idea of flying.”

Now, eighteen months later, she had no regrets about leaving Dayton or young Dr. Larsen. She loved her job. As far as she was concerned it was the best job in the world. In the stewardesses’ dressing room at Newark Airport Gaby applied her makeup as she’d been taught in her program. A good base over the face and throat. Heavy enough to hide imperfections in the skin but light enough to look almost natural, a hint of color to the cheeks, brows penciled in, mascara to upper lashes only, no more high school lipstick. This month she was using Revlon’s Love That Red.

She brushed out her hair, cut in a becoming style that never touched the collar of her suit jacket, and fastened her jaunty cap, which she had to leave on for the duration of the flight, not that she minded. She loved wearing her perfectly tailored and pressed suit, with the crisp white blouse and navy-blue heels, the leather bag swinging from her shoulder.

She wouldn’t need her London Fog overcoat, with her name stitched inside, a detail that made her proud, in Miami. But she’d take the London Fog raincoat, just in case. She swore she would save these two coats, part of her uniform, forever. She pulled on her white gloves, as required.

A quick look in the full-length mirror proved her uniform was smooth over her posterior. You never knew when the chief stewardess might show up to run a checklist, observing the dress and work habits of the girls, an evaluation procedure most of them dreaded. Gaby could have done without the required girdle but understood it was part of the whole package, and it served her well whenever some passenger in the aisle seat, usually a smoker ordering a drink, let his hand, accidentally on purpose, run over her backside as she was serving him.

Some of the girls flirted with passengers, hoping they’d meet a rich guy to marry, but not Gaby. True, she sometimes went to dinner in Miami with one of her regular passengers, but she didn’t call that dating. He was older, still very handsome, a real gentleman. He had a place in Miami on one of the private islands, and another in New Jersey, and was starting a business in Las Vegas. He sat in first class, always in the bulkhead seat, where he had more room to stretch those long legs. She’d heard his companions call him “Longy.” But she called him “Mr. Zwillman” and he called her “doll.” Oh, sure, he was probably married, but so what? She wasn’t interested in marrying him. Or being his girlfriend. But dinner at the best restaurants in Miami Beach, ringside tables at the best nightclubs—that was something else. Vic Damone had joined them one night after his show. He’d signed her menu—To Gaby. Your a nice girl. Okay, so he’d forgotten you’re is a contraction. With his voice and looks, who cared about contractions?