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?
She didn’t believe the girls who’d tried to tell her Longy was a gangster, that he’d killed people. That was malicious gossip. He was a businessman, a very successful businessman. And so polite. Always asking about her family. She enjoyed riding in his baby blue Cadillac convertible, looking up at the stars over Miami Beach.
“Has he given you jewelry yet?” Cleo, another stewardess, asked.
“No, why would he give me jewelry?” Gaby said. “I’m not his girlfriend.”
“Then what are you?”
Gaby wasn’t sure how to respond, so she just shrugged.
“Honey, you might as well get something out of it,” Cleo said. “Ask him to take you shopping.”
Later, Gaby realized that Cleo thought she was sleeping with Longy. What a revolting thought! Or was it? She was no fool—she noticed the way he looked at her. And hadn’t he once asked if she could find him attractive? She began to imagine a romantic weekend in Havana. He was always flying to Cuba on business. Maybe next time he was on her flight, next time she went to dinner with him in Miami.
But Mr. Zwillman wasn’t on her flight list tonight.
In the departure lounge, where music was piped in, “I’ll See You in My Dreams” was playing. Gaby had seen the movie twice, once in Miami, and once in New York at Radio City Music Hall. She’d written her mother about the plush red seats, the stage show, the Rockettes, to prove how glamorous her life was compared to what it would have been if she’d stayed in Dayton. Her mother wrote back, Just be careful. That was her mother’s standard response to everything. Be careful of what? she wanted to ask, but she never did. She already knew the answer. Be careful of life.
Christina
Christina and Jack went to the early Valentine’s Day party at Twin City Roller Rink. All the girls wore something red and the boys were given red bow ties to clip onto their collars. Christina’s friend Gina told her she looked sexy in her clingy red jersey top when they went to the ladies’ room to freshen their lipstick and comb their hair. “God, I wish I had your boobs.”
Christina blushed but she knew it was true. She felt sexy tonight. She’d never worn anything red, let alone anything that clung to her body.
Later, when she and Jack were in his room, on his bed, kissing, she knew this would be the night. Not that she’d planned it. She just didn’t try to stop it this time. On the bedside radio Tony Bennett was singing “Because of You.” The volume was turned down so as not to disturb Mrs. O’Malley or the boarders. Between Tony Bennett’s sexy voice, and Jack’s warm breath as he nibbled her earlobe, she was lost in another world. Somewhere a cat was purring, which struck her as odd because Jack didn’t have a cat, but who cared? Who cared about anything?