Sure do.
Mind if I borrow it a second? We got a little situation here.
Be my guest, Sam said, nodding to where the broom leaned against the wall. Harrison picked it up and laid it on the table.
Here, he said to Sam. Hold this.
Sam held the end of the handle. Harrison found a saw and cut a foot off the end.
That ought to do it, he said.
Yes, sir, Sam said.
Thanks, Sam. Sorry about the broom.
What you got? Yeager said, as Harrison walked back.
Latest breakthrough in supersonic flight engineering, he said, handing Yeager the broom handle. That’ll fit right into the door handle. You can use your left hand to raise it up and shove it locked.
Let’s give it a try, Yeager said.
They walked back into the hangar, climbed up to the cockpit and tested the technique. No one saw.
Looks good, Harrison said. How you gonna get down the ladder though?
One rung at a time. Either that or Ridley can piggyback me.
You bring the paint?
Sure did.
Let’s get on with it, case any brass show up.
The sun moved west a foot an hour. The sky was empty and long. Pancho stood outside, cigar burning between her teeth. The flight was scheduled for ten. Inside, Glennis sat up at the bar. Pancho took one last pull then put the cigar out on the rail and went back inside.
Get you anything, sweetie? she said.
No, Glennis said. Thanks, Pancho.
You okay?
Glennis looked up.
Never know how many places to set for supper, she said.
They sat and waited.
How’s his side this morning? Pancho said.
Says it aches, but the vet fixed him up pretty good, least for today.
The radio was on. It was almost ten. Technicians were preparing the flight.
Gracie, Pancho said.
Glennis turned around.
Hey, Glennis said. I was coming to see you later.
She slid from the stool and the women embraced.
Thought I might as well be here, Grace said. Hi, Pancho.
You want a drink? Pancho said.
I’ll have a beer.
Grace, honey, I’m so sorry, Glennis said, sitting back down. Jim told me last night.
It’s fine, Grace said, really.
Let me come over later.
Sure, that’d be nice.
Pancho put a bottle down in front of her.
I just want this over with, Glennis said.
Almost ten, Pancho said. Sure you don’t want nothin?
Beer’d be good I guess, she said.
On me. Both of them, Pancho said, reaching beneath the bar and passing her a bottle.
Glennis stared at the bottle of suds, turning it clockwise with her fingertips.
There’s this thing, she said, happens time to time. Sure wish it didn’t. Don’t know how I see it, but I do; I always do. I’m on the airplane with him. He’s strapped in, door locked, waiting for the drop. And I see, over his shoulder, the pressure fall on the fuel gauge. Needle drops fast, to zero. Only he doesn’t see it, so I tell him, Chuck, your fuel pressure’s dropped, you need to call for an abort, but he can’t hear me, so I shout at him to check his dials—which, course, he does anyway—and I feel so relieved. He turns everything off and calls for an abort over the loop. Tower hears him, Jim and Kit flying chase hear him, boys in the NACA truck hear him—I hear him—but the B-29 pilot up there—and I never know who it is—doesn’t hear him. He’s accidentally got his finger punched down on the microphone transmission key. I know because, my God, I can see it; I’m there in the B-29 cockpit too. So I start shouting, Don’t drop him! but he can’t hear me and he starts the countdown, ten through one, which everyone on the loop hears, including Chuck, who starts yelling, Don’t drop me! Don’t drop me! and Jim and Kit and the others are yelling Don’t drop him! and I start screaming Don’t drop him! until I’m hoarse and crying and the countdown finishes and he reaches over to the handle and releases the plane, and … that’s when I wake up screaming.
Christ, Pancho said.
What you tell Chuck? Grace said.
That I had a bad dream.
You tell him about it?
I can’t. It don’t feel right. Like I’d be damaging his confidence. And if I do that, it might affect the flight. Just thinking it feels wrong; like letting the thought in is enough to … I tell him, one of the kids had a fall, or got hit by a car; something like that.
She drank her bottle down.
That’s why I didn’t want my name on that damn airplane, she said, wiping her lips. Ain’t nothing glamorous about it.
Grace nodded. On the radio, Ridley said, let’s go.
They listened as the B-29, with the X-1 mated beneath it, rolled down the runway, took off and began to climb.
It’s a beautiful day, Grace said.
Yes it is, Glennis said.
The women sat and drank and the sun beat down on the bar.
Harrison’s voice; Pancho looked at Grace. He was taking off in a Shooting Star, flying chase with Kit Murray. Pancho poured herself a scotch. From the mothership, they heard four minutes called, then two minutes, then Ridley’s voice again, to Yeager, waiting in the plane below.