Pineapple Street(50)
That was, in fact, not the expression. Darley had heard it a million times: “If it flies, floats, or fucks, rent it.” Paying for a plane, a boat, or a wife was a waste of money. She appreciated this stranger’s sense of decorum.
“It’s a beautiful plane. It’s so luxurious on the inside, like a sports car—all that leather,” Darley said.
“The first time I saw the gull wing doors I was a goner. And the avionics . . .” Cy shook his head.
“And the parachute. I love that the plane has its own parachute!”
“You know their slogan, ‘Chute Happens.’?” They both laughed.
“Do you work in the industry, or are you a weekend warrior?”
“I work in airlines. Then I leave the office and go fly. What can I say? I wish I were a more well-rounded person, but my golf game is terrible.” Cy smiled and Darley grinned back. “What about you? Are you in the industry?”
“Oh, no,” Darley demurred. “My husband is, but I’m just an avgeek.”
“Half the people in this room have worse and more expensive habits. I think we’re doing okay.”
They chatted for a few more minutes before Cy gave her his card and invited her and Malcolm to join him on the plane anytime. Darley made her way back to her parents, glowing happily.
“So, who owns the plane?” Tilda asked conspiratorially. A Cirrus SR22 was worth at least a million dollars, and Tilda made it her business to know who had that kind of cash lying around for their hobbies.
“His name is Cy Habib. They live over on Gardner Place.”
“What kind of name is Habib?” Chip frowned.
“It’s Middle Eastern,” Darley answered.
“Ah,” Chip said, nodding, as if this confirmed a particularly clever suspicion.
Darley snorted in annoyance. But it wasn’t surprising to her that one of the other parents who flew planes was a person of color. This was something she and Malcolm had reflected on, how diverse the world of American aviation was. Sometimes it started young, because children of immigrants just had more exposure to long international flights as kids, heading to India or Singapore or South Africa to visit their grandparents. While Darley had just walked three blocks to see Pip and Pop, Malcolm was flying to South Korea, poking his head into the cockpit to meet the pilots, affixing plastic wings to his carefully pressed shirt. There was also something glamorous about flying overseas, and once you got jet fuel in your veins it was impossible to shake. People who loved to fly were hooked for life.
When the live auction began, Darley’s parents put down their cocktails and prepared their paddles. As the auctioneer introduced the Henry Street teddy bear and opened the bidding at a thousand, Darley felt a small thrill. Was it weird to get excited watching people spend money? She supposed it was no different from watching people who threw dollar bills in the air at a nightclub. Everyone liked watching cash splash about.
The NBA player and his wife raised their paddle over and over and ended up buying the teddy bear for eight thousand dollars, and the evening was off and running. They quickly sold a walk-on part on a soap opera, a guitar played by Bruce Springsteen, a 1959 Masters flag signed by Arnold Palmer, box seats to a Billie Eilish concert, and a kid’s Spider-Man costume signed by Stan Lee.
“Damn it, we should have bid on that for Hatcher,” Tilda whispered to Darley.
“You bought him one three years ago.” Darley rolled her eyes. “We have it in a box so he won’t try to wear it.”
When the auctioneer announced the private dinner cooked by Tom Stork, Tilda grabbed her paddle and stood up straight. Tom himself was stationed at a nearby table, and Tilda smiled broadly in his direction. Darley cringed as Tom downed the rest of his drink and left the room, ostensibly to go to the bar but clearly to avoid the awkwardness of everyone staring at him.
“What’s the point of bidding if he can’t see it?” Tilda lamented. She raised her paddle up to five thousand dollars and then dropped out, letting it go to a couple on the other side of the room. “I do hope his wife tells him we bid.” Tilda pouted and pulled her phone out of her handbag. “God, Darley, I can’t see a thing on this app. How much is the Nashaun house up to on the silent auction?”
“Do you have your reading glasses?” Darley asked, looking over her mother’s shoulder.
“No, they don’t fit in my handbag.” She held the phone as far away from her face as she could and lifted her chin, tapping away.
The rest of the party passed in a blur of cheek kisses and slightly sloppy conversations with the teachers and heads of school. Darley felt sorry for them, resigned to sipping single glasses of warm white wine so they could stay sober enough to remember all the parents’ names. As the nine o’clock bell for the final auction bids approached, the Stocktons made their way over to the class donations to see the quilt and chair in person. A few familiar parents were hanging out by the kindergarten auction items, and an enormously pregnant woman was sitting in the canvas chair with the signatures on it.
“I’ve claimed this!” the woman laughed as they approached. “It is literally the only thing that has made my back stop hurting in nine months, so I have my husband obsessively bidding!”
“You deserve it!” Darley said, privately thrilled they wouldn’t have to end up with it. She hoped someone would grow similarly attached to the quilt. As the minutes ticked ever closer to the bell, the guests became increasingly attuned to their phones, wanting to make sure nobody swooped in to steal their auction items at the buzzer.