The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(44)

Ida sat at the table in the corner, next to Imogene. Opposite them, Pearl, who had found a babysitter for her triplets, kept blinking around the group as if she were startled to be out of the house after dark. We’d even managed to get Sabiha G ?k ?en to join us before she headed back to Turkey, although the princess had “declined our kind invitation with regrets.”

“The most breathtaking moment of the air show came as Mrs. Nathaniel York—”

“Why they not use your name?” Helen glared at the large pot of vegetables she was stirring as if it were the newspaper.

“It’s standard convention.” I poured a measure of vermouth into the pitcher of gin. “And I like being married to Nathaniel.”

“Just wait until Dennis asks you to marry him.” Betty waved the newspaper at her. “And you’re Mrs. Dennis Chien.”

“Wait—what?” I turned from the martinis. “You have a beau?”

Helen stared at me, holding the spoon in one hand and shaping the word with her mouth.

“B. E. A. U. It’s French for boyfriend,” supplied Pearl. “And why don’t we know about him?”

Helen rolled her eyes and looked back to the pot of vegetables. “Just because he’s Chinese doesn’t mean we’re dating.”

I blinked. “Wait. Dennis Chien? From engineering? He’s a lamb.”

“We’re. Not. Dating.” She spun and pointed the dripping spoon at Betty. “You. Read article.”

“Aye aye, ma’am.” Betty took a healthy sip of her martini and lifted the paper again. “The most breathtaking moment of the air show came as Mrs. Nathaniel York hit a flock of wild geese and lost power to her engine.”

I winced and glanced over to Imogene. “I’m still so sorry about that.”

“Yes. I’m sure you control the flight pattern of geese.” She shook her head. “And you paid for it, so … hush.”

Helen snorted. “Good luck getting her to not feel guilty on something.”

Raising my hand, I said, “Jewish.” It was also why I’d insisted that Nathaniel and I cover the damages, even though it wiped out our savings, because I didn’t want anyone to think we were being cheap. “And Southern. It’s encoded in my DNA.”

“Try being Catholic.” Helen said from the stove.

“Agreed.” Pearl nodded. “I’m feeling guilty just sitting here.”

“The point—” Betty cut in and waved the newspaper clipping over her head. “Is that my article got picked up by the AP, which means it went out to all the major papers, and millions of people read it. So we need to start talking about our next move.”

Sabiha G ?k ?en raised her hand. “Another air show? Is popular. Yes?”

“Maybe we could do one in another city.” Ida said. “Like Chicago or Atlanta.”

Nodding, I added ice to the martini pitcher. “Or Seattle. Nathaniel’s been talking with Boeing about their KC-135 refueler. And, no, we can’t fly her, but still…” Even getting Boeing to loan us one of the first production models to be a static display on the field would draw a lot of attention. “There are probably local pilots there that might be good to pull in.”

Betty shook her head. “The decision makers are here in the capital. We need to do something here. Like getting an air show televised. Live.”

I nearly dropped the ice tray. Facing all of those reporters had been bad enough when it wasn’t live. But being broadcast to the nation? No thank you.

“Ooo!” Pearl clapped her hands together. “What about the Dinah Shore show? She has guests on sometimes.”

“And she’s Jewish.” Betty leaned across the counter toward me. “What about it, Mrs. Nathaniel York? Want me to see if I can get you on there?”

“Pretty sure I’d have to sing to do that.” I left alone the assumption that all Jews must know each other and stirred the martinis, focusing on the chilling pitcher as if my life depended on it. Condensation began to form on the outside as the gin cooled. “I think just flying in an air show will be enough for me. What about Ida?”

“This better not be an assumption that because I’m black, I can sing.”

“That article lists you as the leader of the formation segment.”

“Has Dinah Shore ever had a black guest?”

I pulled the spoon out of the pitcher. “A more immediate question is … who wants another martini?”

Everyone did. Me? I wanted a double.

*

Back at work, the goal of reaching the moon carried on. I had been working on a series of calculations for orbital rendezvous. In theory, the astronauts would be able to ask the computers on Earth to do their calculations, but there would be times when they would be out of radio range, so we needed a way for the astronauts to work it out on their own. If the IBM was smaller or more reliable, that might be an option, but even that would require them to do preliminary calculations.

A shadow fell across my desk. Mrs. Rogers, who ran the computing department, stood there with a frown. Her steel-gray hair was pulled back in a bun that made her look more severe than she really was. “Elma? You have a call in my office.”

A call at work? I ran through the list of people who would call me at work and came up with exactly two. Nathaniel, who was just down the hall. And Hershel. My heart dropped into my stomach. Swallowing, I pushed back my chair. “Thank you, Mrs. Rogers.”