“It had to be done,” she said, fiercely, her eyes snapping up at me, blue and hard and cold. “Sure, now that we’ve got a flop, it’s easy to say we should have stuck by him, seen it through with him, sure. But tell me something, Gene. Suppose the play had been a hit? Would it have been worth it then?”
And because I was drunk, I had no answer.
The Birthday Party
He was still very intoxicated when the pilot or the purser, or whoever it was, made the announcement. His head rolled over to one side, and he gazed through the window just level with his right shoulder and down to the ground below where he could see beginning pinpoints of light in the distance. He was wondering what it was the loudspeaker had announced, when a blond stewardess came up the aisle and paused and smiled. “Would you please fasten your seat belt, sir?” she asked.
“I would be happy to,” he answered. He smiled back at her, and then began looking for the seat belt, lifting his behind and reaching under him to pull it free, and then fumbling very hard to fasten it, while the blond stewardess stood patiently smiling in the aisle.
“May I help you, sir?” she asked.
“Please,” he said.
She ducked her head a little as she moved toward him past the empty aisle seat. Smiling, standing balanced just a bit to his left, she caught up both ends of the seat belt and was clasping them together when he lightly and impishly ran his right hand up the inside of her leg. She did not jump or scream or anything. She just continued fastening the seat belt, with the smile still on her face, and then she backed away into the aisle again, saying, “There you are, sir.”
He was enormously surprised. He thought Now that is poise, that is what I really call poise, and then he wondered whether there possibly hadn’t been a short-circuit from his brain to his hand, causing the brain command to be issued but not executed. In which case, nothing at all had happened and the girl’s tremendously impressive icy poise and aloofness, her ability to remain a staid and comforting mother-image in the face of danger was really nothing to marvel at, boy am I drunk, he thought.
He could not imagine how he had got so drunk since he absolutely knew for a concrete fact that it was an ironbound rule of airplane companies the world over never to serve any of its passengers more than two drinks of whiskey. He suspected, however, that he had been drinking a stupefying amount of booze long before he’d boarded the plane, though he couldn’t quite remember all of it too clearly at the moment, especially since everything seemed to begin spinning all at once, the lights below springing up to his window in startling red and green and white proximity, oh mother, we are going to crash, he thought.
He recognized at once, and to his enormous relief, that the plane was only banking for a turn on its approach to an airport, probably New York though he could not remember ever seeing lights like those on the approach to New York, scattered for miles, spilled brokenly across the landscape, oh that was a beautiful sight down there, he wished he knew where the hell he was.
The poised young blond stewardess opened the folding door between sections, and then walked briskly forward again, preparatory to taking her own seat and fastening her own belt. She was carrying a blanket or something, they always seemed to be tidying up an airplane just before it landed. He said, “Miss?” and when she stopped he noticed that she kept her distance. “Miss, where are we? We’re coming down someplace, aren’t we?”
“Yes?”
“Well, where are we coming down?” he asked.
“Los Angeles,” she said.
“Oh good,” he answered. “I’ve never been to Los Angeles before.” He paused, and then smiled. “Miss?”
“Yes, what it is? I’ve got to take a seat.”
“I know. I just wanted to ask you something. Did I put my hand under your skirt?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Just a little while ago?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The stewardess smiled. “All right,” she said. She started up the aisle again, stopped, turned back, leaned over, and whispered, “Your hands are cold.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“All right,” she answered, and smiled, and left.
He pressed his forehead to the glass and watched the lights drawing closer and closer. He could see moving automobiles below now, and neon signs, and traffic signals blinking on and off, the Lionel train set his father had bought him for Christmas long ago, toy houses puffing smoke, reach down like God and lift the little automobiles, the movie with Roland Young where the huge pointing finger of God came down over his head. There was speed suddenly, a sense of blinding speed as the ground moved up and the airport buildings flashed by in a dizzying blur. He felt the vibration of the wheels when they touched.
He thought, It’s all over.
“We have just landed at Los Angeles International Airport,” a voice said. He knew for sure it wasn’t the pilot this time, unless they allowed women to fly jet aircrafts. “The local time is six forty-five p.m., and the temperature is seventy-eight degrees. May we ask you to please remain seated until we have taxied to the terminal building and our engines have stopped? It has been our pleasure to serve you, and we hope you will be flying with us again in the near future. Thank you, and Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you,” he said aloud, “and a Merry Christmas to you, too.” He immediately unfastened his seat belt and rose to take his coat from the rack overhead. The stewardess’ voice came over the loudspeaker in gentle warning. “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated until the aircraft has taxied to a stop. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he said again, “you forgot to say Merry Christmas.” He did not bother to sit because he figured the aircraft must surely have taxied to a stop by now, although he could still hear engines. He was putting on his coat when the blond stewardess came up the aisle to him. “Sir,” she said, “would you please remain seated until we have taxied and stopped?”
“Certainly,” he said, but he did not sit.
“Sir, we’d appreciate it...”
“You are the most poised young lady I ever met in my life,” he said.
“Thank you, but...”
“Are you Swedish?”
“No, sir, I...”
“We have a girl in our office from Sweden, she’s very poised, too. At the Christmas party today, she jumped off the window.”
“She what?” the stewardess said. “She jumped out of the window?”
“No. Of course not! She jumped off the window. Off it. The sill.”
“Oh,” the stewardess said.
“What’s your name?” he asked her.
“Miss Radley.”
“That doesn’t sound Swedish at all,” he said. “My name is Arthur. Everyone calls me Doc.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“No, I’m an art director, but everyone calls me Doc. What did you say your name was?”
“Miss Radley. Iris Radley.”
“Boy, that is some funny name for a Swedish girl,” he said.
“Why do they call you Doc?” she asked.
“Because I wear eyeglasses.”
“Well, Doc,” she said, “you’ve successfully remained standing all the while we taxied.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Have a nice time in Los Angeles.”