28. Deed Ducked, Disaster Struck

At the Cheyenne, WY regional airport, a Cessna made an early evening landing and taxied to the ramp for refueling. Its pilot, Scott Andrews, was done flying for this day. He went into the attendant’s building and arranged to hangar the Skyhawk. He asked about nearby accommodations.
“There’s a Super 8 right here. There’s a bar called the Cloud Nine Lounge.”
“Say, by the way, isn’t this where that kid died?”
“Yep. Jessica went down right about over there,” the man said, pointing to the little residential area that bordered the airport. People often ask about that. We are not so proud of it.”
“Yeah. I can imagine. My wife got onto the topic a while ago. For some reason it stuck in my mind.”
“Yeah. Her last words were ‘do you hear the rain, do you hear the rain?’”
“Yeow. This was on the cockpit recorder?”
“Nah. They flew a Cessna kind of like yours. No recorder. She was on the phone with her mother.”
“That’s tragic.”
“Yep. Enjoy Cheyenne.”
“Thanks.”
After taking care of post flight business, Scott headed for the Cloud Nine. He got himself a booth and a beer and called Lana. It was odd, but he didn’t see her location on Google maps. Perhaps she’d turned her phone off. They’d been in major tiff mode when he left.

Lana looked up into Julian’s face. He looked as though he were going to burst into tears. She felt such a surge of emotion herself for him at this perception that she pulled his head down towards hers and kissed him on the mouth.

At just that moment, she heard her phone ring. It was that goddamned song, ‘up up and away;’ it was Scott. She broke off that divine first kiss.
“Shit, I’d better pick up. I should have turned off that damn phone.” She put her fingers to her lips to indicate the need for stealth.
“Hey,” she said, without any detectable emotion.
Julian sat in the big lounger, quietly. He listed to Lana’s side of the call.
“Well, that’s probably because I was fooling with it and somehow managed to break that tracking app. I’m sitting here where you left me. Tory and Mea say hi.”
“No Scott, I’m not still mad at you. Should I be?”
“I know you love me. You just have a fucked up way of showing it.”
“I’m glad you made Cheyenne OK.”
“No I didn’t know her last words. That’s a heartbreaker.”
“The blogging is going just fine. I’m doing a recipe for Johnny Cake.”
“It’s a pioneer dish.”
“Is that your whole report?”
“’K, bye.”
Julian had his head on his hands.
“Scott.”
“Uh huh. Sorry.”
“It’s quite alright. I should call Lana. She thinks I went for a walk.”
“Sure.”
Julian fished in his coat pocket for his dumb phone. He peered at it, pushing its buttons.
“It’s ringing,” he said. Lana nodded. “Hmm. No answer. She must be toasted.”
Lana laughed.
“So, my beautiful man, where were we?”
“We were breaking the law.”
“Want to break it some more?”
He stared at his phone. The ache in his crotch was a dull one. The ache in his head was sharp and poignant.
“I remember a book by Clement Stone.”
“What book was that?”
“The Success System That Never Fails.”
“Never?”
“Well, hardly ever.”
“What makes you think of it just now?”
“He has a little saying, ‘do what is right, because it’s right.’”:
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t do this, can you Julian?”
“No, I can’t.”
She let the silence speak for a moment. Then she said,
“I understand and respect that. I am disappointed. But we are always going to be friends. I have a bond with you that can’t be broken. If it can’t also be consummated and explored, that is a little sad, but it’s not as sad as a seven year old pilot going down, telling her mother to listen to the rain.”
“You’re not dead yet, you mean.”
“That’s right.”
“I really have to head back. I have miles to go before I sleep.”
“Of course. I don’t suppose that you’ll kiss me goodbye, perhaps one last time? I would love it if you would. I will always remember this time.”
She saw that he was crying. Her heartache also caught up with her now, and she too began to leak tears. He bent down, and gave her a kiss on a salty cheek. Then, he grabbed his coat and dressed for the outside onslaught.
“Are you heading back to Parkersburg.”
She nodded.
“But first, I’ll just be in the room a bit. I may call Scott back.”
He smiled at her, and nodded.
“It’s been lovely to meet you,” he said.
“Likewise.”
“I’ll see you in the bloggersphere. “
“Right, my eternal Facebook friend.”
She opened the door for him, and her hands flew to his nearest one. She grasped his hands and looked up at him.
“Safe travels, Julian. Listen to me and understand this. I love you helplessly. You are a wonderful, sweet man.”
“I love you also, my muse.”
Then he turned and walked to his car. She stood in the doorway, letting winter pour in to freeze her heat. She watched him as he pulled out and drove off. She closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed and began to sob. After her crying jag subsided, she stayed prone. She decided against calling Scott again. Instead, she lay back on the bed and fantasized about Julian and inhaled his smell that still lingered on her hand. With the other hand, she masturbated. She was desperate by now. She spent the night alone in the hotel. In the morning, she drove back to Parkersburg.

On the long drive back to Stephens City, Julian mused about whether he had done the right thing after all. Such opportunities did not arise endlessly in life. He could now face Dana with a clear conscience, and that was easier. It was a burden lifted. He knew he’d done right by her, although he’d wasted a fair amount of time and gas to meet ‘that whore with the blog.’ He thought also about ‘that whore.’ She was, he thought again, no such thing. She was a very lovely young woman with a great talent. He now understood that she was not Amy, but she was certainly as sexually oriented as Amy. She was, he thought, more like Clytemnestra. She was resilient and surefooted. She knew her own mind, knew what she wanted, and made a direct line to get it. She was now determined to end her marriage, or at least cheat. He felt sorry for Scott all of a sudden. He did not feel sorry for himself. He also pondered his feelings for her. He loved her in a strange sort of way. She struck him as a daughter and not as a lover. He was at peace with himself about that. He was, he thought, quite right to put her down on the other side of the river. He knew himself better than to think he’d put her out of his mind in any real sense. True love is forever, and that goes double if you never do the nasty.

In the morning, Scott flew the final leg of his series of hops, and got into Oakland late in the afternoon. It was a long haul in a Cessna. He had tail winds, and made good time. He had to refuel once, but then he was back up and at it. It was hours of boredom. He thought about Lana. He resolved to check out her blog as soon as she gave him the word it was up. He thought Johnny Cake sounded interesting. Of course, Oakland International was huge. He’d never been here before, and his air traffic protocol was a scoach rusty. He’d made it in, flying IFR, doing as told, lining up his approach as directed, tuning in the glide slope and letting the autopilot bring him in. He got a bit confused with the taxi situation. Eventually, though he had his bird all chocked down on the ramp and he made his way for a bite to eat. As he munched down his burger, he saw that Lana was now reported to be in Parkersburg at the club Coyote Gone Wild. He suspected that she was out with Miller’s wife, and also Ms. Roiter. Good for her. He’d let her have her lark and call her later.

The business at hand was to take the shuttle out to the Ground Cargo ramp where he was going to meet Fred Nance. Fred had this huge aviation consortium and was promising the moon in terms of a big client base. He wanted to waste no time, so he called Fred and let him know he was in town, and at the airport.
“Sure, Scott. We’re open late. Come on around.”
“I’m just finishing up with a bite to eat. I think I can get over there in a half hour say.”
“Good, good. Bring me your goodies.”
“I got my brochure and our catalog is always on line.”
“Great. Looking forward to your pitch.”
Scott arrived at the building and found the way in. It was corrugated metal, and full of stuff. Shelving, paper, parts, drums, all the stuff that made flying doable and kept people from dying doing it. Fred was a balding, paunchy man in a Hawaiian shirt, short sleeved, even in winter.
“Hey, Mr. Nance! Great to meet you at last.”
“Same, Scott. My pleasure.”
“Did you get a chance to look over our catalog?”
“Well, I’ve looked at it before, but at the moment I can’t get online because my daughter is over there eating up the bandwidth on youtube.”
“That’s too funny.”
“Yeah, she’s a fiend with a phone.”
“My wife also.”
“Yeah. The kid is crazy about this blog. It’s a woman from your neck, actually.”
“Really? My wife’s been talking about doing a blog. What’s this woman’s name?”
“It’s Amy, I think.”
“Ah. My wife’s name is Lana.”
Hearing the men discussing her favorite blog, Genna Nance popped her head around the corner of the metal shelving that obscured her from the desk.
“Talking about me? My ears are burning.”
“Genna, this is Scott. He’s from Parkersburg. Scott, this is my daughter Genna.”
“Nice to meet you, Genna.”
Genna was about Lana’s age was Scott’s guess.
“I love this site. The woman is bonkers.”
She handed Scott the phone. Out of courtesy, he took it. Genna had thoughtfully called up Amy’s profile. There, looking out at him from a smart phone was the crystal clear image of Lana. It was that picture of her beaming about her scones. Scott’s face turned a bright red.
“That’s…that’s…her. That’s my wife.”
“Wow. That is so cool.”
“I don’t know… I mean, she mentioned that she wanted to blog. I didn’t think you could put one of those things up so fast.”
“Oh, you can put one up really quick, but this one’s been up for months. It’s like totally viral. It’s like the number one personal blog nationwide, maybe worldwide. This woman’s famous. You are one lucky dude.”
“You said she was bonkers.”
“Yeah. She writes all sorts of sexy stuff. You seem surprised. Is this news to you?”
“Totally. I had no idea.”
Scott’s mind was reeling.
“Welcome to the real world, dude,” said Fred.
Scott was struggling to parse this. He was also trying to get back to the business he’d flown all the way out here to do. He wanted to get to his pitch, but he needed to get to that blog. Later.
“Say, I’d like to talk to you about Aviation Synergies. But do you mind if I write down the name of that… my wife’s blog?”
“Sure,” said, Genna. “Here it is. I’ll jot the title on a scrap of paper. ‘Amy Tells All.’”
“Oh, jeez. Thanks much, Genna.”
“Yer totally welcome. Say hi to Amy. I feel like I should get your autograph. But of course it’s your wife’s that I want. No offense.”
“None taken.”
It was the first in a series of seriously disorienting realizations. The truth came bursting in with all of its matter of fact. He got down to pitching his business, and put the blog bullshit on his back burner. But it stayed there in a furious simmer.

The moment he got a chance, in his hotel room, lying back on the bed, he peered at the screen of his phone, and read the latest from “Amy Tells All.” It was the one in which Amy told him he was an asshole, basically.

Having digested the scalding fact that she’d lied to him all along, or at least for a good long while, and that she’d taken advantage of his absence to go do the nasty with some admirer or other, not to mention what all else he saw there about cats and shit like that, none of it as simple as recipes or any of that shit she’d said she wanted to do, and the idea that she was doing this in public, humiliating him, not mentioning him by name, but still… Shaking with rage, he speed dialed Lana.
“Hey.” He could hear the commotion going on at Coyote’s.
“What the fuck are you doing!” he shouted into her ear.
She pulled the phone back away from her head. She stared at it for a second. She could hear him shouting even over the din in the bar.
“What is the fucking matter with you, Scott?”
“You can tell where I am and you can guess what I’m doing.”
“I’ve discovered your fucking blog, ‘Amy Lissa.’”
All of sudden, she thought she might throw up. She turned off the phone.
“Hey! Lana! Are you all right?” Christine was shouting over the clatter of dishes and the buzz of chit chat.
“No. I need to go home. Now.”
“What’s happened?” asked Lisa. Coming in to the bar area from the dance floor. She had seen Lana on her phone and seen her blanch, sort of double over, and throttle that iPhone. It did not look like good news.
“Scott found the blog!”
“You mean Amy?”
“Yes!”
“Fuck!”
“It was bound to happen. Everybody else on the planet has discovered it.”
“I’ve got to run, girls. I’ve got to take that thing down before the idiot reads all of it.”
“OK. Get to it.”
She grabbed her coat from the back of the chair where she’d stowed it, and she was out the door before she had it buttoned. She was in the car and peeled out and pounding on the wheel saying ‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ as she barreled ass for her house. Once in the door, she skipped taking off her boots and tracked her snow and mud all over the white carpet on her way to the computer. She was at it in a flash, that site. She navigated to settings and she changed its privacy setting from public to private. She made herself the only person on the planet that could access it.

In his hotel room, Scott was staring at his iPhone. She’d not only hung up on him, but she’d turned the damn phone off. She was nowhere on the planet to be found. He sat there still seething, trying to think of what to do next. He got up and paced a little bit. He thought of calling Bruce and trying to get him to go over to the house and maybe put her under some sort of house arrest. That seemed like a bad idea on second thought, because he thought Bruce was somewhat sympathetic to her, and would likely only aid and abet. Then it occurred to him that they were all in on it. He remembered now the Christmas Eve toast to “Lana’s blog.” What a crock of shit! OK, so what all else was on this blog. He picked up the phone and tried to access it. He got a message saying, “it appears you have not been invited to this private blog. Try contacting the owner for permission or log in under a different account.” This was, he understood, the invisible hand of Lana, locking him out. What else was she going to lock him out of?

His next act was a little nutty. He was at an airport hotel. He needed to get back to Parkersburg. He decided to ditch his Skyhawk and get on a commercial flight.