Falling in Love

  "And he picked up the girl and had his way with her," she said.

  "She was helping him, actually, and she decided she liked him-"

  "And then she got killed at the beginning of the second movie-"

  "But Bourne avenged her handsomely," he said, finger in the air to mark a point. "You know, that's part of the life of a secret agent- Assassin," he corrected. "Don't upset the world-class assassin: an axiom. Just like don't steal the sheriff's car. Those other guys should have read the script."

  She started to ask him about all the movies, but he answered before she asked. "It was Mike who got us into all the movies. It wasn't really, but I blame it on him. The guy's an artist, so, really, you can hit him with anything."

  Millie, a thin, medium-height, brunette, noticed them, picked up Missie and walked over to meet them. Millie scanned them both-walking together, a forgotten smile on Jim's face-and she probed deeply into Jim's eyes. A big smile grew on her face.

  "Jiiiiiim," Millie said. "Hi! Who is this?" Her gaze switched to Lourdes.

  "I don't know. I was just down the street robing a bank, when she showed up and started talking. And I realized I needed a getaway car, so I came for Mike's."

  Millie looked more deeply into Jim's eyes, and, as if it were possible, her smile grew warmer.

  "Hello-" Millie said to Lourdes.

  "Lourdes," Lourdes said.

  "Mexican-American?"

  "Just American. But of Mexican decent, yes."

  Millie extended her hand and they shook. "My family immigrated from Poland, a hundred years ago." Then Millie took Lourdes into her arms for a big three-way hug with Missie that held more message than Lourdes could immediately discern.

  "Lourdes. I'm so glad to meet you," Millie said. "Would you two like to stay a while? Have some refreshments?"

  Lourdes reached over to pet Missie.

  "We'd love to," Jim said, "but I really feel the need for a sit-down lunch. We're going into the steak house, then over to Target. Wanna come? You need anything?"

  "No, we're fine here."

  Lourdes looked at both Jim and Millie. There seemed to be some communication Lourdes was missing, but she knew neither of them.

  "Okay. Then we'll leave." Jim started to back away a bit.

  Millie embraced him and hugged him, too.

  "Uh, you okay, Millie?" Jim asked.

  "Just thankful, she said.

  Jim let her have her hug, then removed her arms from his neck.

  As they walked toward the car, Millie called after them. "Lourdes, you know where we're camped, now. So please come back. This is your home away from the plane on the field. Okay? See you two later."

  Jim opened the door of a light blue Prius. Lourdes went around to the other side, getting in.

  "What am I missing between you two?" Lourdes asked.

  Jim put his foot on the brake and pushed the "On" button, set the ambient temperature to seventy-two.

  "Uh," Jim paused a second. "I think she's surprised to see me with a girl."

  "You're gay?"

  Jim chuckled. "No. But I haven't been getting around much for a few years. So lets go have a bite and get caught up. Okay? Haven't seen you in fifty years."

  "Fifty-two."

  "Fifty-five for me. So far. So I have a lot to learn." He pulled the car out and headed west up the small road.

  "Now, see that big red barn there?"

  "Yours?" she asked.

  "No. It's the Barn Store, where you can get all kinds of food and camping supplies." He followed the road around to the right. "And see that shorter building beside the Barn Store? It's the Volunteer Cafeteria. We show up early and volunteer, and they feed us three squares a day."

  CHAPTER 6

  Wittman Regional was, literally, right across the freeway, so their drive into town was brief-for which Lourdes was thankful, as it seemed Jim was trying to be charming, and she didn't yet grok his sense of humor.

  They walked into a steak house and sat down at a nice table. The air conditioning and deferential manner of the staff were most welcome.

  Lourdes was beat, more than she'd have wanted to admit. It felt nice to be in such civilized surroundings and be waited on.

  "Jim! How are you," the server said in a thick northern accent, as she approached the table. "Where's the rest of the crew."

  "Hello Fran! Day off. But I brought a trainee, here," he said, indicating Lourdes.

  "Okay, then. That sounds good," Fran said, rounding her Os, straight out of the movie 'Fargo.' "We'll show her some basic kindness, and maybe she'll come back. So you know the menu, Jim. What'll you have?"

  "For me, one Porterhouse, medium rare, and mashed potatoes, please," Jim told her.

  Fran moved to write it down.

  "And," he continued, "she'll have a little bowl of soup and a napkin."

  Lourdes rose to his challenge, telling the waitress, "He'll have a vat of Tobasco with a little dish of butter sauce," Lourdes said, "and I'll have the salmon with mashed potatoes."

  "No, I'll have the Porterhouse, and-do you have a glass of water for her to put her dentures in? She'll have little dish of tapioca and a glass of skim milk." Then to Lourdes, "Remember what the doctor said, Dear."

  "Ignore him, Fran. He's been off his medicine for three weeks, so this is to be expected."

  Fran laughed at the exchange.

  "Not to worry," Lourdes said. "He's not violent. But he isn't supposed to eat meat, so, really, he'll just have mixed vegetables with some bread."

  "Why don't I bring you both some canned spaghetti while you fight it out?"

  "Actually, I like the canned spaghetti," Jim said.

  "Me, too," Lourdes gave the server a cute smile that was meant to irritate Jim. "Separate checks."

  "No, one check is okay," Jim said to Fran, then to Lourdes, "I'll buy. You look terrible-"

  Lourdes started to object.

  "-Like you flew in from Hawaii or something."

  "Separate," Lourdes told the server.

  "Same," Jim told her.

  "I'm gonna charge you both double," Fran said and walked away.

  "So, 'Jim.' 'Boone.' Not related to Daniel or Pat?"

  He shook his head no.

  "You fly in? What kind of plane you have?" Lourdes asked. They were pilots. It was a natural question.

  "You flew in from Alaska?" he asked.

  "L.A. A few clicks shy of Alaska."

  "Hollywood?"

  "No. I'm a nurse-I mean, I'm a cardiac surgeon in Beverly Hills."

  "Okay. Great. I'll keep that in mind. Would you come around in about forty years when I need you?"

  "You're so tired because you flew in from Los Angeles? It is a long way."

  "I'm tired for a lot of reasons."

  He nodded. "Okay."

  "So me, I flew in from Greenhills, Missouri-which is my domestic office, a home base for my art forgery business. You know, I've been to the Louvre in Paris, and I was inspired. When it picks up, I plan to move to Miami, where all the good forgers live."

  Lourdes smiled, pretending to be gullible.

  "Good," he said.

  "You lying about flying, also?"

  "My plane is an RV-6. Red. I tried not to paint it red, but that was the color paint I bought, and then when I sprayed it, it came out red."

  "A red RV-6. I know there are RVs, but I don't know what's so good about them, or one from another."

  He looked around as if embarrassed for her. "Shhhh. Don't let that get out. I'll help you. I'm the perfect person to tell you all about them, because I built my '6, and I've been devoted to them for years. It's quite an innovative design. We can go over to the Homebuilt area sometime, and I'll show you all about 'em. There are hundreds of 'em over there."

  "How fast does it go?"

  "Usually about 160 knots, 180 miles per hour or so. It depends on my mashed potato intake level. And it's a taildragger."

  Lourdes had a question on her face.

  "Bec
ause it doesn't' have an 'A' after it," he said. "An RV-7 would be a taildragger; an RV-7A would be a trike."

  "What engine do you have in it?" she asked.

  "Lycoming O-320."

  "So you burn-"

  "Uh, fuel."

  Lourdes smiled at his humor.

  Jim smiled at her smile.

  "What do you have in your plane?" Jim asked.

  "A Continental O-200. Hundred horse."

  "That's a Cessna 152?"

  "150," Lourdes corrected. "1964."

  "Classic. You can land that anywhere. I have a grass strip at my place. Two thousand five hundred feet long. I keep the grass short."

  "It's by your cupcakes and your art forgeries."

  He nodded. "And my roses."

  "So you are gay?" she asked.

  "Not hardly," he said, smiling at her.

  "Right."

  "So how did you get into flying?" he asked her. The question was asked more often of lady pilots than men. Women have always flown, since soon after the Wright Brothers, but they're fewer than men, so they're more of a curiosity.

  Lourdes had been down this road before, but she was new to him, so she tried to answer genuinely. She thought back and tried to remember. "Well, no one in my family flew. It's just me, so- I think they switched me at the hospital. I think it's beautiful and graceful. But I think, on a deeper level, it's a free-spirited escape, a way to soar free and get out. I enjoy doing it, but mostly I enjoy how I feel when I fly: pure, I guess it is. Genuine. Real. Just me, doing a real thing, proving myself each and every time. I need the break, and when I'm up there, two miles high, soaring, I-"

  She stopped abruptly.

  Jim could see the pain that grew on her face. He waited a while to see if she wanted to continue.

  She didn't.

  Jim's tone turned to sincere comfort. "Life is hard," he finally said, summing up for her.

  She looked at the napkin on her lap.

  "You are much too good a person to have to carry all that," he said gently.

  Lourdes started to tear again. "How would you know?"

  "I can see it in you. There's no way I can know all you carry, but you've shown me something in myself, today, that I can relate to. Something about life and its quality that I didn't even realize until now."

  "What?"

  "I'll- I've been dark for a long time. Four years ago, my wife died. Breast cancer."

  "I'm so sorry," Lourdes said, meaning it. "And here you are so happy, helping me."

  "Yes-" Then he stopped. "May I share more of that later? Another time?"

  Lourdes could see he wanted some space, also. "Sure," she said.

  "So, what color is your plane," he said, then answering for himself. "Lourdes from L.A. White with blue!"

  Then he thought to ask. "What is your last name for real?"

  "Aviles."

  "Lourdes Aviles." He seemed charmed.

  "And I'm divorced because he left me, a million years ago."

  "Because you had an affair with-?" he asked.

  "Ben Affleck," she said. "I wish. No. It was just us. He didn't want me any more."

  "There's no way that will feel good. That alone, regardless of anything else, is a heavy load."

  "Right."

  He picked up his water glass, as did she, and they clinked them together as if they were wine and drank.

  "I don't need to guess," Jim said. "He wasn't a pilot."

  "No."

  "Figures. You may have loved him, but he couldn't have been too bright, if he left you."

  "You mind if we save that one for another day, too?" Lourdes asked.

  "Sure. And I'll be happy there is another day." He smiled yet again.

  Not me, Lourdes thought.

  They chatted about general aviation and the upcoming airshow. It was a week long event, beginning Monday and going through the following Sunday, with a major air show every afternoon and zillions of pilots and vendors, twenty thousand planes on the field stretching for miles, hundreds of thousands of spectators over the week, manufacturers displaying new and existing models... He made it clear to her there was no way she'd be able to see it all in one year, and she'd likely wear herself out trying.

  He excused himself to go to the head, returning a couple of minutes later.

  Fran brought their food: a porterhouse steak for Jim, medium rare, potatoes; and salmon and potatoes for Lourdes. No checks.

  "No checks?" Lourdes asked.

  "No," the server answered with an inadvertent glance at Jim. "It's on the house."

  Lourdes shook her head. "Please say thanks to whatever nerf herder paid you, and tell him if he does it again, he'll lose his turn."

  "Nerf herder?" he asked in astonishment.

  "He's fake," Lourdes told Fran, "He prints all his money in the basement."

  "Barn," Jim corrected.

  Fran smiled and set two glasses of a house ros? on the table, which called for a real toast between Lourdes and Jim.

  Acting regal, Jim spoke as if addressing an audience: "May your days be filled with laughter. May your plane fly well. May the weather be fair ahead. And may you be in heaven thirty minutes before the Devil knows you're dead."

  Lourdes laughed, and they took a liberal drink.

  Jim confessed. "I stole part of that from the Irish."

  "I know."

  "Because we're drinking. Wine."

  "The last part."

  "Yeah."

  "You're mental."

  "I'm somethin'."

  "You're somethin' else," she smiled.

  "And so are you," he said with yet another smile to her smile.

  CHAPTER 7

  Two pilots talking planes: that is a cliquish conversation. Two pilots shopping for camping supplies at Oshkosh: that is a specialty.

  "The trick," Jim said to Lourdes while they wondered the aisles at Target, is to get the right size tarp for the weather we think we might have. For your size tent-about six feet square and four feet high? I'm guessing a tarp about 12 by 15 or so, something in that range, would work well."

  "Okay."

  "I don't want to pontificate to you," he said, as if asking for permission to rattle on, "but this is a talent of mine."

  "It's okay. You have the car keys, and I don't want to walk two miles back to base."

  "No problem. You see, if you drape a tarp over your tent and stake it to the ground on three sides, except the door-flap side? Then it'll protect you from the rain, even when it's heavy, but your tent will get hot, and then you'll sleep hot, and that's no fun. So, you get one that's a tad larger, stake it down on one side, only, to the ground-like the north side maybe-and then on the other two non-door sides, you set the stakes farther out with rope holding the tarp-so you can get a cross-breeze through there to keep it cooler."

  Lourdes thought he was putting too much into this, but let him drone on. It seemed to make him happy.

  Shopping, they wound up buying soap, toothpaste, large plastic tent stakes, a 15 x 15 tarp, some clothes-because she brought so little-some plastic bags to hold dirty clothes, batteries, several snack bars, and a few other things to make her more comfortable.

  They dropped Mike's car off at their motor home in Camp Scholler and walked back to her plane. In no time, he had her tent properly covered.

  "It might be overkill, but it should keep you dry if needed," he said.

  Lourdes saw him turn to look at her, but she was feeling a little overwhelmed at all his attention.

  "So, listen, you need to register your plane at the registration shack over there," he pointed. "Pay for camping and also get a wrist band to come and go from the airshow."

  "Okay. I will."

  "You put their little stickers on the panel in the plane and one on your tent. Then that's it: you're here."

  Lourdes turned away from him to look at her camp. It was fine. He'd done a good job.

  "Jim, I do appreciate all you're doing for me, but I-"


  "I think maybe a lot has happened, and you'd like some time to yourself for a while? To catch up with it all?"

  Lourdes was relieved. "Yes."

  Mike showed up on his bike again, followed by someone else on another bike.

  "Hello all. Did you get all your bits over at Target? Millie told me you were going. I was hoping for a little present, myself, like a color TV or some gold bars."

  "That's okay," Jim said to Lourdes, ignoring Mike. "I like solace, too, sometimes. It's a big place."

  Mike held back.

  Jim continued to Lourdes. "So when you're out walking around, today, Show Center is up that way north of us, the flight line is all along that east side. Then there's massive areas of production planes being parked, then homebuilts for camping and parking, where mine is, and warbirds. It's a nice area, very civilized. The North Forty is all the way up there along Runway Two Seven, like down here but where they park newer spam cans, and they 'T' some of them, so you'll know."

  Lourdes said nothing, withdrawing.

  "Okay. So it was a pleasure meeting you," Jim said with a sad smile.

  "Yes," Lourdes barely spoke.

  "So I hope I can see you tomorrow? Around."

  "Yeah, that would be fine." Lourdes tone was distant and fading.

  "Okay. See you then."

  Lourdes walked slowly off in the direction of the registration shack and disappeared behind a Piper Pacer.

  "Clich? time?" Mike asked.

  "No, No. It's okay," Jim said.

  The other biker said nothing.

  Jim looked after her. She reappeared again around a Stinson, and he smiled to himself.

  "Oh, Bobby. Lookie that," Mike said in a fake Irish accent to his riding mate. "Ole Jimmy's got the bug."

  Mike hopped off his bike and gave Jim a big hug. "Millie told me, but I didn't think I should believe it. But you have, haven't you? You've been bitten!"

  Mike started dancing a little Irish jig while holding onto Jim's shoulders.

  Jim smiled at the loon and looked a little embarrassed.

  "I don't know. We've only just met."

  "I know, but you're a man who knows his ways. You know your own mind, and if you know, then you know."

  The only person Lourdes had ever been able to trust was herself, and now, with this latest fiasco, she wasn't sure she could even do that. The enormity of her recent actions weighed on her. Her perceptual field varied. Her hearing faded. She could see what was going on around her, but her willingness to pay any attention waned.