Silver Wings for Vicki

CHAPTER I | Vicki Makes Plans-3

VICKI LOVED THE CASTLE on its crest of hill at the edge of town. She had always felt it rare good luck to live in a place which all of Fairview drove out to admire. Not that the Barrs could afford a great deal on a professor’s salary, even counting Mr. Barr’s consultative services to businessmen’s groups. But Cousin Bill had left the property to them, the biggest and best surprise the Barrs would ever have. When the Barrs moved in, it was rather a white elephant of a place, run down and gloomy. But, working with small means and plenty of enthusiasm, they had contrived to make the house a miniature castle indeed.

For The Castle—though not very large—had a tower, high Norman-casement windows, sloping red-tiled roof, an upstairs balcony, a buttressed oak entrance door. The grounds, too, resembled the park of a castle: a sweeping lawn setting the house well back off the road, spreading shade trees, a rock garden, a rose and peony garden, stone birdbaths and benches. Behind the house apple and cherry trees grew. Then the grassy hill rolled downward, became a little wood, and led steeply down to the lake. Professor Barr had built a boathouse down there, and a small dock.

Vicki glanced up at her own windows, with their prized balcony. The shadowy, pale-blue curtains in her room stirred a little.

“I would be stark, raving mad to leave The Castle,” she thought in a rush of feeling.

Nevertheless, at nine o’clock Monday morning Vicki was in the lobby of Fairview’s biggest hotel. Her silver-blonde hair was severely coiffed, to make her look older, she hoped. She had worn her gray suit, crisp white blouse and gloves, in an effort to tone down her Dresden-china prettiness and appear capable. Perhaps the very high heels were too frivolous, but they gave her a more dignified height—Vicki did not own a pair of sensible shoes, anyway.

“Where,” she shakily asked the desk clerk, “are they interviewing for Federal Airlines?”

Directed to Suite 305, she went into an elevator. Five of her old classmates were already in the car, dressed with great care and eying one another.

“Hi, Vic,” two or three of them greeted her in weak tones.

“Hi, yourselves,” said Vicki. “Are you all praying like me?”

One big girl gulped, “This is the first time I ever applied for a job. I’m scared.”

“You have lots of company,” Vicki assured her. The elevator door closed. They were all in too desperate and exalted a state of mind to be very sociable now.

The door to Suite 305 was wide open, and jammed with girls spilling out into the corridor.

Vicki’s enormous blue eyes opened wide and she was tempted to go right home. What a crowd! She recognized them from Fairview High School—this year’s, last year’s, year before last’s graduating classes—Molly and Meg Murray from the village of Patoka, nearby—a bevy of girls in baggy pastel sweaters and skirts from the state university—lively

Jeanie Stone accompanied by two other girls, all with fresh, farm complexions—Jessie Naylor, very businesslike since acquiring her secretarial job—two pretty, efficient-looking redheads from the factory—

“They all look so determined and reliable!” Vicki thought, almost frightened, “Not—not fluffy, like me!”

She stood up as tall as she could and assumed a solemn expression, but that did not make her feel any braver. Pride alone kept her from fleeing out of the knot of girls in the corridor. Pride, and a young woman distributing numbers, one of which she handed to Vicki. With the numbered ticket in her hand, Vicki froze to the hotel carpet, trapped. She moved not on her own power but only as the line moved, slowly, silently forward. One by one the girls took seats inside the room.

Once seated, the secretary gave them application blanks to fill out. Vicki wrote hers on her wobbly knees, scowling over each question before she answered. Apparently Federal Airlines wanted to know everything except when she had had her first tooth. There were routine questions about name, address, relatives, citizenship, health, education, community activities. Then—and Vicki wrote in:

EXTRACURRICULAR—Dancing lead in school shows.

HOBBIES—Dancing. Candid camera.

LANGUAGES—Spanish, fluent. French, halting.

BUSINESS EXPERIENCE—None.

NURSING TRAINING—None.

FLYING EXPERIENCE—None.

Discouraged at three “nones,” Vicki’s pencil hesitated over the page. The next question sternly pressed her forward:

CHARACTER REFERENCES.

How dignified “Professor Lewis Marvell Barr” would look! Then she saw the phrase “other than relatives.” After some rueful thinking, Vicki gave the names of her English teacher and the family doctor.

WHAT DO YOU READ? Considering the stacks of books and magazines that kept flowing into The Castle, Vicki could honestly list a good many titles, and a good variety.

ARE YOU WILLING TO WORK ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD? Vicki wrote joyously Yes!

The secretary collected applications as they were finished. Instantly Vicki was sure she had given the wrong, the most ill-considered answers. Well, all she could do now was to wait.

The all-morning waiting was agony. Meg Murray sailed into the inner room smiling and confident, and came out crestfallen. Her sister Molly went in and stayed such a long time that girls began to look knowingly at each other. Molly came out smiling much too brightly, and passed the line with her head held defiantly high. “No luck,” the murmur went around. Three of the college girls went in and came out again so fast that some of the others, disheartened, dropped out, and Vicki moved up in the row of chairs. One of the farm girls emerged looking happy and expectant.

“How’d it go? Who’s interviewing? Are they tough? Tell us!” they all whispered at her. The excited girl could only stammer, “Not tough, nice. I don’t know anything for sure, yet. Good luck, kids!”

By now Vicki was second in line, hidden behind a tall girl. Vicki re-powdered her nose, wet her lips, and tried to smile. The effect, she had no doubt, must be sickly. Then the protective wall of head and shoulders disappeared into the inner room, leaving Vicki exposed to that noncommittal, closed door.

The low voices within told her nothing. She tried to recall all the intelligent, relevant arguments she had planned to offer as proof that the exact person Federal Airlines needed was Miss Victoria Barr. But her mind went even blanker than before. Out of the blankness the secretary said:

“Miss Barr, will you go in?”

Vicki walked into a confusing blaze of daylight. At a desk before the window sat a stunning young woman. Her hands were pressed over her eyes in a gesture of weariness. At Vicki’s step she looked up instantly and smiled.

Vicki heard her own soft voice saying, “Shall I come back later—perhaps after you’ve had lunch?”

“No, thank you.” Brilliant, searching, gray eyes smiled at her, and Vicki had an impression of sleek dark hair, artful make-up, a trim figure, style, and utter poise.

“My, what a frail-looking little blonde you are! But I’ll bet you’re really the wiry, hard-as-nails kind.”

Vicki grinned. “And I can out eat any two boys.”

“So that’s why you spoke of lunch! But seriously, it was very thoughtful to suggest coming back later. That’s exactly the sort of attitude I’m looking for in these dozens and dozens of girls.”

Vicki was astonished—elated!

“Sit down, Miss—” the young woman glanced at Vicki’s application form, “Miss Barr. I’m Ruth Benson, assistant superintendent of flight stewardesses for Federal Airlines. All the other supervisors interview, too.” She leaned back more comfortably in her chair. “You see, we go out on interviewing trips before each new stewardess class starts. We set up in fifteen or twenty cities and hold interviews, as here. Sometimes we have publicity in the local paper, or sometimes girls write in to the airline asking for positions. We notify them of interviews, because the date’s set in advance, and invite them.”

Miss Benson said all this as if they were having a leisurely, friendly chat, not holding a business interview. However, Vicki realized she was under shrewd surveillance. She was careful to sit quiet in her chair, not fussing with hair or purse, hands relaxed in her lap.

“Sometimes”—Miss Benson chuckled a little—“I think that every girl in the United States wants to be a flight stewardess! Well, I did, myself.” In reply to Vicki’s quick look of interest, she said, “Yes, I flew for six years, and loved it. Why do you want to be an air stewardess, Miss Barr?”

Vicki leaned forward eagerly, lips parted—then remembered, just in time, that a business company was not interested in some girl’s personal desire for flight and adventure, but in gaining a useful employee.

“Because I’d love to fly, and because I like people. I think I could be of service to air travelers and to the airline. Air transportation is growing so fast—I want to work into it and grow with it.”

Miss Benson nodded her sleek head. “Refreshing to hear a girl who doesn’t say ‘Because being a stewardess is such a glamorous job.’ It’s a demanding job. You must be able to handle all sorts of people, tactfully, in any sort of situation.”

She asked Vicki questions about her friends, her life in Fairview, her family, probing for indications of tact and courtesy and poise. Vicki, her delicate face flushed, tried to answer briefly and modestly. They talked about school subjects for a while. Miss Benson approved of Vicki’s having had psychology, English, sociology, public speaking, because those things would help in the constant contact with people of all temperaments. Nursing training was usually an essential qualification, Miss Benson said “—because a flight stewardess often has to care for children and sick persons—” though an R.N. was not required by Federal at the moment.

Had Vicki, perhaps, been a nurses’ aide, or did she know first aid, or had she studied physiology or hygiene? Fortunately, Vicki had had training in both hygiene and first aid. Her nutrition and cooking courses would come in handy too, for serving meals aloft. Music, art, current events—all helped a girl keep up her end of conversation with all types of travelers. Miss Benson wished Vicki were better at languages, “because passengers are of all nationalities, and flight routes may take you into all countries. Good idea to brush up on geography, too, if your business is going to be travel.”

“Very good,” Ruth Benson said at last. “Very personable. You’re a bit shy but that’s pleasanter than being too aggressive. As long as you are resourceful enough— Now, stand up and walk around the room for me. I didn’t really see you when you came in.”

Vicki rose and circled the room, a small, graceful figure. In her imagination she was rather desperately humming a tune, and walking in time to it. That helped her keep her poise.

“Mm-hmm,” said Miss Benson, and gestured Vicki to sit down again. “Yes, I think you could wear a uniform with some distinction.” She scribbled something on a report sheet.

“May I ask a question?” Vicki ventured.

“Everyone says stewardesses have to be beautiful. Is that true?”

The brilliant gray eyes glanced up. “Real beauty isn’t necessary, but you have to be nice to look at: well groomed, pleasant, and not too tall or heavy. After all, a plane must carry the biggest payload possible, and the heavier the crew the less paying weight we can carry. Did you see that tall girl who came in ahead of you? She was qualified for this work in everything except that she’s five feet eight and weighs proportionately. But the airlines do recognize that American girls are growing taller, and we’re gradually raising the height and weight limits. Besides,” continued Miss Benson cheerfully, “bigger, roomier planes are coming into use; and with bigger cabins there’ll be space for taller girls.”

She bent over Vicki’s application and turned a page. “Oh, dear!”

Vicki’s azure eyes flew wide open in alarm.

“You have only the minimum two years of college. And you have no business experience.”

In the awful silence Vicki felt herself shrinking. “In a moment,” she thought crazily, “I’ll be as small as Alice in Wonderland when she drank the contents of that bottle.” She opened her mouth to speak and no sound came out. But no one was going to help her but herself. It was now or never. She exerted a mighty effort and out came a quavering “Wouldn’t you—ah—consider substitutes for a college degree and business?”

“What substitutes?” Ruth Benson encouraged.

Vicki described the home tutoring which Professor Barr had always given Ginny and herself, her various community jobs. Never until this moment had she realized how heavily all her experiences, so casually undertaken, were going to count someday. She pleaded her facts earnestly, as if Miss Benson were Gabriel holding the keys to heaven.

“We-ell,” said Miss Benson, and swung around in her chair to look out the window into the street below. “That’s pretty skimpy experience.”

“But how is a beginner to get experience?” Vicki gasped, seeing her hopes fade. “You can’t get a job until you have experience, and you can’t gain experience until you get a job!”

Miss Benson turned back with a wide grin. “All right, sell me on yourself. Go ahead. Let’s see what you can do in a difficult situation.”

Vicki clenched her small hands, lifted her head, and almost squeaked in her excitement: “Even having a Ph.D., or being head of a business, wouldn’t necessarily make a girl a good flight stewardess—unless she had the right personality!” A grin flickered across her face. “Getting along with people is like playing a game. You try to figure out each person and then—well—”

She told the interviewer about her approach to Professor Barr’s sympathies via the cookbook.

“My head’s swimming with sautés and baste and dice, and a lot of stuff I can’t even pronounce, much less cook,” Vicki confessed. “But that’s my way of telling Dad I’m really interested in what he does—interested in him. And what do you know, he did fix me Nesselrode! Delicious, too.” Vicki sighed reminiscently.

“Sold!” Miss Benson laughed. “Sympathetic interest in people is the first qualification of a good flight stewardess.* Or,” she added, with a smile, “of any charming woman.”

*Today, the word stewardess has largely been replaced by ‘flight attendant’ or ‘cabin crew member.’

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