The Rocketeer Read Free Page B

him and looked Cliff straight in the eye. All of the required posturing and role-playing was put aside for a moment as Peevy said with utter sincerity, “Cliff . . . treat her right and she’ll fly us all the way to the Nationals,” referring to the National Air Races, the premier event for fliers.
    At first Cliff nodded solemnly, but he couldn’t hold it. His roguish smile spread across his face. “Let’s make some history,” he said.
    Peevy couldn’t help but smile back, and he dropped down off the wing, shaking his head. Kids. In the final analysis, it was amazing that anyone lived past thirty.
    Peevy stepped back a few paces and flashed a thumbs-up to Cliff, who confidently returned the gesture. Then Cliff lowered his goggles and spoke the two words they were all anticipating and even dreading a little bit. His voice was slightly muffled, but clear enough as he called out, “Switch on!”
    “Crank ’er up, Skeets!” shouted Peevy.
    A ripple of excitement went through everyone on the airfield as Skeets stepped up, spit into his palms, took hold of the propeller blade on the front, and pulled down hard. For a moment Peevy held his breath. Two or three failed attempts to get a plane started never bode well on a maiden flight. Please, he thought, give us a good omen, give us a—
    The engine caught on the first turn of the propeller and roared to life. The thundering power of four hundred fifty horses turned the surrounding area into an instant hurricane.
    The others backed away quickly, shielding their eyes as Cliff revved up the throttle. The only one still nearby was Peevy, who, satisfied that Cliff wasn’t watching, snatched the gum off the tail and flicked it away. No stupid piece of mouth candy was going to ruin his paint job. He rubbed his thumb over the paint to clean the spot, and then backed away along with the others.
    The GeeBee turned and slowly began to taxi down the runway, throbbing with barely contained, pulsing power, like a prime race dog pulling against the leash and quivering in anticipation of the release. Peevy and the ground crew quickly crossed the runway to watch from the bleachers, where the other air jockeys had gathered. There were quick handshakes and nods and words of approval. Thumbs-up all around. Peevy and the others accepted the accolades, although Peevy felt uncomfortable doing so. Never a good idea to count chickens, etc., etc.
    From the cockpit Cliff tossed a quick glance to make sure everyone was clear. Then he scanned his instrument panel, checking all the dials and nodding in brisk approval at what he was seeing. Finally his gaze lit on his real talisman. The gum was what kept him in the air, but what he was looking at now was what put him up there in the first place.
    It was a postcard-size picture of a stunning young woman. She had a mouth that looked beautiful when it was smiling or when it was pouting. Right now it was smiling, generating more power than all the GeeBees in the world put together. Her eyes sparkled in a “come-hither” look, and her beautifully angled face was surrounded by a cascading array of black hair. She was draped in a satin gown that she’d worn when she was an extra in a party scene during My Man Godfrey two years earlier, in 1936. It was her very first job in a movie and she’d been thrilled that day, more so than Cliff could ever remember. She’d chattered on for hours that day about William Powell—she referred to him as Bill—and Carole Lombard, whom she’d said was beautiful beyond all belief. Cliff merely watched her chatter on about Lombard and thought to himself that no one could possibly be more beautiful than the excited little actress right across the table from him. One day she’d managed to sneak her costume off the set and Cliff photographed her in it.
    He was glad he had. It was the only chance anyone had to see her in it, because her part had wound up on the cutting room floor, although she swore if you looked real hard