“Where are we going tonight?” she asked with mild curiosity. She recognized the neighborhood, but hadn't guessed what restaurant. He told her they were going to the Trocadero.

And when they stepped inside, she saw instantly how glamorous it was, and how luxurious. The lights were dim, and the band was playing a rumba.

“You haven't been here yet, Cassie, have you?”

She shook her head, visibly impressed by her surroundings, and by being there with him. She was twenty years old, and she had never seen anything like that. “No, sir,” she said, and he leaned closer to her and touched her arm.

“You could call me Desmond.” He smiled at her, and she blushed. It was odd being so friendly with him. He was so important, he was her boss, and he was so much older.

“Yes, sir… I mean, Desmond…” She was still blushing in the darkness as they were led to an important table.

“Of course Sir Desmond has a certain ring to it. I hadn't thought of that before.” He made her laugh easily, and he helped her order. He made her feel surprisingly comfortable, even though everything she was experiencing was new. But he never made her feel ignorant or foolish. He treated it all as a great opportunity for her, and for him. He always let her know how lucky he felt to be there with her. He was a master at the fine art of putting her at ease, and before their dinner came, he had her laughing and dancing, and completely comfortable with him. So much so that she danced in his arms as though she had been doing it for a dozen years, and when the photographers appeared after dinner, they got a wonderful photograph of her smiling up at him, as though she adored him.

She was uncomfortable about it the next day, when she saw the newspaper on her way to work. The photograph somehow managed to convey the impression that she was involved with him, which she certainly wasn't. But there was something very intimate about the way he looked at her, as she stood next to him, and yet nothing inappropriate, or even faintly romantic, had ever happened. He was her boss, the man who had “discovered” her, and given her a great opportunity. And she was grateful to him for that. But there was absolutely nothing else between them. She wondered if anyone at work would make a comment about it, but no one did, until three days later when she got a call from Nick. He was flying a mail run to San Diego that night, and he could come up to see her the following morning. It would be Saturday and she was free to spend the day with him. She was supposed to go to a charity ball with one of Nancy's young friends that night, but for Nick, she'd gladly cancel.

“So, is Williams giving you the rush, or are you falling for him?” he asked bluntly after he told her he'd meet her at her apartment as soon as he came up from San Diego.

“What's that supposed to mean?” She was annoyed at his assumption.

“I was in Chicago yesterday, Cass. I saw the picture of you two in the paper. Looks pretty cozy.” There was an edge to his voice she'd never heard there before, and she didn't like it.

“I happen to work for him. And he took me out to dinner. That was it. He has about as much interest in me as he has in his engineers, so knock it off.”

“I think you're being naive. And those didn't look like work clothes.” He was angry and jealous, and sorry her father had ever let her come out here. The flying she was doing for Williams was too damn dangerous. But it wasn't just the flying he was upset about. It was the look on Desmond's face as he looked at her in the photograph in the paper.

“It was just a business dinner, Nick. He was just being nice taking me out. He was probably bored to death. And believe it or not, those are my work clothes.” She was referring to the slinky black dress she'd been wearing. “My chaperone buys me everything, and they send me out every night like a trained dog to show off and get my picture taken. They call it public relations.”

“Doesn't sound like work to me. Or flying.” He was consumed with annoyance, and the loneliness of not having seen her in over a month. He had been aching to see her. But she hadn't had time to get home yet. It had shocked him to discover how much he missed her. He felt as though he'd lost a limb, or his best friend. And he didn't like the idea of Williams taking her out to dinner.

“We'll talk about it when you're here,” she said quietly, sounding more grown-up than she had at home. She had already changed, but she didn't know it. And she had already acquired a lot of big-city polish. “How long can you stay?”

“I've got to be out by six o'clock. I've got to get back with some mail.” She was instantly disappointed, and she would have no excuse to cancel her “date” to go to the ball to benefit children with infantile paralysis.

“Well, we'll make the best of it. Try and get here early.”

“As early as I can, kid. I'm not flying the fancy stuff you are.”

“You don't need 'em. The way you fly, you could fly egg crates and get more out of them than anything I see here,” she said warmly.

“Stop flattering an old man,” he said, sounding mellower than he had at the beginning of the call. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

She could hardly wait, and she was up as usual at three-thirty, anxious for him to arrive. It seemed endless, before he rang her bell at seven-fifteen that morning. She flew down the stairs and threw herself into his arms so hard she almost knocked him down. He was stunned by the sheer beauty of her, and the force of her affection. She had missed him too, even more than she'd realized. She missed their confidences, and their long talks, and their flying.

“Hey, wait a minute, you… give a guy a chance, before you knock the wind out of me…” She was kissing him and hugging him, she was like a lost child who had finally found her parents. “Hey, it's okay… it's okay…” There were tears in her eyes as she clung to him, and he held her so close he wanted never to let her go. She had never looked as good to him, or felt as good in his arms, and he had to force himself to step back and release her. He would have liked to stay that way forever. “Wow… don't you look fine.” He smiled. He noticed the new haircut, and the makeup, and she was wearing beige slacks and a white sweater. She looked surprisingly like Hepburn or Hayworth. “You don't look like you've been suffering,” he teased, and then he whistled when he saw the apartment. “My, my… talk about hardship…”

“Isn't it great?” she beamed at him, and showed him around. He was very impressed, and he had to remind himself that this was the little girl he had known since she was a baby. This was not some movie star he had just met. This was Pat O'Malley's daughter.

“Looks like you got lucky, Cass,” he said fairly. But he also thought she deserved it. There was no reason for her not to have all this. But he still worried about her. “Do they treat you right?”

“They do everything for me. Buy me clothes, feed me, I have a maid, she's the nicest woman you've ever met. Her name is Lavinia. I have a chaperone named Nancy, who buys me clothes and sets up everything for me, like all the events I have to go to, my escorts, the people I see.” She chatted on and Nick looked at her strangely.

“Your escorts? They set you up with men?” He looked startled, and none too pleased, as she served him the breakfast she had made for him, and fried some eggs while he waited.

“Sort of. But not really. Some of them aren't really… I mean… they don't really like women, you know… but they're friends of Nancy's, or she knows who they are. Some of them are actors who need to be seen, and we… I… we go to events, or parties and get our photographs taken together.” She looked embarrassed as she explained it to him, it wasn't the part of her work she liked best by any means, but after Desmond's explanation the other night, she was trying to accept it. “I don't like doing it, but it's important to Desmond.”

“Desmond?” Nick raised an eyebrow as he ate the eggs she had made him. They were delicious. But the sudden mention of Williams in such familiar terms made him stop eating.

“He thinks public relations is the most important thing in business.”

“What about flying? Is that important to him, or do you even get to do that?”

“Come on, Nick, be fair. I have to do what they ask me to. Look at all this,” She waved around at the spacious modern kitchen and the rest of the apartment beyond it. “Look what they're doing for me. If they want me to go out and have my photograph taken, I owe it to them. It's not such a big deal.” But he looked angry as he listened.

“That's bullshit, and you know it. You didn't come out here to be a model, or go to finishing school, Cass. And the only thing you owe them is to risk your ass testing their planes, and break any record you can. That's what you owe them. The rest is up to you, or at least it should be. Williams doesn't own you, for chrissake. Or does he?” He looked at her ominously, and she shook her head. He made her feel ashamed for going along with the plan. But she did feel she owed it to them, and she could also understand what Williams wanted. He wanted her to become a star, in order to further her career in aviation, and publicize his planes. That wasn't totally wrong, and the other women in aviation had done their share of it too. You did what you had to.

“I don't think you're being fair,” she said quietly.

“I think you're being used, and it makes me mad as hell,” he said, pushing his plate away, and then taking a sip of his coffee. “He wants to use you, Cass. I can smell it.”

“That's not true. He wants to help me, Nick. He's already done a lot for me, and I just got here.”

“Like what? Take you out dancing the other night? How often has he done that?”