Page 52 of Flight of Dreams

“Be warned, that’s not a name I’m fond of at this particular moment.”

Schulze is no fool. “The thing about bartenders,” he says as he pulls the smoking room door open, “is that we know when to pry and when to keep our mouths clamped shut. After you.”

Emilie has a habit of observing rooms at different times of day. Lighting can alter not only the ambiance but the aesthetics of a space dramatically. At night the smoking room is exotic. Rich. Sensual. But in the afternoon, with natural daylight streaming through the observation windows, it looks rather like a funeral parlor. Dark and somber. Somewhere you would go to whisper in hushed tones while grieving a loss. It fits her mood splendidly.

“Do you smoke?” Schulze asks.

“Afraid not.”

“Will you mind if she does?” He points to the pretty journalist who sits at a round table in the middle of the room, one shoe kicked off and her legs crossed at the knees.

“No. I’m quite used to it.”

“I’ll get your coffee, then.”

Rules. There are always so many damned rules to be considered. Technically Emilie is not working at the moment, but she is in uniform. Approaching the journalist as an equal would be inappropriate, but ignoring her would be worse. She hesitates only until the journalist laughs.

“Please, have a seat. I don’t bite.”

Emilie accepts the invitation with a nod and pulls out a chair at the table. She settles into it with relief. Her feet are tired. Her lower back aches.

“I owe you an apology. I was quite horrid to you yesterday,” the journalist says. She extends her hand in official greeting. “Gertrud Adelt. I am, believe it or not, quite pleased to meet you.”

“Emilie Imhof.” There is nothing limp about Gertrud’s shake. She has a man’s grip. Confident. Firm. Abrupt. Emilie returns it the way her father taught her. As one professional to another.

“You need not apologize. It’s not an easy thing this…flying. Most people are uncomfortable with it.”

“Are you?”

“Sometimes. When I think about it logically. It doesn’t seem as though such a structure has any business floating through the air.”

“Ah, but an engineer would say that it makes all the sense in the world. They would cite any number of facts about the lifting power of hydrogen versus the weight of steel. You’d be bored senseless and no less comfortable with the prospect, so I advise that we avoid the exercise entirely.”

Emilie can feel her face soften as her smile spreads wide. “I generally do.”

“How do you live with it, then, if it makes you uneasy?”

“It only bothers me when I really stop to think about it. Most of the time I stay busy. And it’s not so different from any of the ocean liners or hotels I’ve worked in. Ships sink. Hotels burn. This is a bit more confined, perhaps. And there’s not much in the way of fresh air. But the clientele is the same. The same demands on my time.”

“I am quite impressed. You are the first woman ever to work aboard an airship. You should be quite proud.” Gertrud winks when Emilie raises a questioning eyebrow. “I read the papers.”

Emilie is proud. “First and only. So far, at least. I do forget that sometimes.”

“You’ve worked on the Hindenburg the entire time?”

“Since it was completed. I am one of the original crew.”

“Very altruistic of them, hiring a woman for their ‘ship of dreams.’ ”

“No. Just shrewd. Easier to get wealthy men to book passage for their families if a woman is present to help bathe their children and dress their wives.”

“I’d hope there isn’t too much dressing involved.”

Emilie laughs. “There is an occasional corset to be dealt with.”

Gertrud draws on the end of her cigarette, then pinches it between two fingers so the lit end points directly at Emilie. “I won’t wear them. I’m convinced those things are a form of subjugation. Only men care about hip-to-waist ratio.”

She laughs. “I’d have to quit if it became part of my uniform requirements.”