The Last Pilot: A Novel (30 page)

It was the end of January. Harrison waited in the lobby of the Holiday Inn for Lovell. The two men were due to meet George Smathers, ex-Marine officer, former assistant attorney and now senator for Florida, at a cocktail reception at six. Smathers was close to John Kennedy and Harrison admired him. The man had fought hard with LBJ on his decision to site the Manned Spacecraft Center in Texas instead of at the Cape. Harrison brushed dust from his suit and looked around.

You’re early, Lovell said, walking in from the stairwell.

You know how I love time in the barrel, Harrison said.

Best advice—and this is from Gordo—arrive late, leave early.

That’s some good advice.

All they want is a handshake, photograph with an astronaut, and a smile. That’s all. Then we get the hell out.

Getting the hell out sounds good, Harrison said.

We should go someplace tonight, eat something half-decent for a change, Lovell said.

Harrison agreed.

You ready? Lovell said.

Sure.

Let’s walk, Lovell said. It’ll take longer.

The Cape Canaveral Hilton was on North Atlantic Avenue, right on the beach. It looked like a white brick, an icebox coated in lumpy stucco render. Outside, the men finished their cigarettes in the cool air.

I heard Connie Hilton’s coming tonight, Lovell said as they walked inside.

No shit, Harrison said.

The receptionist directed them toward the lobby.

Jesus, Harrison said, as they stepped through the door. Gilruth’s here.

So’s Webb, Lovell said.

Well, he ain’t exactly one to miss an opportunity, Harrison said.

Come on, Lovell said. Let’s get ourselves some liquid propellant.

Harrison and Lovell found a waitress carrying champagne and helped themselves to a glass each.

There’s Deke, Harrison said.

They walked over to him. The lobby, with its fake Baccarat crystal chandeliers and replica Versailles paneling, was crowded. Women laughed and swung glasses around themselves while serious-looking men stood close by and smiled. The carpet was deep crimson, snagged and fraying in parts, cigarette burns scattered like black seeds.

Jeez, Lovell said. Even the Hilton looks low-rent here.

Cocoa’s finest, Harrison said.

Fellas, Deke said when they reached him.

Looks like a busy night for you, Harrison said.

Up to my ears in bullshit already, Deke said. I’m gonna need a shovel to get out of here.

Harrison sipped his drink and tapped his leg five times, the sharp edge of a shovel triggering a thought that immediately arrested his mind. Stay calm, he thought.

Is Hilton still here? Lovell said.

Connie?

Yeah.

No. Left half an hour ago, Deke said.

Smart guy, Harrison said.

Do I detect resentment at barrel-duties, Harrison? Deke said.

You’re goddamn right you do, Harrison said.

Well suck it up, Captain, Deke said. Everyone’s gotta do their time, unless they’re on the next flight, and even then, I guarantee you, some sonofabitch who needs reelecting will want to come on the loop to shoot the goddamn breeze while you’re up there. Hell, I hear the president himself wants to speak to whoever makes the first landing by telephone.

From the carrier? Lovell said.

From the surface, Deke said.

The
surface
? Harrison said. Because they’ve got nothing better to do after traveling a quarter of a million—

I know, Deke said, I know.

For the love of God.

We were thinking,
For All Mankind
, actually, Deke said. Got a nice ring to it, hasn’t it?

Sums it all up, Lovell said.

I thought so, Deke said.

All right, all right, Harrison said.

Who’s been bitin your ass? Deke said.

Just can’t stand these sorta things, Harrison said, flexing his fingers five at a time.

Well try to enjoy your drink at least, Deke said.

Harrison felt his back prickle with sweat.

You know fellas, Harrison said, I’m just gonna step outside, get some air—be back in a—

Heads up, Lovell said. Here comes Smathers.

Senator! Deke said. Well it’s good to see you too. I’ve got a coupla people I know you’re gonna want to meet. Jim, Jim—this is George Smathers; George, this is Jim Harrison and Jim Lovell, two of our finest astronauts.

It’s a pleasure, sir, Lovell said, extending his hand.

The pleasure is all mine, I assure you! Smathers said.

Senator, Harrison said, shaking his hand after Lovell.

The two Jims! Smathers said. Thank you for all your hard work and dedication.

It’s a pleasure to serve, sir, Lovell said.

This here’s my good friend, Herb White, Smathers said.

Pleasure, Harrison said, shaking White’s hand.

Very, very pleased to meet you both, White said, gripping Lovell’s hand and grinning.

We were just talking about the possibility of getting Kennedy down for a tour sometime, Smathers said. You know, the launch facilities, see the rockets up close, show him firsthand the nuts and bolts of his vision, that kind of thing.

Give him a warm Florida welcome, Herb said.

Sounds good, Deke said.

Indeed, Smathers said. I’m going to bring it up when I’m back in Washington.

How long are you here for, Senator? Deke said.

Just a few days, sadly. I’d like it to be longer, but there’s a lot going on right now.

Have you talked to Gilruth or Webb yet?

I’m meeting with them later, Smathers said. Let’s just enjoy ourselves for now, shall we? I don’t get out much these days.

The men laughed.

Say, Smathers said. Do you gentlemen like my new suit? I was in London last month and had it cut at Savile Row.

He held it open at the waist.

What do you think? Cobalt blue.

Harrison’s heart exploded; his gut turned liquid, his face gushed sweat. He felt unreal. Blood pumped hard behind his eyes.

Oh, Jim, Smathers said. Are you feeling all right? You look a little, ah, off-color.

Uh, yes, sir, I feel fine, he said, tapping and tapping his leg. A number of violent thoughts filled his mind. He began to blink in sets of five, hiding his actions by pretending to scratch his forehead. When that didn’t work, he rubbed his eyebrows, shielding his face, trying to go over his thoughts manually, but it was impossible, standing there, in front of them. He needed to be alone. He needed time. His anxiety grew. His heart rate bordered on apoplectic. He needed time. He needed to be alone. He rubbed his forehead.

Uh, he said. Uh.

Jim? Deke said.

I’m fine, he said.

So, I was saying, Smathers said, picking up the conversation. Do—

Hang on a minute, Harrison said.

Jim,
Deke said.

Hang on, he said.

For what, exactly, Captain? Smathers said.

Just, uh—

Thoughts begat thoughts. They stacked up on top of him. The more his stress rose, the more they came, too powerful to ignore.

Jesus, Jim, Deke said. What the hell?

Senator, I don’t think Jim is feeling too well, Lovell said.

Harrison grimaced as his gut cramped. Jesus. He couldn’t hold it in. He needed the men’s room, right away. It lurched and gurgled inside him. The force was unbearable! He fought hard against it. Then his mind connected cause and effect together like a powerful magnet and presented the newspaper headline:
ASTRONAUT SOILS SELF AT HILTON COCKTAIL PARTY.
It was too late. He felt something run down the back of his left leg.
Christ
, he thought. Keep it in!

Uh, I don’t feel too good, he said.

Maybe you should get some air? Lovell said.

Sorry, Senator, Deke said.

Not at all! Smathers said. I just hope you’re all right?

We need you in tip-top shape to beat the Russians! Herb said.

Harrison turned to leave. Think I ate something bad, he said to Deke.

Take my room, Deke said, pushing a key into his hand. Gilruth gave it to me for tonight. I’ll head back with Lovell.

Harrison turned quickly and left.

Poor man, he heard Smathers lament behind him.

The lobby was crowded. He walked carefully, as fast as he could without making the situation worse. He didn’t know where the john was so headed for the elevator ahead.
Please, God, help me
, he said, over and over in his head. The porter saw him approach and opened the elevator doors. Harrison stumbled in, the porter smiled, Harrison nodded, and the box swallowed him up. He fell into the room, locked the door and stumbled to the can. He tapped and tapped his leg and said I’m sorry, I’m sorry, over and over. Afterward, he stripped off his clothes and lay down, exhausted, humiliated, ashamed, in the bath, and cried out for his wife.

They sold the house the following summer. It went for a decent sum. Timber Cove was a desirable area.
Astroville
, the real estate agent called it. Grace insisted he keep half the money. You need to get a place of your own, she said. You can’t live in a motel forever.

He had no time to think about it. He was on the backup crew for Conrad and Gordo’s Gemini V and training hard. It was a complex, challenging mission. Harrison found the extreme focus of training helped him live with, what he now termed, to himself, his
affliction
. He could live with it. His coping techniques had evolved. Over time, their effectiveness would diminish, but a new one would always present itself. After the incident at the Hilton, he considered going to Deke, telling him everything, but how could he? He was unable to tolerate the thoughts himself, let alone tell another. What would Deke think of him? No. And Deke would make him leave the program; that much he was sure of. And he had nothing else now. More than that, though, he wanted to go up; he had to go up. He yearned for it.

It was late, quarter gone eleven, Harrison stood alone outside Walt’s. The air was cool. He could smell the sea; the salt and the sky. Across the street, a man and a woman stood sharing a cigarette, their thin shadows falling across the sidewalk, the warm sun long sunk beneath the sea. He imagined them eating together across the tight vinyl check of a restaurant tablecloth; how each reflected back the best of the other. Harrison fingered the box of matches in his pocket. His arms glowed neon indigo from the sign above the door. Cars drove downtown, taillights casting red trails inside his eyes. The man parted from the woman and crossed the street toward him.

You got a light? Harrison said as he approached.

The man looked up, said, sure pal.

Harrison pushed a Lucky Strike between his lips. The man pulled a lighter from his pocket, struck it, Harrison leaned in.

Thanks, he said.

Pleasure.

Busy here, huh.

I guess.

You got something to do with this damn program they’re runnin? Harrison said.

Hell, no, the man said. Take it easy, pal.

He walked away, leaving Harrison smoking alone in the neon glow. He drew himself together, dropped the cigarette on the sidewalk, pushed open the door.

Evening, Jim, the bartender said. Usual?

He nodded.

Coming up.

In the corner, a television set showed the news at low volume. Harrison sat down at the bar.

Here you go, Walt said, setting the glass down on a paper napkin.

Thanks, Walt.

Jesus, have you seen this? a voice said.

There were two men, older, at the bar next to him. They were watching the news.

They’ve gone at them with tear gas and goddamn billy clubs.

Harrison looked up at the television set.

Six hundred blacks, marching in Alabama? I can believe it.

This ain’t America.

This the news?

They interrupted
Judgment at Nuremberg
. Walt, turn it off, would you, I don’t want to watch any more.

Can I get another? Harrison said.

Sure thing, Jim, Walt said, clicking the set off.

You’re Jim Harrison, right? the first man said.

He nodded.

Bill. This here is Eb.

Pleasure, Harrison said.

Mind if I ask you a question?