Outside, the air was cool. It felt good on his bare arms. He stopped and stood on the near side of the sidewalk, against the mottled concrete wall of George’s backyard. He held his head. He had to think. All he ever did was think. A man walked by and stared. An hour passed. Inside the diner, lights were switched off in pairs, the couple left. Behind the wall, garbage sweltered and stunk. His breathing was heavy and his chest was wet. He felt dizzy. He had to move on, fill his mind.
The steely eyes followed him across the empty street. He could smell the sea; the salt and the sky. Wolfie’s Cocktail Bar & Pantry was still open. Voices leaked out onto the sidewalk and echoed inside him. He walked on, past waiters licking spoons, clearing tables; past bars closing up. Air-conditioning units clung to gloomy walls, whining melancholic laments to men not yet home. The wind was hard with salt, the moon curled large and still. He reached Walt’s Bar and stopped. He felt tense. Christ, he thought, I need to walk. I need to get to bed.
He got back to the motel at two. There were still people by the pool. Girls, mainly. A few men. They’d arrived soon after the first Mercury flights, the girls; eager young things, keen to become acquainted with the world’s first astronauts. Cape cookies, Shepard called them. They’d been staying here since the beginning, the astronauts, enjoying the hospitality of Henri Landwirth, the Holiday Inn’s manager. The rooms were stacked like cardboard boxes across two floors, encircling a bright blue swimming pool and a pink cocktail bar. Plastic chaise lounges, white like gulls, fanned the water. A racket of cicadas and crickets clattered loudly in the background.
Harrison entered the lobby. Standing by the pay phone at the foot of the stairs was a girl in a towel.
Hello, she said.
He didn’t say anything. Smoke from a cigarette slunk around the brim of her straw hat. He could see small droplets of water on her bare shoulders.
Are you coming out to the pool with the rest of the fellas? she said.
I’m going to my room.
That’s a much better idea.
That so.
It is.
What’s your name?
Jane, she said.
She smiled, pulling the cigarette to her lips.
You drink whiskey? he said.
Got any ice?
He opened the freezer.
You’re in luck.
He fixed two drinks. She sat in a chair, folding her legs over one of the arms. He stood.
Your room is kinda tidy, if you don’t mind me saying so.
I don’t.
Been here long?
A while.
Training?
He nodded.
Where you from?
You ask a lot of questions.
I’m a curious girl.
He held his drink at the back of his throat then swallowed it.
So we’re going to the moon, she said.
Not yet.
How’s that?
Takes time.
You fellas getting distracted? she said. It’s been three years since Glenn went up. Now that was something; felt like I had my own Lone Ranger watching over me.
Four days there, four days back, he said. Glenn was up for four hours.
Eight days? That even possible?
Record is thirty-four hours, nineteen minutes, forty-nine seconds. Gordo Cooper, Faith 7; the last of the Mercury flights. Hell of a mission. Took a nap on the pad during countdown. Ol Gordo, yeah; he’s okay. Not the best, but he’s all right.
Not the best? she said.
There’s an old saying in flight test, who’s the second best pilot you ever saw?
I like that, she said, lifting the glass to her lips. You going up?
You bet.
She looked around the room, then said, why are you living in a motel?
He tipped the rest of the slug down his throat. How old are you?
Nineteen.
Where you from?
Kansas.
You’re not in Kansas anymore.
You’ve finished your drink.
She moved from the chair to the bed, tucking one leg beneath the other. He stared at the floor for a long time.
Tell me what you’re thinking, she said.
He didn’t say anything. He picked up the bottle, poured himself another.
You should go home, get some sleep, he said.
She emptied her glass slowly, eyes locked on his, ice accumulating along lips glossed with whiskey.
You sure about that? she said.
He stared at her and her legs unfurled and she walked toward him and placed a hand on his cheek. He shut his eyes.
Whatever it is, she said, it’s okay.
She pulled the door tight behind her. He stood, eyes shut, bottle and glass hanging from his hands. He felt black, like he was falling, and he couldn’t stop.
MOJAVE DESERT
MUROC, CALIFORNIA