Waiting, the day seemed the longest of her life. Vicki did everything she could think of to pass the time. She read, she sewed a little, sent down for a sandwich, visited with a stewardess next door, read some more. At four o’clock the telephone rang. It was the Flight Stewardess Supervisor to notify Vicki that her request for extra time off was granted.
Vicki went downstairs to the lobby about five o’clock. The stewardesses of several airlines who stayed at this hotel had a favorite corner, where they looked for one another and exchanged flying news. This afternoon two girls in Trans-USA’s gray uniform were sitting there, having hot tea. Vicki knew them slightly; they were Peggy Bennett and Nancy Notaro.
“Hello, you look as if you’ve just come in from a flight,” Vicki greeted them.
“And such a flight! Grueling,” said Peggy. “Come sit down, Vicki.” She said they had flown by jet nonstop from New York, a five-and-a-half-hour run, starting at one thirty New York time that afternoon.
“The most demanding passengers you ever saw,” Nancy said, as Vicki joined them. “I admit that they were interesting people. But one young man nearly drove Peg and me out of our minds. A lawyer, I think.”
“He was awfully anxious to get here,” Peggy said to excuse him. “Our Boeing 707 didn’t go fast enough to suit Mr. Dorn.”
Vicki froze. “Did you say Dorn? Do you remember his first name?”
“I think it was Thurman,” said Nancy. “Why, Vicki, what’s the matter? Aren’t you feeling well?”
“N-no, I’m not. Was anyone traveling with Mr. Dorn?”
“He was alone. Vicki, you’ve turned white! Here, have some of this tea—”