“We’ll tell you soon, sir,” said Vicki.
The passengers were interested in the Electra and asked questions. With sixty-eight aboard, Vicki and Jean could not stop to visit. But they chatted with the passengers while they set up at each seat the tray tables for dinner and spread linen tablecloths. The white-haired couple, Vicki learned, were Mr. and Mrs. Marshall Bryant. The lady told her this; the elderly man had fallen asleep, as if overtired. One genial man was a movie star, perennially young, even though he had five children. Several passengers recognized him, judging by their interested glances. He asked Vicki several stiff technical questions about the jet-propelled Electra.
From across the aisle a woman touched Vicki’s sleeve. “My two youngsters are getting hungry, I’m afraid. Could you please—?”
“Yes, indeed, we’ll serve dinner soon. And we always serve the children first.”
Vicki made her way along the slightly swaying plane toward the buffet area. She was waylaid by only three passengers on the way. One man wanted to know if there was a razor aboard which he could borrow. There was. A woman asked Vicki how to adjust the individual air vents and reading lights. And a determined-looking man announced to the stewardess that he was a vegetarian.
“Y-yes, sir,” said Vicki, and made her smiling way to the sky kitchen. Once inside the closed accordion curtains, Vicki lost her smile and her face became as desperate as Jean’s, in her struggle with several oven drawers full of turkey dinners.
“Hi,” Jean greeted her. “Better put your smock on, like me. I’m scared we’ll still be serving dinners ten minutes after landing in New York.”
“We’ll do fine,” Vicki said without believing it, and started to make coffee.
“Parsley, parsley, where’s the parsley?” Jean muttered. “Somewhere in this overgrown filing cabinet—oh, yes, here.”
“Can we spare extra rolls for some hungry kids?” Vicki peered in the roll warmer. “Yes, we can.”