Chapter 1
When she had been born, the stunning black girl had almost died in the same moment. In fact, her heartbeat was supposed to have stopped for less than thirty seconds, and the doctors managed to resuscitate her at the last moment, telling her father she had been brought back from the dead.
Just like Lazarus, the religious half Puerto-Rican half black man had thought. So his daughter was named Lazara. The girl grew up in a poor neighborhood on Long Island, and as a result learned to protect herself at an early age. Unlike most of her friends, by the time she reached twenty-two, and finished learning to become an air hostesss for Trans-Universal Airlines, she was still a virgin. Oh a lot of boys had tried, both black and white, and a lot of boys had failed.
Lazara was about five-feet-five inches tall, and her hair was not frizzy or kinky, but was straight, smooth, and fell below her shoulders. Her skin was darker than her father's cafe-au-lait flesh, but lighter than her mother's almost-ebony complexion. Though she had large, pillowy lips, her nose was slender and her eyes were hazel rather than deep brown. She had a long, slender neck, large breasts and large hips connected by a narrow waistline. Her thighs were delightful brown columns, slender, firm, and tapered, leading to her perfectly rounded calves and very trim ankles.
When she was graduated from flight attendant's school, she was certain she had been prepared for everything. She was absolutely delighted to be assigned to her maiden voyage almost immediately. It was on a plane that ran from New York to Georgia, and back.
The morning of her first flight, she awoke all jittery, anxious to make good, and she took a long time preparing in the bathroom, a bathroom she shared not only with her parents, but a half dozen other brothers and sisters. If everything worked out with Trans-Universal, she'd be getting her own apartment quick enough. No more of this sharing with the rest of the family. Oh God! She was hardly able to wait.
Putting on her gold uniform with the tight blouse, tight skirt, and tight jacket that made her breasts look like golden cannon shells, she packed her small flight bag and hurried to the airport. She arrived there a half hour before she was due, and she nervously chewed her nails until it was time for her to go aboard the large L-10-11. The head stew briefed her, as she did all the others, and as the woman finished talking, Lazara saw the pilot come aboard and her heart fluttered.
Captain Daryn Purcell looked like a cross between Muhammad Ali and Sidney Poitier. Unmarried, and sworn to remain that way as long as he flew, Purcell had a slender body with bulging muscles that swelled his uniform until it looked ready to burst. The co-pilot, who came with him, was of Latin-American descent.
"Honey," the chief stewardess was saying to her when the others were going to their duties, "you have to be especially careful."
"Why?" Lazara asked the pleasant brown-haired woman she knew as Marilyn Clayborne.
Marilyn was short, with curly brown hair, a nice face with a pleasing smile, and all the right measurements in all the right places. It was rumored she slept with all the right people and had "earned" her way to becoming a head stewardess in a very short time.
"This is a flight where we'll be having predominantly southern people, both ways," Marily told her. "Don't ask me why, but these Georgia Crackers are still as prejudiced as all hell. No matter how charming they are on the outside, be careful, and whatever you do, don't arrange to date any of them, especially not in Georgia."
"Why do they put black folks on a flight like this?" Lazara asked.
"Oh come on," Marilyn said to her." You know it's all politics. No one likes these fights, but someone has to stew on them. So the new girls are always chosen. As you get more experience, you'll be able to get a choice of airline flights. The overseas flights are the best ones, but if you can't get those, then try for the inter-American ones to the Central and South American countries."
"I have a feeling those flights are still a little way off," Lazara said.
"Honey," Marilyn said. "Let me give you a little advice. From the scuttlebutt going around, you're still a virgin. At your age that's unheard of. Virginity is a curse. Get rid of it as quickly as possible, and then get to know the right people. There's no shame in going to bed with a man who can advance you."
"I'll think about it," Lazara said. "The passengers "are coming," Marilyn said. "Be charming, no matter how much it hurts."
The Lockheed plane was large and with two aisles in it between three long rows of two-across window seats, and four-across middle seats. At this time of day on a Monday, the seats were only half-filled. Lazara, being the newest stewardess, worked in the rear of the plane, and since the galley was in the middle, it meant a lot of walking on her part. . The people all filed in and when the plane was finally in the air, Lazara, after demonstrating how to use the oxygen mask each passenger had in a locked compartment overhead, set about wheeling a small cart with drinks on it down the left aisle of the plane. There were little plastic drinking cups along with cans of soda, and tiny bottles of liquor, many of which the stews themselves appropriated. For the next three-quarters of an hour she poured, passed, and took back empty glasses. There were also bags of snacks, but since it wasn't lunch time, there would be no hot meals on this flight. The pressurized cabin kept everyone's ears from popping, and no one had to use a barf bag.
While she was in the galley, she got a buzz from the captain, and when she answered the phone, he said. "Hey, I'd like some coffee up here if it's all right with you, honey."
"Sure thing," she told him.
The coffee cups for the crew were larger than those for the passengers. Coffee was one thing the captain was allowed to have at all times since the caffeine helped sharpen his sense of awareness.
Since the other stewardesses were still busy, Lazara filled three cups, one for the pilot, one for the co-pilot, and one for the flight engineer, and she put the cups in a special holder. A small note tacked to the wall told how this particular crew liked their coffee. The captain wanted his black, the co-pilot liked cream and sugar, and the flight engineer liked less cream and more sugar.
Walking through the first class section, she knocked at the door to the pilot's cabin. There was a little two way mirror in the door to let them peer out and see who was there. This way they wouldn't be surprised by hijackers. The flight engineer let her in, and Lazara gave them their coffee.
"Hey now, I haven't seen you before," Daryn Purcell noted. "Talk about black gold, you are it, honey." Lazara felt the blood rushing to her face. She smiled and didn't say anything.
"You can bring me my coffee anytime," the copilot said to her. "When we land, don't go anywhere without me."
"Hey, man," Daryl, the pilot broke in. "I'm staking my claim first. Besides, Alvarez, you're a dangerous man."
"You listen to either one of these nuts, and you're in trouble," the flight engineer told her, a broad smile creasing his face. He was a short man with tanned skin, brown hair, and a hooked nose. Lazara knew he was married, and a real rarity, one of those men who never tried fooling around with the stewardess.
She stayed for a few minutes, getting to know all three men a little better, and the awe she felt at knowing them slowly began dissipating. In its place she felt a warmth growing, a real liking for all of them. She felt a natural attraction to the pilot and understood why it was possible all other stewardesses flipped over him. Daryn Purcell was a real macho individual, and it was plain girls of any and every color liked him. He had slept with the three Chinese-American stewardesses in first class, and he had also been to bed with the two Indian girls who worked another flight, as well as a Japanese girl at the reservations desk. Even Marilyn Clayborne had been to bed with him, and Marilyn usually reserved her favors for the higher-ups.
Leaving the cockpit, Lazara brought the empty coffee cups back with her and put them in the large garbage basket in the galley, then spent much of the rest of the flight seeing to the comfort of the passengers in her section, though there was little enough to do.
About a half hour before landing, while all the other stews were busy elsewhere, she was cleaning up the galley and putting away all the loose items when the curtains keeping the galley hidden were parted and a big, balding man stepped in. What little hair he had was light brown, and in spite of the air-conditioning he was perspiring. He had been wearing a brown suit, but apparently had left his jacket back at his seat. He had a bland face, the kind one would not normally remember for any length of time, and he smelled of perspiration, though it was obvious he used a lot of underarm deodorant and cologne to hide it. He closed the curtains and turned to look at her, and there was a funny flashing in his eyes.
"Sir, passengers are not permitted in here," Lazara insisted. "If you need a stewardess, all you have to do is press the overhead button and one of our flight attendants will be happy to assist you." ."Well, little lady," the man drawled, "ah'm in need of assistance, awright, but ah don't think you can do anythin' fer me at m'seat. Ah been a'watch-in' you, and ah have to admit, you're worth watch-in'. Ah seen lots of stews on these here flights, but ain't a darkie one of them as nice as you. Usually I make me a date with a white gal, but you're a blackie worth knowin'. Suppose you come on along with me when we land, and even though ah'm goin to an exclusive mens' club, you'n'I can really ball us up a storm."
"P-Please sir," Lazara stuttered. "Return to your seat at once."
"Hey, darkie, ain't no one says no to Roy Beat-ty. Either y'all agree to meet with me when we land, or ah'll have to boff you right here, on the plane."
"Mr. Beatty, kindly return to your seat," Lazara insisted, feeling herself break out in a sheet of perspiration. "I have other passengers to attend to, and don't have the time for the kind of whimsy you propose."
"Whimsy? Now, listen to the fancy words this here li'l nigger girl uses. Honey, yo're comin' into my home territory, Geo'gia, an' here the darkies still do what us whiteys want, get me?"
"Please leave this instant or I'll scream," Lazara gasped.
The sweat-smelling man pounced on her and clapped a hand over her mouth, saying, "You scream and ah'll see to it when we land you get thrown into the nearest blackie jail where that dark skin o' yours'll rot."
He tugged his hand from her mouth and abruptly pressed his own mouth to hers. She tasted the heavy alcohol on his breath, and knew the man had somehow or other taken more than two drinks, the prescribed limit. He must have come aboard half crocked.
Lazara pushed with her hands, but the man wouldn't budge. He pressed his body firmly against hers, slurping his tongue through her mouth, pulling her own tongue into his, biting it as his hands gripped her tightly, holding her firmly against him. One of his hands moved to the front of her gold uniform and began pawing at her breasts, and the girl began struggling and gasping, trying to push him away.
"What's going on here?" Marilyn Clayborne's voice broke in as the curtain was heard being tugged open.
"Huh? Oh, nothin', nothin'," the sweaty balding man said, releasing Lazara. "This here li'l lady was jus' gettin' me a glass of water."
"Get back to your seat immediately," Marilyn snapped at the man. "In the future, if you need any help, ring for a flight attendant."
"Yes, ma'am," the man nodded, and turning, squeezed past Marilyn and out of the galley.
"I warned you about those Crackers," Marilyn said to Lazara. "They're mean sons of bitches. Stay away from them. Lucky for you we have a return flight right after we land. But if we ever fly to a place where we'll be staying overnight, you'd be better off hooking up with one of the male members of the crew and spending the evening with him. It's a lot safer than being with two or three other girls in a hotel room. It's also a lot more fun. Take it from a gal who's been there." "I'll consider it," Lazara told her. "Honey," Marilyn said, taking her hand. "Listen to me. This is no bed of roses-job. You work hard at it. Sure you see a lot of places, but the only way you're going to advance in the company and earn more money is to bed down with the right men. In the meantime, the only way to keep yourself from being raped by an animal like that one is to sleep with a man you like. There's no getting around it, sweetie. A stew is bed meat. Maie up your mind to it."