One moment she was one thousand feet in the air, upside down at the top of a loop. The next she was diving down to the earth. Then back up at eight thousand feet, throttle all the way back, using her foot pedals and yoke to send the aircraft into a spin — transforming the aircraft into a giant metal leaf, twirling as it fell from the sky.
Karen had practiced every maneuver countless times, both in the air and on the ground, “chair-flying” for hours in a windowless room, with only her coach, using hand gestures, body position, and her imagination like she was practicing a ballet routine.
That’s just what it was like, in a way. Aerobatic performances were carefully scripted, and very dangerous. The g-forces alone could force a pilot into unconsciousness in the blink of an eye. Some of the maneuvers Karen performed placed ten g’s on her body, so her one hundred and twenty pounds became over half a ton.
During those intense turns, gravity tried to force her blood towards her extremities. Through practice, she had become proficient at special breathing techniques performed while flexing her legs, butt, thighs, calves, and stomach during high-g maneuvers. These techniques, and her g-suit, allowed her to keep her circulation under control. The g-suit contained water-filled tubes that ran from her shoulder down to her ankles. They would compress as the g’s came on, keeping her blood pumping into the upper body and head, which allowed her to retain consciousness.
Karen had to keep in great physical shape to be able to withstand this repetitive physical toll on her body. She had to be mentally tough as well. For the past five years, she had trained like an Olympian, and now she understood the physics of aviation as well as some aerospace PhDs.
She had worked hard over the years to become one of the top aerobatics performers in the world, and now she was here, at the pinnacle of her career.
Karen pulled out of her final maneuver and touched down smoothly on the runway. Then she taxied up to the flight line next to the central static displays. Karen shut off her engine, and her propeller spooled down. She opened her canopy and removed her headset, shaking down long waves of blond hair.
All eyes were on her. And that was just the way she liked it.
Karen Becker was a marketer’s dream. She climbed down from the cockpit and walked out onto the stage that had been set up for her. Karen wore ruby-red lipstick, custom steel-toed flight boots made to look like leather cowgirl boots, a bright pink flight suit, always zipped low enough that it showed off a bit of her ample bosom. Her blond hair was topped with her customary Stetson hat, handed to her by her agent. Change up a few items, and she could have easily been a Nashville country singer about to take the stage.
The aerobatics world had never seen someone quite like her. If Amelia Earhart were still around, she would probably either be blushing or shaking her head in disapproval. But as much as Karen was an entertainer on the ground, in the air, she was a professional. After leaving her father’s political staff, she had enrolled at Embry-Riddle University and earned a second degree. At first she’d thought she might go into airport management. Something far away from politics. But while she was there, she’d learned how to fly and fallen in love with aviation. She’d earned a series of progressively more advanced pilot ratings and had eventually been hired as a flight instructor in Daytona. After meeting a few pilots at air shows and taking a few aerobatic lessons, she had found her passion.
Karen absolutely loved the thrill of going up and hearing the full-throated sound of her three-hundred-horsepower engine as she yanked and banked the aircraft into submission. It was like riding a roller coaster but actually being in control.
As she marched towards her post-flight reception tent, she saw that the line of fans coming to get her autograph and picture wound around the VIP tent over one hundred feet away. She noticed several old ladies in line with their husbands, eying her like she was the Leg Lamp from the movie A Christmas Story. Well, maybe she was. But sex sells. And she challenged anyone else performing at the air show to pull a tighter split-S than her.
“Is that her?” Renee asked Max.
Mr. King said, “Yup. My boys are big fans. I tried to get them to come with me to the aerospace engineering lecture that’s scheduled now, but they seemed to want to get her autograph instead. I don’t see why. One of Burt Rutan’s engineers is going to be here.”
Max said, “It’s a mystery.”
Renee and Max bade farewell to Mr. King and walked over towards the air show’s VIP tent, watching as Karen Becker finished up signing autographs.
Karen was a stunner. Max didn’t realize he was wearing a silly schoolboy smile until Renee elbowed him. He turned to face her. “What? Did you say something?”
She rolled her eyes.
Trent appeared out of nowhere. “There you guys are. Our rental car is parked in the grass lot, and I’ve got all the supplies we need. What are you guys looking at…?” Trent followed their gaze. “Holy mother of mercy… ”
Renee said, “Well, I see we’ve found the Medusa of Oshkosh. Ugh. If that’s what men are really looking for, then I give up. For a moment I thought she was one of those models hired by an advertising firm or something. You know, the kind that stand there smiling next to the racers at the Formula One or walk across the ring at a boxing match. Are you telling me that she was the one who was just flipping and rolling above their heads? I guess I have to give her a little respect, but why in God’s name would she wear an outfit like that?”
Max said, “I’m just going to keep my mouth shut.”
Renee patted him on the chest. “Good idea.”
Karen Becker emerged from a crowd of smiling fans. Max tried not to look at what was probably the most marvelous décolletage ever to appear in a flight suit — if flight suit was indeed what you called the tight-fitting pink outfit that Karen had painted on her — but that proved challenging. Max remembered that she had always been a looker, but it had been a while since they’d last seen each other.
Karen had been a fling. They had been introduced by their fathers years ago at one of these air shows — her father a prominent politician and a strong advocate for the aviation industry, his father an aviation industry CEO and icon.
Karen had many such flings, Max suspected. He was just another notch on her belt. Which was a funny thing to say about a woman, he thought. But Karen was a unique woman. A wild and sexy thrill-seeker. A beautiful and buxom…
“Uh-hum.”
Max realized that he was staring at Karen again, and Renee was staring at him. The damn permasmile had returned, too. The same look seemed to have afflicted all of the other men within twenty feet of Karen, most of whose spouses were rolling their eyes or shaking their heads.
“So are you going to go talk to her or what? She’s your ticket to meet her father, right?”
“You know, to be honest, I’m not even sure that she’ll remember me.”
“Max!”
Karen waved excitedly from across the taxiway, jogging towards them, bouncing and jiggling as she did so. One man nearby was mid-sip on a soft drink and began coughing, then looked away.
Before Max knew it, he was being wrapped in Karen’s arms, her chest mashed up against him. Renee stood quietly by his side, tongue in cheek, her face a mix of jealousy and amusement. Max imagined laser beams from her eyes carving into the back of his skull.
When Karen finally released Max, she shot out her hand, saying in a sweet voice, “Hello, I’m Renee.”
“Oh, hello, I’m Karen. I’m sorry, I didn’t know Max was with anyone.”
She stuck out her hand, and Renee shook firmly, looking her square in the eye. Two female spiders, ready to fight over a mate before they killed him and devoured him for dinner.