Duxford Airfield (the band) Pt. 04

I now looked up at a pair of mirrored aviators sunglasses.

...He had startled me, scared the hell out of me, more like it, I thought. He was probably around sixty years of age and an extremely serious-looking guy. His demeanor suggested that he'd probably Served in the Marines as a drill instructor, the man's presence demanded respect and I decided to show him mine now. The security guard also wore a belt-mounted two-way radio, which he now spoke into briefly with some kind of 10-code, obviously in reference to the ladies and me - as to, what the hell we were even doing here, to begin with. I silently observed that the security guard was well-healed with a mean-looking sidearm, or as my little brother Ricky would say, "The man's dressed heavy."

"I'm a real estate agent and we're looking for a piece of property which is supposedly located somewhere around here. Apparently, our GPS seems to be malfunctioning" Andrea now piped up, using her professional "Executive Real Estate" voice.

"Are you Miss Lunsford, then?" the man asked.

"I am," Helen said from the back seat, a bit shocked at the man's actual knowledge of her name.

"Then you two must be the Devens?" he asked, looking at Andrea and me, speculatively.

"We're...the Donovans, how did you know?" I answered; a bit caught off guard myself. I suddenly noticed two other security guards within close proximity of us who were watching us very carefully, these two were also "Dressed Heavy."

The man now smiled and quickly spoke into his radio, using the numerical code again, as if telling his compadres to take it down a notch and relax.

"No reason to look alarmed, folks, we've been expecting you for a week now. You just go right on up them steps and ask for Miss Audrey, she'll get you fixed right up" he said with a curt nod and double-tap of his palm on my driver's door as a parting gesture.

The security guard walked away then.

"...Well ladies, you heard the man," I said as I removed my seatbelt and opened the driver's door.

"How could he have possibly known our names?" Andrea asked slightly perplexed as she removed her own seatbelt.

"Obviously he reads The International Monitor" I replied, my sarcasm was directed at the ladies now; as if they'd been the cause of our write-up within the gossip tabloid.

"The International Monitor didn't use our real names, Tim. Want me to call Abe and have him correct that little typo for next month's issue?" Helen asked, returning my sarcasm.

"Wait in the car, Helen," I said as if she were a rebellious adolescent girl who'd skipped school that day.

"I don't think so, dearie" Helen quickly shot back defiantly as she opened her own door and got out of the car.

Andrea suddenly and unexpectedly began laughing uncontrollably at Helen's and my exchange of jabs at each other....I think Andrea was simply relieving frustration from the last few days with laughter.

"Just ignore him, Andrea," Helen said with feigned annoyance as she opened Andrea's door.

Andrea stayed in the car, just laughing, unable to step out of the car for the moment.

Watching Andrea as she sat in the car laughing, I started laughing too and soon Helen was as well. For some reason, every crazy thing that had happened within the last few days suddenly seemed incredibly funny to all three of us, almost like we were three dim-witted characters within some utterly ridiculous Laurel and Hardy movie. The whole world was falling apart all around us yet somehow we instinctively knew that everything would be alright in the end, because we had each other...

...Andrea had the laughter of a little girl and it always melted my heart...

A minute later the three of us locked the car and then climbed the cement steps leading into the large prosaic concrete building with mirrored windows. We were now within official oilfield property. The place had a no-nonsense feel about it and the first thing we saw upon entering was two more security guards, dressed heavy. We hadn't dealt with any of these formalities when we'd flown the B-17, Alice Mae, here, several months ago, but then again, we'd been expected then...

I took the slip of paper from Andrea, with the address written on it, and walked to the front desk toward the lead receptionist, who was an attractive blonde around thirty years of age.

"Hi, I was hoping that someone could please help us. We're looking for this address and our GPS seems to think it's here, somewhere within the oilfield" I said humorously as I showed the young lady our slip of paper.

"Mister Billingsly is on his way down to see you right now, sir, he was in a meeting. Please have a seat, he'll be with you shortly," the receptionist said, with a peculiar look of awe on her face.

"I'm sorry, I guess the security guard outside may have miscommunicated somewhat, ma'am, we don't have an appointment with anyone, we're just looking for this address which is located somewhere close by here," I said, holding up the paper again.

"Mister Billingsly has been expecting you, you're in the right place Mister Donvan, please have a seat," she repeated again, a little annoyed now.

"Yes ma'am," I said, somewhat dumbfounded.

"This is spooky, they act like they already know who we are," Andrea said as we sat down, out of earshot from anyone else.

"Obviously they do" Helen replied stoically.

"What time's our plane home?" I asked Andrea.

"We board at four-thirty this afternoon, I just confirmed it, so we need to get a move-on and get this done if we're going to make it on time," Andrea said, looking at her watch.

"It's only eleven-thirty, Andrea, you've got plenty of time" Helen answered.

"When are you coming to see us, Helen?" I asked.

"I should be down next week, Tim. I have to see my publisher first" Helen answered.

"I can't wait for you to see our new place, Helen!" Andrea said enthusiastically.

"Me too, Andrea, and I'm ready for a break!" Helen smiled.

"...Is there a house or anything on Danny's lot, here?" I suddenly asked Andrea.

"Honey, I don't know if there is. It's probably not much of anything, to be honest" Andrea said.

"Danny was from Texas so maybe it was his childhood home or something," I said offhandedly.

"Danny was from L.A, Tim, where did you get the idea he was from Texas?" Helen asked.

"I went to an Al-Anon meeting at the coffee shop, a few days ago, and a lady there insisted that she knew Danny and that he was from Texas" I responded.

"The coffee shop, by my house, you mean?" Helen asked, looking at me.

"Yes," I replied.

"Who was she?" Helen asked.

"Her name was Teresa" I answered.

"I think I know who you're talking about, but she'd been mistaken when she told you that, Tim, Danny was from L.A." Helen insisted.

"Teresa is from Texas, herself, and seemed to know what she was talking about, Helen" I answered, a bit unsure now.

"Danny told me himself, that he was from L.A., Tim, Teresa was mistaken," Helen repeated assuredly.

"Danny was from L.A., Tim," Andrea acknowledged.

"Maybe I misunderstood her" I shrugged doubtfully.

Andrea suddenly looked at me and said "Oh, by the way, Tim, be sure and remind me to put Danny's big key back into my check-in luggage again, I've been carrying it around in my purse with me for the last week and I don't think TSA would let me board with it. I want to hang that key by our front door at the ranch, as art."

"Sure I'll remind you, it's a cool-looking key, honey," I said.

I now watched a large and extremely well-attired gentleman making his way quickly toward us. The man looked to be in his late fifties and had a very confident manner about him, this was a man that got things done, big things, from the looks of him. An attractive young girl dressed in a bright green safety vest followed closely behind him. She seemed to be holding something else that was also bright green in her hands, more safety vests, and some orange hardhats, it looked like.

"Mister Donovan, sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Earl Billingsly, the director here for Prominent Energy. I was in a meeting, just now, and I'm afraid that I don't have much time to spend with you right now, may have to be Monday, I'm afraid. I have to see the Senator in a few minutes, right now, concerning some leases, you understand, I'm sure. My assistant, Kendall Ludus, here, will be more than happy to show you the grounds and answer any of your questions" the man rattled off quickly as he vigorously shook my hand with a politician's smile and feined over-enthusiasm.

"...Uh, Mister Billingsly, I think there's been a mistake, we're here looking for a piece of -" I began to stammer in confusion.

"- No sir, no mistake at all Mister Donvan, I totally understand. You got here as quickly as you could and we'll sit down and talk as soon as I'm able, may have to be Monday, as I've mentioned." the man said apologetically and just as quickly.

"Mister Billingsly, your helicopter is here now," the girl named Kendall said as she held her radio up to her ear.

"You'll have to forgive me, Mister Donovan, but I must run along now. See you Monday, sir?" he asked as he firmly shook my hand again.

"...Uh, sure, Monday should work for us, sir,..., I mean..." my words trickled out.

"Fine, fine, Monday it is then! I'll have Audrey set it up for us" Earl said as he turned and quickly fled toward the glass doors.

The unmistakable sounds of a helicopter landing nearby now came through the double glass doors as Earl ran toward the machine, head ducked low. Earl Billingsly hadn't even acknowledged Andrea or Helen at all during our brief conversation and both ladies now had a wide-eyed and confused look upon their faces, very similar to mine. I stood staring at Andrea and Helen with a perplexed look that said "...My God, I'm not even dressed in a suit and tie, and a man that controls an oilfield, worth billions, is calling me, sir."

Helen's eyes seemed to say to Andrea and me "Just go with it, and let's see where this all leads us."...Helen's "writer's instinct" appeared to be going full tilt now.

"You'll all three, have to wear these" Kendall said as she handed Andrea, Helen, and me green safety vests, orange hardhats, and pairs of safety goggles now.

The ladies and I quietly slipped into our green vests and donned our goggles. We held our hardhats in our hands

With a stern look, Kendall now quickly rattled off a set of instructions that she must have reiterated hundreds of times, from the sound of it. "This facility is leased on Federal property, you will comply with all Federal mandates which I will inform you of. You will remain within my presence at all times and you will do as instructed. If you do not comply with my instructions, then you will be in violation of Federal law and subject to fines and/or Federal prosecution to the fullest extent of the law.

Safety equipment must be worn at all times. Photographing, of any kind, is prohibited. Do not smoke or carry any apparatus that can produce an open flame. Weapons, of any sort, are not allowed on the premises, this includes, but is not limited to mace, or any other pressurized canister of any sort. You must also sign a release form, waiving any responsibility or obligation to the company, in the event that you are either injured or killed on the premises. Do any of you currently have a firearm or other weapon on your person?" she asked.

Andrea and Helen both simultaneously opened their purses and took out their cans of mace without speaking.

"Follow me and we'll check in your mace while we sign in," Kendall said stoically.

Kendall Ludus was an attractive girl that looked to be around twenty-five years of age but she was getting pretty stuffy, very quickly. My God, what an ice princess, I thought to myself as we followed her.

Several minutes later, Andrea, Helen, and I, now wearing our bright green vests, orange hardhats, safety goggles, and sporting "Visitor" badges, followed Kendall out a side door and toward a bright yellow crew-cab pick-up truck, there were dozens of these vehicles within the yard. Helen sat upfront with Kendall while Andrea and I sat in the rear seat. Kendall started the engine and we began to drive past the rows of pump jacks that were along the same route that Andrea and I had traveled only months before; when we had hitched a ride to the oilfield aboard the B-17, Alice Mae.

"By the way, Kendall, I'm Helen Lunsford, and this is Tim and Andrea Donovan" Helen suddenly piped up in a congenial voice while looking at Kendall.

"I know who you are, Miss Lunsford, Mister Billingsly was very informative" Kendall replied curtly.

Helen now turned her head and looked back at Andrea and me as she rolled her eyes at us. Helen's facial expression said, "Well isn't Kendall a little bitch?!"

"It's such a divine pleasure to meet you, dahling" Helen replied sarcastically as she turned and looked forward again.

...Oh my God, I now thought, closing my eyes with dread. The last thing Andrea and me needed right now was for Helen to start some shit with Kendall. Helen was getting mentally fatigued from the chain of events occurring within the last few weeks and that was dangerous; because Helen Lunsford had a mouth on her...

Kendall made no response to Helen's sarcasm.

"Helen; we're going to spend twenty minutes looking at some piece of property now, then get on a plane and go home, OK?" I asked patiently, trying to calm things a little between the two ladies.

"Sure, sounds great" Helen replied with a flippant attitude.

Knowing Helen's sarcastic mouth, the way she did, Andrea quickly interjected herself into the conversation in hopes of avoiding a truck ride filled with a litany of insults being hurled back and forth between Helen and Kendall.

"Oh my God, this is the exact same truck that we rode in before, Tim; when we flew Alice Mae down here for your birthday," Andrea said, looking at the truck's unit number on the dashboard, U1693.

"Oh, wow, that's so cool, I really enjoyed that trip, Andrea" I replied, in hopes of keeping a civil conversation going, before Helen could mouth off again.

The oilfield probably had sixty or more of these trucks and it really was a bit of a coincidence that we were, once again, riding in the same truck.

"Who's Alice Mae?" Helen asked.

"Alice Mae is the name of a World War Two B-17 bomber that my uncle flies" Kendall replied, with a slightly softer demeanor than she'd used a minute earlier.

"It's a what?" Helen asked, looking over at Kendall.

"It's a historic airplane," Kendall answered.

"John is your uncle?" I asked incredulously.

"Allen; is my uncle, and I think you're going to need more than twenty minutes to look at this piece of property" Kendall replied as she turned down a narrow dirt road now.

"We have to be on a plane in a few hours," Andrea said, a little perturbed with Kendall's proclamation.

"You can decide how long you want to stay when we get there," Kendall said.

We drove onward for another six or seven minutes in silence. Suddenly a house loomed out of the desert scrub brush and Kendall waved her hand at the windshield; as if revealing a masterpiece.

"Parcel 134," she said, simply.

I leaned forward looking through the windshield and just gaped at the house, my God, it must have been one hundred and fifty yards long and four or five stories tall...

Kendall drove up to the front door and put the truck in "park" she then shut off the engine.

"Stay within visual sight of me and wear your hardhats and safety goggles please, folks," Kendall said as we all exited the vehicle as she briefly spoke into her hand-held radio.

"THIS, is Danny's place?" I asked incredulously, looking from one end of the house to the other. The house seemed to reach from one end of the horizon all the way to the other.

"Yup, this is it" Kendall replied.

It was blatantly obvious that no one had been inside the house for several decades. There were tumbleweeds everywhere and the half-inch-thick windows were filthy and sandblasted from years of dust storms. From what I could see, the house itself was built like a battleship. The whole house seemed to be meticulously handcrafted from several layers of red-brick and elaborate stone masonry. Huge white pillars began at the foot of marble steps and led thirty feet upward to a massive overhang above.

...The curved archway above the twenty-foot high cathedral doors was adorned with sculpted masonry which read "PROMINENT HOUSE 1890." The house gave the impression that one was standing next to a huge transatlantic ocean liner, tied up along her pier.

"Forty-four acres and the house, itself," Kendall said, arms crossed, and looking upward at the cathedral doors.

"The eccentric life of a rock star, I wonder when he bought this place?" I asked myself, aloud.

"No idea" Kendall replied.

"...The key to my heart unlocks all doors" I now quoted Danny's note from the safe deposit box.

"Think that really means anything, Tim?" Helen asked.

I didn't answer Helen.

"Andrea, do you have the key with you?" I asked, suddenly curious if Danny Wickersham's key would work. The lock on the door almost looked like it would be a perfect fit for the key. I suddenly noticed that the huge latch apparatus was plated with what appeared to be pure, yet very tarnished gold.

"You mean Danny's key? You think it's actually for this place, Tim?" Andrea asked, in awe herself, of the place.

I said nothing, just held out my hand, expectantly.

"Can we go in, I mean is that alright?" Andrea asked Kendall.

"No reason we can't as long as you don't have to break anything to do it," Kendall said.

"Is there furniture or anything else inside?" Helen asked as she put her cupped hands against a window and tried to peer inside.

"I don't know, no one that I've ever spoken to has been inside the house itself. Some of the old-timers, that worked in the oilfield when I first got a job here, said that the old man that originally built this place had been a wildcatter, way back when, but that's all I know" Kendall answered.

"What's a wildcatter?" Andrea asked as she took Danny Wickersham's large skeleton key from within her purse.

"A Wild-Cat was someone that drilled for oil on his own dime. Most went broke but a few of them became filthy rich, this guy was obviously the latter" I answered as I took the key from Andrea.

The large gold plated door latch had an inch and a half tall protective cover, shaped like a teardrop, that swung like a pendulum from side to side at its top. This thick cover had been designed to keep sand and other debris from entering the lock mechanism via the keyhole. The cover seemed to be gummed in place from long inactivity so I began looking around on the ground, for something to try and use as a type of chisel. Finally, using a large wooden stick, I was able to slide the protective cover to one side with a fair amount of exerted effort.

The door's keyhole was now exposed.

Danny's large skeleton key seemed to be a perfect fit for the latch and I began to gently work the key back and forth a few times while simultaneously lifting up on the ornate door handle with varying amounts of upward pressure.

We were lucky; because the latch appeared to be made of solid yellow bronze and was undoubtedly a quality piece of equipment. It wouldn't have surprised me if the door latch had been an original fixture when the house was built in eighteen ninety.

After several seconds of gently manipulating the key, I seemed to get the perfect combination of rotary motion while lifting the handle and suddenly felt the mechanism move with a very solid sounding CHA-CLACK...

"...Well, I guess now we know what Danny's key fits, I said.

_____________(5)____________

more to follow...