A Splendid Gift by Alyson Richman

 
    March 1942
    New York City
    That evening, after she had put her son to bed, peeled off her rollers, and reapplied her lipstick, Silvia was nothing short of a comet as she hailed a taxi, the invitation to the cocktail party fluttering between her fingers.
    She read the driver the address and settled against the backseat. The night was damp, and as the wind streamed through the driver’s half-opened window, she considered asking him to roll up the glass in order to protect her hair. But Silvia found the air invigorating, so she untied the scarf around her neck, wrapped it over the top of her head, and tied a small knot underneath her chin. Her very own silk helmet to protect her coiffure. As they barreled down Park Avenue, the New York skyline brilliantly illuminated, she closed her eyes and felt the freedom of the night unfurling before her. With the car’s wheels rolling underneath, she imagined herself taking flight.
    She had been told by the hostess that the famous French pilot, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, would be in attendance, and that his publisher was trying to ease both his homesickness and frustration at being classified medically unfit to fly as his country was beset by war. For Silvia, the chance to meet the man who had bravely navigated the skies and written so poetically about it thrilled her.
    She had devoured his book
Wind, Sand and Stars
, and its prose had kept her awake long into the night. She still kept her copy on her nightstand. His words had lifted her from the confines of her small, elegant apartment to skies that were ablaze with the light of the stars. From his descriptions, she had imagined the roar of the engines, the sensation of the controls beneath his fingers, and the sheer ecstasy of flight as his plane soared above the peaks of the Pyrenees or the dunes of Dakar.
    She had wondered what it might be like to look down at the world from Saint-Exupéry’s cockpit, her breath merging with the clouds and her body nearly weightless. Just the thought of being given the gift of wings for even a moment was enough to make her dizzy. Warmth flowed through her as she imagined herself coasting in a dark sky, her face misty against the rolling fog.
    ***
    The hostess slipped Silvia’s coat from her shoulders and offered her a glass of champagne. With her black dress, white throat, and auburn hair, her beauty lit up the room. She saw Saint-Exupéry in the corner smoking a cigarette, his eyes following her as she entered.
    Silvia knew Lewis Galantière, the pilot’s translator, who welcomed her with a tight embrace.
    “So good of you to come,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks. “Don’t you look as beautiful as the moon. . . .”
    She laughed, taking a sip of champagne. As usual, Galantière tried to flirt, but Silvia had no interest in him. She only wanted to meet the famous author himself.
    Her eyes darted over to Saint-Exupéry, who was now amusing two women in the corner with a deck of cards.
    “Would you like me to introduce you?” Galantière offered, in an obvious attempt to win her over by showing how close he was with the famous pilot.
    Silvia’s eyes brightened.
    “Does he speak any English?”
    “Hardly a word.” Galantière smirked.
    “Then can you give him a message for me?” Silvia asked in her sweetest voice, coming closer to the translator’s ear.
    “I suppose it depends on the message, my dear girl.” He rolled the ice in his glass like it was dice, then took a deep swallow of gin.
    For a moment she considered the different florid declarations and compliments she might bestow on the pilot in order to get his attention, but then decided it was best to be direct in matters of the heart.
    “It’s a simple one,” she said, as she batted her eyelashes.
    “What’s that?” Galantière asked.
    “Just tell him that I love him.”
    ***
    Galantière swaggered over to the pilot and began to make idle conversation. It was clear to Silvia that he had not actually delivered