Saturday, June 5, 1982

NEWPORT BEACH

It all came to a head.

It was their wedding anniversary, for God’s sake. And although JK had flowers for her, and a card, and a kiss on the cheek in the morning, Jennine knew from long experience that it was his secretary, Bella, who scheduled such events in his diary and would buy the card and whatever. There was no thought from JK at all.

This evening they were supposed to be going out for dinner. They did that together maybe twice a year. But JK didn’t come home. That wasn’t so unusual. When Jennine phoned his office, she got Bella, who politely told her he wasn’t at the Columbia site. That was code for: he’s out with the guys.

And so it proved. JK came rolling in, after eleven, as oiled as you like, parking his T-bird at a crazy angle in the driveway.

“You shouldn’t drive like that,” Jennine said. She hated the querulous tone that came into her voice at such moments.

“Oh, God, the dinner. Honey, I’m sorry,” JK said. “I clean forgot. We’ll do it tomorrow. Okay?”

No, you idiot. It’s not okay. And right now, I have the feeling that it never was.

She went to bed.

After an hour or so he joined her. He touched her face, tenderly, and ran his hand down her nightgown, until he had cupped her breast.

She turned away. She was much too tense, too upset. And anyhow she could smell the stale rum on his breath, oozing out of his pores.

But at least he was home. At that thought she softened, as she drifted toward sleep. At least he’s come home. Maybe in the morning, I might be able to persuade him not to go in quite so early for once.

Before she fell asleep, the phone rang. JK picked it up immediately. “Lee.”

She had followed the development of Columbia’s MEM program. Actually, since JK brought work home most nights, and since he routinely held business meetings at their home — and always without any warning — she could hardly help but follow the program.

Once, JK took her out to Boston, where the Avco company were manufacturing the MEM’s ablative heat shield. It was a fascinating place. The ablative stuff was an epoxy resin, something the Avco engineers called “Avcoat 5026-39.” To hold this in place, the engineers constructed a titanium honeycomb, which would be bonded to the capsule’s lower surface, and they pumped the epoxy into each individual cell with a caulking gun. It had to be done by hand; the engineers worked their way across the surface until they had filled in all two hundred thousand cavities. If an X-ray inspection revealed a bubble, that cell would be cleaned out with a dentist’s drill and refilled.