December, '65, Atlanta Airport, first light, cold, gray, and busy.

Faye was watching a big man dressed crudely in jump boots, jeans going white at the knees, and an old, ill fitting sweater. She guessed he was thirty, six two, and two hundred hard pounds of muscle. She would cross the street to avoid meeting a man like that, but from a safe distance she tried to imagine him in a suit. He was clean, neat for what he wore, and handled himself like a seasoned traveler. A sailor crossing the country by air? She did not think it fit, but that was her best guess as she held the phone, waiting for a call to complete.
        
Faye Jordan, a magzine journalist was known everywhere as the working woman's press agent. Not a campaigner for social change, but as a source of sound information about careers, and training. If they could afford it she could tell them about the best vacation resorts and latest fashions. She was not known by many men, but it did not take long for any woman working for a living to reconize her, and say something nice.

* * *
Tyrell Eire could not go unnoticed, no matter how he dressed. He had seen Faye, every man in the terminal had noticed her, a tall well built woman with a gliding stride, and military posture that made anything she wore look good. She wore the best, every thread, and hair perfectly in place. A touch of olive to a healthy complexion, and dark brown hair framing a lovely face centered by a nose that hinted of mischief, not quiet right for a perfect lady. Ty got a good look in a brief glance as he passed the phones, feeling there was fire in her few would suspect, and only one lucky man might ever awaken.
        
Going to the gate he knew she was a few steps behind, and wanted to be behind her, stopping to inspect his new haircut in a "A little dab'll do ya." mirror, then fell in behind to watch those long legs, a shapely rump work smoothly. She walked the way royalty should, and the memory he was building would make good dreams for weeks. Then he was both amused and disapointed as she stopped to get a newspaper from a vending machine, letting him know she knew what he was up to.

* * *

Faye was certain she would be a Christmas bride, but she had not completed her call to Malian Collier. A busy man planning a honeymoon vacation could be doing most anything to make time. As she headed toward the terminal gate she watched the worn seat of Ty's jeans, the imprint of a wallet worn into one pocket. He was the most different thing there, easy to notice, but there was more to it. He was king where he stood, that square yard was his without question, and all automatically respected his space. She felt it as a line formed, stopped, and closed up with her behind him. She studied the haircut, new maybe that morning, a rushed burr cut that needed another time over to make it even. Fresh shave, well scrubbed look, but weathered, rugged like a professional sailor, maybe a farmer, not a cowboy with those boots, but the rest fit the image. No hint from a sniff, the sweater needed air, and it was past it's prime. Why did he fascinate her? He was not a man she wanted to know, but wanted to know about. Why was he there? What was he exactly? Where would he fit? After a glance at his hands she doubted he knew what a manicure was. Battle marks, and large calluses told of hard work, suggesting...?
        
"Sorry mam." She was bumped from behind by a woman carrying a large bag, and pushed into Ty, dropping a note book as she put a hand to his back. She did not believe it when he caught the notebook at knee level, as he steadied her with the other hand, sudden and sure. As he handed the notebook over there was a slow wink, no sound or smile. Then there was a discussion about oversized bags at her shoulder while the woman gave up the suitcase. Next Ty was carrying the bag for the lady, following the stewardess to a baggage cart. She did not see him again until she was aboard. Ty was tucked into the left rear corner studying papers held to a manila folder. He had the best working seat in the plane, the one she wanted, but the one across the aisle was nearly as good so she took it, wondering how he had gotten there first.

"Ty, Mister Botts sent you a package." The stewardess passed over another manila envelope. "Are you working for him?"
        
"Salving. I thought you'd be gone from here by now."
        
"I train 'em, and I fly a little. We have to visit when I have a minute."
        
"Sure." He snapped back into a world of his own as he opened the new envelope. Already a mystery, becoming a challenge she could not ignore. She knew check books like that went with big money, and responsibility. Who was Botts? He must be on the tip sheet as a preferred customer.
        
If Ty had been moving furnishings about in the terminal she would not have noticed him, now he was an obsession as she strapped in for takeoff, then spread pictures on the seat next to her as she refereed to one note book to make new notes in another. When the flight settled down she got up to sneak a peek at the tip sheet, "Botts Eng, Ty." Not a lot to go on, but the stewardess had circled it, that usually meant passing along a message received after the passenger was aboard, that had been done.
        
"Can you tell me about Mister Botts? You called him Ty." Faye asked Ruby, the stewardess.
        
"Botts Construction is based in Atlanta, Ty Eire is an engineer for Botts. I haven't seen him for years, since he left Delta, I want to ask questions myself."
        
"He worked for the airline?"
        
"A mechanic right out of the air force, but he left us." Ruby explained.
        
"He looks so..."
        
"He can dress up, but he would rather wear jeans, and plaid shirts. I had a sick car, he fixed it so we could ride to work together."
        
"He looks like he could kill." Faye said.
        
"He was always a gentleman."
        
"Did you love him?"
        
"Like a big brother." Ruby had to make a coffee run.
        
In Birmingham every seat filled, so Faye had company, and a very large fifteen year old girl was seated next to Ty. She had already ruined her handkerchief with nervous hands, as soon as she sat down she was sobbing. Faye expected him to make a racket, instead he put his papers away to offer her the window seat, then talked to her, but it was not working. The girl was squeezing his hand, sobbing, talking about shots she could not get on a train so she had to fly to New Orleans. Her babble not always making sense.
        
As soon as the wheels were up the pilot banked for a turn, the girl tried to stand with her belt fastened. Ty was pawing at his belt, but too late, the girl emptied her stomach into his lap, then squealed, "I'M SORRY!"
        
"IT'S OKAY, IT'S OKAY. If it had to happen I'm the worst dressed person on the plane" Ty was going to the toilet.
        
Faye was stunned when he did not hit the girl. Everything she thought of him dictated a violet reaction.
        
"He's a trap that doesn't belong here." The old lady seated by Faye snorted.
        
"He's the best thing that could have happened for that girl. Most men would have lost their temper, and yelled at her."
        
Ruby was there with a pillow to cover the wet seat.
        
"I'll buy new clothes for him if you can radio ahead." Faye said.
        
"It'll be taken care of, but thanks for the thought." Ruby replied.
        
"I doubt he would wish his problems on anybody."
        
"True, but I should have thought first." Ruby went to see if she could help Ty.
        
When Ty was back he explained flight to the girl, she did not understand anything said, but kept her mind occupied trying. Once off the plane in Jackson, Faye watched Ty come off last to join his bags in the rear of a pickup that carried him to another building. She went to call Botts in Atlanta.
        
"Nobody here has ever met him, he rode in from Vergina, with a train load of battered equipment we have to overhaul, then flew away before the
office opened. I believe he's going to rent a shop for a new job in Laurel, Mississippi." The man she spoke to replied.
        
"He isn't an engineer?"
        
"He's probably stud grunt if he rode in with the equipment."
        
"A what?"
        
"Labor that drives trucks. We owe him for something, I 'm trying to get that straight so I have his folder on my desk. Has he been arrested?"
        
"Why would you ask that?"
        
"It happens somewhere most every week. Half of them are animals."
        
"This one is a diamond in the rough." She hung up. The plane was going on to Baton Rouge, and New Orleans, she would not get to talk to Ruby again, but she could talk to the terminal hostess.
        
"Atlanta called me to make sure he had a quick shower, and help to get dressed in something clean. I was on the phone when he landed, and missed him. Are you traveling together."
        
"I don't know him, but I want to. Can you fix it so we dine together?"
        
"Sure, glad to Mss Jordan. Thanks for sticking up for us working girls."
        
"I enjoy it." Faye replied going back to the phone. Collier's house keeper told her to call back in a week, when she expected to be met. Then a call to learn who Botts was produced credit information, but no details of the business. A call to World Publications in New York, started research that might take days. She wondered what had happened to her, there was no good reason for her to care about Tyrell Eire. She had work to do, an article seventy five words too long, and due. She took a table where she could watch the lobby to work while she waited.

* * *
        
Ty could not believe the way a suit left in the bag for more than a year ironed out. His shoes polished up better than expected, so he was dressed like his fellow travelers when Faye discovered him by the table.

* * *
        
"Mister Eire, sit please." She was stuffing her clutter back into her bag. He still needed a better haircut, and looked wind worn, unlike
the indoor types she had grown accustomed to. The suit was tailor made, the best wool, and medium charcoal was a good color for him, but it did not fit the personality nearly as well as the body.
        
"You've changed." She said.
        
"I feel like a hog in silks. I'll get used to it. What can I do for you mam?"
        
"Tell me about yourself."
        
"What you see is what you get. Twenty nine, six two, one ninety, high school, no jail time, or hero medals."
        
"I believe you're a veteran."
        
"Air force, aircraft mechanic, before that a farm boy, Now I'm a lineman."
        
"What's a stud grunt, is that a lineman?" She asked.
        
"No mam... Sort of in charge of a truck, a few operate diggers, and light cranes. Some of the best do mechanical work. It changes by contractor,
local, and job."
        
"What does a lineman do, climb telephone poles?"
        
"Ding a ling linemen do, they claim they're technicians, smarter than we are. I tease lightening with a stick, not too bright of me I reckon. Now
who are you mam?"
        
"Faye Jordan, journalist working for World Publishing Company, we publish a dozen magazines, including Man's World. Do you know it?" She asked.
        
"A year ago they did a story about a line crossing a big canyon out west. I like Air World, for World War Two planes. Boat World, isn't' bad, I read it some. I've discovered all of them carry "Month in a Minute." I don't get to keep up with news, so the summary helps me keep tabs."
        
"Do you subscribe?"
        
"My address is Route 66, U.S.A., hard to get mail." He said.
        
"Don't you have a home?"
        
"My hat, I lost it off a train yesterday."
        
"A train?"
        
"Yes. We finished a job in Virginia, the equipment was so beat up the railroad didn't want to haul it, afraid of damage claims. I had to ride with it to take responsibility. Three days and nights of baby sitting junk I got to Atlanta, two hours before dawn, twenty two hours after I was supposed to fly away. I was briefed in a barbers chair, and ran through a shower."
        
"Can't the company afford good equipment?"
        
"It's better than it looks, all four wheel drive, military surplus, a lot is rebuilt for special jobs, but looks like hell, or worse after a hard year. Botts has a good shop in Atlanta to run everything through between jobs."
        
She was making notes. "I was impressed when you were so kind to the girl on the plane."
        
"I hope she has a better day."
        
"Most men would have yelled at her."
        
"Then felt like sh... a heel. It's a habit." He explained.
        
"You looked so... untamed."
        
"Wild?" He chuckled. "Most of us have nick names, I'm called Quite Man. You haven't told me much about yourself."
        
"I travel often. When I first started I did most jobs women do to gain insight as I wrote about them. After awhile I was too well known to get
away with it. Now I go to Europe, twice a year for fashion news, and do features on resorts. I maintain a New York apartment I don't use half the time. No hero medals or jail time." She smiled.
        
"Brains, and beauty." He nodded. "Good for you lady."
        
She was used to compliments, but felt a mild thrill, knowing he meant it.

Mailan was coming through the lobby, her mind quit on her, she was so glad to see him after the confusing reception she had received on the phone. She grabbed everything to run to him.
        
"Not here, not now, outside." Mailan avoided an embrace. "We have to talk."
        
"What's wrong? I received a cool response when I called your house." She was having trouble keeping up.
        
"My wife was killed in a car wreck last night, Mexico City, I have to see to the funeral. My plane is ready, I'm leaving now."
        
"Wife? I thought we were going to be married."
        
"I don't know where you got that idea, but you can still have your Hawaiian vacation, you know Burles, and he likes you. The house is ready, and waiting, enjoy it."
        
She dashed to the power room. First she hid in a toilet to let all he had said sink in. She had been moving about the world as a journalist for five years, and thought she was wiser than most, but she had been used by Collier. He had spoken of a future together in ways she had taken to mean marriage. She was a big girl, the mating game was not new to her, but she was no tart to be used by a man then past on. Collier must think so, that was exactly what he had suggested. After a good cry, and biting a roll of toilet paper to keep from screaming in rage she calmed, needing a hug.

She had her face on before thinking of Ty, as opposite to Collier as a man could be. The way she had ran away would not make her welcome back at the table... She might get to know him much better after all. She called New York.
        
"Are you going to get that piece done before deadline?" Connie snapped.
        
"It'll be in the mail today. No wedding, the bastard's married, but I've met a man I can't describe. Normally we'd walk around a block to avoid him, but I've learned a few things that makes me want to know him better. I need this."
        
"Don't be a fool, come home. mix with your own kind, let us help."
        
"No I want to work on my gentle ape, learn why he does so many things right by instinct. I'm not sure he can eat with a fork, but he has a knack for kindness when it counts most."
        
"How handsome is he?"
        
"He looks like a wild man, the worst haircut I've seen, roughest, and hardest hands you can imagine, and a face the elements have hardened."
        
"Noting like the fashion plate you left here crazy about? Watch yourself, it's all wrong for a gal in your state. He'll have you barefooted, and pregnant before you know it. I think you ought to come home."
        
"He'll sell magazines, women like to read about unusual men. I believe this one is all man, but different. I want to be sure."
        
"That's what we pay you for, keep in touch, and be careful. Don't be late with that piece." Connie hung up.
        
When Faye got her ticket to Laurel, Ty was having lunch with Barbara, the terminal hostess, and enjoying it. She was not surprised, but disappointed, wanting his company. Next she called Atlanta, to arrange things with Botts Construction for a feature, not hard to do, publicity was worth too much.
        
Botts himself spoke to her. "You stay close to Ty Eire on the job site. He looks after everybody. All are good men, but some ought'a be kept on leashes. You'll hear language women aren't used to, ignore it, they won't change. I have a trunk full of pictures you might use, come by any business day, we'll give you a tour."

* * * * * *

May, '95 off the coast of Puerto Rico.
        
Fay at the wheel watching Ty work sail on their fifty foot schooner, "Quite Man,"
        
After twenty eight years of marriage, and two children she was still amazed by his constant even temper. He was her gentle ape, best pet, and protector. He had encouraged her to start her own magazine, and cheered her on, but never meddled in her business while he built his own. A year before he had sold out then told her to be ready to travel when the boat was rebuilt. She had almost choked keeping her argument inside, but complied. After three months on the boat she still felt like a bride on her honeymoon, and would not trade places with any woman alive.
        
"Hay Slim, watch your wind, shape up before I beat you with a feather." He called, pointing the correct heading.
        
He was always going to beat her with mop strings, wet noodles, and tissues. She had been his lover, wife, and partner, but never his pampered pet. He got doors out of habit, seated her in public places, and helped with wraps, but in private he was a rowdy playmate. She would not change a thing, but sometimes wondered what life would have been like with a man like Collier. Not half as enjoyable or interesting. She heard her own voice whisper to the wind.


THE END