"Why, I'm just going off duty. Anything I can tell you…"

"It's, uh, a delicate matter. Is there any place where we could talk in private?"

Sure. Conference Room One. The paint had dried, in there, but it had been too late to open it for reservation when the plane took off.

Helen hesitated. She wondered where the huge plane's captain, Master Pilot Henry Hastings, might have gone. A little while before, she had poked into the cockpit to say hello to Hank. The copilot, reading a newspaper while a computer flew the plane, had said that Hank was off duty and ought to be around somewhere.

The copilot grinned at Helen and said he wouldn't be surprised if Hank was in one of the lays with a cute Argentinean twat who had been missing from her seat in First Class. He said that Snarly Mollie, as everyone called the chief stewardess, should have known better than to report a passenger missing. She should have checked to see weather Hank was out of sight at the same time.

Helen had felt a pang. Hank Hastings was part of her problem.

But now that tailleured but sexy passenger, Cleo Prentice, who had taken her to the bar, leaned across the softly lit, tiny table and touched her hand. At the same time, beneath the table, their knees met and Cleo began a gentle rubbing.

Helen's jealous thoughts of Hank faded when Cleo once again used her secret, knowing smile.

"What I want to know, Helen, is whether Wanderlust Airlines will accept a lesbian as a hostess."

Helen drew in an unsteady breath. Down in her crotch, a warmth and a moistness got together in a slithery tingle, and she had to wait a moment before she could go on.

"They have a policy against it. They want girls who show their sexual attraction to men. Our most frequent fliers are businessmen, after all. But we do have lesbians in the hostess corps. A girl simply doesn't tell."