Secrets of the Red Box (4 page)

By the end of her second week, Bonnie was flipping switches, plugging cords into jacks, yanking
them free again, and feeling comfortable with her new job. She chatted with the other operators
before and after work, met Christine for lunch, and was beginning to settle into a comfortable
routine. Her feelings of wariness had begun to wane since leaving San Diego. She no longer felt the
need to peer over her shoulder in fear of being followed. When she entered a room of strangers, her
eyes no longer darted about looking for suspicious types lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce
on her.

Three or four nights a week she went to the movies and lost herself in the only world that made
any sense to her. It had always been her solace, the movies. In the dark, when the music swelled, and
the title flashed into view, Bonnie came alive. As the film flickered across the screen she immersed
herself in the character’s vicarious lives, travelled with them to exotic places, felt their pain, cheered
with their victories. She filled her life with the details missing from her own past. Movies became her
teacher, her window into places and events she’d never experienced in reality. She gleaned from the
movies how to walk, how to dress, how to create a persona. Through the osmosis of film, she filled
her life with fantasy and camouflage.

When Saturday morning arrived, Bonnie set out to look for an apartment. She didn’t make much
money as an operator, and at the rate she’d been spending the money she’d brought with her, it was
imperative that she get out of the hotel.

She grabbed her copy of the
Omaha World-Herald
and reviewed the apartment ads. It was
important she find something close to her work to avoid the need for a car, especially since she’d
never learned to drive. She’d walk or ride the bus. Staying close to downtown was a plus as well,
she’d stay near the movie theaters, the places she needed to fill her empty life.

Bonnie stopped at the front desk of the hotel and waited for the manager to face her. “Good
morning,” she said with a smile.
The manager turned with papers in his hand, and greeted her with greater attention as his eyes
met her face. “Ah, good morning, Miss Denton.”
“I wonder if you could give me some directions.” Bonnie consulted the newspaper and read to
him. “I’m looking for the Drake Court Apartments at 2203 Jones Street. Is that far from here?”
The man’s mouth turned a bit downward as he gave her a look of disappointment. “Are you
planning to leave us, Miss Denton? We’ve so enjoyed your stay here.”
Bonnie recognized his line as one from a professional sycophant. “All good things must come to
an end.”
The man pursed his lips. “Well, the Drake is lovely. Now, head west on Jackson, which
eventually turns into St. Mary’s Avenue. Just stay on St. Mary’s until you get to 24
^th
Street and take a
left. The next block is Jones. Would you like me to write that down?”
Bonnie waved her hand. “No thanks, I have it,” she said, heading for the door.
The early May weather was still a bit cool, but as she walked along Jackson, the sun warmed her
shoulders with a gentle caress. She came to the Omaha Flat Iron Building and saw that Jackson did,
in fact, careen southwest and become St. Mary’s Avenue. After walking a few more blocks, she
turned left and found Jones Street and a cluster of brick buildings known as the Drake Court
Apartments.
She found the manager’s office. The sign on the door stated the Saturday hours as ten to two.
Her watch said eleven o’clock. Bonnie adjusted her new hat, tucked the blouse into her wool
gabardine skirt and made sure its matching jacket was aligned with her padded shoulders. She
pressed her lips together as though to cement her lipstick in place and prepared a smile. She
knocked and then heard a faint stirring inside.
“Coming,” a voice called from behind the door.
The doorknob turned and a middle-aged man swung the door open. “Can I help you?”
The man’s face was red, as though he’d been doing something strenuous. He was slightly out of
breath and Bonnie glanced quickly over his shoulder, wondering what she had interrupted. “I’m
interested in one of the apartments you have for rent.”
The man nodded and raked his fingers through his thinning hair. “Let me get my keys and I’ll
show you what I have available.”
He didn’t invite her into the office, but she heard a woman’s laugh in the background. He
reappeared with a large ring of keys jangling musically in his hand as he walked. “Are you interested
in the one or two bedroom unit?”
“The one bedroom,” she said.
Bonnie said little as the man showed her two available apartments. The rent was higher than
she’d anticipated, but with the money she’d brought with her from California she could stay at the
Drake for some time. She agreed to take one on the fourth floor of the second building, returned to
the office and paid the deposit, then took the key from the man. She felt exhilarated as she clutched
it in her palm. Her new life was coming together. San Diego felt farther and farther away.
She started back the way she’d come and went to J. L. Brandeis & Sons Department Store on
16
^th
and Douglas to see about buying a bed, a bureau, and a chair that she would have delivered
later. She stopped at Montgomery Ward just a block from the Rome Hotel and bought a lamp, some
sheets and towels, and a few small items she could carry back to her room.
Bonnie dropped her lamp on the bed and kicked off her shoes. Her toes ached from walking in
her tight new pumps. She decided to check into the bus routes to see if she could avoid so much
walking to and from her new apartment. It wasn’t such a great distance, but she wasn’t looking
forward to being out in the weather when winter came. She’d already heard about heavy wet snows,
windy blizzards, days when the snow could drift high enough to cover a door, trapping inhabitants
inside like Eskimos. She’d heard about the coming summer when days could become sweltering
with heat and humidity and its nights were oppressive and muggy.
She felt confident enough to venture out on her own for her first night on the town. She’d heard
some of the operators talking about the Stork Club three miles east of the South Omaha Bridge.
Bonnie took out another new dress, a rayon crepe with a deep V-neckline, a shade of salmon that
complemented her blue eyes. She put her hair up in a pile of curls and readied herself for an
adventure. When the cab arrived to take her to the club, Bonnie was exuberant, bubbling with
anticipation.
“Where to?” the driver asked, swiveling his head around toward the back seat.
“The Stork Club,” Bonnie replied, maneuvering the folds of her dress away from the car’s
threshold.
“Swinging place,” the driver said, and ground the gears into first.
“It’s my first time,” Bonnie said. “I mean, I’ve been to the Stork Club in New York, but—”
“The Omaha Stork Club is founded by the same guy,” he said, driving away from the hotel.
“Yeah, Billingsly, Ithink his name is. He started the club in New York, opened one here, and I
think one in Detroit, too.”
“I believe I’d heard that, yes,” she replied.
The driver continued to talk over his shoulder. “You got a reservation?”
Bonnie blanched momentarily. She didn’t. Did she need one? “Sure, of course.”
“That’s good, because it’s real hard to get in without one. You meeting someone there?”
Bonnie stiffened and cocked her head slightly to the right. “Are you this chatty with all your
passengers?”
The driver smiled and looked at her through the rearview mirror. “Only the pretty ones,” he
admitted.
“Well, if you must know, I’m meeting a friend.”
“Would that be a female or male friend?”
Bonnie cocked her head and stared into the rearview mirror, wondering why he cared. “A female
friend,” she said.
“I figured as much,” he said. “You know, they don’t look too kindly on unescorted ladies
coming to the club. Even though since the war, it’s been a lot more common.”
Bonnie turned her face to the window and watched the sparkling streetlights flicker by. “You
seem to know a lot about what goes on at the Stork Club.”
“Well, I can’t help it,” he said, shrugging his shoulder. “My kid sister works there. She’s a
hatcheck girl.”
“Oh, now I understand,” Bonnie said. “You have connections.”
“Yeah, I guess I do,” he chuckled.
Bonnie noticed him looking at her with frequency, furtive glimpses in the mirror and then his
eyes would settle back on the road. He seemed handsome enough, she thought, though she could
only really see his profile. Early thirties, though it was hard to tell in the dim light of the cab’s
console. When his eyes flicked to the mirror again, she felt a shimmer of interest swell in her belly.
She knew better, but couldn’t help herself.
They drove on a few more minutes, and then the driver raised his eyes to the rearview mirror
again. “Say, you wouldn’t consider skipping the Stork Club and letting me take you to dinner, would
you? I’m off duty in a few minutes.” He stretched his hand over the back seat. “My name is Dave
Miller, by the way.”
Despite the warning of her inner voice she reached forward and slipped her hand into his.
“Bonnie Denton.” She paused for a moment and slowly retrieved her hand. “What about my friend?
I don’t think she’d like being stood up.”
Dave shrugged a shoulder. “You can patch it up with her later, can’t you? What do you say? Can
I take you to dinner?”
She considered his offer. She had no reservations at the Stork Club, wasn’t meeting any friend
there. What if she couldn’t get in? What if she was turned away at the door? A sure invitation
suddenly seemed more appealing, even though she knew better than to accept it. Despite the
warning voice that rang in her ears, she nodded. “Sure.”
Again, his eyes peered at her. “I’ll swing us by the garage, change my clothes, and you can call
the club and leave a message for your friend. That oughta square things with her, right?”
Bonnie pursed her lips as if she was actually considering his suggestion to call her make -believe
friend. “I suppose.”
“Great. I’ll have a steak dinner in front of you before you know it.”
“Steak? How do you manage that?”
“Well,” he said with a grin, “I can’t guarantee beef, with the rationing and all, but I got a pretty
good hunch I can manage it.”
Bonnie smiled. She liked Dave’s easy manner, his self-confidence. She cast a quick glance up at
the mirror. He had warm eyes, she decided. She flipped open her purse and rummaged around for
her compact. “You know I’m not usually this impetuous,” she said.
She thought she saw his reflection blush.
“Neither am I,” he said. “But I figured a pretty girl, getting into a cab all alone—hey, why not
give it a shot?”
She suppressed a smile. “So, why aren’t you in uniform? And I don’t mean your cabbie’s
uniform.”
“I was. I got shot up pretty bad in Italy last November. My left leg doesn’t work so well
anymore—at least, not good enough for the Army.”
“Does it work well enough for dancing?” she asked.
Dave grinned. “You bet it does. Well, at least for the slow ones.”
The corners of her mouth turned upward. “They’re the best kind.”
Dave turned into the driveway of the garage. He got out of the cab and came to Bonnie’s door.
She noticed a slight limp as he walked, his gait slightly awkward. He smiled as he opened the car
door and reached for her hand. “Say, you’re even prettier than I thought,” he said, eyeing her up and
down.
Bonnie surveyed the stranger. He was tall, broad-shouldered, had dark hair, and yes, she
thought, he had warm eyes. Dave led her to the front office to wait while he changed. She made the
pretense of picking up the phone to call the club then hung up once he disappeared.
In a few short minutes, he appeared with a gleaming smile. He wore a nice pair of wool slacks, a
blue shirt and tie, and a leather bomber jacket. “You clean up pretty well,” she said.
Dave grinned and offered his arm. She took it and he walked her to a 1938 Ford Tudor sedan
and opened the door for her.
“Your chariot, my lady,” he said, swinging his arm toward the seat and bowing.
Bonnie smiled and slipped inside the car. She forced down the nagging inner voice that warned
her not to do this. Maybe she couldn’t help it; maybe she didn’t
want
to help it. He shut the door and
limped on his bad leg around the back and got in beside her. “Ever been to Comento’s?”
Bonnie shook her head as the car started forward. “Best steak house in town,” he said,
depressing the clutch and shifting into second gear. “It’ll probably be busy, but I know the owner.
He’ll make sure we get a table.”
Bonnie turned her face to him, the dim lights of the dashboard illuminating the profile of his
handsome face. “More connections?”
He chuckled. “Nah, I went to school with his son, Harry, that’s all. When we were juniors he
was dating my wife—I mean, my ex-wife.” He gave her a sheepish look. “I mean she wasn’t my wife
when we were juniors—I’m divorced.”
“I get the picture,” she said stifling a smile. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
“It’s all right. We got married young and I was overseas a long time. When I got home, it was
like we were strangers. That, and she couldn’t handle being married to a cripple.”
“You don’t seem like a cripple to me,” Bonnie said.
Dave shrugged his muscular shoulders. “I have limitations. Some things I can do and some
things I can’t. That’s all.”
He took a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and shook one free with his right hand.
“Smoke?” he offered.
Bonnie shook her head.
He lipped the cigarette and fumbled to find his lighter, patting himself until he found it in his
pants pocket. With one hand on the steering wheel Dave groped at the lid with the other. Bonnie
reached over and took it from him.
“Let me,” she said.
She cocked open the lid and flicked the lighter with her thumb until it ignited. Dave gently
wrapped his fingers around her hand, guiding the flame to his cigarette. Bonnie felt his warm fingers
against hers as they paused there long after the cigarette was lit. He took hold of the lighter and
snapped the lid shut against the steering wheel. “Thanks.”
A wreath of smoke circled his head, illuminated by the gray-green light of the dashboard. “How
about you?” he asked. “Married?”
Bonnie thought for a moment and reached for her earlobe. “I was engaged,” she said, her voice
sounding distant now. “He was sent to North Africa, and later fought in Greece. I’d always thought
of Greece as being the great seat of learning, not a graveyard. They never recovered his body. When
the war is over I’m going there—I want to see where he spent his last day.”
Dave turned his face to her and he seemed to understand as their eyes met.
He parked the car and opened the door for her. The night cloaked them in an envelope of
moist, cool air. Bonnie allowed him to take her by the arm. She sensed a tension in his grasp, almost
as if he were afraid to touch her.
The place was busy, with several guests standing near the entrance waiting for a table. Dave
ushered Bonnie to the side and waited until he caught the owner’s eye. Bonnie saw Dave motion to
the man and point at himself and then to her. The man smiled and nodded.
“Shouldn’t be but a minute,” Dave said with confidence.
The restaurant was noisy with the sound of clanking plates, machine gun bursts of laughter, an
undercurrent of muddled conversations. Dave leaned toward Bonnie’s ear. “Ihave to admit I was
kind of surprised when you took me up on my offer tonight. I really expected you to say no.”
Bonnie’s lips creased with a crooked smile. “So did I.”
“What changed your mind?”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I’m not sure yet. I guess I’ll find out.”
The owner waved them over, and Dave steered Bonnie through the sea of diners like a salmon
swimming upstream. They stopped at a small table. “Good to see you, David,” the man said,
thrusting his hand forward.
“You too. Harry still in the Pacific?”
“Yeah, and still alive, thank God.”
Dave leaned toward him and cupped his hand to the side of his mouth. “You got any steaks?”
“I’ll fix you up,” the owner said with almost a conspiratorial whisper. “If anyone asks, you got
the last two.” He smiled at Bonnie and pulled out her chair, then playfully winked at Dave and
grinned. “You enjoy,” he said, handing them menus. “I’ll be by a little later to see how you’re
doing.”