Secrets of the Red Box (5 page)

Bonnie opened the menu, but her eyes surfaced above it like a periscope as she watched Dave.
She detected a faint scar on his right cheek. It started just at the corner of his eye and veered off
toward his ear. It seemed to be old, not one caused by the war. Without the cabbie’s cap, his hair
was thick and wavy, like Robert Taylor’s. He raised his gaze suddenly and caught her looking at him.
She didn’t flinch, but kept her eyes on him. It was Dave who blushed and looked away.
Bonnie smiled and lowered her menu. “So how long have you been driving a cab?”
“Only a couple of months,” he said. “I’m trying to make some extra money so I can open my
own business.”
“Doing what?”
“I was apprenticing as a plumber before the war. When I came back, I picked it up again and
hope to have my own truck, maybe a fleet of trucks.” He set the menu on the table beside his
silverware. “Ido plumbing jobs during the day and drive the cab at night.”
“I like a man who knows his own mind.”
He gave her a simmering stare and raised a brow. Bonnie felt her stomach knot with the way he
was looking at her. Should she be doing this? Should she have accepted his invitation? It was all too
late to worry about that now. She’d already made the mistake.
“Well, a man’s got to make a living.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, where’d you go to school?
Benson? Central? North? Sacred Heart?”
Bonnie shook her head. “I’m not from around here,” she said, tracing the edge of the menu with
a lacquered fingernail. “Igrew up in North Dakota.”
“Really? My family went there one summer to see Mount Rushmore.”
Bonnie looked over her glass. “That’s in South Dakota. People get the two mixed up all the
time. But I don’t want to talk about me—I want to talk about you. So,” she drawled, “tell me.”
Dave squirmed a bit in his seat. He touched each piece of silverware before he spoke. “Well, it’s
pretty basic, I guess. I have two brothers, one in the Navy and the other in the Air Corp. My dad
works for Union Pacific and my mom plays the organ for her church. I went to North High,
graduated, got married, went to war, then got divorced.” He shrugged and brought his eyes to meet
hers. “Pretty ordinary, I guess.” He laughed. “Geez, my life sounds boring.”
Bonnie’s mind flicked to a rapid-fire movie of her own childhood memories. She smiled and
gave him a wistful glance. “No, it sounds…normal.”
“Yeah, I guess normal passes for boring.”
“Do you have children?”
He gave his head a shake. A thick strand of hair fell over his forehead. She could smell the
Lucky Tiger hair tonic he’d used. “Nah, we never got around to that.”
The waiter came to their table and Dave ordered a bottle of wine. When their glasses were full of
the ruby liquid, he clinked his goblet against Bonnie’s. “Here’s to the end of the war. May it come
soon.”
Bonnie smiled and raised her glass. “Here, here.”
She settled back in her chair and felt the warmth of the wine insinuate its way through her veins.
She knew not to drink too much—the alcohol softened her resolve. She had to keep her wits about
her, be careful not to reveal too much, not say the wrong thing.
“You said you were injured by shrapnel,” Bonnie said. “That must have been quite painful.”
Dave’s expression clouded. “You know, the Army sticks you in a uniform and teaches you how
to shoot a gun, how to lob a grenade, how to fire at paper targets and straw-filled uniforms hung
from a scaffold. They teach you how to obey orders, how to hate, how to kill, and to do it all in the
name of freedom.” He raised his glass and took a long drink. “But the one thing they don’t teach
you is how to handle coming out of it alive.”
He lowered his face and studied the wine in his glass, swirling it inside as if he could see the past
in its blood-red color. “The same shrapnel that messed up my leg also killed two of my best
friends.” His voice was strained as if clamped by a steely vice. “Ican’t figure out why I lived and
they had to die. You know, when you die on the battlefield, your fight is over. It’s all finished. B ut
when you survive…”
Bonnie heard the anguish in Dave’s voice, the pain of his guilt for having survived. She extended
her fingers across the table and gently touched his hand. It was a sincere gesture, one of sympathy.
Then her motion turned to one of alarm and she withdrew her fingers.
Bonnie’s thoughts went to her childhood, when fielding blows from her father felt like combat
and tip-toeing around his moods felt as though she walked through a minefield, when wondering if
she would live to see another day felt like living in a warzone. She thought of the times she’d felt
that life wasn’t something to live, but something to survive, that when it was over, it would be better
somehow. Yes, she understood in her own way how he felt. “Sometimes, surviving is painful…”
Dave raised his face and smiled, exposing his straight white teeth. “I’m sorry, Bonnie. I didn’t
mean to—”
“It’s okay, Dave,” she said, reaching her hand toward him again, but then withdrawing her
fingers back to her glass.
“So let’s talk about you,” he said with a lift in his voice.
Her imagination shifted into gear. “Well, I left nursing school to come here,” she said. “My
maiden aunt, my dad’s sister, became terminally ill and needed help. Naturally, since Ihad received
medical training, I was elected by the family to help take care of her.”
“Why didn’t you take your aunt home to North Dakota? Couldn’t you have taken care of her
there?”
Bonnie let out a short burst of laughter and hunched a shoulder. “She wouldn’t hear of it. She
said she wanted to be among her own things, sleep in her own bed. I guess I couldn’t blame her.
Besides, she and my father never got along. Anyway, after she passed away, I decided to stay here.
You know, make a go of it on my own. I’m looking for an apartment now while I stay at the hotel.”
“So are you going back to nursing school? Creighton has a great program here in Omaha.”
Bonnie pressed her lips together as if to refresh her lipstick. “I’m not sure nursing is right for
me. After taking care of my aunt for three months, I think I’ve had a taste of what it’s like, and I
don’t think it’s something I can do every day.”
“I can understand that. It would be hard to live around death every day. I know I’ve had my fill
of it.”
Dave’s mood brightened and he lifted his glass once again. “To life,” he toasted.
Bonnie tipped her glass to his. “To a
new
life.”
A thick and juicy T-bone steak was placed before each of them with a side of spaghetti. Dave
rubbed his hands together in anticipation and grinned over his plate. “Best Omaha beef in town,” he
said, picking up his fork.
The owner of the restaurant sidled up and leaned over the table. “So?” he asked expectantly.
Dave took a bite of steak and rolled his eyes, smiling as he chewed. He managed a satisfied
sound and gave the man a wink.
He turned to Bonnie as the waiter slipped away. “And you, miss? How is your steak?”
Dave smacked himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand. “Where are my manners? Mr.
Caparelli, this is Bonnie Denton.”
Mr. Caparelli bowed, reached for Bonnie’s hand, and kissed the back of it. “A pleasure to meet
such a beautiful young lady. You know, you look a little like that actress…oh, what’s her name…”
He turned to Dave with open palms, as if he might know. “Who is it, David? The pretty one who
does those gangster movies…”
Dave laughed and gave Bonnie a look of helplessness. “Idon’t know…but whoever it is, she
can’t be prettier than Bonnie.”
Bonnie feigned a look of reticence. “Now stop it, you two.”
“Sure, sure,” Mr. Caparelli said, clasping his hands over his apron-covered belly. “I don’t mean
to embarrass. Did you know David is a war hero?”
“Mr. Caparelli,” Dave interjected, shaking his head.
“No, no, it’s true and you shouldn’t be modest about it,” he said, his eyes sliding back and forth
between the two of them. “He singlehandedly held off the Germans so his unit could get positioned
for a counterattack. He held them off for over an hour.”
Dave sighed and held up his hand. “Please, Mr. Caparelli, I’m no war hero. I was just doing my
job.”
“Okay, okay, have it your way,” he said, waving his hands. “But excuse me, I have kept you from
your dinner. Eat, eat.”
Dave lowered his gaze a moment, crimson embarrassment glowing about his cheeks as Mr.
Caparelli left them alone. He attempted a smile and looked at Bonnie. “He’s a character.”
Bonnie plunged her fork into the tender beef and cut off another bite. “He’s quite charming. He
reminds me of the maître d’ at the Stork Club.”
Dave held his fork in mid-air. “The club in New York, right?” He squinted one eye and gave her
a mischievous grin. “How does a girl from North Dakota get to the Stork Club in New York,
anyhow?”
Bonnie placed her fork on the edge of the plate. She reached up and rubbed the tip of her
earlobe, finding a spot beside her earring. “My father is a lawyer,” she said casually. “He took me
and my mother to a convention in New York when I was seventeen. One of the lawyers he knew
invited us to come with him to the Stork, so we went. I remember he only had reservations for four,
and my family made seven, so they crowded us all together at a table. But I didn’t care. When they
pulled back that solid gold chain to let us in, I was in heaven. It was so glamorous, I would have
been happy with a seat in the kitchen.”
Dave chuckled and twirled some spaghetti onto his fork. “Sounds like you enjoyed yourself.”
Bonnie’s eyes grew large. “Oh, I did. And do you know who we met there?”
Dave got an amused look on his face. “The Rockefellers?”
Bonnie clasped her throat with a gasp. “Tyrone Power!”
Dave’s amusement turned to slight skepticism. “You met Tyrone Power, at the Stork Club, in
New York.”
“It’s true,” she insisted. “He walked by our table, and I don’t know, when I saw him I just
reached out and grabbed his arm and said, ‘Mr. Power, how are you this evening?’ as if we were old
friends or something. I thought my parents were going to die of embarrassment, but he was so
gracious, so kind. He took hold of my hand, and said, ‘I’m fine, how are you?’ By then I couldn’t
speak. I mean,
Tyrone Power
was holding my hand. I stuttered and stared until he let go and walked
away from the table, smiling. All I could do was look at my hand. I don’t think I washed it for a
week.” Bonnie laughed and looked at Dave, who seemed charmed by her story.
“A buddy of mine danced with Lana Turner at the USO Canteen in Los Angeles before he
shipped out,” Dave said. “He said he got in about three steps before some other guy cut in and took
off with her.”
Bonnie gazed off in the distance. She was running out of things to say. An idea struck her, and
she picked up the conversation again. “I always wanted to be an actress,” she said, as if admitting to
some forbidden fantasy. “My father didn’t think such a career choice was a wise one. He said,
‘
Go
into nursing, or be a teacher, if you want a career. At least until you get married and start a family.’
So, I never gave it a try.”
“What’s stopping you now?” Dave asked, pouring more wine into their glasses. “You said you
planned to stay in Omaha. Why not head to New York or California?”
“No, no. I’m afraid playing a sheep in the school Christmas pageant, and a part in my high
school production of Romeo and Juliet, was probably as close as I’ll ever get to acting.” Bonnie
placed her fork on her plate and studied Dave’s earnest face. “Anyway, it’s just as well. I have a good
job and I just got my own apartment. That’s all I really need.”
Dave swallowed a mouthful of spaghetti. “Oh? What do you do?”
“I’m a secretary for a law firm.”
“I guess the law runs in your blood.” Dave smirked.
Bonnie’s brows drew together, not understanding the comment. “What do you mean?”
“Well, your father is a lawyer, and here you are working for lawyers.”
She felt stupid for not making the connection. “Oh, I see now.”
Dave took a long drink from his glass of wine. “So how did you pick up secretarial skills while
you were in nurses’ training? I mean, don’t secretaries have to know shorthand and typing?”
Bonnie took a bite of steak and chewed as she pondered her answer. “Well, I helped my father
out a lot. I learned how to type so I could do up his notes and such.”
The feeling that she’d made a mistake in accepting Dave’s invitation was beginning to gnaw at
her. It was foolish, she knew, too risky. A sudden grip of desperation clutched at her throat and she
felt the need to leave. She pushed her plate away. “Icouldn’t eat another bite. What do you say we
get the check?”
Dave’s expression registered his surprise at the quick dismissal. “Uh, sure,” he said looking at his
half-finished steak with regret, then cut off two more large bites and shoved them into his mouth.
He motioned for a waiter and asked for the check. Within moments, Mr. Caparelli appeared with
the bill in his hand. “Are you leaving so soon? I have some wonderful spumoni ice cream you
should try.”
Dave made a quick glance at Bonnie and shook his head. “No, but thanks. Another time
maybe.”
Mr. Caparelli held up the bill and tore it into two pieces. “Dinner is on the house tonight,
David.”
Dave shoved to his feet and tried to snag the pieces of the check from the old man’s hands.
“Mr. Caparelli, I can’t let you do that.”
The owner crumpled the scraps of paper and stuffed them into his pants pocket. “No arguments
now, David.”
Dave heaved out a sigh and resigned himself to the man’s kindness. “You win, but only for
tonight.”
Mr. Caparelli helped Bonnie from her chair. “You must come again and bring Miss Denton with
you, eh?”
Dave blushed, and Mr. Caparelli wrapped his arms around Dave’s shoulders in a bear hug.
“Take care now, David, and enjoy the rest of your night.”
Mr. Caparelli ushered them to the front door and waved as Dave escorted Bonnie to his car.
“He’s a great guy,” Dave said when he took his place behind the wheel. “I hope he didn’t
embarrass you.”
Bonnie opened her purse and rooted about for lipstick. “No, he was very nice.”
Dave draped his arm over the steering wheel and turned a bit sideways in the seat. “So are you,”
he said.
Bonnie didn’t respond, and instead opened her compact to catch a glimpse in the mirror. “You
can drop me off at the hotel,” she said nonchalantly as she started to apply a fresh coat of lipstick.