Stage Door Canteen (23 page)

“Hell, yes.” He shifted the suitcase to his other hand, taking her by the arm. “Don’t worry, Jen, we’re slapping radar into everything we’ve got—planes, warships, ground installations, every place it will fit. It’s been around since the Twenties because the Japs and the Germans didn’t want to spend any money to develop it. Now we’ve got it and your friends were right, it’s going to win the war for us. So are a lot of other things.”

They had made their way through Union station and out into the rainswept plaza, past the taxicab stands. Jenny looked around. “We’re not taking a cab?”

“We’re going first class. We have a car, my dear, a high-style means of transportation courtesy Lieutenant Malcolm Sandover. You remember Sandover, don’t you, our ISPD sports writer who gained fame and glory by producing superior position papers for the general staff?”

They walked out into the Union Station parking lot. He took out a set of keys and steered her down the line of cars. “Of course the Air Force has now sent Sandover to Texas to do something that has nothing at all to do with preparing position papers for high level conferences with our allies. Instead, Malc’s on TDY, ostensibly to write a feature article about a B-17 gunner who shot down four Jap Zeros all by himself. But from what I gather from his telephone calls, he’s there to put a lid on things generally, and keep the kid out of trouble.”

“Trouble? What on earth has he been doing? Goodness,” Jenny said, “I hope it’s not the obnoxious brat who’s been coming to the canteen. If it’s that one, I think I know him. His crew was on a big war bond tour.”

“Well, from what Sandover says, he’s convinced the B-17 crew is sitting on something. Some damned secret the military doesn’t particularly wanted circulated for public consumption.”

They got into the small Chevy. He fumbled for a moment with an unfamiliar dashboard, then found the ignition, started the engine and turned on the windshield wipers. “Sandover called yesterday to make sure I got the gas coupons he left with one of the girls in the office. Sorry,” he said, grimacing, “I mean WAAC Corporal Margie Hawes. I keep forgetting these damned rankings. Margie is not just ‘one of the girls in the office,’ of course, but an esteemed member of the United States Armed Forces. We have women soldiers, they keep telling me. Not stenos and file clerks.”

He turned to look out the rear window as he backed the car out of the parking space. “Jen, do you know how much I’ve been looking forward to this? I want you to know I haven’t been able to sleep for the past two nights. I’ve been driving Brownlee crazy, he claims he can’t sleep, either, when I’m awake in the next bed. He says, the ass, that he can hear me breathing, and it keeps him awake. You know, I can remember feeling exactly like this when I was a kid waiting for Christmas morning. The same feeling. And all because my wife is making a trip to Washington to see me.”

“Yes,” she agreed, laying her head on his shoulder. She snuggled happily against him. “Yes, I’ve felt the same way. It’s so good to finally be here. To be close to you.”

The road from the airport to the Fourteenth Street Bridge was bumper to bumper with traffic. He pulled the Chevy out of line impatiently to see ahead, but traffic was solid. He took his eyes from the road long enough to press a kiss into her hair. “God, woman, have I told you that I love you? Look, I can’t wait. Let’s pull over into Arlington somewhere and neck.”

She sat up. “Brad, you wouldn’t!”

He pulled her back down against him. “I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t, but not because I don’t want to. Besides, if we started necking I might lasciviously assault you and we’d probably end up in the Arlington jail. God, I need you, Jen,” he said, his voice cracking. “This past week I have told myself over and over that at last you’re coming, somebody I can talk to, I can say what I think for a change, what I can’t tell anybody else in this lunatic military structure I’m encased in. Hell, I’m a magazine editor, I look at this war, especially the way we are running it in Washington, and I feel like the top of my head is going to blow off. Be cool, I’ve been telling myself, Jen is coming. My wife, my beautiful friend, my uncritical audience. Keeper of my sanity.”

She squeezed his arm. “You can relax. You look pretty sane to me, major.”

He tried to pull the Chevy out again to pass, and quickly pulled it back, looking irritable. “Jesus Christ, Washington traffic is incredible! I suppose they can’t do anything about it, but this is ridiculous. A little rain, and everything slows to a walk.”

“Everybody’s trying,” Jenny murmured, “to get out of town for the Thanksgiving holiday.”

He let out his breath. “It’s getting to me. I suppose that’s obvious, isn’t it? Day by day we’re in a cesspool of rumors, shut up over there in that damned building they’re calling the Pentagon. The frightening thing is the rumors are credible as hell, even though they sound like somebody’s nightmare. After a while the way the war is going, or not going, becomes an obsession. It’s the only game in town.” He turned his head to give her a burning look. “Jen, do you understand this? I have to get all this off my chest.” He managed a smile. “I must be nuts.”

She put her hand on his thigh and gave it a pinch. “Hey, are you proposing not making love? That we sit up all night and let you talk?” She was teasing, but she saw how tired he looked. He’d already had a drink or two, she knew it when he kissed her.

“They’re shipping us to England. We were scheduled to be part of an expanded information directorate, but now with what’s going on God knows what we’ll find. If anybody even remembers what ISPD is, or what it’s supposed to do. The pipeline says they’re getting ready to fire Eisenhower. There’s a lot of criticism about him because he did the expedient thing in North Africa and worked with Darlan and the other French collaborationists. It’s put him in a hell of a bad position. Not that he was in a good position to begin with. Eisenhower is Allied Supreme Commander with British military commanders Cunningham and Alexander under him. The Brits’ view is that Ike should be the Allied Supreme Commander and make morale speeches while they actually run the war.”

She stared at him. “You mean they wanted to make Eisenhower just a figurehead? These are our allies, I can’t believe governments would stoop to such conniving! It’s so stupid!”

“Darling Jenny, not according to the military way of thinking, that’s one thing I’ve learned in Washington. The military mindset grabs the advantage when it can, secures its territory, even when it’s dealing with friends. Especially when dealing with friends. Right now our friends the French are sandbagging us because they are so damned afraid we will occupy their colonies that they won’t let us get across their territories to help pin down Rommel. Eisenhower is being blamed for not getting things straightened out before our troops landed. Then there’s everybody’s favorite, General DeGaulle, flitting from place to place announcing he is the only true leader of the Free French. When the truth is, none of the other French will have much to do with him. Eisenhower’s in the doghouse. The rumor’s out our military is looking for his replacement.”

“I can’t believe that. Replace Eisenhower?” She wished, now, that she’d paid more attention to the news. Brad was living the war day by day at the Pentagon while, like many Americans, she read the headlines and assumed things were going OK. America always won. ““How can they fire Eisenhower? He’s such a hero here at home, there have been so many newspaper stories praising him. I don’t think Americans will understand if he’s fired. I don’t understand it myself.”

He had driven down a side street south of the Capitol. Now he parked the car across the street from a small bar. The large green and white sign across the entrance said, McDooley’s Bar And Saloon.

Jenny said, “Brad, darling, can we skip the drink? I am desperate for a hot shower after freezing on the train. Listen, Ockie Hammerstein gave me a bottle of Dewar’s extra special Highland reserve, he said it’s almost priceless these days. Let’s go to the hotel and you can open it and fix drinks for us.”

“Jen, we can’t.” He sat with his hands on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead. “I hate like hell to break it to you like this, but Brownlee and I were out of the Shoreham as of this morning.”

She half-turned in the seat to look at him. “Out of the hotel? What does that mean?”

“It means I have my orders to ship out.” He stared out at the rain. “It’s all right Jen, I know you’re hellishly disappointed, but I don’t want you to make too much of this. You know how I hate to see you upset. I only got my orders first thing this morning, they were moved up twenty-four hours. Actually I counted on leaving Friday at the earliest. It was too late to let you know before you left New York so that you could cancel. You were already on the train.”

“I wouldn’t have cancelled. I would have come anyway. Tomorrow?” It finally dawned on her. “Oh God, how much time do you have?”

“I’m flying out with some of Arnold’s staff at midnight. Brownlee’s leave is cancelled, he’s coming with me. Dammit to hell!” Suddenly galvanized, he threw open the door and climbed out. “Look, we can make the most of it if we try. There’s a war on, these things happen. The good part is the ISPD gang has been trying to help. Corporal Eleanor Schulman has a sister who has a house in Silver Springs who’s gone to Baltimore for the Thanksgiving weekend. She’s arranged for us to use it.”

He opened the door on her side and stood there, waiting for her to get out. She looked up at him.

“Use it?” She was stunned, there was no other word to describe it. “Brad, I can’t think. I can’t believe this is happening. Why didn’t you tell me right away, at the station?” Her voice trembled. “I don’t understand. Why go to Silver Springs? I thought you said you were leaving tonight!”

“I am, sweetheart.” He reached in and took her by the hand and pulled her out of the car. “Look, come inside and have a drink. It’s the least we can do since the girls went to all the trouble to fix things up. Margie and Eleanor want to meet you. Eleanor made the arrangements with her sister, Margie got in touch with Sandover out at his motel in Texas about the car. Tony Pilaro and Larry Brownlee are there, too. It will only take a minute, one drink, I promise you. Then we’ll start for Silver Springs.”

She didn’t want to go in for a drink, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. She followed him into the bar. It was dark in McDooley’s, noisy with a holiday crowd. Right inside the door there was a large cardboard cutout of a Thanksgiving turkey wearing a green Irish top hat. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Brad the last thing she wanted to do right at that moment was meet the staff of ISPD. The people, she gathered, who had worked to give them a few hours together in someone’s borrowed house. She was tired, she wanted a shower, she felt cheated out of her holiday, angry at the war, resistant to the whole thing. She felt sudden, silly tears spring to her eyes and had to blink them back.

The ISPD group was waiting at the bar because, they explained, waving their drinks as Jenny and Brad approached, it was too crowded in McDooley’s to get a table. The two WAAC corporals, Margie and Eleanor, were in their mid-twenties, both attractive brunettes. Sergeant Pilaro, who managed the ISPD office, was quiet, observant. Jenny had met Capt. Larry Brownlee before, in New York.

Jenny shook hands all around. Margie Hawes said she couldn’t know how excited she was to meet her. Jen thanked her, and thanked the other WAAC corporal, Eleanor, for all they had done. It was nothing, they told her. They were so glad to be able to get the house for them, but there had been some hairy moments when it looked as though everything would fall through. Everyone laughed. Brad went to find the bartender to order their drinks.

“What a beautiful orchid,” Corporal Hawes said. “It’s absolutely gorgeous.” Corporal Schulman agreed. Jenny explained that it was a gift from the volunteers at the canteen. Margie Hawes went on, sympathetically, “We knew you and Major Haller wanted to have a place where you could have some time alone together. We don’t know how long the overseas tour of duty will be, nobody ever knows, really. We could be stationed someplace for a couple of years. We figured you and the Major didn’t want to spend your time together tonight sitting in a hotel lobby.”

“And that happens,” Corporal Schulman said, “more than you think. I mean, sitting up all night in a hotel lobby. Somebody said Washington hotels ought to rent the lobby chairs and make money on them. It’s just a shame Major Haller had his orders changed at the last minute and had to make the flight tonight.”

Jenny took her drink from Brad and drank most of it before she put it down on the bar. “It was really nice of you,” she said, “all of you, to do this for us. I can’t tell you how grateful we are. Or how we’re possibly going to thank you.”

“It shouldn’t take you all that long to get out to Silver Springs,” Larry Brownlee said, “unless Brad gets lost. Hey, don’t let him get lost, will you? You don’t want to be riding around in Maryland right up to time to time to catch the plane.”

“I know the major is tired,” Corporal Hawes said. “We’re all just pooped! We started packing up the office yesterday. Colonel Seaver’s office told us they’d send us a detail to finish our moving, but Major Haller said he didn’t want us to go off and leave it to the Air Force to do, no telling what would happen. So we all pitched in. You should have seen us throwing things in boxes. Even the typewriters. We figured it would be hard to get anything overseas, there are always shortages. Margie was told by people who’ve been stationed in the Philippines that you can go without equipment you need for months and months if you don’t bring it with you.”