Stage Door Canteen (24 page)

“Sergeant Pilaro drew up a map,” Corporal Hawes said, “to Silver Springs. Just so you wouldn’t get lost.”

“Yes, I have it,” Brad said.

“Before you go, would you do Margie and me a favor and give us your autograph?” Corporal Schulman handed Jenny two of O’Dooley’s paper coasters from the stack on the bar. “Would these be all right? I’m going to give mine to my mother, she’ll be so excited. I’ve told her all about you.”

“Good lord, I’m really not famous.” Jenny was aware of Brad’s eyes on her. “You know, I’m terribly flattered, but I’m really not important enough to give anybody an autograph.”

“Oh, yes you are! My mother is crazy about Broadway, she’s always wanted to go to New York and see a play. She’ll be just thrilled to pieces.”

They handed her a pen. She autographed the paper coasters to Corporal Margie Hawes and Corporal Eleanor Schulman, and one to Goldie Schulman, Corporal Schulman’s mother. The autographed coasters said With best wishes, Genevieve Rose.

“I guess we’d better get going,” Brad said, looking at his wristwatch. He raised his voice over the noise of the bar crowd. “Jenny and I want to express our appreciation for the magnificent arrangements with the house from the bottom of our hearts. It was a noble thing you all did. Believe me, you have just earned a Haller family unit citation for humanitarian effort.”

Everyone laughed. Brownlee, Sergeant Pilaro, the two WAACs raised their glasses in a toast. Here’s to Silver Springs, someone said. Everyone laughed again.

“Put your wallet up, Major,” Captain Brownlee told him. “The drinks are on us.”

Jenny followed Brad out of O’Dooley’s. As he held the door open for her he said, “Don’t say it Jen. Don’t say anything. After all, they set this thing up for us out of the goodness of their hearts.” It was raining. He told her, “Wait here, I’ll go get the car.”

She shook her head. The car was only across the street. She took his arm as they crossed, feeling the drops of rain against her shoulders and the brim of her hat. “I’m not going to say anything, what gave you that idea? I know you’re all for this. Anyway, they were very sweet.” She added, “I thanked them enough, don’t you think? I didn’t want to overdo it.”

He unlocked the car door and held it open for her. “Just once,” he told her, “I’d like to find out what bugs you, Jen. I never can figure it out. And don’t say what you usually say. Which always is, that nothing’s wrong.”

“All right,” she told him, “I won’t. What time is it?”

He didn’t bother to look at his wristwatch. He started the engine and said, “It’s four o’clock.”

They only got lost once in Silver Springs, and that was when they made the wrong turn and entered a small park, and made a circuit on its one road and came out again, fortunately, on the thoroughfare they were supposed to be on, called Shadowlawn Drive. It was getting dark, still raining steadily. Following Sergeant Pilaro’s map, they found the cross street, Shadowcrest, and the house, a 1920’s single story red brick with a steeply sloping slate roof.

Jenny got her suitcase with the bottle of scotch out of the trunk of the car. The front door, when Brad unlocked it, opened into an unlit hallway. He stepped inside.

“Watch it, it’s dark as hell in here. Don’t move until I find the light switch.” He stepped forward, groping along the wall. Then, abruptly, he dove for the floor, accompanied by a loud, metallic crashing.

Jenny screamed.

“Oh, God! Brad?” She moved toward where he lay and her legs hit the suitcase. She nearly fell over it. She grabbed the wall in the adrkness, her hands sliding along it to keep from tripping over him.

He slowly sat up. “What the hell was it?” he said in a shaky voice.

Jenny bent and lifted the tricycle out of the way. “I can’t understand why they left it in the front hall. Maybe they usually go out through the garage or something, in the back. Dear God, tell me you haven’t broken anything!” She groped toward him. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer. Slowly, he got to his knees, brushing the front of his uniform coat with his hands, then to his feet. He peered into the dark, found his hat, and picked it up. Then he searched and found the light switch by the front door and turned it on.

In the sudden brightness they both blinked. He said, “Okay, you can stop laughing.”

She was instantly contrite. “Oh darling, I can’t help it, it’s been a long day. I guess your falling over the tricycle just sent me off.” The giggles were coming so fast she could hardly speak. “I’m really sorry,” she gasped. “It isn’t funny, I know. You could have been seriously hurt. You could have broken your arm. Then we could have s-sued—ha haa—Corporal Schulman’s—ha haa—s-sister.”

He stared at her. “Christ,” he said under his breath. He picked up the suitcase and limped down the hall toward the back.

Jenny leaned against the hall until the hysterical fit subsided. She’d gone off the deep end because she was tired, and she just couldn’t help it. The result of being trapped in this horrible day that should have been so wonderful.

She’d laughed so much her eyes were watering. She wiped them with the back of her hand and went to look for him.

Things were much better after he opened the bottle of Scotch in the kitchen, and fixed drinks with ice cubes from the refrigerator. They stood in silence, sipping at them. Ockie Hammerstein had been right, the expensive whisky was excellent, smooth and powerful. It took the edge off the day’s accumulated disasters.

Jenny leaned into him, putting one arm around his midsection, feeling him solid and strong and comforting. She laid her head on his shoulder. She really did love him so much. He was her rock. He also, once the Scotch had warmed her insides, made her feel lustful. She gave him a slight squeeze.

“Why is it so cold in here?” she asked him.

Still holding her, he reached around her and lifted the bottle from the counter and poured more whisky into his glass. “They probably turned down the thermostat before they left.” He drained the glass and put it down behind him. “I’ll go see if I can find it.”

“No, kiss me first.”

She put her hands behind his head and pulled his face down to her. When she felt the cool, slightly resisting touch of his lips it was wonderful. He shuddered slightly. He pulled off her hat and put it on the kitchen counter. Then he put his arms around her, his mouth suddenly eager, jerking her up against his body so that she could feel what she’d done to him.

She pulled away, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll find the bedroom and wash up. A quickie wash, I promise. You go find the thermostat.”

He stood looking down at her. “There really isn’t any time, Jen.” His voice was husky. “That is, not enough time for me to make love to you like I want to, that would take a week. And we don’t have a week. You heard what the girls said. I might not see you for a couple of years.”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the corner of his mouth. “It’s quality, not quantity that counts, my darling. Otherwise I might not have married you.”

He didn’t smile. “Jenny, I’m trying to tell you how I feel. I’m not good at making this kind of speech. I wish I were.”

“You make very good speeches,” she said, lightly. “About the war, and national policy, and the state of the military. I listen to every word.”

“You know what I mean.”

She turned away. “Go find the thermostat. I’ll look for the bedroom and the bath.”

One bedroom in the wing off the kitchen was a baby’s room with a crib. Another was obviously for an older child. The master bedroom was surprisingly large. She turned on the bedside lamp, seeing the walls were papered in a pastel plaid design, the carpet was green, the taffeta bedspread royal blue. The room was even colder than the kitchen, if possible. She opened doors and found a closet, then another door and the bath. She switched on a bright light. The bathroom was clean, very orderly, with mirrored shelves and rows of jars of cosmetics, beige tile, plaid towels that repeated the pattern of the wallpaper, and a royal blue taffeta shower curtain. It was all quite pretty.

She heard Brad’s footsteps in the hall, looking for her. He came in carrying her suitcase, two highball glasses and the bottle of Scotch. “I turned the thermostat up.” The drinks had helped; he looked happier. “It ought to warm up in a little while.”

He put the suitcase down and went over to the bed and sat down on it, lifting the bottle to read the label. “This is great stuff, Jenny. Thank Oscar Hammerstein for me, will you? I appreciate the thoughtful gesture.” She gave a little cry and went to him and quickly pulled him up again. “What the hell?” he said.

“The bedspread.” She pushed him out of the way and bent over the bed, pulling at the cover. “We have to turn back the bedspread. Just take a look at this room. I can tell you without even meeting her that Corporal Schulman’s sister doesn’t want you to lie down on top of her taffeta bedspread.”

He put his arm around her then, and drew her to him to kiss her on the back of the neck. “I love you Jen,” he murmured against her hair. His hands cupped her breasts, stroking them through the fabric of her suit jacket. “You know that, don’t you?”

She pushed him away. “Hey, hold your horses, major! Not so fast, I have plans for you.”

“God, I hope so.” He picked up the highball glass and went to sit down on the bed again. “I can’t wait.” He had taken off his coat. Now he got out of his uniform jacket and laid it carefully over the back of the bedside chair. Then he leaned back against the bed pillows with a sigh, and lifted his feet, carefully avoiding the turned-back cover. “I don’t want to be a nag, but make it quick, will you? We haven’t got all that much time.”

“You are a nag, and don’t drink all the Scotch. You know why.”

She picked up the suitcase and carried it into the bathroom, leaving the door open. A quick examination showed there was a tub, but no shower. Another disappointment; the day was littered with them. She turned on the taps full blast. It would have to be quick.

She heard him call to her, “This was a good idea after all, wasn’t it, Jen? It’s not a bad place, and we’ll manage to have a couple of hours alone. This is what I’ve thought of all week, I haven’t been able to think of anything else. To be with you.”

She went to the door. She had stepped out of her dress and was in her satin slip. He was lying on the bed, still in his uniform, his feet crossed at the ankles, the drink propped on his stomach. He was a terrifically attractive man, she thought, studying him as she pinned up her hair for the bath. Not classically handsome, not a movie star-type, but sturdy, blonde like his German-Swiss ancestors, medium tall, with a well-proportioned, muscular body. These past few months when he was in one city and she in another and they hadn’t been able to see each other, she’d been surprised how much she yearned for him. How much she thought about having sex with him. At home, at night. In bed. But also during the day, in the theater, at rehearsals. Aroused, aching for him, at the most unexpected times. That was what the damned war did to you.

“Aren’t you going to get out of your clothes?” she said. “Didn’t I hear somebody around here say something about the time?”

“In a minute, in a minute. Right now I’m enjoying lecherously ogling my wife.” He smiled. “And I’m resting up after doing a rush job with ISPD’s office. We were advised by those who had been through it to take everything that isn’t nailed down, that there’s nothing to be had for love nor money in England, the closet’s bare, so when you’re transferred it’s smart to bring everything with you. Brownlee and I loaded up crates and hauled them around like stevedores. I’m still sore.”

She drew the slip over her head and dropped it on the floor, then reached around to the catch on her bra, pulling it off, hanging it on the doorknob. Her breasts swung bare and free. It felt good.

“Oh Brad, I wish you weren’t going overseas.” She unhooked her garter belt and sat down on the toilet seat to kick off her shoes, lifting each leg in the air to pull off her stockings. She supposed he could see her. She wanted him to. “I read what’s happening to London, all the terrible bombing. I’m serious, I’m going to worry myself sick about you every minute.”

“It could be worse, hon, the western Pacific is hell. You wouldn’t want to see me on Guadalcanal with the poor bastard Marines, would you?”

She stood up, pulled off her panties before stepping into the tub. The water was icy cold. Of course, she realized, they’d turned off the hot water heater, too. She gritted her teeth and sat down in it.

Through the open bathroom door she could hear him say, “The trouble with England right now is they’re in bad shape. Economic collapse, not morale, is the problem. The Brits will fight in every hedgerow if it comes to that, just as Churchill said, but they’re at the end of their rope. There’s a real question of whether we can get enough materiel across the Atlantic to stave it off. Hitler’s U-boats are the major threat, they’re still decimating Allied shipping, don’t believe what you read in the newspapers.”

She stood up, grabbed a towel and stepped out of the tub. It was easy to hurry after a bath of cold water, she could barely stand still. She was a rosy pink all over.

“Speaking of Allied shipping,” she said, “I wonder what Captain Griffiths is doing. I left so quickly I hope he’s finding his way around the apartment all right. He’s supposed to have kitchen privileges, I told him so. You remember that our boarder moved in, don’t you, Brad? He appeared with his sea bag and frayed sea captain’s uniform, and groovy black sea boots. I like those fleece-lined boots. I want to get a pair,”