The Siren's Tale (35 page)

After days of wild-goose
chasing in San Francisco, the young man's high spirits were fading. Horatio Nelson had only two more days left in the States, and he had set his heart on seeing the love of his life before going off to war. But Cassandra was nowhere to be found. This, coupled with all the changes in his life suddenly seemed a lot to bear. He wept in his sleep.

T
hen, the next day, to lift his depression, he told a whopper of a tall tale to his comrades, about a young woman of great beauty living in San Francisco to whom he was engaged, and how he planned to marry her before he left.

To each other they said,
“There goes Mark Nelson again. All talk and no action.”  

Mark was Horatio’s
first name, after his father. In Wyoming, he had gone by his middle name or as “Dode.” But in the military, each recruit was called out by his first name or his last, and it was no use trying to correct the drill sergeant. Nor did he dare tell the other recruits his nickname was “Dode.” That would be tantamount to committing social suicide. The young man had grown used to being called Mark Nelson, and that is how he introduced himself when asking around for Mrs. Cassandra Brighton at various places on Nob Hill.

No one knew a Cassandra or a Brighton. Cassandra's tony neighbors only knew her by her stage name of Nevada Carson, a name that Horatio had never heard.

Until this frustrating juncture, the Wyoming native had found military life agreeable. He could handle regimentation well, and there was a code of valor under pressure that suited him. He was not a natural-born leader, but Private Mark Nelson was an adept follower. It turned out that he was also adept at storytelling. He could fabricate an amazing story on almost any subject, much to the amusement of his comrades-in-arms.

His buddies exploited this character
istic, mercilessly stringing him along and pretending to believe every detail in the exaggerated versions of the tales he told, only to confront him later on with embarrassing gaps in the truth of those details, which often made him the butt of jokes.

And now the icing on the cake, the
hilarious matter of the mysterious San Francisco fiancée. She was an angel and crazy about him; he would be seeing her every day prior to shipping out. His buddies pretended to believe him for their own purposes, and now with the hour of departure approaching, they were looking forward to an amusing payoff.

The word went out
Mark Nelson must produce a paragon by the eleventh hour, or else forfeit his status as a cowboy lothario. 

In a moment of tr
ue folly, the young man went so far as to name a place and a time when they would all meet his fiancée.

He promised to deliver t
he goods at Jim’s, a soda fountain they all frequented down by Pier Nine, just past the Ferry Building at the foot of Market Street. The date would be two days prior to shipping out, and the time would be six o'clock.

On
the appointed day, five soldiers were wandering around Union Square. As the clock struck three, the tall, auburn-haired soldier started going through the motions of hailing a cab, in the pretense that he was about to round up his fiancée, for the big meet-up later at the soda fountain.

“
Hey, Mark,” one of his pals called out as he stood on the curb, signaling with his thumb. “Give the lady a wet tongue down the throat for me, will ya?”  

“
For you? No, but I’ll do it twice for me!” he shouted back. He waved and gave a thumbs-up. He could see the fellas winking and nudging each other, guffawing at his pretense of having a beautiful girl holed up in this rip-roaring city. 

“
Hey, lover boy!” yelled a redheaded swaggerer they called Tiger. “Produce the gorgeous tomato by six o’clock at Jim's, or you owe me a fiver.”

He grimaced obligingly and gave the thumbs-up.
“We’ll be there!” he yelled back, and then added with a final flourish of bravado, “unless we’re in there.” He pointed at the gold dome of City Hall looming ahead. “I'm thinkin' of a-gettin' hitched!”

“
Prove it with papers, Nelson,” Tiger shouted, “and I’ll fork over a tenner!”

“
Deal!”   

A cab was coming from City Hall just then. Horatio extended his thumb and
the cabbie applied his brakes, coming to a shrieking stop beside the soldier at the curb.  Horatio reached down to open the door. Then he saw there was someone already in the back seat of the cab.  

“
Oh, I’m sorry,” he said to the cabbie. “I didn’t realize your cab was occupied.”

The cabbie jerk
ed his thumb backwards. “Get in the back, soldier. The lady’s good fer it. Thinks it’s her patriotic duty to git you wherever it is you’re wantin’ to go.”

“
Yes, sir! Well, thank you very much.”

All legs and arms, Horatio
stumbled into the back seat of the cab. He then turned to thank the lady. His head swiveled, then froze in position, while his eyes goggled at the femme fatale draped there, swathed in boa feathers. She held a cigarette aloft in an elegant holder, and the smoke swirled alluringly around her perfectly coifed platinum hair and stunning face. She was simply the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

She wore her hair in a long
platinum bob that was tucked behind one shell-shaped ear, revealing a sweet earlobe dripping in diamonds. The startlingly beautiful features of her face were angelically curved, with high cheekbones, a lovely nose and smoldering, cat-like topaz eyes. The loveliness of her flesh was provocatively hinted at with a delicately strapped ankle here, a bare shoulder there. In her white satin sheath, glittering headband, and white boa, she projected the misty aura of a goddess. 

With amused eyes, the
lovely woman who lolled in the back seat of the cab slowly examined the soldier's lean face and gaping jaw. Smoke from her French cigarette curled into his face. Horatio coughed, but continued simply to stare in mute stupefaction.

“
Cat got your tongue, soldier?” Her dulcet, contralto voice stirred something in his memory bank as well as his groin. What was it about her? 

He could swear he had seen her before, but where? Probably a movie marquee. He continued to stare wordlessly. She blinked her eyes, snapping the spell he was under.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am,” he drawled in his best “oh-shucks” voice, meanwhile sticking out his hand. “I’m Private First Class Mark Nelson. Thanks for the lift, ma’am.”

“
Charmed, Mark,” she said, languidly extending her long, white fingers. “Nevada Carson.” 

“
Where to, Mark?” said the cabbie.

“
Wherever Miss Carson is going,” said the soldier.

“
Then take us to the corner of Pine and California, driver. The Vitascope Royale.”

So this is how
, in a brightly lit staging area of San Francisco on the eve of World War I, Cassandra Vye and her faithful boy-knight met up again after a lapse of many years, without either realizing it. 

In the back r
ow of the theater, Horatio watched with fascination as Miss Carson swept across the stage floor and greeted the film production manager with a long curtsy and a short kiss on both cheeks. He then watched as the assembled cast rehearsed several scenes from Miss Carson's new chapter play, entitled “The Bounder.”  

There was a
script lying on an empty seat. He read it through, grasping the essentials of the plot but reading slowly, so he could watch Miss Carson.

Act I, French
boy meets pretty girl; pretty girl falls for bad guy; nice boy saves her from a fate worse than death and marries girl. In an interesting twist away from the usual romantic plot, the hero saves the girl but fails to capture her heart. She runs away and starts a career on the Left Bank as a Parisian watercolorist.

Act II, the young woman is mistaken for a rich man's daughter and made captive in a countryside shack. The leader of the kidnappers is her old flame, who instantly realizes the brigands' mistake and after a complicated love affair, he vows to help her escape.

Act III, in the climactic scene, at midnight, the bandit lover arrives with purloined bags of silver coins for their daring escape from both the bad guys and the law. There is a rumble of drums meant to sound like thunder, and then a clash of cymbals. The gang leader is hit by a lightning strike at the cabin door. The girl kisses her dead lover and rides off with the money, which she gives away to young orphaned twins in a French village at the conclusion of the play.

The
rehearsal for “The Bounder” was coming to an end. Actors jumped down from the stage and the staff came forward. Kisses on both cheeks were exchanged. The production manager and Miss Carson sat down on the stage and began a conversation.  

There was
a train of experiences from his life Horatio was trying to recall. There had been something in the grasp of Miss Carson’s hand as she departed from the cab that had started a bread crumb trail leading back into the past. But he had no more idea than Hans traipsing through the enchanted forest as to where the path led. Where would he have met such an actress?

He had not
once been out of his hometown until he joined the army. It was laughable to think he had known Miss Carson before. After a bit more puzzlement, he put the thought entirely out of his mind. He was content to sit and watch her, basking in the light of the occasional glances she threw his way, as if to say, “Are you still here, soldier? How bloody odd!” 

Five o'clock, then five
thirty went by. The soldier was anxiously mindful of his obligation at six to meet the fellows at the pier, with a beautiful girl on his arm. When he saw Miss Carson walking down the stage steps and heading his way, he saw his actual situation illuminated with great clarity. Before, he seemed to be existing in a dream. It was now or never. He simply could not prove to his buddies Mark Nelson was the pathetic fool they thought him, not on the brink of going to war.

“
I see you’re still with us, Mark,” said Cassandra, in a friendly rather than dismissive way. “I’m afraid you must have found our little play boring.”

Not at all,
” he said. “I enjoy watching you perform, ma’am. You’re very talented.”

S
he was smiling at him in a familiar way that made him feel so very many things and so intensely, including an erection bulging under his military-issue underwear. 

“
We are finished here. Is there anywhere I can take you, Mark?”

“
As a matter of fact, ma’am, there is. I wonder—that is, it would be a great favor—I'm wondering, well, dang it, I just gotta say it straight. Will you accompany me somewhere? It will only be for a short time. I know you’re very busy, but I would be most obliged.”

“
Well, perhaps I could do that, if it is not too far. Where do you have in mind?”

“
Not far at all, ma'am. Pier Nine, at Jim’s. I'm meeting the fellas there at six.”

“
I have not heard of it, this Jim's. What kind of a place is it?”

“
Only a soda fountain, ma’am.”

“
A soda fountain.” Cassandra pursed her lips in an amused way. “You want to take me to a soda fountain, down at the Embarcadero? Is that it, soldier?”

“
Yes, ma’am. The fellas often meet there in the afternoon, you know, just before goin’ back out again with their girls.”

“
And do you have a girl to bring to Jim’s, Mark?”

“
No, ma'am, I can’t say as I do. There is no girl I even know of that I can take there with me. And that’s where the problem lies, ma’am.”

“
Your problem, you mean?”

“
Yes, ma’am.”

“
So, perhaps your friends are expecting you to bring a girl. A very pretty one, who happens to be your girl.” Cassandra paused, and her eyes were kind when they looked into his, which were bright, round, and eager as a child's. “To meet them, I mean.”

“
Yes, ma’am. Yes, that is it exactly. I'm sorry to say, ma'am, there is no such girl who wants to be there with me, not one in all the world.”

“
Mark, I am in the mood to be obliging. I think perhaps I can help you.”

“
Why, that would be wonderful, ma’am! You can’t imagine what that would mean to me. Why, you would make my whole entire life so much happier.”

“
How nice,” she murmured. “I would like to do that for a soldier.”

His face,
which in becoming animated had revealed just how handsome he really was, now drooped. “But I’m afraid you don’t realize what you’re getting yourself into, ma’am. I really shouldn’t ask you to do this. It might expose you to all sorts of…well, you know how soldiers are, ma'am, when they are in high spirits.”

“
Well, why don’t you let me worry about that part. Ready, Mark?”

“
Miss Carson, I am ready to go anywhere you are gonna take me.”