The Fly Boys Page 17

  Steve picked up his filled champagne glass and toasted Harrison. “To you, and to your B-45 bomber. It’s number one on the Air Force’s wish list, and thanks to you, it looks as if this wish is going to come true.”

  “You’re embarrassing me,” Harrison chuckled as he sipped his champagne.

  “He’s as modest as you about his professional accomplishments, Steve,” Linda Forrest remarked as she took a tortoiseshell cigarette case from her evening bag. You should have seen him blush when I gave him today’s pages to review.”

  “Pages of what?” Steve asked, producing his lighter and leaning toward her to light her cigarette.

  “Of the personality profile that I’m writing. I’m a freelance journalist who often specializes in the same line of work as you: public relations. Don’s company, Amalgamated-Landis, has hired me to do an in-depth profile on Don.”

  “You mean you two are working together?” Steve asked, trying hard not to sound too elated.

  Harrison nodded. “What’s the latest title of the thing?” he scowled. “Oh, yeah. Get this, Steve: ‘Don Harrison: Unsung Hero of America’s Freedom Crusade.’”

  “Get him,” Linda Forrest laughed. “He’s such a phony! Secretly, he loves the fuss everyone is making over him.”

  “Well, maybe I do, a little,” Harrison admitted reluctantly, winking at Steve. “Just imagine this mug of mine plastered across all the Sunday supplements in America. I’ll get my chance to be the hero, just like you, Steve. You know, I never did get to join the military during the war. They kept me out on account of the work I was doing designing airplanes.”

  “Hey, guys like you designed and built the airplanes that guys like me flew,” Steve said. “Couldn’t have had one without the other. I guess it took both kinds to win the war.”

  “Spoken like a true gentleman,” Linda Forrest laughed. She stubbed out the remains of her cigarette in the ashtray. “I think I’d like to see if you move as gracefully as you verbally extricate yourself from tight corners,” she smiled.

  “Pardon?”

  “She’s asking you to dance.” Harrison said gently.

  “Well,” Steve said uncertainly, “if you don’t mind.”

  Harrison shook his head.

  The band was kicking into “Almost Like Being In Love” from the hit Broadway musical of the year, Brigadoon, as Steve stood up and escorted Linda Forrest to the dance floor. Steve noticed guys watching enviously as she held on to his arm. Well, why not? he thought as they began to dance. She was the prettiest girl in the club.

  “I bet the idea for the puff piece you’re doing on Don came from Tim Campbell, Miss Forrest,” Steve said as he led her around the dance floor.

  “That’s a bet you win,” she said. “But don’t you think you should call a girl by her first name when you’re looking down her dress?”

  “Oh! I–I’m sorry!” Steve stuttered, feeling sick that she’d caught him.

  Linda laughed. “Don’t be sorry. I think I like it. If I didn’t like it I wouldn’t let you do it. Get it?”

  Steve tried to regain his composure. She was a new kind of dame for him. Somehow she’d put herself in the driver’s seat, but what ruffled Steve’s feathers was not so much that she’d done it, but that somehow she was making him like it.

  “Just how old are you, Cap’n Steve?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Hmmm….”

  “What’s ‘hmmm’ supposed to mean?” Steve demanded, laughing.

  “Just, hmmm….” Her eyes were sparkling sapphires. She used them like weapons. She’d moved closer to him, gently drawing his arm tightly around her waist. Her body felt strong and sleek beneath her snug-waisted satin dress. As she pressed against him, the scent of her perfume seemed to rise up from her cleavage, enveloping him in a fragrant cloud that made him feel giddy, as if he were dancing on air.

  “How old are you?” Steve asked as the soaring music twirled them triumphantly around the dance floor.

  “You’re twenty-three, all right,” Linda chuckled ruefully.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you’ve got a lot to learn about women if you can ask a question like that.”

  “Please! Turn down those baby blues before I go blind!”

  She laughed. “Maybe I like to blind men.”

  “Maybe you don’t like to play fair!”

  “Maybe you’re a fast learner, after all, Cap’n Steve.” She pressed her head against his chest as they danced.

  It was like being in a dogfight with a master ace, Steve thought as he lightly rested his chin in her hair. He was fascinated, even as he felt stung by the way she seemed to effortlessly fly bewitching rings around him.

  He desperately wanted to ask if there was anything besides business between Harrison and her, but he didn’t know how to bring it up without risking putting his foot in his mouth. He liked her a lot, but he wasn’t ready to show her all his cards.

  And then the music stopped and their time alone was over. Was it his imagination, or did her arms linger an instant around his neck before releasing him?

  As Steve reluctantly escorted her back to the table, he glanced over to the bar and saw that his friends had arrived. There was a blonde waiting with them. He didn’t know her. Obviously she was his blind date. She was pretty. She looked okay.

  Franks and beans are okay as well, but not when you’ve just had yourself a taste of filet mignon, he thought to himself. What he wouldn’t give to spend the rest of the evening in Linda Forrest’s company!

  “Do you work on Saturdays?” Linda suddenly murmured.

  “No, why?”

  “This is my first visit to Washington, but Don is going to be tied up with dreary appointments all day tomorrow. Could I impose upon you to show me the sights?”

  “Uh, sure….”

  “That’s if you’re free,” Linda added quickly.

  “Oh! I’m free!” Steve instantly replied. “Why don’t I pick you up at your hotel,” he suggested as they approached the table. “Where are you staying?”

  “Very near here, at the Mayflower.”

  “How about eleven?”

  She nodded, smiling. “I’ll be waiting in the lobby. Oh, I know we’ll have such fun together….”

  (Three)

  Mayflower Hotel

  Washington, D.C.

  13 October 1947

  There was a cop pounding the pavement on the corner of Desales Street and Connecticut Avenue as Steve Gold pulled up in front of the hotel’s main entrance. The Mayflower was the oldest hotel in Washington, and the largest, with something like one thousand rooms and suites. It was always bustling, and there was never a place close by to park, so Steve tucked the Buick Roadmaster into the only available space: in front of a fire hydrant.

  He had no time to find a legal parking spot. He was already fifteen minutes late.

  Once last night’s blonde was gone, he’d dressed quickly. It was a beautiful day, but a lot cooler than the day before—normal October weather. Steve had pulled on a light blue turtleneck sweater, dark green pleated slacks, tan buck moccasins, and a dark brown horsehide, double-breasted, belted car coat. By quarter of eleven he was in the Roadmaster and on his way, but when he hit the snarl of Saturday morning traffic going into Washington on the Mount Vernon Highway, he knew he was done for. The nine-mile drive took half an hour.

  The cop who’d been on the corner looked grim as he came over to the fire hydrant, but before he could say anything, Steve flipped down the passenger side sun visor to reveal the U.S. AIR FORCE OFFICIAL BUSINESS placard he’d swiped from the office.

  The cop nodded respectfully and continued on his way. Steve grinned. You weren’t supposed to use the placard for personal business, let alone personal cars, but what the hell, it sure made parking a snap.

  He jumped out of the car and hurried into the hotel. The lobby was busy. It took him a second to spot Linda. She was standing by the newsstand, reading the v
arious headlines. She was wearing a loden-green suede leather jacket over a white blouse that was tucked into a brown tweed skirt.

  “Hi, I’m sorry I’m so late,” Steve said, coming up to her.

  “It’s okay.” She looked at him then did a double take. “What are you grinning at?”

  “At you,” Steve said, unable to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. “I guess I forgot what you looked like.”

  “What?” she laughed. “I’d hoped I’d made more of an impression on you than that last night.”

  “I mean, I remembered what you looked like, but not how good.”

  “Quit right there,” she smiled.

  “While I’m ahead, you mean,” he nodded, chuckling. “I guess I will. If you’re ready, I’m parked just out front.”

  “Just a sec.” She scooped up a half-dozen different newspapers, and paid for them, along with a package of Chesterfields.

  “Something happen in the news I’m not aware of?” Steve asked her as they left the hotel.

  “Oh, these?” She looked at the thick bundle of papers. “I like to keep up with current events. I’ve worked on a couple of newspapers.”

  “Well, hand them over and I’ll put them in the trunk to keep them from blowing around,” Steve said as they walked over to the car.

  “Wow! Swell car!” Linda said as she ran her hand over the gleaming, cream and maroon paint of the four-door Roadmaster. “It must have cost a mint. Just what is my government paying Air Force captains these days?”

  Steve laughed. “Not enough to buy one of these, that’s for sure.”

  “Oh!” Linda snapped her fingers. “But you’re Herman Gold’s son,” she said knowingly.

  “I don’t take money from my father,” Steve said coldly, stung by her assumption that he did.

  “Hey,” she began softly. “Sorry….”

  Steve, forcing a smile, shook his head. “No, I should be the one to apologize. My father is a touchy subject with me.”

  “Oh, really?” she asked playfully. “I think I smell a story here.”

  “But I know better than to talk about it to a journalist,” Steve said. “To change the subject—which I intend to do,” he added firmly, “my maternal grandfather was a wealthy man. When he passed away he left each of his grandchildren a trust fund.”

  “So you’re independently wealthy?”

  Steve shrugged. “I can indulge myself when it comes to a nice car and sharp clothes. The Air Force takes care of the rest.” He came around to the passenger side of the Buick to open Linda’s door. “Now, then, if the lady is ready for her guided tour of our fair city?”

  “I place myself in your hands,” she said demurely, sliding into the car.

  Steve pretended to leer. “The lady knows not what she says.”

  Linda winked at him. “The lady is a writer, remember? Words are her business.”

  They spent the next several hours on a whirlwind tour of Washington. The speed at which they zoomed around Pennsylvania and Constitution avenues in the Roadmaster, parking wherever they wanted thanks to the Air Force official-business placard, became their private joke.

  They strolled the Mall all the way from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol. Then, around three, they hopped back into the car and made a circuit around Union Station, and then down First Street, past the Supreme Court and the Library of Congress, ending up at the Tidal Basin. There they grabbed a much needed snack of red hots and sodas from a sidewalk vendor near the Jefferson Memorial.

  “You’ve seen a lot,” Steve told her as they finished their late lunch. “If you don’t mind, I think we should leave the tour of the Smithsonian and the National Gallery for another day.”

  “You don’t have to twist my arm,” Linda laughed. “You’ve been very kind. A marvelous guide.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Steve said.”It was a lot of fun. It let me see this beautiful city through fresh eyes.” He paused, looking at her intently. “Very beautiful baby-blue eyes, I might add.”

  Linda blushed and looked away. “As I was saying, you’ve been a marvelous guide, except that you’ve neglected to show me one very important sight.”

  “Which is?” Steve asked, frowning.

  “Your apartment,” she said, smiling shyly. “It’d be s-o-o-o nice to kick off my shoes, put my feet up, and have a drink.”

  Okay! he thought happily. “Then let’s go.”

  The traffic was light driving back across the Potomac into Alexandria. In ten minutes Steve was pulling up in front of his apartment house on Prince Street.

  “Oh, it’s lovely,” Linda said, gazing at the tall, narrow brick-and-clapboard town house with its green shutters. Do you know its history?”

  Steve shrugged indifferently. “Only that it once belonged to a famous Civil War general whose name escapes me. It was turned into apartments sometime during World War One.”

  He got out of the car and came around to the passenger’s side to open the door for Linda. “Hope you don’t mind stairs. My apartment’s on the top floor.”

  The apartment—a small kitchen, living room, bedroom, and bath—was in the rear of the building, overlooking a brick-walled garden. Steve unlocked the door for Linda and stepped aside to let her enter.

  “It’s very nice,” Linda said, looking around. “But …” she faltered, turning to stare at him, “how long have you been here?”

  “Two years. Why do you ask?” Steve said as he helped her out of her suede jacket and hung it in the hall closet, along with his own coat.

  “Well,” Linda began, frowning, and then she burst out laughing. “Where’s your furniture?”

  Steve shrugged, looking around. The blue-carpeted living room had brick walls painted white. The room was bare except for some large pillows on the floor that were bracketed by a pair of orange crates holding lamps and ashtrays swiped from various nightclubs. Against one wall, on shelving built out of cinder blocks and planking, was a portable phonograph and a radio, along with a small collection of LPs.

  “Well, furniture is kind of boring, you know?” Steve said. “I mean, you can’t drive it or wear it….”

  Linda was laughing and shaking her head. He watched her cross the living room to the bedroom and peek in. He kept his fingers crossed as he came up behind her.

  Yes! The bed—a big double mattress resting on a box spring—was freshly made, which meant that he’d changed the sheets. He confidently expected that he’d be changing them again before the day was over….

  Next to the bed was another orange crate, this one laden with another lamp, a swiped ashtray, and his alarm clock. Against the wall, between the closet and the bathroom door, was a maple lowboy he’d picked up secondhand at a shop on King Street. (It had been a bitch getting it upstairs, but he’d needed someplace to stick his clothes.) On the dresser was the telephone, and next to it, a local directory. Steve could see the cover of his little black book sticking out from beneath the directory, but he didn’t think Linda would notice it.

  “I’ve got to see the kitchen,” she said.

  Steve showed it to her.

  “Just as I thought,” she laughed, opening the pantry cupboards in the galley kitchen. Steve watched her discover an extensive selection of liquor and mixers, some glasses and coffee cups, two dinner plates, and no food or cooking equipment at all.

  “I can make coffee,” Steve said, “but most of the time I eat out.”

  “I’d pretty much guessed that about you, Cap’n,” she said merrily. “Umm, I’d love a scotch and soda on the rocks.”

  “Two scotch and sodas coming up.”

  He fixed the drinks and brought them into the living room, where Linda was reclining on the stacked pillows. She’d kicked off her shoes and was smoking a cigarette. Steve set her drink on the orange crate, and settled down beside her with his own drink in his hand.

  “Well,” she said, picking up her drink and toasting him, “here’s to a lovely day. Thanks again.”

  Steve sipped
his scotch and soda as he watched her take a big swallow of her own drink. He wondered if she was trying to drink some courage. Was now the time to make his move?

  He put his glass down and slid closer to her. She watched him as he took her drink out of her hand and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  She kissed him back. Her lips were smoky from the scotch and cool from the ice cubes.

  “Is this part of the tour?” she asked, feigning innocence.

  “I did place myself at your service….”

  “And I did place myself in your hands….”

  Uh-huh, Steve thought. “Then I think we should continue this in the bedroom,” he confided, standing up. “It’s your kind of room.”

  “You mean it has some furniture?” Linda murmured, getting to her feet.

  “All the furniture we’ll need,” Steve replied.

  She grabbed her handbag. Steve picked up the drinks and led the way.

  In the bedroom she said, “Let me just pop into the bathroom for a moment.” As soon as she’d stepped inside, she began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Steve called.

  “Come in and see for yourself, Cap’n.”

  Steve went in. “Oh, no….” he moaned, turning white as snow and then apple red.

  On the medicine chest’s mirrored door, outlined in scarlet lipstick, was a large heart. Scrawled within it was: “I had a wonderful time last night. Call me! XXX Doreen.”

  Steve tried to think fast. “Oops,” he sighed helplessly, thinking sorrowfully of how last night’s blonde had used the facilities just as her cab had arrived.

  Linda pushed him out of the bathroom and closed the door. A minute or so later she came out. “Okay, Cap’n, let’s see if you’ve got any gas left.”

  He undressed quickly. She needn’t have worried about gas, he thought as he stepped out of his trousers and shucked off his briefs. His erection was bobbing as he watched her unbutton and remove her white blouse, then unzip and step out of her tweed skirt. She was wearing a pale blue brassiere and matching gartered panty girdle. His erection began to throb as she reached around to work the clasp that liberated her fabulous breasts, then bent at the waist in a pinup pose to unclasp her nylons and roll them down her shapely gams.