The Normandy Club

by Bill Walker

  “You work too hard.”

  “Well, you know Reece.”

  She frowned. “I wish I didn’t. Did I tell you he made a pass at me?”

  This got Jack’s attention. “What?”

  “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of taking that toad up on it. Besides, it was before we met.”

  “When was that?”

  “At the Party meeting in February. He was the guest speaker.”

  “Reece?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. He’s quite well thought of in Party circles. You’d know if you attended the meetings.”

  Her not-so-subtle disapproval annoyed Jack. It must have showed on his face because she quickly changed the subject, partially anyway.

  “So, tell me about this morning. I want to hear all about it.”

  Jack shrugged.

  “Nothing much to tell. We watched a tape on Werner Kruger and then Reece—”

  “Werner Kruger!”

  “Yeah. You know him?”

  “He’s a dream!”

  “Leslie, he’s old enough to be your grandfather, for crying out loud. Where the hell do you know him from?”

  Leslie chuckled, her soft, husky laugh coming from deep within her throat. Normally, it drove Jack crazy with desire. Now it pissed him off.

  “Oh, Jack, relax. My boss introduced us a couple of years back when Herr Kruger came through looking at factory sites. All the Gauleiters vied for the chance to wine and dine him. My boss won, and I accompanied them to dinner. He was a charming old man. Very continental.”

  “He make a pass at you too?”

  “As a matter of fact—no. But I have to admit, he was tempting.”

  “Well, I think he’s a creep.”

  Leslie’s eyes popped open and she leaned forward, her mouth set hard. “Be quiet, Jack!” she hissed.

  Jack suddenly remembered where they were and felt a rush of anxiety. State Security was everywhere. Though he and Leslie came to this small, cozy trattoria every week, and were known to all the waiters and the owner, any one of them could be an SS plant.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Today was really weird, and I’m still feeling strange.”

  “What is it? Tell me,” she said, her tone softening.

  Jack leaned back in his chair, picked up his glass of Chianti, and drained it. He signaled the waiter, who brought the bottle and refilled both of their glasses. Jack waited until the man walked away.

  “You ever feel that everything you know is wrong?”

  He told her about seeing Kruger and all the strange feelings that washed over him since that moment. Somehow, by telling her the whole story, he began to feel a sense of relief. It didn’t last long.

  “I don’t think you should be confiding in that Malloy woman.”

  “Why not? She’s a friend.”

  “Jack, she’s not to be trusted.”

  “I trust her.”

  “None of those people can be trusted.”

  “Just what the hell does that mean?”

  “You know what I mean. People of her persuasion are unreliable, fickle. The Party doesn’t sanction—”

  “You’re just jealous because she and I had a one-night stand before you and I met.”

  “Jack, she’s a lesbian.”

  “Bisexual.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to her,” Jack said, smiling rakishly.

  “She’s being watched. Stay away from her.”

  Stunned, Jack lurched forward.

  “How do you know that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

  A momentary look of alarm passed over her features.

  “My boss got a memo from Party headquarters in Washington last week. Now that the Negro resettlement is winding down, he was cautioned to begin looking into homosexuals on his staff. It’s the new policy, Jack. They’re all being watched.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Just please promise me you won’t hang around her.”

  “I have to work with her, for Christ’s sake!”

  “If I know Reece, it won’t be for long.”

  “Shit.”

  “I’m sorry, honey, I know she’s a friend, but we have to follow Party policy. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Is it?”

  Leslie gazed at him levelly.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Jack felt even worse than he had earlier that day. How could he face Malloy in the office and not tell her? How could he look into her eyes and not say anything? He’d feel like a traitor if he kept quiet. He’d be one if he opened his mouth.

  “Promise me, Jack.”

  “What?” he said, snapping out of his reverie.

  “Promise me you’ll act like nothing is wrong when you’re in the office.”

  “Why should that matter to you?”

  “Because I care about you and I don’t want to see you get hurt because of that woman. She’s not worth it. Christ! The thought of you and her together makes my hair curl.”

  “four point seven out of ten!”

  Jack’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes bugged out, and big beads of sweat popped out along his hairline.

  Leslie’s eyes widened, her anger turning to fright.

  “Jack! What’s wrong? JACK!” She turned her head, looking desperately for help. “Somebody help us, something’s wrong with my friend!”

  Jack tried to speak but could only manage a strangled gargle. He looked at her, feeling helpless. He could see a tear running out of her left eye. The other patrons sat in their chairs, silly expressions of horror and distaste frozen on their faces.

  None of them moved a muscle.

  Suddenly, the room telescoped, making everyone look far away and distorted, as if Jack were looking through a fish-eye lens. His throat loosened and he was finally able to speak.

  “Curly,” he said, and fainted facedown into his pasta.

  He awoke in an ambulance as it sped down Collins Avenue toward Hoffman Memorial Hospital. The oxygen mask on his face smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol, and his head throbbed. The EMT, seated next to the collapsible gurney he lay on, turned from a bank of beeping monitors and gazed at him impassively.

  “He’s conscious,” she said, looking back toward the driver.

  Jack felt the ambulance slow and the siren cut off in mid-wail. The red lights remained on, sweeping the buildings on either side of the street. The EMT took a small penlight out of her pocket and flashed it in his eyes.

  “Pupils moderately reactive.”

  She then took his pulse.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jack Dunham.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Uhh, four forty-four Brickell Avenue.”

  “Who’s the Führer?”

  “Bill Clinton.”

  “Huh?”

  The EMT frowned and turned back toward the driver.

  “Pick it up. He’s still out of it. Might be an aneurysm.”

  Jack felt his heart beating faster. His mouth was dry and cottony, and his head ached even more than it had before. What the hell had happened? How could he have stroked out at his age? He moved his face, feeling that everything seemed to work all right. Nothing felt numb. He then tried to move his body and felt the heavy, webbed straps holding him down. Oh, Christ. What was wrong with him?

  The world spun around and he passed out.

  “Mr. Dunham, can you hear me? Can you hear me, Mr. Dunham?”

  Another light flashed in his eyes, causing him to open them.

  “Ah, Mr. Dunham, you’re awake.”

  “I am now,” he said.

  The man he took to be his doctor stood in front of him wearing one of those headbands with the mirrors on them. He smiled benignly, the sarcasm of Jack’s remark going right past him. He was about fifty, short and balding; he looked a little like Peter Lorre after he got fat. The man smiled and the resemblance grew stronger. He smelled of garlic. Jack noticed a gold-wreathed Pa
rty badge pinned to his smock. One of the original hundred thousand to join the American Nazi Party, which formed immediately after the surrender of the Allies in 1944. Of course, this man was too young, possibly an infant at the time. Probably a gift from his father.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like someone kicked me in the head.” Jack said, rubbing his temples. “Did I have a—”

  “Stroke? Goodness no. You fainted. We ran every test imaginable while you were unconscious. We’d still like to do an MRI, but we need you awake for that.”

  “Well, Doctor...”

  “Forgive me,” he said, clicking his heels together. “I am Doktor Johann Manstein.”

  Jack sat up, prompting the doctor to adjust the tilt of the bed.

  “Well, Doktor Manstein, If I fainted, why do I have this colossal headache?”

  The doctor smiled, as if indulging a not-too-bright child.

  “We don’t know. We are looking to see if there are any organic reasons for your spell, as it were, but so far”—he shrugged—“nothing.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to go home.”

  “As you wish. We’ll keep you overnight, and if nothing else has manifested, you may leave in the morning.”

  Jack thought the little man looked disappointed that he wouldn’t get the chance to poke and prod him more.

  “Thanks, Doc,” Jack said.

  The doctor bowed again and left the room. Jack settled back down into the bed and let his mind wander. He looked about the semi-private room, noting that the screen was drawn around the other bed. He could hear the rhythmic pumping of an artificial respirator and the steady beep of a cardiac monitor. Wonder what that poor dummkopf’s in for. Not overly curious, he picked up the remote for the TV and clicked it on. Just the usual daytime drivel designed to keep housewives happy and sell the requisite amount of reinigungsmittel. In a word: boring. He stopped on NNN and watched the headlines. Acapulco had fallen. Reporters blathered about kill ratios, while shell-shocked Mexican refugees filed past the cameras, their backs bowed under the burdens of their remaining worldly possessions. What they carried amounted to a pitiful few items tied into meager bundles.

  Jack thought of Malloy’s ex-lover and wondered if she’d gotten out. He then thought of Malloy and the previous evening came back in a rush. Just before he’d fainted, he saw the image of a big, red-haired man slamming his hand on a table. He could still remember what the man said.

  “four point seven out of ten.”

  What the hell did it mean? four point seven out of ten what? four point seven out of ten doktors agree that new Präparat-H helped stop the itching and swelling of hämorrhoiden. Somehow, Jack didn’t think it was that. Frowning, he remembered what he said before passing out.

  “Curly.”

  Who the fuck was Curly? Jack started laughing as he remembered watching the Three Stooges on TV as a kid before they were banned as having an unhealthy influence on children. Jack knew the real reasons from the underground copies he’d seen in college: Hitler had hated Moe Howard’s uncanny imitation of him.

  A nurse walked into the room bearing a tray with medication.

  “Hello, Mr. Dunham,” she said, smiling brightly. “Time for your medication.”

  Jack started to put up a stink, then thought better of it. This nurse looked no older than twenty. With her blonde hair, cute-as-a-button nose, full lips, and perfect teeth, he couldn’t refuse.

  “This isn’t going to knock me out, will it?” he asked, giving the cup of pills a dubious look.

  “No, sir. We’ll wake you at oh-two hundred to give you a pill.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. He wasn’t going to pursue that one. Hardly anything hospitals did made any sense anyway. He took the pills and swallowed them, draining the small cup of water.

  “Goodnight, Mr. Dunham.”

  The nurse smiled again and twitched her cute butt out the door.

  They’d better keep her the hell out of the cardiac ward.

  He imagined all the cardiac monitors flatlining as she walked by scores of gasping old men, chuckled, and went back to flipping channels on the TV.

  “Hi there, handsome.”

  Denise Malloy stood in the doorway, holding a big teddy bear.

  “I brought you a sleeping companion,” she said, crossing the room. She stopped at the foot of his bed and placed the bear at his feet, so it sat staring at him. Its plastic eyes reflected the flickering of one of the fluorescent lights, making it look nearly alive.

  “How’d you get in here, Malloy? Visiting hours are over.”

  She smiled slyly. “That nurse who just left here? I came on to her. Made a date in exchange for after-hours visiting privileges.”

  She shrugged. “I thought it was fair.”

  He must have looked silly with his mouth hanging open, because she began to laugh.

  “Come on, Dunham, you know me by now. I was diplomatic about it. And besides, I always go for these blonde, bimbo types. At least Cecily has some brains too.”

  “Cecily?”

  “Yeah, I know. Nobody’s perfect. Anyway, how are you?”

  “I’m fine,” Jack said, still in shock over what Malloy said. He couldn’t get the image of her and this cute nurse out of his mind. To tell the truth, it kind of turned him on.

  He cleared his throat.

  “How did you know I was in here?” he asked.

  “Believe it or not, Leslie told me. I called your house to get those demographics that Reece wants for tomorrow. And she was there. I don’t think she likes me too much, Jack. She was real erkältung. You tell her about us?”

  “Well, uhh...”

  Malloy nodded. “That’s what I thought. I never could stand to know about my lovers’ old flames either. Male or female. I guess she and I have something in common after all.”

  Jack wondered how Leslie got into his place and what she was doing there. He hadn’t asked her to move in yet. Then he realized the hospital must have given her his effects, keys included.

  He turned back to Malloy and noted the tender gleam in her eye. It only made him feel guiltier for what he knew. He struggled for a brief moment about whether or not to tell her and decided to hell with it.

  “Anybody over there?” he said, nodding toward the other bed.

  “Just some old guy hooked up to a million tubes. He’s out like a light.”

  “Come here,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Jack?”

  Jack sighed.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter, Malloy, and come over here.”

  She walked over to the side of the bed and sat on the hard-backed chair next to it. He took one more look toward the other bed and gestured for her to lean closer.

  “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I guess I’ve had a bellyful of everything lately. During dinner, Leslie told me her boss got a memo from Washington detailing a crackdown on homosexuals. She told me you were being watched.”

  “You through?”

  “Yeah,” he said, puzzled.

  “I know.”

  “YOU KNOW!”

  “Ssssh!” she said, looking around the room.

  “You know?” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  “Yeah, Jack. It was only a matter of time.”

  “Well, excuse me if I appear to be an idiot, but doesn’t that worry you?”

  “You ever hear of The Lambda Army?”

  Jack frowned.

  “No, I didn’t expect you would’ve.” She leaned forward. “The Lambda Army is an organization of gay and bisexual men and women dedicated to freedom of thought and expression.”

  “Gay?”

  “We were tired of being called faggot, dyke, and all those other awful names, so we decided to give one to ourselves. Anyway, we’re tied in with the ARM—”

  “Shit, Malloy, those guys don’t just meet in cellars and print pamphlets, they blow up innocent people with their b
ombs.”

  “Propaganda, Jack. You remember in your history classes reading about the Reichstag fire?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Hitler ordered it set. Proved to be what put him over the top.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because the people of The American Resistance Movement have been keeping the true history. None of the bombs they set were anywhere near where people congregated. Only at factories that made weaponry, like Kruger’s, and only after-hours.”

  “But the bombing at Miami High School. The ARM took responsibility for that.”

  Malloy shook her head, her frizzy locks bouncing chaotically.

  “The Party did it, Jack. They want to discredit us, keep us from building popular support. It worked with you.”

  “But—”

  “You’ve known me a long time. Hell, I don’t just jump into bed with anybody. Would I lie to you?”

  And right then, he knew she was telling the truth. Malloy, with all her bravado and smart remarks, was no dummy. She always cut to the heart of a situation and called it for what it was.

  “Shit.”

  “Listen, if you want, I can get you in touch with our contact with ARM. He’s a lawyer up north. He’ll be in town a week from Monday. Officially, he’s here on Party business, but he’s really here to brief us on what the other cells are doing and to give us new orders. How about I set you up?

  “What’s his name?”

  Malloy leaned closer and whispered.

  “His name is Fred Williams, but everybody calls him Curly.”

  It all came back to Jack Dunham in the blink of an eye. In that split second of time, a whole other lifetime of memories ripped into his conscious mind like a torrent, like a tidal wave washing away a village in the South Seas. It came on so fast, it blinded him. Jack gripped his head and screamed. His tortured shrieks brought the whole shift running with every medical device imaginable. He kept screaming while they strapped him down and injected him with a heavy dose of Seconal. Only then did his voice die away into an agonized sobbing and finally, to an eerie silence.

  Just before the drug blotted out the conscious world, he saw Denise slip from the room, pale and trembling, and looking as if she’d lost her best friend.

  She couldn’t have known how close to the truth that really was.