Darkness had fallen by the time we returned to the hotel. Adjacent to the lobby we spied a bar, where Lottie, Kitty, and Eve sat together and talked to some American soldiers—officers, I gleaned by their uniforms. With their backs to us, the men held themselves up straight and tall, side by side, but stayed in motion—jangling change in their pockets, smoothing their jacket fronts, and preening for our girls.
Cass said to me, “We should watch over them so it doesn’t get out of control. You and I cannot drive three ambulances twenty-four hours a day.”
Back in New York we’d found out we would open our hospital with only three vehicles, but with promises of more ambulances and drivers to come. I inclined my head toward the bar. “And it’s a good excuse to go inside and get a drink.”
“Hallelujah.”
We took seats at the bar; behind it glass shelves lined the mirrored wall with spirits and wines. The other drivers sat around a table to the right and back of us, but we could check on them by simply glancing at the mirror from time to time.
Don’t you dare think of leaving with those soldiers, I pleaded with them in my mind. It was alright to converse in the hotel bar, but going off with the men would be a different story. We had much to do before we left Paris, and we needed their help.
The bartender suggested I try a French 75, a drink named after a French field gun, served in a flute. The main ingredient was Champagne. He recommended that Cass order a sidecar. We’d already heard that liquor was being reserved primarily for the French soldiers, the poilus, so the hotel staff had warned us that drinks might disappoint. Mine didn’t. It fizzed in my mouth and went down like silk.
Cass utilized the time to tell me more about the maintenance required on the modified version of the Model T we would soon drive. At least twenty high-friction areas needed regular greasing, and we would have to check our oil levels once a day.
After Cass excused herself to the ladies’ room, someone slipped down beside me. I glanced over and into the face of a man that held me in a grip. His eyes bluer than delft pottery, his face tanned to a beautiful shade of doe brown. A straight nose drew my eyes down to his well-defined lips and dominant chin.
He said in a low, husky voice, “Now, do tell me: Why is a pretty girl like you sitting with the old maid and ignoring me?”
Incensed by his words about Cass, it took me a moment to realize that he might consider this flirting. Old maid? “I’ll have you know my friend is not an old maid. She simply has better things to do than chase men.” This I didn’t really know, because Cass had still told me nothing personal. I imagined that she’d lost someone she loved dearly and had never tried to replace him.
He smiled, revealing teeth as white as piano keys. Looking him over, I regarded his hair, a magnificent mix of lightest brown and darkest blond, like buff sand mixed with golden sand, and his uniform, in perfect condition with not one loose thread. He held up his hands. “As you say, as you say.” Then he dropped them once more and lowered his voice. “But you haven’t answered my real question: Why are you ignoring me?”
I shot a glance at Kitty, Lottie, and Eve, who remained enthralled by the other American officers, minus this one at my side. I said, “You were otherwise engaged.”
The bartender came over; I turned to him and said, “Un autre, s’il vous plait.” I’ll have another, please.
“Ah, you speak French,” the lovely officer said. “The most beautiful language, and the most romantic.” He paused, I supposed for me to respond. His eyes roamed all over my face; I could feel his gaze like a warm breeze that smelled of the spicy aftershave he wore. “You know, you could pass for a Parisian woman. The girls here are all slim, no thick ankles, and they have the loveliest look about the eyes. Their mouths are full, and they wear red lipstick so well.” He focused on my lips then, and I found him overly confident and too direct.
I couldn’t believe it; he was flirting with me, even though I was obviously no Parisian woman. It seemed the captain had made the same mistake as other men had in the past. Those who’d once wanted to court me had assumed I wanted romance and marriage and didn’t register how I differed from other women. Then they saw the dirt under my fingernails, smelled something of horse when they got too close, and came to realize I would never love them as much as my horses, my family, and our land. But here the stable dirt had finally washed away, along with my parfum de horse.
“Do you speak French?” I asked.
“No, just admire it.” He leaned closer.
“My father taught me to speak his native language.”
I thought he might ask me about that—most people thought it interesting—but to my surprise, he said dismissively, “But let’s not talk about French any longer.” Then with a sly grin, “It appears as if you’re still trying to ignore me.”
Yes, indeed, I found him perhaps the most handsome man I’d ever encountered. “I am not. But my friend will return any moment now, and we have much to discuss.”
“Do you now?”
“Yes, we’ll soon drive ambulances for the American Women’s Hospital. She’s the better mechanic, and she’s giving me some final pointers.”
“And that’s more important than me?” he asked with a roguish half-smile.
I slowly smiled. “At the moment, yes.”
“You’ve hurt my feelings,” he said and then winked.
Finding it difficult to swallow, I managed to say, “We’re here to work.”
He leaned back, obvious disappointment on his face. Then he turned to face the bar, and I thought our conversation had ended. But he tilted his head as if catching his reflection in the mirror. He ran a hand over his hair, then said, “A lady who’s hard to get. I like it.”
I went mute. This man could easily sweep any woman off her feet, and with one mistake, any of us could lose our position and be sent home. I could handle his advances, but Cass was right; we really did have to take care of the other girls who might prove unable to resist him.
Cass finally reappeared.
He stood and introduced himself to her. “Captain Felix Brohammer, at your service, ma’am.”
Cass, bless her, seemed unfazed by his looks and charms. Flatly she said, “You don’t say.”
“And you are . . . ?”
“Cass Frank. Pleased to meet you.” Still as flat as a concrete slab.
He turned to me then, and I knew what he wanted. I said, “Arlene Favier,” before he could ask me.
“Arlene Favier,” he said in an even lower, softer voice. “I’ll remember that.” Then he strode away and out of the bar.
Cass sat down and turned to me. “What was that about?” she asked.
I almost snorted out a laugh but got a grip on myself. “I honestly have no idea.”
The next morning, carrying a list of automobile supplies Cass and I had compiled, I stepped downstairs to the hotel lobby in search of coffee. We hadn’t brought all of our tools and materials overseas—it was too impractical—so now we had to supply ourselves here before we left for our final destination.
I spied our leader, Dr. Logan, out front on the sidewalk, embroiled in what looked like an animated conversation. I decided to skip the coffee, as by then pulverized chicory root had often replaced the real thing, and Dr. Logan appeared to need some help.
I pushed through the door. Dr. Logan spoke with a small weathered Frenchman via a translator, whom I recognized as the doorman. They talked about the ambulances, and as that was my area, I decided to intervene.
The man said in French, “The vehicles have to be taken to our shop, on the outskirts of Paris, to build the bodies.”
But the bellman/translator said in English, “The vehicles are outside Paree with the bodies.”
Apparently the doctor had tried and tried to make sense of the situation for quite some time, but I could see she always maintained her composure, and not one flush of color had risen in her cheeks.
I stepped up. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.” I looked
at Dr. Logan. “What the other man actually said was that the ambulances must be taken to his shop, on the outskirts of Paris, to build the bodies.”
She allowed herself to sigh. “Well, that’s a relief. So there’s nothing wrong with them?”
I checked with the Frenchman again; he reassured all was well. The customization had to take place in his shop. I conveyed the information to Dr. Logan.
She expressed her appreciation for my help and then said, “You must be the multitalented driver I’ve heard about.”
“Arlene Favier,” I said, even though we had met before.
“I’m Dr. Logan.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
Dr. Logan looked me directly in my eyes when she spoke, and I sensed no airs from her, although Cass called her Dr. Snob behind her back. “What can you do?”
My mind went blank. Frankly intimidated for no reason other than her education and reputation, I suddenly felt that I had little to offer. “Other than speaking French, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“I doubt that,” Dr. Logan said very pleasantly. “I’ve heard you’re quite the gal about town.”
By that time, the Frenchman wanted to know if he could proceed. I gave him all the information, translated from Dr. Logan, as to where he could find the ambulance chassis, and he said he would arrange transportation for an extra fee, which Dr. Logan accepted.
That night I told Cass what had happened on the sidewalk. “I’m confused by a comment Dr. Logan made. She called me ‘a gal about town.’ You don’t think she could’ve heard about that little talk I had with Captain Brohammer in the bar, do you?”
Cass sat on the bed already dressed in a nightgown, even though it was only ten o’clock. “I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.”
I shook my head. “But she seemed pleased. I thought we weren’t supposed to fraternize with men.”
Cass held a comb, which she started to rake through her hair. “If the men happen to be American officers, believe me, they’ll look the other way.”
“Why? Are you joking?”
“I am not. The officers are college-educated. But the enlisted men are just your average boys from some hard city streets or dusty little towns.”
I sat on the bed beside her. “How do you know this?”
She almost laughed. “It’s common sense—horse sense, you might say. The doctors already like us. Well, the others besides Dr. Snob do. But it appears as though even she likes you.” She stopped combing. “They just want the best for us. It’s quite Victorian, but if one of us happens to snag the affections of an American officer, they would bend the rules.”
“Are you joking?” I asked again.
And she followed suit: “I am not.”
I pulled out a note I’d hidden under the lamp’s base. It had come earlier that day from Captain Brohammer; he’d left it at the hotel desk. In it he asked me to join him for dinner the evening of the next day. After I passed the note to Cass, a case of nerves came over me. I hadn’t anticipated any of this.
She took the note and even before opening it said, “Oh dear.” Then she read the message and looked at me with unblinking eyes. “You should do it.”
I shook my head again. “But we aren’t supposed to—”
She smirked. “Are you going to ask the doctors for permission?”
“Maybe I should.”
Cass guffawed. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’re a grown woman, and as I said, they’ll be pleased even if they don’t show it.”
“But I could tell you didn’t like him!”
Cass threw her hands in the air. “Not hardly. It wasn’t him. I was a little chafed because something I knew would happen was already happening.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Forget it.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You can’t keep me in the dark. Just tell me.”
She looked a bit dejected, and all of a sudden, I knew what she was thinking. Her chances of meeting someone over here were slim. Cass was thirty years old, and many men, even older men, probably considered her a hopeless spinster.
She said, “I always thought you’d meet someone over here.”
“Well, I wish you’d told me so I could’ve at least prepared myself.”
She gazed away wistfully. “How could you prepare yourself for someone who looks that devilishly good?”
I pressed my palms against my cheeks and paced the buffed floors. “He looks great, but I’m not sure I like him, and I don’t understand what made him like me. I didn’t even treat him very nicely.”
“Maybe it’s a man-woman thing, Arlene. It’s happened in the past; you know, attraction, magnetism . . .”
I shrugged. “I didn’t feel anything.”
She sighed. “Well, if one would ever allow herself to relax, one might be able to feel something.”
“I haven’t had time to relax.”
“So now you’re getting a rare opportunity to do just that.”
Recalling the conversation with him, I murmured, “I don’t know . . .”
“Why not?”
I wasn’t about to tell her the captain had called her an old maid. “He looked at himself in the mirror.”
“So, he could be somewhat impressed with himself. One can usually count on military officers for that. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I don’t like vanity in a man.”
She shook her head as if saying This is ridiculous. “Please. If that’s his only vice . . .”
I crossed my arms and finally stopped pacing. “I don’t know . . . if there’s more to like.”
“Go out with him,” Cass insisted. “Otherwise you’ll never know.”
Chapter Nine
The next day, Cass and I took a taxi to automobile supply houses and procured the necessities and tools for all three ambulances. The doctors had trusted us to stock the vehicles and equip them for anything we might encounter on the roads ahead. After we’d dragged back or arranged deliveries for everything we needed, we took a couple of hours to visit Notre-Dame, the gardens of the Tuileries, and Napoleon’s tomb.
Eve had apparently tired of Kitty and Lottie’s company, or maybe she wanted to see more of France’s sights instead of its shops, because she asked if she could join us. A diminutive blond whose freckles covered her face all the way to her hairline, she could’ve passed for a schoolgirl, although she was twenty-three, like me.
As we walked the boulevards and parks, Eve tended to fall a few steps behind us, and I couldn’t figure out if she liked to lag behind or if she lived for the most part in her own world. She had purchased a small Paris guidebook, and she read as she tagged along.
I could’ve remained on the Pont Neuf for hours looking down at the smooth flow of the river that calmed my nerves about the date coming up that night, but we had much still to see, and we also purchased postcards to send home.
We took a taxi to Montmartre, where Papa had told me the artists congregated, but a waiter informed us that the artists’ turf had moved to the cafés of Montparnasse. Therefore we splurged on another taxi and headed to Café de la Rotonde, which according to Eve, Pablo Picasso frequented. There, Eve finally joined the conversation. “Did you know that when the Tuileries gardens first opened to the public, they barred some people? No beggars, lackeys, and soldiers.”
“Heavens,” I said.
“What are lackeys?” asked Cass.
“I think it’s the service class, such as servants and footmen,” Eve answered.
“Footmen?” Cass asked, then chuckled. “Maybe yesterday’s footmen are today’s drivers.”
I laughed. “Yes, perhaps we wouldn’t have been allowed. But I don’t understand banning soldiers.”
Indeed, the American soldier in France commanded a lot of respect. Whereas the French and British soldiers often appeared war-weary, like haggard ghosts of themselves, the American soldier wore a clean uniform and polished boots and smoked prized American-made
cigarettes. He knew he would encounter danger, but he kept everything light with jokes and laughter. Other soldiers looked up to him, girls flirted with him, and children followed him around.
That thought swept me away for a while, the American soldier Captain Brohammer on my mind. I had guessed his age to be about thirty-one or thirty-two; he seemed like a youngster to have already reached the rank of captain. His dashing appearance made me think of Swedish warriors, and I could imagine him in a former life slaying dragons and sea serpents with a shining sword. My hands started trembling, and I put them under the table in my lap. I hadn’t gone on a date since high school.
Cass’s groans brought me back to the moment. Eve pointed at her guidebook and told us that France had always been a war zone. She talked about Charlemagne, William the Conqueror, and Joan of Arc. “This part of the country has been the site of sieges, marches, battlegrounds, and the war camps of France’s enemies going back to the beginning of recorded time.”
Cass looked around the café. “Does anyone have some paper?” she asked the air. “I seem to have wandered into a class on French history, but I forgot paper, and I need to take some notes.”
I held my breath, but Eve, a good sport it turned out, only smiled and continued talking.
Cass held up her hands. “Wait a minute. Are you always like this?” she asked Eve.
“Most of the time,” Eve answered.
Turning to me, Cass said, “If we ever have to ride doubled up, she’s going with you.”
I laughed.
Eve wove her hands together on the tabletop and leaned in. To Cass she said, “If you and I ever have to ride doubled up, I’ll do the driving.”
Mercy Road Page 7
