“Now, Dottie,” I said, “talking this over has been a help, but I don’t want you to go and see someone.”
“Sid,” she said, “I don’t know why you don’t understand that a woman’s never happy unless she’s useful to some man. Now just the other night I was talking to Norman Jones. You know Norman Jones in White Wall Rubber, don’t you? Well, he was just saying the other night that they want to sponsor a news hour.”
I could look into the future and see her talking to Norman Jones.
“God damn it,” Dottie said, “I’m going to see him whether you want me to or not. You never know what you want.”
“Dottie,” I asked her, “does anyone know what he wants?”
“That’s a silly question,” Dottie said. “I know, I’ve always known and I don’t flounder around like you.”
“Well,” I said, “you’ve never got it, have you?”
There is always something embarrassing about naked truth. She scowled at me and then she gave her head an impatient shake.
“That’s right,” she said, “but I’m still in there pitching, darling, and I don’t just slide around.”
I have never known where the talk would have gone from there—whether it would have continued with the White Wall Rubber Company and my problems on the radio or whether it would have centered on the desires of Dottie Peale. I never knew because I saw her move her head sharply and I heard the automatic elevator.
“My God,” Dottie whispered, “what time is it?” and then she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was exactly half past eight. “Darling,” she whispered, “don’t go. Don’t go just yet.”
XXVIII
But Don’t Quote the General Personally
We had both turned to the door that opened onto the hallway, and there was Melville Goodwin. He stood like a picture in a frame, and there was one of those uncertain silences before any of us spoke. His uniform, the ribbons and the insignia gave everything a new complexion.
“Why, Mel,” I heard Dottie say, “you’re early.”
“That’s right,” he said, “a half an hour early. I was hoping to surprise you and turn up here like a plain citizen, but the tailor hasn’t finished with my tuxedo yet. I hope I’m not interrupting a conference. Hello, Sid.”
I think he was surprised because he must have expected Dottie to be alone, but at the same time he was glad to see me.
“Hello, Mel,” I said, “I just dropped in for a minute and I’m leaving now.”
“What’s the idea of your leaving?” Mel Goodwin asked. “Dottie and I were going to see the town. How about taking him along, Dot?”
There was still an element of surprise. There was no reason why General Goodwin should not have appeared, but I had not expected him to be so completely at home. I had not expected his slightly proprietary air, and Dottie was looking at us both proudly, almost maternally.
“Sid just came around for some advice, Mel,” Dottie said. “Career trouble.”
Mel Goodwin smiled and walked across the room and patted me on the shoulder.
“Career trouble?” he repeated. “By God, that sounds like Washington. Well, Sid can tell me all about it while you go in and put on what you call an evening frock.”
There was no doubt that Mel Goodwin was perfectly at home. Somehow we were in the middle of a family scene and I was the old and understanding family friend.
“God damn,” the General went on, “are they knifing you in the back, Sid? It looks as though they’re ganging up on all your boy friends, Dot.”
Dottie shook her head.
“Mel,” she said, “would you mind very much if we all stayed here?”
Somehow this simple question gave the scene an even more domestic note. Mel Goodwin looked at her quickly and the crow’s-feet deepened around his eyes.
“Why,” he said, “what’s the matter, Dot?”
“Oh,” Dottie said, “nothing, Mel, except perhaps I’ve been thoughtless. Darling, I never dreamed that people would begin to talk.”
Mel Goodwin clasped his hands behind him and glanced at me and back at Dottie, and the lines on his face looked deeper.
“Well, well,” he said, “so that’s why Sid’s up here.”
“No, no,” Dottie said, “it isn’t Sid, but I imagine Sid agrees with me. I’ve been awfully thoughtless, Mel.”
I admired that façade of Melville Goodwin’s. It was easy to see how accustomed he was to environments in which anything might happen.
“Let’s get this straight,” he said. “If Sid hasn’t been talking to you, someone else has?”
“Oh, never mind, Mel,” Dottie said. “It really doesn’t matter who.”
“Wait a minute now, let’s get this straight,” Mel Goodwin said. “You didn’t feel this way when I called you up at noon. Someone’s been working on you since then. Come on, who was it, Dot?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter, Mel,” Dottie answered.
Mel Goodwin did not raise his voice. There was only the slightest change in it.
“Come on,” he said, “who was it, Dot?”
It was interesting being an innocent bystander, now that Dottie had finally found a man. I was sure that she did not want to tell and I was just as sure that she was going to.
“It’s about time for me to be going home,” I said.
“No,” Mel Goodwin said, “I want you to stick around, boy. Who’s been so interested in me, Dot?”
“Mel,” Dottie said, “promise me you won’t be mad at him.”
“That depends on who it is,” Mel Goodwin said.
“Oh, hell,” Dottie said, “all right, have it your own way. It was Robert.”
“Well, I’ll be God damned!” the General said. “So Bob was here.”
“He’s awfully fond of you, Mel,” Dottie said.
“Well, I’ll be God damned!” the General said. “So it was Bob, was it? Did you see him, Sid?”
I heard the question, but I could read nothing from his face.
“I saw him first at the office,” I answered. “He’s worried about you, Mel.”
The guileless eyes of Mel Goodwin held me for a second.
“Do you think he’s got a right to be?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, “he made me think so.”
“What did you think of Bob?” he asked.
“I liked him,” I said.
Mel Goodwin smiled and the watchfulness left his eyes.
“That boy is going to get along,” he said, “if he just learns not to stick his neck out. God damn, it’s nice, his being worried about the old man. You know, I kind of like it. What did he say?”
He was asking me, not Dottie.
“He thinks you have a future, sir,” I said, “if you don’t stick your neck out.”
“You know, that’s sort of pleasant,” Mel Goodwin said, “to know that the kid thinks that. Did you and Bob get along all right, Dot?”
Dottie smiled her warmest smile.
“He loved talking about you, Mel,” she said. “He was so sweet about you.”
“Well, well,” the General said, “maybe I should have taken this all up with Bob myself, but there never seemed to be any opportunity around the house in Alexandria. Maybe Bob’s right about being around publicly. Well, let’s all stay here and have a happy evening. I’m really glad you saw him. I’m pretty proud of Bob. Did I ever tell you about the last time I had to lick him? It was when he swiped my horse at Schofield. He was too much horse and he ran away for about two miles, but Bob stayed with him. He told me later that I made his rear end sorer than the horse did. Say, I sort of wish I knew where to find Bob. I’d like to have him around right now.” Melville Goodwin smiled and sat down on the sofa. “Fetch me a drink, will you, Sid? This is certainly a welcome change from Washington. God, that crowd in the Pentagon! It’s full of people with battle records now, but a lot of the boys look confused.”
As I watched Melville Goodwin, my own affairs assumed a tawdry, humdrum
aspect, involving only small minds and little people. Melville Goodwin’s personality had filled the room, embracing and absorbing Dottie Peale and me. Although his weaknesses and failings were very clear, he was living more intensely and more honestly than Dottie Peale or I ever would; he had seen more and he had given more freely of himself and he still had more to give, and anything that might happen to him would have a greater significance in human terms.
I forgot that it was time for me to be starting home. I was in an atmosphere of suspense, as I watched Mel Goodwin and Dottie Peale, and every bit of byplay was portentous. It was fascinating, for instance, to observe that when he sat down on the sofa he unbuttoned two buttons of his blouse. When you thought of the buttons of West Point and of his subconscious preoccupation with appearance, nothing could have been more revealing than that unconsidered action. It told as clearly as words where Dottie and Mel Goodwin stood.
“This is a fine idea,” he said, “sitting around in a home this evening.”
The unbuttoning of his blouse confirmed his words. Obviously he had given all his trust and all his confidence to Dottie Peale freely and rapidly, but then he had grown accustomed to swift decisions. It was only left for me to wonder uncomfortably how far he had gone in his planning.
“How’s Muriel?” Dottie asked. I moved uneasily. Her inquiry was as candid as the unbuttoning of the blouse and so obvious that Dottie must have intended me to see how things stood. At any rate they both had made it clear that there was no need for camouflage.
“Oh,” the General said, “Muriel’s as busy as a bird dog. She’s giving a round of cocktail parties and we had a steak fry last night.”
“Oh dear,” Dottie said, “every time I see you, you seem to have just left some steak fry or other.”
You might have thought that she had said something very profound, judging by the General’s emphatic agreement.
“Ever since I was a shavetail,” Mel Goodwin said, “there have been steak fries, but they’re increasing lately. Women like them and a lot of the big wheels seem to like chewing meat in somebody’s back yard. I guess I’ve had too many alfresco meals to get the point, but Muriel likes me behind a grill with a fork in my hand. Every man in Washington is turning into a God-damned chef.”
“Does General Bradley grill steaks, too?” Dottie asked.
“Oh, hell,” Mel Goodwin said, “Brad’s good at anything.”
“Did you see the President yesterday?” Dottie asked. “You said you were going to.”
“I certainly did,” Mel Goodwin said. “Muriel and I went there to tea and he gave me fifteen minutes in the office. You really should have heard Muriel telling how I won the war.”
“Well,” I told him, “I think I ought to be going now.”
“No, no,” the General said, “sit down, Sid. You know what I mean about Muriel. No one can set things up like Muriel.”
“Don’t go yet, Sid,” Dottie said. “It’s always fun when Mel gets started on Washington.”
I would not have termed it all fun, but I was back again in the orbit of General Goodwin.
This was the second time, Mel Goodwin was saying, that he had come home from a war. He had been very junior on the other occasion and that was easy to handle, but it was no joke coming home as a general, with a lot of missiles being thrown at you, including custard pies and bricks. If you put up your head a single inch out of a slit trench in Washington, you were apt to connect with something. It seemed, down in Washington, even in branches of the Department, that everyone was forgetting there had been a war and Washington was sick to death of officers and their records. There was all the Pacific island-hopping crowd trying to muscle in ahead of the Africa and ETO crowd. The truth was, combat officers were selling for about a dime a dozen, and you couldn’t see the desks for the battle ribbons. There were a lot of people in Washington who were anxious to cut major generals down to size, now that we were winning the peace. All the branches of the service were still jockeying for position down in Washington. The Air Force boys, for instance, all knew they could win without Ground Forces now, and the navy seemed to have an idea that they could win without the Air Forces. It made you dizzy to hear the talk in Washington. He would wake up sometimes in the middle of the night wishing that he were a shavetail again out somewhere with troops.
The chain of command was something which anyone must respect because it was the backbone, sinews and nerve force of the service. He was willing to grant that you should obey it automatically, and he always had, and you learned also to put up with any personality above you. Frankly, he had served under many mediocre superiors, but there was something new in the peacetime setup that made him gripe. There was a cream-puff quality about a lot of thinking down in Washington. He once had the idea that the army was primarily designed to produce efficient combat units, but this was old hat now in some quarters. Instead, coming to it cold, you sometimes got the impression down there that the army was a sort of social service institution designed to provide financial security, healthy outdoor sports and desirable civic works. The army seemed to have its finger in everything—recreation centers, adult education, scientific research. A lot of people who should have known better were fiddling around down there in such a mental fog that they were getting fouled up over basic training and manpower. You might think—you really might—that the principal activities of the Department would be concentrated on the equipment and development of a few first-rate mobile divisions that could be used as an expansion nucleus in future emergency. Granted the best minds were developing insomnia over how to accomplish this in the face of dwindling appropriations, yet bringing up such a subject was not well received in some groups. You would even get yourself lectured sometimes in a nice way about new tactics and new weapons by a lot of theoretical so-and-sos, although he admitted there were a lot of good boys around who had learned a few basic facts of life from coming in contact with the enemy.
On his first day in Washington he had dropped in on the spur of the moment to see “Snip” Lewis, just for a friendly chat and some informal orientation, on the off-chance that old Snip might not be too busy. Maybe he should have telephoned. Snip had been in a key position since the war and as far as Mel Goodwin was concerned, he deserved everything he had, including the Legion of Merit and the DSO and his complimentary French and British decorations. He had nothing at all against anyone like Snip, who had been three years behind him at the Point. Snip was an old Grimshaw man, and they had worked together in Washington before “Torch.” It was not Snip’s fault that he had stayed on in Washington—somebody had to stay—and Snip had been a fine exec for Grimshaw. Personally, Mel Goodwin was glad that Snip had worked his way to something. Nevertheless he was surprised when he dropped into that Pentagon office. Snip’s office had a lot of mahogany in it and was about as big as the Chapel at the Point, with map racks and conference tables and his general’s flag, but the thing that struck him right in the eye was Snip’s exec in the outer office. It was old “Froggy” Jukes, sitting right out there pushing all the buttons. It was hard to tell what would come up next when you saw a man like Froggy Jukes in a key position.
He wanted to make it clear that he had nothing against Froggy. It wasn’t any man’s fault if he suffered from emotional instability and did not make the grade in a front area, because this might happen to the very best. Nevertheless when Froggy Jukes was in “Bull-pup” in North Africa, he had been indecisive at a moment when you could not wait for second chances, and old Heinzy had not taken him over to Italy, after that little mix-up. Yet here he was, a brigadier, in the Pentagon with three secretaries and secret filing cabinets and four telephones. He had nothing whatsoever against Froggy and and he had not been mixed up with Froggy’s problems, but they had both been in “Bullpup” and he knew the score.
“Well, well,” Froggy said, “I’ve been wondering when you’d come here.”
“Well, well,” Mel Goodwin said, “it’s nice to see you, Froggy. How have things bee
n going?”
You could see that things had been going pretty well. Froggy had his North African ribbon, the Legion of Merit and the DSO and a Caribbean ribbon.
“I’m just the Chief’s errand boy,” Froggy said, “but I’m busy as a bird dog, what with all this unification. Let’s see, you were in ‘Bull-pup,’ weren’t you, Mel?”
Froggy knew damned well that he was in “Bullpup,” if he had not lost his wits.
“Heinzy never understood me out there,” Froggy said.
All you could do was to be nice about it, and say that a lot of others hadn’t hit it off with Heinzy either, but it was peculiar to hear someone like Froggy treating “Bullpup” as a joke and you could see that he still had it in for the “Bullpup” crowd on general principles.
“I suppose you want to hit the Chief for something,” Froggy said.
Of course he was saying it in a kidding way, but it was not a nice way of putting it, considering who had the rank and record, and it was time to put Froggy in his place.
“If General Lewis has about three minutes,” Mel Goodwin said, “I’d like to pay him my respects.”
“The Chief is pretty busy now,” Froggy said. “It’s a crowded morning but I think he can give you five minutes.”
“All right, ask him,” Mel Goodwin said. “I’m pretty busy myself, Froggy.”
Froggy opened the door to the inner office and slid through and closed it softly behind him. There was nothing about any of it that Melville Goodwin liked, particularly the implication that someone like Jukes could do him a favor. People like Froggy Jukes always got on well on staffs and Froggy probably did have the knife out for anyone who had been in “Bullpup,” but of course Snip Lewis had time to see him.
“Sit down, Mel,” Snip said. “I wish I didn’t have to get out of here in five minutes.”
“It’s damn nice to see you, Snip,” Mel Goodwin said. “How’s Ethel?”
Melville Goodwin, USA Page 49
