Katrinka began crying. She was crying so hard that she had to get up and leave, with Rolf tripping under her feet, expressing whiffles of concern. She found a park bench on the outskirts of the viewing area and sat down, struggling to regain control.
Wolfe would never find her. She’d told him once about Coronado, but he’d been so sedated, he probably didn’t remember. She scooped Rolf into her arms and he licked away the salty tears, his tail wagging furiously.
Why hadn’t she appreciated what she had? Always searching for new excitement, never having enough. Never realizing that the man with steady grey eyes, had always been enough.
* * *
Summer came to the island, and the restlessness that had begun as a seed was now a full-fledged ache in her heart. Coronado was lovely, and Katrinka was happy to see her father so settled and at peace. But things were different from what she remembered. Tent City was gone, of course. Most of the tuna fleet had been overhauled into Liberty Ships and were out in the Pacific where the last remnants of war raged on with the Japanese. And somewhere out there, was Wolfe.
It seemed wherever she went, couples strolled by, linked arm in arm. Despite her lack of cooking skills, Gabriella now had a man friend who worked with the Navy, and they were often together. Even Rolf had deserted her for the pretty terrier next door to the boarding house.
Her papa came over one evening, just at twilight, when the air was heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine. They’d received permission from the owner of the boarding house, and together they took the silken box of Yujana’s ashes out into the garden and scattered them among the roses. Later they sat on the veranda, watching the moon drift through the treetops. Two of her parents were at rest. They were the only ones left now.
Her father took her hand. His own was trembling. “I loved your mother so.”
“I know, Papa.”
“She didn’t know how to raise you. Her freedom was everything to her. I let her drag you along, with her headstrong ways. I should have prevented it.”
Katrinka’s throat constricted, barely managing the words, “I didn’t mind, Papa.”
“I don’t know why she was so restless. I don’t know what she was looking for. But she loved us both. She was a strong, defiant, courageous woman. And she loved us both.”
He was crying now, very softly. She wrapped her arms around him, tears streaming down her own cheeks. Why had she never told her mother that she loved her?
They sat together on the veranda gazing at the roses, long after the moon had gone down.
* * *
One morning, a few months after VE Day, Katrinka headed to the library, stopping off at the post office on the way. Her papa had given his solicitor their new mailing address and he was expecting documentation for his American citizenship papers. He and Maria intended to get remarried as soon as possible, and there were many forms to be completed.
His papers had not come, but there was a letter from Milou, whose real name appeared to be Sasha. It contained surprising news—although, knowing the young woman, perhaps not so surprising after all. She’d fallen in love with Tom the pilot, who was now working with the Canadian Royal Air Force. When the war was over, they planned to get married at her mother’s house in Quebec. She wanted Katrinka to come to the wedding.
Katrinka grinned. Poor Tom (‘not Thomas’). He hadn’t stood a chance.
She was also delighted to see a letter from Wills. Even with the censorship blackouts, it managed to be newsy. He’d gotten her letter. He hoped she’d had safe passage to California, and heaven help any German U-boats they might have run into. He was with—but here his location and job had been heavily blacked out.
He missed her and hoped she was well. He hoped she was working on her California suntan, and would be his tour guide when he came to visit. She could write to him at the San Francisco Post Office Box he gave her, which would forward his mail to the base. He ended with a bit of wry humor, followed by a completely inexplicable remark: “It’s stinking hot, and the damn bugs are driving me crazy. Wish you were here.”
And then came: “Dakota found, with the flying fishes.”
She stared at the words, her fingers gripping the page. ‘Dakota’ was Wolfe’s code name. She repeated the sentence aloud, willing it to make sense. ‘Flying fishes’? Was this his new team? Where had she heard that phrase? It was tugging at the back of her memory. Was it from a poem? Or the fragment of a song?
Folding the letter, she carefully replaced it in the envelope, telling herself it did not matter. It would not change anything. But he was alive. Wills had found him, and he was alive. Was Wills in the Far East as well? That last part of the letter sounded a bit forlorn and unlike him. He must have been very worn out when he wrote it.
The library was set back from the main street, its lovely Grecian columns drowsing in the dappled sunlight, amid pungent smelling eucalyptus trees. A welcoming coolness washed over her as she entered the building. It was very quiet, cut off from the noise of the road.
Her eyes roamed over the bookshelves while running ideas through her mind. She would get a job, maybe with the Hotel Del. She would pursue archeology classes at the college. She wanted to be prepared for any opportunity to begin her explorations for Amelia.
On her way out, she glanced at the bulletin board covered with public notices and items for sale. She would need to purchase a bicycle and…
Her eye was caught by a small notice, half torn from the pin that held it.
Wanted, immediate replacement. Local USO entertainment group, in conjunction with the Los Angeles Hollywood Victory Committee, desires the talents of a singer/dancer. Will need inoculations, passport, and a notarized copy of your last will and testament. Must be prepared for imminent departure to the Pacific Islands, Okinawa, and Burma. See Mr. Withers at his office in the high school, for auditions.
Burma.
The fragment of a long-forgotten Kipling poem her papa used to recite, drifted through her memory like sea sand drifts through coral:
“…On the road to Mandalay,
where the flyin’-fishes play…”
Wolfe was in Burma.
* * *
Mr. Withers regarded her from over the rim of his glasses, indicating a chair for her to sit in. “Are you here for the opening?”
“Yes.” Her heart was pounding. Could he hear it?
He nodded, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “We can’t pay you much. We’re a small troupe—twelve entertainers in all. You’ll just be part of the backup group and chorus line on our Pacific Tour. Have any practice? Any shows you’ve been in?”
“I studied theater at college, as well as music and languages. My mother was a singer.” She doubted he’d have time to check on her embellished curriculum.
“You have an accent. From around these parts?”
“My father worked the tuna fleet in San Diego. I’ve spent time abroad and was studying in Switzerland. I’ve just come back.”
He nodded, then said abruptly. “Let’s see your legs.”
Katrinka was shocked, then amused. Placing her knapsack on the chair, she hoisted her skirt clear to the top of her thighs, giving a provocative little twirl and thrust with her hips.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked.
Mr. Withers’ face lost all coloring. “Those are very acceptable legs. They will be—”
“Would you like to view anything else?” Her hand hovered over the buttons of her blouse.
“No! I mean…”
Flustered, he handed her a sheet of music and walked her out into the auditorium. Katrinka noticed a man sitting quietly beside a large piano in the corner of the stage. He had been observing the interview. He gave her a wink.
Mr. Withers continued, “We have two other girls coming in shortly and you will audition with them. You may
study the song.” He went over to speak to the piano man.
She sat down in the first row of seats and glanced at the music sheet. It seemed like a carefree ditty that made no sense whatsoever. Presently, a young woman came in and sat down next to her. She had dark hair, which was cut short and set in little pin curls around her earnest, freckled face.
“My name’s Cricket.”
Katrinka smiled, introducing herself.
“Are you here for the audition?” Cricket asked.
“Yes.”
“Me too. I’m so excited! I’ve never traveled outside of California even.”
“It all seems rather sudden.”
“That’s ’cause one of the girls dropped out. There were a couple of us here to audition on Monday, but they said the position was filled and to go home. Then the call back came yesterday. The girl they hired didn’t work out, or something like that.”
Another young woman came in and joined them. She had startling blonde hair, tightly crimped and swept up on both sides of her face in a Victory roll. She did not look at either Cricket or Katrinka, but sat a few seats away, furiously smoking a cigarette.
“That’s May-Day Flowers,” Cricket whispered. “Her stage name. She’s really steamed up with Scooter, her sailor boyfriend. He came stomping in here the other day during auditions. They were screaming at each other. He practically dragged her out of here! I guess she’s back to give it another try.”
She leaned around Katrinka and called out, “Hi there, May-Day.”
The girl looked at them and blinked.
After a few minutes Mr. Withers came back, sat at the far end of the front row, and called for Miss Flowers. Was Katrinka just imagining his furtive backward glance to the entrance doors?
May-Day got up, dropped her cigarette on the floor, and ground it out. Climbing the few stairs to the stage, she gave the piano man a nod, threw back her head, and belted out the song.
Katrinka’s mouth dropped open. It was nothing more than a screech. Tuneless. But what she lacked in tonality, May-Day made up with a lot of gusto. Katrinka noticed that her bosom, confined in its tight sweater, was of ample proportions.
After the song ended, Mr. Withers graciously thanked her, and signaled for Cricket. Cricket knew the song and had a pleasant, melodious voice. It filled the auditorium, ending with a theatrical little trill.
Katrinka was last and walked quickly up the short stairs to the stage. Giving the piano man a tentative smile, she launched into the song. She had a natural pitch and followed the tune well, but her voice came out rather weak. Well, she could work on that. She saw Mr. Withers steal a peek at her legs before scribbling more notes in his little book.
He stood up, clearing his throat. “Thank you, ladies. That will be all. You will hear—”
Suddenly the auditorium door slammed back, and a gangly young man in a baseball cap trotted down the aisle, heavily tattooed arms swinging at his sides.
Mr. Withers paled. Scooter had returned.
Everyone stared as Scooter pulled May-Day aside, his hiss echoing admirably in the acoustics of the theater.
“Dammit, Maybelline, I told you. You’re not gonna trail your bee-hind all over the Pacific, paradin’ around in front of a bunch of horny GIs who probably—”
May-Day pushed him away. “Get over it, Scooter. You can’t stop me.”
The young man backed up a few paces, standing very straight. His face was flushed, and he swallowed compulsively. “I can, if I make you my wife.”
May-Day squeaked. “Your wife?”
Everyone else pricked up their ears; his wife?
He was stammering. “If that’s the only way I can stop you from makin’ a damn fool of yourself… well, I guess that’s gotta be it.”
“Scoot! Yes. Yes, I accept!”
Turning to Mr. Withers, the boy spoke with relief. “She ain’t goin’, and that’s final. Don’t want to hear no more about it.”
With a nod to Katrinka and Cricket, Scooter linked arms with his wife-to-be and exited the auditorium.
There was a slight adjustment in the atmosphere. Mr. Withers cleared his throat and turned to Cricket. “Ahem, Miss Cricket, we will be glad to have your services if you can get yourself ready in time. We depart for Los Angeles this Friday.”
Cricket clapped her hands. “Oh yes, please!”
“You’ll need to report to the clinic for your inoculations and kit bag. Don’t take anything you’d want to lose. Make sure you leave the notarized documents of what you want done with your… well, if you should not come back, your nearest relative should know what is to be done.”
“Thank you, Mr. Withers. You’re a dear, dear man. I’ve already gotten everything ready. I only have a few items to pack.”
With a nod and wave to Katrinka, she ran out.
Mr. Withers turned to her. “Miss, ah, Miss—”
“It’s Katrinka.” Her heart sank. What had she been thinking? It had all been too good to be true.
“Ah, yes, Miss Katrinka. Thank you for coming. You have a cheering voice, but Cricket has had more practice with this and—”
Again, the man was interrupted. This time by a thin woman with cold, close-set eyes, buried in the wrinkles of a pallid face. She was moving at a fast pace down the aisle, her hand around Cricket’s arm like a vise. She spoke as she walked, and had to pant a little with the combined effort of it all. The effect was disturbing.
“You deliberately disobeyed me. I told you explicitly not to come here. Thankfully Mrs. Benson saw you leaving, or I wouldn’t have even known.”
She confronted Mr. Withers with a grim smile. “I apologize, Mr. Withers. Evidently, my daughter crept out when I was at the shops. She was forbidden to come.”
She turned back, leaning into Cricket’s flushed face. She spoke softly, but Katrinka heard every word. “When you get home, I’m going to give you such a tanning, you won’t be able to sit for a week.” Still gripping her arm, they swept back up the aisle and out the door in silence.
Giving a hasty nod to Mr. Withers, Katrinka darted after them.
When they got outside the woman turned on her daughter. “Just what do you think you were doing?”
“Mom, I wanted—” Cricket began.
The woman slapped her in the face. “Don’t talk back to me. Get in the car.”
Katrinka lunged forward. “Get away from her!”
Surprised, the woman turned. “Excuse me?”
“Leave her alone. She has a right to be here.”
“Katrinka don’t,” Cricket said. “It’s all right, Mom. I’m coming, OK? Let’s go.”
Without a backward glance, Cricket got into the car. Her mother, still staring at Katrinka, got in the driver’s side, and they drove away.
Katrinka returned to the auditorium, shaken by what she had seen. Cricket seemed to have lost all spirit when confronted with that hard-eyed, gray-haired woman.
The auditorium was very quiet. The piano man was still sitting, hands in his lap. Katrinka marveled at his serenity.
Mr. Withers watched her approach. “Well, Miss… Miss?”
“Katrinka,” she supplied.
“Yes, Miss Katrinka. It seems there is an opening. You have the job if you want it.”
“Yes. I want it.”
The piano man smiled.
* * *
It was a whirlwind few days, getting all her papers in order, having to bid a tearful farewell to Maria and Gabriella, and promising to return before Christmas. She gave them the address the USO had given her.
The women’s bewildered reactions to the sudden turn of events hurt, but saying goodbye to her father was much more painful. The old man just nodded and sighed, his eyes filling with tears. If it were not for Maria and Gabriella, Katrinka wondered if she could ever have left him. He was not going to the a
irport with her, and they shared a final embrace on the pier of the ferry station platform. There was a shuttle waiting on the other side of the bay to take her to the Air Transport Command Airport in Burbank.
The ferry arrived, and with one last round of hugs and kisses, she boarded the boat. Climbing up to the top deck, she leaned over the railing and waved farewell to the small figures on the dock. She continued waving until the boat turned, making its sweep across the San Diego Bay.
* * *
A few hours later, Katrinka found herself in the heavily camouflaged Lockheed Air Terminal with Mr. Withers and Dave, the piano man. Without his piano, Dave was now the guitar, drums, and banjo man.
A small troupe of entertainers sat in the waiting area, all talking and laughing together. Mr. Withers barely had time for introductions before they were hustled out onto the pavement to board the plane.
It was a C-54 Skymaster, outfitted to take passengers, and it had been stripped down for the long haul to Honolulu. Katrinka found a seat, carefully placing her knapsack in the storage area above, and her large shopping bag next to her, on the floor. Maria had prepared a parcel of food for her, and she nibbled on a small portion of it, watching the vehicles ferrying the rest of the luggage and supplies into the plane’s large cargo doors.
Katrinka had never flown in a plane. Despite reading the many articles and books about Amelia, she was quite nervous, especially when the C-54 hurtled down the runway at last, pressing her back into the seat. Scenery tilted at a crazy angle outside the window as they lifted from the ground.
Below her, farm fields and little houses appeared through the clouds. She felt queasy and hoped she would not be sick. Dragging her eyes from the window, she tried focusing on a point in the interior of the cabin. Several seats up, a young woman stood and ran for the small bathroom door.
A few minutes later, as the plane leveled off and headed out across the Pacific, a loud pounding from the rear cargo door startled everyone. Heads swiveled as they watched the steward approach cautiously.
“Who is there? What do you want?” demanded the steward.
Just Another Girl on the Road Page 24
