The Other Side of Midnight

by Sidney Sheldon

  "I didn't even have a chance," Catherine said honestly. "It just--happened."

  "Larry's quite a fellow."

  "Yes."

  "Catherine"--Fraser hesitated--"you don't really know much about Larry, do you?"

  Catherine felt her back stiffening.

  "I know I love him, Bill," she said evenly, "and I know that he loves me. That's a pretty good beginning, isn't it?"

  He sat there frowning, silent, debating with himself. "Catherine--"

  "Yes?"

  "Be careful."

  "Of what?" she asked.

  Fraser spoke slowly, feeling his way carefully over a minefield of words. "Larry's--different."

  "How?" she asked, refusing to help him.

  "I mean, he's not like most men." He saw the look on her face. "Oh, hell," he said. "Don't pay any attention to me." He managed a faint grin. "You've probably read the biography Aesop did on me. The fox and the sour grapes."

  Catherine took his hand affectionately. "I'll never forget you, Bill. I hope we can remain friends."

  "I hope so too," Fraser said. "Are you sure you won't stay on at the office?"

  "Larry wants me to quit. He's old-fashioned. He believes that husbands should support their wives."

  "If you ever change your mind," Fraser said, "let me know." The rest of the luncheon was concerned with office affairs and a discussion of who would take Catherine's place. She knew she would miss Bill Fraser very much. She supposed that the first man to seduce a girl would always hold a special place in that girl's life, but Bill had meant something to her beyond that. He was a dear man and a good friend. Catherine was disturbed by his attitude toward Larry. It was as though Bill had started to warn her about something and then stopped because he was afraid of spoiling her happiness. Or was it as he had said, just a case of sour grapes? Bill Fraser was not a small man or a jealous man. He would surely want her to be happy. And yet Catherine was sure he had tried to tell her something. Somewhere in the back of her mind was a vague foreboding. But an hour later when she met Larry and he smiled at her, everything went out of her head but the ecstasy of being married to this incredible, joyful, human being.

  Larry was more fun to be with than anyone Catherine had ever known. Each day was an adventure, a holiday. They drove out to the country every weekend and stayed at small inns and explored county fairs. They went to Lake Placid and rode the huge toboggan slide and to Montauk where they went boating and fishing. Catherine was terrified of the water because she had never learned to swim, but Larry told her not to worry about it, and with him she felt safe.

  Larry was loving and attentive and appeared to be remarkably unaware of the attraction he held for other women. Catherine seemed to be all that he wanted. On their honeymoon Larry had come across a little silver bird in an antique shop and Catherine had liked it so much that he had found a crystal bird for her and it had become the start of a collection. On a Saturday night they drove to Maryland to celebrate their third-month anniversary and had dinner at the same little restaurant.

  The next day, Sunday, December 7, Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese.

  America's declaration of war against Japan came the following day at 1:32 P.M., less than twenty-four hours after the Japanese attack. On Monday while Larry was at Andrews Air Base, Catherine, unable to bear being alone in the apartment, took a taxi to the Capitol Building to see what was happening. Knots of people pressed around a dozen portable radio sets scattered through the crowd that lined the sidewalks of the Capitol Plaza. Catherine watched as the Presidential caravan raced up the drive and stopped at the south entrance to the Capitol. She was close enough to see the limousine door open and President Roosevelt disembark, assisted by two aides. Dozens of policemen stood at every corner, alert for trouble. The mood of the crowd seemed to Catherine to be mainly outrage, like a lynch mob eager to get into action.

  Five minutes after President Roosevelt entered the Capitol, his voice came over the radio, as he addressed the Joint Session of Congress. His voice was strong and firm, filled with angry determination.

  "America will remember this onslaught...Righteous might will win...We will gain the inevitable triumph, so help us, God."

  Fifteen minutes after Roosevelt had entered the Capitol, House Joint Resolution 254 was passed, declaring war on Japan. It was passed unanimously except for Representative Jeannette Rankin of Montana, who voted against the declaration of war, so the final vote was 388 to 1. President Roosevelt's speech had taken exactly ten minutes--the shortest war message ever delivered to an American Congress.

  The crowd outside cheered, a full-throated roar of approval, anger and a promise of vengeance. America was finally on the move.

  Catherine studied the men and women standing near her. The faces of the men were filled with the same look of exhilaration that she had seen on Larry's face the day before, as though they all belonged to the same secret club whose members felt that war was an exciting sport. Even the women seemed caught up by the spontaneous enthusiasm that swept through the crowd. But Catherine wondered how they would feel when their men were gone and the women stood alone waiting for news of their husbands and sons. Slowly Catherine turned and walked back toward the apartment. On the corner she saw soldiers with fixed bayonets.

  Soon, she thought, the whole country would be in uniform.

  It happened even faster than Catherine had anticipated. Almost overnight Washington was transformed into a world of a citizen army in khaki.

  The air was filled with an electric, contagious excitement. It was as though peace were a lethargy, a miasma that filled mankind with a sense of ennui, and it was only war that could stimulate man to the full exhilaration of life.

  Larry was spending sixteen to eighteen hours at the Air Base, and he often remained there overnight. He told Catherine that the situation at Pearl Harbor and Hickam Field was much worse than the people had been led to believe. The sneak attack had been devastatingly successful. For all practical purposes America's Navy and a good part of its Air Corps had been destroyed.

  "Are you saying that we could lose this war?" Catherine asked, shocked.

  Larry looked at her thoughtfully. "It depends on how fast we can get ready," he replied. "Everyone thinks of the Japanese as funny little men with weak eyes. That's horseshit. They're tough, and they're not afraid to die. We're soft."

  In the months that followed it seemed that nothing could stop the Japanese. The daily headlines screamed out their successes: They were attacking Wake...softening up the Philippine Islands for invasion...landing in Guam...in Borneo...in Hong Kong. General MacArthur declared Manila an open city, and the trapped American troops in the Philippines surrendered.

  One day in April, Larry telephoned Catherine from the Base and asked her to meet him downtown for dinner at the Willard Hotel to celebrate.

  "Celebrate what?" Catherine asked.

  "I'll tell you tonight," Larry replied. There was a note of high excitement in his voice.

  When Catherine hung up, she was filled with a dread premonition. She tried to think of all the possible reasons that Larry would have to celebrate, but it always came back to the same thing and she did not think she would have the strength to face it.

  At five o'clock that afternoon Catherine was fully dressed, sitting on her bed staring into the dressing-room mirror.

  I must be wrong, she thought. Maybe he's been promoted. That's what we're celebrating. Or he's had some good news about the war. Catherine told herself this but she did not believe it. She studied herself in the mirror, trying to be objective. While she would not give Ingrid Bergman any sleepless nights, she was, she decided dispassionately, attractive. Her figure was good, full of provocative curves. You're intelligent, cheerful, courteous, kind and a sex pot, she told herself. Why would any normal red-blooded male be dying to leave you so that he could go off to war and try to get himself killed?

  At seven o'clock Catherine walked into the dining room of the Willard Hotel. Larry had
not arrived yet, and the maitre d' escorted her to a table. She said no she would not have a drink, then nervously changed her mind and ordered a martini.

  When the waiter brought it and Catherine started to pick it up, she found that her hands were shaking. She looked up and saw Larry moving toward her. He threaded his way between the tables, acknowledging greetings along the way. He carried with him that incredible vitality, that aura that made every eye turn in his direction. Catherine watched him, remembering the day he had come to her table at the MGM commissary in Hollywood. She realized how little she had known him then, and she wondered how well she knew him now. He reached the table and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  "Sorry I'm late, Cathy," he apologized. "The Base has been a madhouse all day." He sat down, greeted the captain by name and ordered a martini. If he noticed that Catherine was drinking, he made no comment.

  Catherine's mind was screaming out: Tell me your surprise. Tell me what we're celebrating. But she said nothing. There was an old Hungarian proverb: "Only a fool rushes bad news." She took another sip of her martini. Well maybe it wasn't an old Hungarian proverb. Maybe it was a new Catherine Douglas proverb designed to be worn over thin skins for protection. Maybe the martini was making her a little drunk. If her premonition was right, before this night was over she was going to get very drunk. But looking at Larry now, his face filled with love, Catherine knew that she had to be wrong. Larry could not bear to leave her any more than she could bear to leave him. She had been building up a nightmare out of whole cloth. From the happy expression on his face she knew that he had some really good news to tell her.

  Larry was leaning toward her, smiling his boyish smile, taking her hand in his.

  "You'll never guess what's happened, Cathy. I'm going overseas."

  It was as though a filmy curtain descended, giving everything an unreal, hazy look. Larry was sitting next to her, his lips moving, but his face was going in and out of focus and Catherine could not hear any words. She looked over his shoulder and the walls of the restaurant were moving together and receding. She watched, fascinated.

  "Catherine!" Larry was shaking her arm and slowly her eyes focused on him and everything came back to normal. "Are you all right?"

  Catherine nodded, swallowed and said, shakily, "Great. Good news always does that to me."

  "You understand that I have to do this, don't you?"

  "Yes, I understand." The truth is, I wouldn't understand if I lived to be a million years old, my darling. But if I told you that, you'd hate me, wouldn't you? Who needs a nagging wife? Heroes' wives should send their men off smiling.

  Larry was watching, concerned. "You're crying."

  "I am not," Catherine said indignantly and found to her horror that she was. "I--I just have to get used to the idea."

  "They're giving me my own squadron," Larry said.

  "Are they really?" Catherine tried to pump pride into her voice. His own squadron. When he was a small boy, he probably had had his own set of trains to play with. And now that he was a tall boy, they had given him his own squadron to play with. And these were real toys, guaranteed to get shot down and bleed and die. "I'd like another drink," she said.

  "Of course."

  "When--when will you have to leave?"

  "Not until next month."

  He made it sound as though he were eager to get away. It was terrifying, feeling the whole fabric of her marriage being torn apart. On the bandstand a singer was crooning, "A trip to the moon on gossamer wings..." Gossamer, she thought. That's what my marriage is made of: gossamer. That Cole Porter knew everything.

  "We'll have plenty of time before I leave," Larry was saying.

  Plenty of time for what? Catherine wondered bitterly. Plenty of time to raise a family, to take our children skiing in Vermont, to grow old together?

  "What would you like to do tonight?" Larry asked.

  I'd like to go down to the County Hospital and have one of your toes removed. Or have one of your ear drums pierced. Aloud, Catherine said, "Let's go home and make love." And there was a fierce, desperate urgency in her.

  The next four weeks melted away. The clocks raced forward in a Kafka-ish nightmare that turned days into hours and hours into minutes, and then incredibly it was Larry's last day. Catherine drove him to the airport. He was talkative and happy and gay and she was somber and quiet and miserable. The last few minutes became a kaleidoscope of reporting in...a hurried good-bye kiss...Larry entering the plane that was to take him away from her...a last farewell wave. Catherine stood on the field watching his plane dwindle to a small speck in the sky and finally disappear. She stood there for an hour, and finally when it got dark she turned and drove back into town to her empty apartment.

  In the first year following the attack on Pearl Harbor, ten great sea and air battles were fought against the Japanese. The Allies won only three, but two of them were decisive: Midway and the Battle of Guadalcanal.

  Catherine read word for word the newspaper reports of every battle and then asked William Fraser to get her further details. She wrote to Larry daily, but it was eight weeks before she received his first letter. It was optimistic and full of excitement. The letter had been heavily censored so Catherine had no idea where he had been or what he was doing. Whatever it was she had a feeling that he seemed to be enjoying it, and in the long lonely hours of the night Catherine lay in bed puzzling over that, trying to figure out what it was in Larry that made him respond to the challenge of war and death. It was not that he had a death wish, for Catherine had never known anyone more alive and vital; but perhaps that was simply the other side of the coin, that what made the life-sense so keen was constantly honing it against death.

  She had lunch with William Fraser. Catherine knew that he had tried to enlist and had been told by the White House that he could do more good by staying at his post. He had been bitterly disappointed. He had never mentioned it to Catherine, however. Now as Fraser sat across from Catherine at the luncheon table, he asked:

  "Have you heard from Larry?"

  "I got a letter last week."

  "What did he say?"

  "Well, according to the letter, the war is a kind of football game. We lost the first scrimmage, but now they've sent the first team in, and we're gaining ground."

  He nodded. "That's Larry."

  "But that's not the war," Catherine said quietly. "It's not a football game, Bill. Millions of people are going to be killed before this is over."

  "If you're in it, Catherine," he said gently, "I imagine it's easier to think of it as a football game."

  Catherine had decided that she wanted to go to work. The Army had created a branch for women called the WACs, and Catherine had thought of joining but had felt she might be more useful doing something more than driving cars and answering telephones. Although from what she had heard, the WACs were pretty colorful. There was so much pregnancy among them that there was a rumor that when volunteers went in for their physical examination, the doctors pressed their stomachs with a tiny rubber stamp. The girls tried to read the words but were unable to do so. Finally one of them hit upon the idea of getting a magnifying glass. The words read: "When you can read this with the naked eye, report to me."

  Now as she sat lunching with Bill Fraser, she said, "I want to work. I want to do something to help."

  He studied her a moment, then nodded. "I may know just the thing for you, Catherine. The Government's trying to sell War Bonds. I think you could help coordinate it."

  Two weeks later Catherine went to work organizing the sale of War Bonds by celebrities. It had sounded ridiculously easy in concept, but the execution of it was something else again. She found the stars to be like children, eager and excited about helping the war effort, but difficult to pin down about specific dates. Their schedules had to be constantly juggled. Often it was not their fault, because pictures were delayed or schedules ran over. Catherine found herself commuting from Washington to Hollywood and New York. She got us
ed to leaving on an hour's notice, packing enough clothes to last the length of each trip. She met dozens of celebrities.

  "Did you really meet Cary Grant?" her secretary asked her when she returned from a trip to Hollywood.

  "We had lunch together."

  "Is he as charming as they say?"

  "If he could package it," Catherine declared, "he'd be the richest man in the world."

  It happened so gradually that Catherine was almost unaware of it. It had been six months earlier, when Bill Fraser told her about a problem that Wallace Turner was having with one of the advertising accounts that Catherine used to handle. Catherine had laid out a new campaign using a humorous approach, and the client had been very pleased. A few weeks later Bill had asked Catherine to help on another account, and before she realized it she was spending more than half her time with the advertising agency. She was in charge of half a dozen accounts, all of them doing well. Fraser had given her a large salary and a percentage. At noon on the day before Christmas Fraser came into her office. The rest of the staff had gone home, and Catherine was finishing up some last minute work.

  "Having fun?" he asked.

  "It's a living," she smiled and added warmly, "and a generous one. Thanks, Bill."

  "Don't thank me. You've earned every penny of it--and then some. It's the 'then some' I want to talk to you about. I'm offering you a partnership."

  She looked at him in surprise. "A partnership?"

  "Half the new accounts we got in the last six months are because of you." He sat there looking at her thoughtfully, saying nothing more. And she understood how much it meant to him.

  "You have a partner," she said.

  His face lit up. "I can't tell you how pleased I am." Awkwardly, he held out his hand. She shook her head, walked past his outstretched arm, hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  "Now that we're partners," she teased, "I can kiss you." She felt him suddenly hold her tighter.

  "Cathy," he said, "I..."

  Catherine put her finger to his lips. "Don't say anything, Bill. Let's leave it the way it is."