Johnnie felt fine as soon as he looked around the room. It reminded him of Aunt Clotilda’s parlor up in Pampa. There was even a green velvet cover on top of the upright piano with little green balls of fringe dangling down over the music stand. There were old-fashioned plush-covered chairs, two of them rockers. There was a black sofa that looked hard as a rock and he bet it was. The chairs and sofa had crocheted doilies pinned on them. There was a worn red carpet all over the floor, with some scatter rugs over the wornest parts. He didn’t kick them up to make sure but he knew he’d find loose threads if he did. Aunt Clotilda’s carpet was that way. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling almost bopped him on the head when he walked under it. Four lights in it, converted from gas when electricity came in. And a gas fireplace under a golden oak mantel with a lozenge-shaped mirror set in it.
Johnnie stood in front of the mirror and stretched his mouth right and left. He smirked pretty and then he made his mouth an O. He jerked off his garrison cap. Mind your manners, soldier! He stuffed it in his pocket. He slicked back his yellow cowlick and said out loud, “Damn.” Even a G. I. haircut couldn’t take out all the curl. Didn’t curl so bad down home except in summer when he got sweated. Back East with the ocean only a spit and a holler away, he couldn’t keep it plastered down.
One thing in this room wasn’t like Aunt Clotilda’s. She had pictures of the family in big gold frames. Here there was a flower garden, and a castle on a river, and a sailing ship. All in nice bright colors. Johnnie turned back to the mirror. He wrinkled his nose. Then he stuck his right forefinger over his upper lip, puffed up his cheeks and squeaked, “Heil Hitler.”
The folding doors at the back of the room took that particular moment to go click. Johnnie swung around. He was blushing like sixty. He knew it because even his ears were hot. A girl was digging him from the opening. Evidently she hadn’t seen his imitation because she didn’t look poisonous. And she certainly hadn’t known he was in the room. If she had she wouldn’t have stood there stock still with her big blue eyes flabbergasted on him.
She was a cute little half-pint. Her legs were covered up in gray slacks ending with saddle oxfords and butter yellow socks. Above the belt was a butter yellow sweater and she was built for sweaters. She had yellow curly hair and a face sort of like Sonja Henie. Not that cute. Not even Sonja Henie could be as cute as Sonja Henie looked. But this girl would come close to it.
She finally managed to get her mouth open. What came out wasn’t promising. She gaped, “What do you want?”
Johnnie might be cowed by the superior experience of his friends, Hank and Bill, but not by a babe. In fact he had a slogan, paraphrased, which he employed in dealing with all females who were not wives, mothers or grandmothers. It was: Never give a babe an even break. He smiled cheerfully at this member of the sex. He spoke with appreciation, “Hi ya, Babe.”
She came into the room on that and she clicked the doors shut behind her. She hadn’t paid any attention at all to his friendly advance. She was if anything more menacing than before. She demanded, “What are you doing here?”
He said, “I’m waiting to see Errdorp.”
“Herr Dorp? Is he expecting you?”
“He ought to be. The Squirt”—he jerked his hand toward the hall—“went up to tell him ten minutes ago.”
He had a small wince at the time lapse. Bill and Hank would get to the Astor first. They wouldn’t like wasting time waiting. And Hank could be plenty tough. Johnnie took another gander at the babe and dismissed his conscience. They wouldn’t wait long. They’d lost him before. He smiled his best at her.
She wasn’t paying any heed. She was gasping again. “He couldn’t. Herr Dorp is in conference.” She put her eye on Johnnie. “Did Herr Dorp send for you?”
“Well, not exactly,” Johnnie admitted.
“Who are you?” It wasn’t any simple question. She was trying to figure out where she’d seen him before or what he was doing here or something.
He drew himself up. “I’m Johnnie Brown and no cracks about Harpers Ferry. I’m from Texas.”
She demanded, “Why do you want to see Herr Dorp?”
Fat chance I’d tell you, sister, said Johnnie silently to Johnnie. This babe was just gunning for a chance to show him the door. He began, “We-l-l, there’s something I want to talk to him about.”
The girl pushed back her shoulders. The sweater fit even better that way. “Herr Dorp can’t possibly see you tonight, Private Brown.”
“Private First Class Brown,” he interjected. “But you can call me Johnnie.”
She went right on without a flicker. “He is very busy. If you will come some other time he would be glad to talk to you.”
“Haven’t got no other time,” Johnnie told her. “My pass is only good until Sunday morning and I got a busy day lined up for tomorrow. Besides I’m a stranger. I’d never find my way back. I guess I’ll just have to see him now. Won’t take but a couple of minutes.” He sat down on the plushy arm of the green chair.
She almost stamped a foot. “I tell you he can’t see you. He is in a most important conference. He won’t have time to see you.”
Johnnie grinned. “Reckon I’ll wait and see what Squirt has to say when he comes downstairs.”
“Theo isn’t coming downstairs,” she stated firmly. “There’s more important things for him to do right now.”
“Did he tell Herr Dorp I was here?”
“He didn’t get a chance to open his mouth. As soon as he came in he was given instructions—” She did stamp her foot this time. “Why am I telling you all of this? It’s nothing to you. Now will you please get out of here. Right now!”
Johnnie set the chair to rocking. “Who are you? Herr Dorp’s daughter?”
“I am not.”
“What’s your name?”
“Will you please get out?” She softened just a little. “Believe me, I advise you to get out—now.” She didn’t say, “while you can,” but it was almost on the tip of her tongue.
“Before you call the police?” he asked. He knew right away then that he wasn’t going to get out until he had a heart to heart talk with this Herr Dorp. There was some hanky panky here. Even a guy from Texas could see that. The way her eyes jumped when he said, “police,” and the way they looked quick to the brown chenille drapes. He looked too but nobody was peeking through them. He talked easy now, “Because if you want to, you just go right ahead and call them. There’s nothing they can do to me. I didn’t break in. The squirt—Theo—let me in.” He looked under his eyes at her. “I’ll even be pleased to tell the police what I want to talk to Herr Dorp about.”
She put the tip of her tongue between her lips. “Why don’t you tell me?” she coaxed. “If it’s important I can take the message to Herr Dorp—” She broke off.
He’d heard the car too. She started on a run to the front windows. When she passed Johnnie she gave him a push back toward the sliding doors. “Get in there and don’t make a light.”
He didn’t understand but he was used to taking orders. That was the Army for you. Especially orders from that top sergeant tone of voice. He backed to the doors, slid them, kept backing.
She was peeking between the window curtains. Her voice came muted but insistent over her shoulder. “Watch out for the—”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence. She didn’t have to tell him to watch out for the buckets. He’d found them. There was a noise like the house crashing down but it was only he and the buckets. Here in the dark he didn’t know what he’d fallen into; he only knew it felt cold and gooey. He said all the swear words he knew.
She’d run back to him and she was adding her share. “I said, ‘Watch out!’” she told him in disgust.
“Not soon enough,” he complained. He picked himself up clammily.
She was gazing upward. “I guess they’re too busy to investigate.”
He took one step toward the light.
“Don’t you come in here!” she warned
. “Don’t you track that stuff in the parlor!”
“What is it?”
“Paste,” she said.
He recognized it now, smell and unpleasant texture. He shifted his feet. They felt as if he was standing in a mess of taffy.
“Thank heavens that car went by,” she continued. “The paper hangers left their stuff. They didn’t get finished this morning.” She eyed him wearily. “Now what can I do with you?”
“If you’ll tell that Herr Dorp—”
One ear cocked toward the window, she broke in. “Take off that suit.”
He was alarmed. “I can’t do that. It’s against regulations.”
“It certainly can’t be regulations to walk around the streets drooling paste. Take it off.”
He moved warily nearer the lighted room, gazed downward at the damage. He could feel it thick on his seat but he hadn’t known that it also lay in gobs all over the front of his uniform. It had even splashed up on his tie. He didn’t have words for what he was thinking. An M. P. would have them.
“Take it off,” she commanded. “Quick.”
“Then what?”
She shook her head dolefully. “I’ll send it around to the little cleaner’s on Columbus. He’s open late. He can do something with it, I guess.” She didn’t sound too hopeful. “The shoes, too. He’ll do them for me.” She bristled. “Don’t just stand there. Rudolph’s due any minute. He has an awful temper when things go wrong.” She raised her voice. “Take off that suit!”
“What’ll I put on?” He just didn’t know what to do.
“You can wrap yourself in one of those aprons the paper hangers left.”
He wiped his hands on his pants, began unknotting his tie. This was against regulations. Only regulations didn’t cover something like this. One thing, he wouldn’t dare appear in public looking like a paste pot. The M. P.’s would pick him up for sure.
“Hurry,” she urged.
“You tell that cleaner to hurry,” Johnnie countered. “I can’t stick around here all night. I got big things to do.”
“I’ll get one of Dorp’s men to take it around right away.”
He had the shirt off, bent over to his shoes.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him, not a bit friendly, “I don’t want you here any longer than necessary. In fact, I don’t want you here at all.”
He stepped out of the shoes into a dry place. His folding money was still safe in his sock. His fingers fumbled at his belt, hesitated. He gave her a look. “Aren’t you going to turn around?”
She glared before she turned, then she ran back to the front windows. He heard the car as he stepped out of the gummy pants. He removed the wallet containing his identification papers. He removed his cigarettes, his matches, his Scout knife. She came running back to him. She caught his hand.
He pulled back. “Wait a minute. I don’t have that apron—”
“Too late now. You’re an idiot, but come on.” She was pulling him and he understood it was important for him to cooperate, but fast. He wasn’t dressed for company. He grabbed his stuff. She dragged him over to the chenille, stuck her head out, and hand-led him across to the staircase. She whispered, “Just don’t talk, That’s all.”
He couldn’t have talked if he’d wanted to at the moment. He was too loopy. He’d never run into anything like this before, not even in the movies. She didn’t hesitate on the second floor but kept right on leading him, retracing the corridor soundlessly, up another flight of stairs to third. Her knuckles rapped on the door at the right, front.
“Who is it?” Another babe inside.
“It’s Trudy. Open the door.”
There were footsteps and the door opened, just a little. Trudy said, “I’ve got to dress fast. Rudolph’s here.” She pushed Johnnie inside. “For God’s sake, do something with this!”
The door closed behind her. Johnnie was in a bedroom. Garbed only in striped magenta shorts, G. I. socks and dog tags, he was standing in a lady’s bedroom. And before him was one of the most gorgeous queens he’d ever laid eyes on.
Two
THIS WAS MORE THAN a bedroom. It should be called a boudoir. It was all fluffy white and solid gold. Even the rugs were white. There was nothing in it that belonged to the shabby parlor below.
Trudy, the blonde number, had vanished completely. But this substitute was a honey. She was taller, slimmer, and had dark hair flowing down her shoulders. Her eyes were queer, narrow, and as green as grama grass. Her eyelashes stuck out about two feet, and her mouth and nails, even her toenails, were the color of strawberry jam. Johnnie started blushing when he took in the toenails. Because she certainly couldn’t be called dressed. She had on a fluffy white thing that wasn’t even fastened, and the white satin criss-crosses on her toes were what the kid sister called mules. Maybe this was one of those skin games he’d read about. Well, he wasn’t going to give up his hard-earned pay for any racket. He’d dish out some Commando stuff first.
The green eyes weren’t looking at him with any embarrassment or any particular surprise. She said, “You’re late.”
Johnnie blinked.
“Dorp’s men were all supposed to be ready before seven. I don’t know why Trudy put you off on me. I’m not dressed either. Is Rudolph actually here?” Her voice was kind of like sorghum, dark and thick, just a little foreign.
He began, “Well, a car stopped in front of the house and—”
She brushed his words aside. “Then I’ve a few moments. Rudolph wouldn’t be in the first car.” She studied him out of those slant green eyes. “Where’s your uniform?”
“It had an accident,” Johnnie admitted. She must have taken in his G. I. haircut and his dog tags to know he was a soldier. He wished she’d concentrate on the hair not the ensemble. His wallet and stuff didn’t make much of a screen. He wished she’d offer him a bathrobe or a barrel.
“You look it.” She frowned. “What are those strings around your neck?”
“Identification—”
“Dorp thinks of everything. Sometimes—What’s your name?”
“Johnnie Brown.” His toes curled on the white velvet rug.
“Johnnie. I’ll slip up to the wardrobe and get you another suit. How tall are you? Come here.”
He didn’t want to but he moved toward her. She leaned against him. Her hair smelled like cape jasmine. The top of it touched his chin.
“Shoe size?”
“Nine and a half.” This wasn’t Johnnie Brown. He’d gone to sleep on the subway and he’d better wake up, but fast.
“Sit down. I’ll be back in a moment.” She trailed out, closed the door.
He didn’t sit down. No irate husband was going to come barging in and catch him off guard. He kicked the gold leg of a chair and yelped, “Ow!” He wasn’t asleep. He must be asleep. He rubbed his ear. He looked at his hands, went over to the gold and white dressing table mirror and squinted at the reflection. It was the same old face. Freckles on the long nose, red cheekbones, redder than usual, blue eyes, yellow cowlick that curled whether it was cut G. I. or Texas. He turned quick when the door reopened.
The beauty was back with a suit over one arm, black boots in one hand. She threw the clothes on the ruffled white bed, dropped the boots, closed the door and turned the key in it. “Put these on. There’s no time to waste. Hurry.”
He stood still in the middle of the floor. “You mean—I should get dressed here—in your room?”
Her strawberry red mouth curved in disdain. “If you’re squeamish, go on in the bath. You need some soap and water anyway. That door. But hurry. They are here.”
He picked up the clothes and the boots and went into the bath she’d pointed. It was all gold and white too. He had a feeling he hadn’t ought to be doing this, putting on somebody else’s clothes. There were Army rules about wearing uniform. But he didn’t have a uniform at the moment and he certainly didn’t want to go around in his underwear any longer. Not before strangers. Somehow this was like being in a
game or a show, if it wasn’t a dream. You did things you wouldn’t think of doing in your right mind. The gal out there had an idea about something and this seemed to be it.
Sans pants and shirt, he called through the door, “Hey, what’s your name?”
She said, “I am Magda. Hurry, Johann.”
“Just plain Johnnie suits me, Princess,” he called back. That was it; she spoke like a princess, gave orders like one. There was something peculiar about the whole setup. He could catch on that far. Two men talking German hadn’t led him into any ordinary house. He might as well get dressed and find out some more. He lathered with the white perfumed soap, hands and face, dived for a towel that felt like velvet. Some dump this even if the girls were kind of screwy. Black shirt, black britches, black coat with silver snakes embroidered on the collar, black leather Sam Browne belt.
He got into the britches. “What am I supposed to be, your chauffeur?”
“Never mind that. Hurry.” She said something like: Damn my hair.
He got into the shirt, black tie, coat. He felt for his folding money, still there safe in the right sock. Boots a little big but better than too small. His wallet he slid into an inner pocket. Knife in his pants. Cigarettes handy. He started to open the door then remembered she was dressing. He called, “Can I come out now?”
“I wish you would. You’ll have to hook my dress. I can’t imagine where Trudy’s vanished to.”
He blinked when he saw her. She was something to pin up on the barracks wall. She’d piled her hair on top of her head and she looked more like a princess than ever. Her dress was all white skirts sprinkled with brilliants. A little piece of white covered her breasts. The white straps looked as if they wouldn’t hold up a feather.
She pointed to the back end of the little piece of white. “There.”
He swallowed.
“Hook it.”
His fingers were too big, besides they jittered.
“Hurry,” she commanded.
“I am hurrying,” Johnnie mumbled. “These dang things are too small.” He got it done somehow and heaved a sigh of relief.
Her green eyes examined him. “You’ll do. Only stand up straight, like a soldier.”
Johnnie Page 2
