by Peter Watt
James sat at the bar with his drink in front of him. From the Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner he could hear Doris Day singing a slow and moody song. It was soothing, and James listened with interest to the song ‘Sentimental Journey’.
Although he was in a crowded bar he suddenly felt very much alone. He reflected on the words and recalled Julianna’s sweet face. She was now married to a big-shot Hollywood director, and he had seen her latest book in the windows of bookshops he had passed on the way to the bar. How different things might have been had he remained stateside, seeing out the war in Hollywood, raising war bonds.
James finished his drink and ordered another as the song came to an end. A ruckus broke out at the end of the bar, and James turned to see an army sergeant whose chest was adorned with ribands declaring his great combat experience. He appeared to be engaged in a heated argument with a burly civilian poking him in the chest.
‘Get the bum outta here!’ a voice yelled, and a couple of large civilians wrestled the soldier through the front door.
The saloon keeper who had issued the order moved down opposite James.
‘What did he do?’ James asked. The saloon keeper, a beefy man in his thirties, blinked at him.
‘He started mumbling about being under fire,’ the saloon keeper said, wiping the bar top with a cloth. ‘He’s nuts. He should be locked up.’
‘Maybe he has battle fatigue,’ James said.
‘Don’t matter,’ the saloon keeper responded. ‘Types like him don’t deserve to be home in the land of the free. They are a menace. I’ve seen his type in here before. Some of them just sit and shake like they are possessed by something. It gives my other customers the creeps, so I have to throw them out.’
‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ James said. ‘They spent all their time and youth fighting for fat sons of bitches like you, and then have the audacity to cause your customers the creeps.’
The saloon keeper went rigid. His eyes flicked to his bouncers, who recognised the signal, and moved in on James. James expected a violent reaction, and spun around on his stool to confront the two goons.
‘Any marines in here,’ he shouted. Three men rose from their table, one shouting ‘Semper fi!’
The fight was short, sharp and vicious. Blood ran, but mostly from the noses of the two thugs employed by the saloon keeper. Furniture was also broken, and when it was over the four marines in civilian clothes stood looking around the bar that had quickly emptied, before the inevitable arrival of the police. The saloon keeper backed away, and James reached into his pocket to retrieve a wad of money.
‘This should pay for any damage to your establishment,’ he said, throwing it on the bar. ‘Well, marines, time to find another drinking establishment that welcomes returning heroes.’
The three men followed him out onto the street and into another place to drink together. For a moment James was happy as they swapped stories of their time fighting in the Pacific. They were brothers – even in peace.
That evening James found a telephone in the foyer of his hotel and retrieved an old number. He knew he was drunk but dialled the number on the crumpled piece of paper. A sleepy voice answered.
‘Who the goddamned is ringing me at this time in the morning?’ Guy said sleepily.
‘Your goddamned pal who used to be a war hero in Hollywood,’ James slurred. ‘I’ve decided to take a sentimental journey before I go back to New Hampshire, and wondered if you have a couch I can sleep on when I visit.’
‘Goddamn!’ Guy cursed. ‘There’s always a place to crash for USMC flyboys,’ he replied, his voice less hostile. ‘Where are you ringing from?’
‘’Frisco,’ James answered. ‘I’ll see you soon, old buddy.’
James replaced the telephone in its cradle after Guy had given him his address, and noticed the hotel clerk staring at him across the foyer with some concern. James realised that he had blood on his shirt.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I ran into a tram.’
It was obvious that the clerk did not believe him, and shook his head. But the gentleman was known to be of the Barrington family from New Hampshire, and was thus excused any embarrassing questions.
A day later, sober, cleaned up and dressed in newly purchased clothes, James arrived in Los Angeles. He took a taxi to the address Guy had given him, and was dropped in front of an impressive house.
Guy was waiting for him at the front door with a drink in his hand and a wide smile.
‘You won’t have to sleep on the couch here,’ he said to James as he ushered him into the house. The house seemed to be made of glass. It appeared to be all windows, capturing the spectacular view. ‘Your timing is impeccable as I’m having a party here tonight to celebrate my latest movie being in the can.’
‘I wasn’t aware you were in production these days,’ James said as Guy showed him to a spacious room with views of the city below. The bedroom had a balcony overlooking the kidney-shaped swimming pool.
‘Well, executive production,’ Guy replied. ‘But all the staff on the project will be here tonight. I have the caterers coming in very soon to set up downstairs. You may even recognise one or two of my more famous guests.’
James threw his old seabag on the bed. ‘Do you ever see Julianna around the studios these days?’ he asked.
‘She’s been seen once or twice,’ Guy replied. ‘Mostly she’s down in N’Orleans writing another bestselling book.’
Guy left him and wandered off into the rambling house of many rooms, while James unpacked and lay down on the bed. He fell fast asleep and was woken by the sound of people arriving. When he glanced out the window he could see the sun was going down, and quickly prepared himself to join the party.
When James walked downstairs he could see a host of richly dressed party-goers, amongst them a couple of well-known actors and actresses. At the bottom of the stairs, he was approached by a waiter wearing a white jacket and carrying a tray of champagne coupes.
‘Drink, sir?’ he asked. James took one of the crystal glasses filled with bubbly. He could see a table decked out with food fit for a king, and decided that he was hungry. Hardly anyone took notice of him as they swapped gossip, and considered who was worth talking to or being seen with.
James selected black caviar from a chilled crystal bowl and spread it on a cracker.
‘It should be on a finger of bread,’ he heard a female voice say behind him.
James turned and saw a very pretty young woman with long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders. She was smiling at him as she delicately held a flute of champagne in one hand and a cigarette in a slender holder in the other.
‘Sorry, I’m more used to eating out of a can,’ he said.
‘I gather you’re one of Guy’s friends from his wartime days,’ she said.
‘I met Guy when I was posted to LA, to raise war bonds back in ’42,’ James said, swallowing the last of the imported, salty Russian fish roe.
‘I thought only war heroes were given that job,’ the young woman said. ‘Were you a war hero?’
‘Hardly,’ James answered, picking up his flute from the food table. ‘I was just a marine pilot.’
‘I once remember Guy telling me about a fighter pilot he had to chaperone around ’42,’ she said, looking with some interest at James. ‘But you don’t look anything like the actors who played fighter pilots in the movies. You are not in the mould of a Hollywood hero like John Wayne.’
James was becoming annoyed with her line of banter. He had long been aware that this was a place where appearances counted more than reality. After all, Hollywood produced the fantasy of what would otherwise be boring real life.
‘With all due respect to Mr Wayne,’ James said, ‘he was booed offstage whenever he visited the frontline. The boys only saw him as a fit, healthy man who had hidden in Hollywood to avoid combat. He was not our
hero.’
He was pleased to see his observation had caused the pretty young woman’s expression to change. She did not seem so smug. He was about to walk away when he glanced past her to the entrance of the house, where a uniformed valet was greeting guests. For a moment James was transfixed. Wearing an elegant evening dress and laughing at something the man on her arm had said was Julianna.
This was certainly proving to be a sentimental journey.
TWENTY-ONE
Julianna was still laughing when she turned and saw James. Her laughter stilled. James tried to smile but found it impossible. It was awkward for them both of them, and James made the first move, walking across the room through the throng of guests.
‘Guy did not tell me you would be coming to his party,’ he said by way of greeting.
‘I initially declined, but my publisher in LA had me fly up from New Orleans for a sales conference. How are you, James?’
‘As you can see, I survived the war,’ he replied. ‘You’re looking beautiful, as usual.’
‘You haven’t changed,’ Julianna said with a smile. ‘Still the same charming man I once knew. Is that your latest conquest you rudely left standing alone at the caviar bowl?’
‘I don’t even know her name,’ James said. ‘All I know about her is that she’s a John Wayne fan.’
‘I suppose you’ll ensure that you know more about her,’ Julianna said with a glint of a challenge in her eye.
‘Not as long as she’s a John Wayne fan,’ James said. ‘I’m truly pleased to see you. Is your husband with you?’
‘No,’ Julianna answered. ‘He’s on location in Nevada, filming a western, and I came with my publisher. Are you alone here tonight?’
‘I decided to catch up with Guy before returning home,’ James said. ‘He’s invited me to stay for a couple of days. How about you?’
‘I have a room at the Mayflower,’ Julianna said.
‘I know it,’ James commented. ‘Nice place. Only the best for a bestselling author. I read your book about Fenella Macintosh when I was out in the Pacific. It was very good.’
‘Thank you,’ Julianna said. ‘What will you do, now the war is over?’
‘I suppose I’ll return to civilian life as a boring banker,’ James answered. ‘Unless another war comes along and I can fly again.’
‘You haven’t changed at all,’ Julianna said. ‘There’s something in you, always trying to prove yourself.’
‘I was kidding,’ James said. ‘My days of death and glory are over. I only wish you had waited long enough to see that.’ James noted that his last statement seemed to hit a nerve. ‘I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I know you must have a great life now, and I do not wish to cause any grief.’
Julianna looked around her. ‘I don’t wish to talk here,’ she said. ‘Can we go outside to the pool?’
‘Sure thing,’ James said. ‘It’s a bit stuffy in here.’
Outside, under lanterns throwing a soft light over the pool, they found a bench and sat down side by side.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.
Julianna declined and stared at the reflections in the pool, as laughter drifted out to them.
‘I wish I had waited for you,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve never really been able to get you out of my thoughts. I remember every moment of when we last met, and you punched my husband.’
‘I’m sorry about that,’ James said. ‘I was maybe suffering a bit of battle fatigue.’
Julianna turned to him. ‘I thought you did it because you were jealous.’
‘Yeah, that too,’ James said. ‘But you made a wise choice settling for someone who could give you security in those times. I was never certain I was going to survive the war.’
He was aware that even in the dim lantern light she was staring at him in a way he could not fathom. Then suddenly, she threw her arms around him and kissed him fiercely on the lips. He did not resist, and returned her passion. Without any words, he took her hand and led her upstairs to his bedroom.
When they reached his room he did not switch on the lights. The neon city below provided enough of a glow for him to see her slip from her long dress.
‘I’ve dreamed of this moment,’ Julianna said in a choked whisper as she and James fell back onto the bed. ‘I know it’s wrong, but God forgive me for how I’ve always felt about you.’
The sweet scent of her body against his was all James could think about as they undressed and held each other. Julianna began kissing his body, then hesitated when she saw his scarred legs. James knew what had momentarily distracted her. ‘Got that in the burning cockpit of my Corsair,’ he said. ‘Nothing too serious.’
In the shadows of the City of Angels they made love, and eventually lay side by side without speaking.
‘Why now?’ James finally asked.
‘It was something I had to do, or for the rest of my life I’d always wonder how it felt to be with you in this way,’ Julianna said.
‘You know I never stopped loving you,’ James said. ‘I think there must be some truth in what they say about fate meaning for two people to be together.’
Julianna sat up and leaned over James, touching his face with her long fingers. ‘I’m a married woman, and what I’ve done is wrong,’ she said. ‘I don’t care, but I also swore a holy oath to my husband that we would be together forever. I don’t expect you to understand, because you’re not a Catholic. This was something that had to happen, but I must remain married to my husband. Please understand.’
‘All I understand is that we were meant to be together,’ James said. ‘God is not that blind.’
‘Do you believe in God?’ Julianna asked.
‘Not really,’ James admitted. ‘He wasn’t around when we were out there killing each other.’
Julianna fell back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. ‘There’s another reason why we can’t be together,’ she said.
‘What other reason?’ James asked.
‘I cannot tell you,’ she said. ‘It’s something that does not concern you.’
Frustrated, James turned to Julianna. ‘You’ve admitted that you love me, and you know I feel the same way about you. You could leave your husband, and we could spend the rest of our lives together.’
Julianna turned to face James. ‘I’m sorry, but I cannot forsake my marriage vows, so we can never be together. Please try to understand that, James,’ she said. ‘I have an important early morning breakfast with my publisher, and I must get some sleep.’
James was also weary, falling into a deep sleep. But the nightmares returned and he whimpered, mumbling incoherent words. Julianna lay gazing at him, occasionally trying to soothe him with gentle words of reassurance, knowing he was no longer with her but flying against the enemy in combat.
When James awoke the next morning he rolled over to see an empty space beside him. Only Julianna’s sweet scent lingered on the pillow, and James cursed himself for not waking when she left.
He slipped from the bed, dressing in slacks and a shirt, and walked down to the dining room, which looked as if a bomb had gone off. The remnants of the previous night were littered all over the floor and furniture.
Guy was sitting at a long bench between the kitchen and dining room, sipping black coffee.
‘Good morning, James,’ he greeted. ‘I daresay you had a good night. Your absence and Julianna’s were noticed by more than me.’
‘Er, ah,’ James replied, trying to find an appropriate answer to his friend’s greeting. ‘Do you have any hot coffee?’
‘Help yourself,’ Guy said, waving to a pot on the stovetop.
‘What happened last night was not something either of us planned,’ James said, filling a mug.
‘It’s not my concern,’ Guy said. ‘I spoke with Julianna when I called a taxi for her.’
James came to the bench and sat on a stool opposite Guy. ‘Did she say anything?’ he asked.
‘Just the same as to you,’ Guy answered. ‘But I know why you and she could never meet again.’
James looked sharply at the Hollywood executive.
‘That something is a child,’ Guy said. ‘She and her husband are expecting their first baby. It was broadcast in the social news recently. I thought you knew.’
‘Son of a bitch!’ James swore. ‘Julianna is pregnant.’
‘About three months,’ Guy said, finishing his coffee, and returning to the pot on the stove.
Stunned, James hardly tasted the strong brew. So that was it. The sentimental journey was at a dead end. There was no way he could win her back when a child was involved.
‘Sorry, James,’ Guy said, placing his hand on his shoulder. ‘It appears it was never meant to be. But I know my philosophy hardly warrants understanding from a man in love.’
‘It was never meant to be,’ James echoed bitterly. ‘Well, time to return home and finish another matter that has to be resolved.’
Later that morning James packed his bag, bid his friend goodbye, and took a taxi to the airport. Within hours he was home and standing in the driveway of his grandfather’s mansion. The leaves were already turning red and orange, falling to earth in rich, deep carpets of colour. Fall was something James had almost forgotten. The Pacific was always one colour: green and all the green hues in between.
He was greeted with great warmth by the old valet, and could see his normally stoic grandfather fighting back tears of joy when they met in the great living room with its warm hearth.
‘I have a welcome-home present for you, James,’ his grandfather said, standing by the fireplace.
