In the Company of Women

by Kate Christie

  Feeling grimy, she slipped into a robe and grabbed her towel. She could smell diesel fuel in her hair from the harrowing B-24 flight out of Romulus. First the pilot had almost stalled on takeoff, and then when it came time to land near Kansas City, the landing gear had gotten stuck. Next she’d taken a seat on a Gooney Bird, this time with a cadre of Army nurses who lived up to their reputation as an entertaining bunch. When they landed in Dallas, they discovered that air traffic was officially grounded due to weather. She’d been lucky to find a seat on a train crammed with a variety of troops headed west.

  But she was here now, she thought, turning the shower on as hot as she could tolerate. She emptied her mind and concentrated on relaxing her stiff neck, her hunched shoulders, her sore lower back. The healing powers of hot water had always amazed her.

  “Private Jamieson!”

  The cry startled her, and she glanced around the edge of the curtain to see Reggie, Toby and Sarah standing at the sinks, scrubbing grease from their hands in their usual end-of-work-day ritual. They grinned at her in the mirrors and waved, and she smiled back. It was wonderful to see them, even better than she would have guessed.

  At supper mess, her friends crowded around the table asking questions about her holidays and talking over each other about their own. Sarah and Jack had rented a hotel room in Las Cruces for three days and rarely stepped outside, she admitted, her cheeks pink. Toby and Kate had had a lovely time with Kate’s aunt, now confirmed as a member of the club, and had noticed the New Mexican scenery from their sleeper car window on occasion. Reggie meanwhile reported having a “glorious, life-changing experience” with Holly at the Grand Canyon.

  “She thought the scenery was okay too,” Toby quipped.

  CJ wanted to be happy for her friends. After all, it was the season of giving, and they couldn’t help that she had spent most of the past ten days looking after her sick kid sister while they had all spent the holidays in the arms of their respective others. Brady would be back early the following week, and they could try for another three-day pass then. Granted, passes typically weren’t allotted to soldiers who had recently gone on extended leave, so they might have to wait a few weeks to be alone together. But their time would come. Eventually.

  Her attempts at cheeriness must have been abysmal, because soon the table grew quiet.

  Toby glanced at Reggie. “Go on, put her out of her misery.”

  “Tell her already,” Sarah and Kate chimed in unison.

  “Tell me what?” CJ asked.

  “Wee-llll.” Reggie grunted as Toby elbowed her. “Holly and I wanted to thank you for the hotel and all, so she talked the major into sending her and Nell to Burbank this weekend to pick up a P-38.”

  “We’re getting a Lightning?” CJ asked, thinking they were trying to cheer her up with the news. “Swell. I can’t wait to see her up close.”

  “You won’t have to wait,” Reggie said.

  CJ frowned, not following.

  “Holly requested you as their non-rated mechanic.” As CJ stared at her blankly, Reggie crowed, “You’ll be in L.A. for New Year’s Eve!”

  “Holy crap,” CJ said. “I will?”

  “You will,” Toby confirmed.

  “Holy crap!” she repeated, smiling so wide her face hurt. “I’m going to California!” Then she stopped. “Wait. Who’s flying the P-38 back?”

  “Nell won the coin toss, so you and your Admin friend will be hitching back to Bliss with Holly,” Reggie said.

  Whew. One bullet dodged. Brady wouldn’t begrudge her a hop with Nell if it meant they would get to ring in the New Year together, would she? The fact that they would be flying back to Bliss together would soften the news, wouldn’t it?

  Looked like she would find out soon.

  * * *

  In the morning, CJ hurried back after drill to get cleaned up and retrieve her overnight case. After breakfast, she rode with the rest of her squad to the Balloon Hangar, where Nell and Holly were waiting with a spare parachute bag.

  “Apparently our plan meets with your approval?” Nell asked, grinning.

  “I’d say so,” CJ said. “Thanks, by the way. This is great of you two.”

  “We aim to please,” Holly said. “Besides, I owe you. That Grand Canyon experience was life-changing.”

  “So I’ve heard,” CJ said, exchanging an amused look with Nell.

  The plane they were taking to California was none other than the squadron’s lone B-26, the craft that had seen her and Nell through their friendly-fire incident. They let her choose her seat, and she picked the bombardier’s forward position in the aircraft’s Plexiglas nose. To get to it, she had to crawl through a tunnel in front of the copilot’s seat, similar to the setup in the AT-11. The fit was a bit tight with the parachute, but even though they’d checked and double-checked the bombsight doors, she still had to wear the chute. Just in case.

  “How long will we be in the air?” CJ asked Nell through the headset.

  “About three hours,” Nell told her. “That’ll get us to Burbank around noon.”

  “And when do we have to come back?”

  Nell muted her headset microphone and leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’m turning around with the Lightning this afternoon, but I have a feeling you might have to ground this old bird for a couple of nights. Everyone knows how unreliable these flying bricks can be.”

  “What about Holly?”

  “She’ll be spending the weekend in West Hollywood with a friend from her aerial acrobatics days.”

  “Got it,” CJ said, grinning back at her. Two whole nights with Brady—this time yesterday, she wouldn’t have believed it would be possible.

  Takeoffs and landings were the most dangerous parts of any flight. As the plane sped along the runway, CJ held her breath, keeping an eye on the nearby Franklins. Once they were past the mountains, she settled in to enjoy flying close to three hundred miles per hour through the air in a plastic bubble that afforded her nearly unrestricted views of the sky above and the land below. The Marauder might be crash-prone, but it could fly, as she well remembered from the evasive maneuvers Nell had run her through a few weeks earlier. They cruised at five thousand feet most of the way, except where there were mountain ranges to cross. Nell and Holly helpfully kept up a running commentary throughout on assorted deserts, national monuments and other points of interest they passed over.

  The color of the earth intrigued her—brown, red and orange like the colors of an autumn landscape, along with the occasional snowy peak. But mostly the earth was brown, the jagged spines of hills and mountains visible beneath the surface much like the Franklin and Organ Ranges. Only when they were a hundred or so miles out of Los Angeles did the Palm Desert give way to the evergreen forests of the San Bernardino Mountains. Sunlight glinted off the ocean in the distance—her first sight of the Pacific—and she gazed in wonder at the foreign world below. The landscape was so different from the Midwest that it was hard to believe she was in the same country.

  They made good time. By noon, as predicted, Nell was in the Lockheed Vega office signing for the new P-38 while Holly was negotiating with a bored sergeant to find out where to park the Marauder overnight, given its “heavy” handling on the way out.

  “Go,” Holly said to CJ when the sergeant wandered off to find someone else to pass them off on. “But be back here by noon on Sunday, and bring your girl.”

  CJ didn’t need to be told twice. She skedaddled out of the hangar to a nearby ready room, looking for a telephone. An Air Corps lieutenant pointed her to a desk set, and soon she was asking the operator to put her through to Brady’s exchange.

  The woman CJ assumed was Isabel answered and asked her to wait, like last time. She assented, tapping her foot against the concrete floor of the ready room as the seconds dragged past.

  “CJ?”

  “Hiya.” She couldn’t help smiling at the sound of Brady’s voice. “What are you doing?”

  “I was about to go for a d
rive. Are you in Texas?”

  “I got back yesterday,” she said, which was perfectly true. “What are you doing tonight for New Year’s?”

  “Meeting some friends in the city. Why? What are you doing?”

  “I thought I might go out on a date.”

  Brady was quiet. Then: “Wait. Why is the line so clear? Where are you?”

  “At the Lockheed plant. You know, in Burbank?”

  She winced as Brady let out a little scream.

  “You’re here? How are you here?”

  “It’s a good story, but I’d rather tell you in person. Can you come pick me up?”

  “Heck yes! Where do I find you?”

  CJ waved the friendly lieutenant over and quickly relayed the directions he gave her.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour. Don’t go anywhere,” Brady ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said, but the line had already gone dead.

  The lieutenant offered to take her to the main gate. CJ accepted the ride in the Jeep but politely resisted his other, more personal overtures, including suggestions on where she and her friend should spend the evening. He gave up gracefully enough, and soon she was seated alone on a bus stop bench in the sun, waiting for Brady. In her head, she started a letter home: “Dear Family, I’ve been back for a day, and already I’m somewhere entirely new. Southern California for New Year’s Eve—how crazy is that? I have the best friends in the world, that’s for sure.”

  She’d gotten as far as the view from the Marauder’s nose when a cute, red two-seater screeched around a corner and made a beeline for her. Brady, still refusing to even acknowledge the speed limit. She was out of uniform, dressed in a blue and yellow dress that revealed a fair expanse of tanned leg, CJ realized as Brady parked the car at the curb and leapt out, laughing.

  “I can’t believe you’re here!” she said, hugging CJ.

  “I can’t believe how much I missed you.”

  “I can.” Brady pulled away and gave her a radiant smile. “How long are you staying?”

  “We have to report back on Sunday at noon to catch our flight.”

  Brady clapped her hands. “I get to fly back with you?”

  “Holly even offered to detour over the Grand Canyon on the way. Unless you’d rather catch a train back?”

  “Heck no.” Brady looped her arm through CJ’s and pulled her toward the car. “Two whole days together—how glorious. Any requests?”

  “I don’t care what we do as long as it involves food. And a room with a door that locks, preferably.”

  Brady’s smoldering look made her breath catch. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  As they drove along roads edged alternately with farm fields and brand-new subdivisions, CJ watched Brady’s face in profile. She looked relaxed and happy, her forehead unlined, smile lines crinkling at the corners of her kissable mouth.

  “Are you staring at me?” Brady asked, glancing away from the sparse weekday traffic as the road took them between brown, tree-dotted hills.

  “I am. I like your dress.”

  “I didn’t want to take the time to change back into uniform.”

  The radio played Glen Miller—another celebrity turned Air Corps officer—as Brady drove quickly along streets she obviously knew well. CJ let her arm hang out the window, soaking in the sunshine and the sights and sounds of the city. There were palm trees everywhere, along with Spanish colonial and art deco buildings. She was really here. She was actually in L.A. with Brady.

  Twenty minutes later, they turned onto a smaller road lined with palm trees (again) and large, handsome homes set back from the curb. As they slowed and turned into a gated driveway edged with thick bushes, CJ looked at Brady quickly.

  “Are we where I think we are?”

  “Don’t worry. My father is at work and my mother is playing tennis at the club,” she said, pressing a button on the dash.

  The gate swung open, and as they headed up the driveway, CJ drew in a breath. From the outside, Brady’s house resembled a Spanish villa, with a brick courtyard, tiled pool and separate guesthouse.

  “This is where you grew up?”

  “It’s not that impressive. You should see the mansions a few streets over.”

  CJ gazed up at the two-story structure with its red tile roof, hacienda-style layout and rustic balustrades. “Are you trying to say this isn’t a mansion?”

  Brady’s laugh echoed across the courtyard. “Come on. I’ll ask Isabel if we can raid the refrigerator.”

  Inside, CJ’s sense of wonder deepened. She’d known Brady was wealthy, but she’d never said anything about living in a museum. The large house boasted high ceilings with intricately carved wooden-beam construction, a Spanish red-brick fireplace, wood floors, a Spanish tile staircase and a sunny kitchen with a flagstone floor and gorgeous wooden cupboards. A dark-haired woman in a red dress and white apron stood at the stone-tiled counter, rolling out homemade flour tortillas.

  “Isabel.” Brady slid her arm around CJ’s waist. “Me gustaría que conocieras a mi querida amiga, Caroline.”

  “Welcome, Caroline,” Isabel said, in a warm voice CJ recognized from the telephone. “It’s very nice to meet you. I have heard much about you lately from this one.”

  “Nice to meet you too.”

  “CJ just flew in from Texas. Any chance we could raid the icebox for a picnic?”

  “I think we can do better than that for your guest,” Isabel said. “Give me a few minutes.”

  “Which is her way of saying she doesn’t allow anyone else in her kitchen,” Brady said over her shoulder to CJ as she swiped a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter.

  “Out, you,” Isabel said, flicking a dish towel at Brady.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She led CJ up the wide staircase to the second floor and turned down a hall lined with half-open doors. “Christopher’s room, Josh’s room and mine,” she said, pushing the door open. “My parents have a suite on the other side of the house.”

  CJ walked in ahead of her, looking around curiously. She had pictured Brady in her bedroom all week, but her imagination hadn’t done the room justice. It was bigger than she’d expected, lighter and airier with French doors that opened out onto a brick-tiled balcony overlooking the courtyard. Framed art hung on the striped walls, modern and colorful.

  “You gave this up for the Army?”

  “What can I say?” Brady shrugged. “Guess I’m just a girl with a star-spangled heart.”

  CJ snorted. “That recruiting slogan is awful, and you know it.”

  “As long as you do too.” Brady closed the door behind her and approached CJ, her eyes half-lidded. “Would you like to try out my bed? It’s very comfortable.”

  “Nice line.” CJ let Brady take her hand and lead her toward the wide canopy bed.

  “It appears to have worked on you.”

  “You know what they say about Wacs.”

  “That we’re easy?” Brady asked, pushing her down on the bed and leaning over her.

  “Exactly.”

  CJ closed her eyes as they kissed. Brady tasted of Spearmint gum and lipstick. But before CJ could register anything else, Brady pulled back.

  “Isabel is expecting us,” she said, jumping up. “Besides, I need to pack.”

  “Why? Where are we going?”

  Brady smiled mysteriously. “You’ll see.”

  CJ kicked off her shoes and lay back on the bed, watching Brady load her overnight case: magazines, a few phonograph records, swimsuits, underclothes, night clothes and civvies, enough to last the weekend. Meanwhile she left her dress uniform and most of her other service clothes in the closet.

  “Do we not need uniforms wherever it is you’re taking me?” CJ asked as Brady changed into a white shirtwaist and her summer uniform skirt.

  “We do not,” she confirmed. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Fine by me.”

  Back downstairs, Isabel was putting the final touches on a
brimming picnic basket. A wine bottle and glasses poked out the top.

  “Aw, you didn’t have to do that.” Brady hugged her. “But thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” Isabel straightened her apron. “You could use a little amount of joy after what you have been through. Now what do you want me to tell your parents?”

  Brady glanced over at CJ. “You can tell them that my best buddy from the Army has made me very happy by surprising me for New Year’s. Oh, and tell them we’re spending the weekend at…” She leaned forward and whispered in Isabel’s ear.

  The housekeeper brightened. “Your grandpapa would be glad you are using it. I will call Mr. Gardiner to make sure everything is ready.”

  “Thank you,” Brady said. “That would be great, Isabel.”

  “It was very nice to meet you,” the housekeeper said again, nodding at CJ. “You take care of this girl, okay?”

  “I will.”

  A few minutes later they were back in the car, picnic basket and overnight cases secured in the car’s small trunk. Brady handed CJ an apple she’d liberated from the fruit bowl. “You’re going to need this,” she said as she turned the car around and headed back down the driveway. “We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us.”

  CJ crunched the apple as Brady guided the car west on Route 66, passing parks and more Spanish colonial churches, storefronts and homes along the way. The road took them over a small rise, and she briefly glimpsed the ocean in the distance, winter sun shining on it, before it disappeared again beyond the horizon.

  A few blocks later, Brady made a snorting sound.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Amherst Ave. and Wellesley Ave.,” Brady griped, gesturing at a street sign, “but no Smith. Cretins.”

  As they passed a cemetery with headstones decorated with tiny American flags, CJ remembered what she’d wanted to ask Brady.

  “You wanted to tell me something about Nate’s sister,” she commented, “didn’t you?”