by Dean Hughes
Johnny stood up, politely, and said, “Hey, good to know you. But you ain’t as good looking as Ned told me.” He hesitated and grinned. “You’re even betta.”
“Hey! Watch who you’re looking at!” This was from the girl at the table. LaRue took one look at her and knew she wasn’t from Utah. Her hair was curled but cut very short, and there was something a little too brazen in the way she looked at Johnny. She was also holding a cigarette.
Ned and Johnny laughed, and then Johnny said, “LaRue, this is my girl. She’s got her claws dug deep into me, so even if you want me, I ain’t available.”
“That’s right,” the girl said. “And don’t forget it.” Then she looked at LaRue. “I’m Darlene. Nice to meet you.”
Ned had pulled a chair out for LaRue, and now she sat down. “Do you want a Coke?” Ned asked.
LaRue’s father was very much opposed to Coca-Cola. Normally, LaRue didn’t drink it. But rather than ask for something else, she said, “Sure. Thanks.”
Ned walked to the counter. LaRue turned to Darlene. “So where are you from?” she asked.
“Cleveland.”
“And you’re from New Jersey, Johnny?”
“Oh, yeah. Me and Ned are friends from way back. Same neighborhood, schools, everything. We joined the Air Force together, and both got shipped out here to the end of the world.” He stumped out his cigarette. He was not as good looking as Ned, shorter and thin, his face too narrow, but he seemed to have as much confidence in himself.
“So don’t you like Utah?”
Both Johnny and Darlene laughed. “Sorry. No offense, honey,” Darlene said. “But I didn’t think a place like this existed. Not in the twentieth century.”
LaRue had noticed a hint of a smell, and now she picked up just a little slur in Darlene’s voice. She realized the three of them had been drinking. She had been fighting back a sense of discomfort from the moment she had left home, but now she felt genuinely ill at ease. But she didn’t want to show that. “I guess we’re a little old-fashioned in Utah,” she said.
“Old-fashioned is one thing,” Johnny said, “but people around here don’t believe in having fun. I’ve never met so many sourpusses in my whole life.”
LaRue laughed, and the thought crossed her mind that she could tell a few stories about her dad–his worries about short dresses and dancing after midnight on Saturday nights–but she found herself feeling defensive. “You probably have to get to know us a little,” she said. “We’re not so bad.”
There was a sudden awkwardness. “Hey, it doesn’t matter to us,” Johnny said. “Live and let live, that’s what I say.”
“If you call that living,” Darlene said, and she laughed with a loud sort of chattering sound.
By then Ned had returned, and he looked curious, as though he were trying to pick up on the conversation. LaRue looked up at him. “These two think Utah people are a bunch of sourpusses,” she said.
“Hey, Johnny,” Ned said, “this girl can dance better than any girl at our high school ever could.”
“What else does she do, Ned?” Darlene asked, and she leaned toward LaRue and bumped her shoulder. “Maybe the girls out here only pretend to be so religious and proper.”
Ned was clearly embarrassed. He hesitated, couldn’t seem to think what to say, and then he took hold of LaRue’s hand. “Let’s have another dance, what do you say?” he asked.
This set Darlene off in another high-pitched laugh, and LaRue was only too glad to get away from the table. The music was slow and soft, but Ned seemed careful how he held her as they began to dance. “Don’t let Darlene get you riled up,” Ned said. “She’s got a mouth on her, but she doesn’t mean anything. She was just kidding around.”
“I know.”
“I’m glad you’re not one of these girls who’s–you know–been around. That’s the first thing I noticed about you.” He stopped and laughed. “No. The first thing I noticed was that you’re a knockout. But the second thing I liked was that you’re a nice girl–not some camp follower or something like that.”
“I thought you told me I was a ball of fire.”
“Well, you are, in your own way. You’re spunky, and you’re fun. But you’re nice too–nicer than you even know.” He had moved just a little closer, and he was looking into her eyes. “LaRue, you’re not the kind of girl a guy takes out once–for the kicks. You’re the kind a guy wants to keep for himself, for the rest of his life.”
LaRue was startled. She pulled back from him. “Oh, you smooth-talking fly boys,” she said, and she tried to laugh.
He stopped dancing, but he clung to her. “I’m not selling you a bill of goods, LaRue. I mean it.”
The music ended, and they stood looking at each other. But he wanted more from this moment than she could give. She pushed away more assertively this time, and then she took his arm and led him back to the table. There she tried to keep things light. When she finally lifted her Coke to take a drink, she caught the taste of something strange, grimaced, and set it down. This set off a howl of laughter from Johnny and Darlene.
“We added a little excitement to your drink, that’s all,” Darlene said. “Drink that down and you’ll find out what you’ve been missing.”
LaRue felt violated. It wasn’t that she thought a sip of alcohol had done her any harm; she just didn’t like someone tricking her into something like that. Suddenly she wanted out of this situation. “Well, I have to go,” she said, trying not to sound upset. “I just ran down for a few minutes–you know, to say hello.”
“Hey, no. Don’t go,” Ned said. “I’ll get you another Coke. They were just playing around.”
“No. It’s not that. I really do have to go.” LaRue stood up, and she accepted apologies all around, but she told them she wasn’t concerned at all, and she headed for the door. Ned, however, followed her outside.
“I’m really sorry that happened,” he said. “I’m glad you don’t drink. I think that’s good.”
“Ned, your friends are right. We are different here.”
“Not as much as you think. My whole family goes to church. I went to Mass, on base, before I came down here today. You’ll never see me drunk, either. I take a drink now and then, but that’s all.”
“It’s not just that. There are all kinds of things.”
“Like what? Tell me.”
“No. It doesn’t matter. I’ll probably see you again some time. Have fun tonight.”
She tried to step away, but he had hold of her arm. “Hey, haven’t you been listening to me? I’m trying to tell you something.”
“I know. But–”
And then he was pulling her close, kissing her. And she let it happen. It wasn’t because she loved him. It wasn’t for any reason that she understood, except that it seemed so childish, so inexperienced, to fight him off. When he finally backed away just a little and looked into her eyes, she knew he wanted some confirmation that she cared about him, but she couldn’t grant him that. She turned quickly away and said, “Ned, I really do have to go.”
She started to walk, and he called after her, “Tell me what nights you’ll be here this week.”
“I don’t know. I may not be able to come this week.”
And she kept going.
It wasn’t until LaRue was halfway home that she realized she still had time to make it to sacrament meeting. She decided she would go, and let her dad think what he wanted about her reasons. It was easier to do that than not go. That was not her big concern right now anyway. She wondered, maybe she shouldn’t go back to the club again. Maybe she should avoid Ned altogether so she wouldn’t have to explain. And yet another emotion was mixed with her worry. Remembering the kiss now, she found it thrilling. It was her first real kiss, and she wanted to tell Gaye all about it. But Gaye would tell her all the things she already knew: that she was playing with fire. Still, the alternative–not seeing him anymore–made the winter ahead seem so bleak.
When LaRue walked into her ho
use, she didn’t see her dad in the living room. He had probably headed over to the church a little early. She walked quietly upstairs and began to change her clothes. But she could smell the smoke in her dress now, and she decided to take a bath. She didn’t have time to wash her hair, but she wished she could.
She waited until the last minute to go downstairs, and then she walked to church with her mom and sister. Sister Thomas told her, “I’m glad you decided to come back for church. It’s the best way to show your father that you can make good decisions.”
The best way to show him that he’s still the boss, LaRue thought, but the idea didn’t matter so much as it had earlier in the day. She actually found herself relieved to see her father look down at her from the stand and nod his approval. If only that were the end of it. But LaRue couldn’t hide the fact from herself that she didn’t enjoy the meeting, that the speaker seemed entirely too long-winded and pious to her. However much discomfort she had felt at the club, she hardly felt blessed to be “home” in this meeting. As she looked around, she thought many of the others in the congregation were just as bored as she was, and she wondered what value there was in a ritual like this, as though church were a medicine you took, not because you liked it but because it was supposed to be good for you.
But she expressed none of this, and she walked home ahead of her mother and little sister, Mom having gotten herself into a conversation with a couple of the sisters in the ward.
It was maybe an hour later when LaRue was in her room, back to reading Pride and Prejudice, that President Thomas knocked softly on her door and then stepped in. “I need to talk to you for a minute,” he said.
“Okay.” She was sitting on her bed. She placed the open book face down on her lap.
President Thomas took the chair from her desk, turned it around, and sat down. “Needless to say, I was glad to see you at church,” he said. “But I know better than to think that solves everything.”
LaRue didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure what her father meant.
“I’ve made my share of mistakes as a father,” he went on. “The worst ones I made with Wally. And you’re an awful lot like him.” He gripped his knees and leaned forward a little. “My problem is, I know exactly what I think is best for you, and I just want you to do it.”
“Weren’t you allowed to do anything on Sundays when you were growing up?”
“LaRue, I hardly know how to answer that. Sunday was Sunday–the Sabbath. I don’t remember ever having to decide what I was going to do. We had to take water turns and milk our cows, so there was always some work. I guess, as much as anything, I just felt happy that I had some time to sit around for a while in the middle of the day. That’s the only time I ever did that.”
“Couldn’t I say that going down to the USO is like milking cows–work that has to be done?”
“I don’t see it that way, LaRue. But I meant what I said this afternoon. I’m going to put you on your own about that. I’m going to struggle awfully hard if you don’t show up to your meetings–or even if I know you’re down there in between meetings. But I have to let you decide.”
“Well . . . okay. I’ll promise to think about all the things you’ve always taught us. But I’ll make my own decisions.”
“LaRue, I’m not turning you loose to make every decision. We’ve still got some rules around here. I’m certainly going to have something to say about what time you come in at night, and who you’re out with. I’m just saying that I know I have to give you a little more room in certain things. If you can tell yourself, honestly, that what you’re doing at that canteen is service, then I’m not going to contradict your judgment.”
LaRue almost wished he would tell her not to go to the USO anymore. Then she wouldn’t have to decide for herself. But she would never tell him that.
“LaRue, I hope you’ll understand about my being gone so much lately. I preach to the Saints that the family ought to come first, but I’m afraid I put a lot of other things ahead of you and your sister.”
“That doesn’t bother me.”
“I’ve worked awfully hard lately, out campaigning. And maybe that’s a waste of time. There’s probably no chance at all of beating Roosevelt–but I feel like I have to try. The thing is, though, when I combine that with my church duties and all the hours I put in at the plant, I know I’m not here very much.”
LaRue actually had to fight not to smile. When he was home, he spent his time reading or hiding away in his office, and when he did talk to the girls, he usually said something like, “Have you done your homework yet?” Mom was always easier to be around, and a lot more fun. “That’s okay,” LaRue told her dad. “I know you have important things to do.”
“Well, I’m going to do better. The pressure on us at the plant has let up some, and I plan to cut back on my hours. Maybe we can start going on picnics again, the way we used to–up in Memory Grove or in one of the canyons–or maybe we could take a little trip. We’ve gotten away from all that with the gas shortages and all the busyness. I’m afraid you and Bev have missed out on a lot of things the other kids got to do–just because of the war.”
“What will happen to the plant when the war ends, Dad?”
“Well, it’s interesting. I see some good times ahead. People are going to want washing machines and refrigerators–everything they can’t get right now. We can change over and start producing parts for appliances and cars, or whatever the big companies want. I think people will be flying a lot more, so the airplane parts business may not fall off all that much. On top of all that, the car business should really take off again, so the dealership should do real well.”
“So are you going to get rich?”
For the first time, Dad smiled. “We’re doing fine, honey. We can keep doing well, too. And your brothers can get in on it when they come home. That way, the money will still be good, but I won’t have to do all the work myself.”
“What about me and Bev?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said our brothers would work with you. Why can’t we do something like that?”
“Uh . . . well . . . I just figure you’ll get married, and your husbands will have some kind of work. I guess, if for some reason you didn’t marry, and–”
“Lots of married women work these days.”
“Sure. But that’s only because of the war. After, they’ll need to step aside so there’s plenty of work for the soldiers coming home. Most of the women will be more than happy to do it, too. It just doesn’t work out well to have moms and dads both working.”
“Maybe I’ll learn your business and open a plant of my own–give you a little competition.”
“Well, hon, I’ll say this much. You could do it. But that isn’t what you’ll want at that point in your life. At least I wouldn’t think so.”
“If you and Alex and Wally are all rich, I want to be rich too.”
Dad laughed. “Who knows? Maybe we could bring your husband into the business. There might be enough to go around to everyone in the family. What I would really like to do is get even more involved in politics. And maybe get the boys involved there, too. Some of us need to see what we can do to get this country heading in the right direction after the war.”
“Maybe I’ll run for Congress.”
Dad folded his arms, leaned back, and laughed, and then he said, “Oh, Sis, I can’t say the right thing. You young women just don’t think the same as women used to.”
“Mom has taught me a lot.”
“Good. I’m glad I know the source of the trouble.”
“Dad, I’m serious though. I want to do things. I don’t think men should be the only ones having fun.”
LaRue knew exactly what her dad was thinking–that she needed to think about raising children and cooking pot roasts on Sunday afternoons. But he didn’t say it, which was a kind of concession on his part. “Well, anyway, our family will have some opportunities if we use them right. It’s very important, if
we accumulate a little wealth, that we give something back. That’s why I want to get involved in the government.”
“A girl at East High told me we’re now the richest family in Sugar House. She said her father told her that.”
“Oh, LaRue, good heavens, no. There are quite a few families who have more money than we do. The last thing in the world we want to do is start putting on airs and acting important. I didn’t set out to get rich out of this war; I only wanted to start a business that Alex could use to support a family. All this just happened.”
LaRue was surprised. She had told her friend that the Thomases didn’t have much money. And she had expected her father to say the same thing.
“Well, anyway, honey, I want you to know I love you. I really do. And I think you’ll do the right things–in the long run.” He got up, walked over, and sat down next to her on the bed. She had a feeling he wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but he didn’t. He merely patted her on the shoulder and then left.
When he was gone, LaRue thought about all he had said. The truth was, she didn’t trust him. What he believed was that if he claimed to have faith in her, she would do what he expected her to do. And maybe she would; she didn’t know. But she was almost sure that if she pushed the limits, he would rescind everything he had just said. Dad was learning the language that Mom used, but LaRue wasn’t at all sure he had changed the way he really felt.
Chapter 7
Heinrich Stoltz had been allowed to enter the office and sit down, but now he was sitting by himself, waiting. The small oak desk and the shabby furniture were hardly what he had expected, but the American OSS–Office of Strategic Services–was a developing organization, probably not very well financed. The British had been in the spy business much longer. Brother Stoltz had noticed when he spoke with English agents from the SIS–the Secret Intelligence Service–that they seemed to take a dim view of the American attempt to get into operations that the Brits felt they had well in hand.
