ROCKS AND SHOALS
Page 36
Sam sighs, “Remember our relationship, Major.”
“My apologies. I wish to introduce you to some important men.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Major. I’ll consider it.” She and Cooper walk away.
Cooper, “Are you sure I can’t throw him off the plane?”
“No, Radar. It’s still a bad idea.”
“Okay. Everything you need is in your room. You have about three hours before dinner. There’s a seventeen-thirty meeting with all officers and Senior Chief. But, you know, you should get some rest.” He grins.
“Gotcha. Thank you, Radar. You coming?”
“No. I’m having dinner with my family.”
“You wanted me to meet them.”
“Not right now. They’re a little star struck.”
“I see.”
Cooper puts her in a car and she’s taken to the Beverly Hills Hotel. When she walks into the lobby, the concierge immediately joins her, “All is prepared, Commander. We are honored with your presence.” He hands her a key, “You are in Bungalow 5.”
She takes the key and is escorted by a bell hop, “Thank you.” When she opens the door, she sees Jere reading a book.
He stands, “This is surreal.”
“It is. It’s been my life this entire tour.”
Jere takes her in his arms. “Cooper is amazing. After the asshole, who you so gracefully handled, Cooper whisked me here with your bags and got me the extra key.”
“I don’t ask about Cooper’s magic.” She kisses him, “We’ve a meeting at seventeen-thirty.”
“We?” He slowly undressed her.
“Yes, we. I don’t know. I’m just glad you’re here.” She starts undressing Jere.
TRACYTON, NORTH OF BREMERTON, WASHINGTON
21, December, 1942
Commander Shawn Hughes walks through a two-story, four-bedroom, one bath house. It’s old and run down and is filled with old furniture. When the owner died, his daughter took in her mother and put it up for sale. It’s taken Shawn most of a month to close the deal. As he’s inspecting the bedrooms, he hears a knock on the door.
He runs down the stairs, “Hello, Commander. Kevin Blakely of Blakely Construction.”
Shawn shakes his hand, “She needs a lot of work. Would you like my expectations, or would you like to look her over?”
“I’d prefer the latter, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen.”
An hour later, Blakely joins Shawn, “It’s in better shape than I thought. The basic construction is all hand-hewn cedar. There’s no rot.”
“Good. A nice surprise. I have some sketches of how I’d like to change the profile of the house to make it look Victorian.” He slides them over, “If the rest is made of cedar, then make the porch and addition of cedar as well. It can be sawn instead of hewn. The place needs a solid foundation. Can you build me a water tight basement?”
“Yes, sir. That I can do.”
“Good. Put the furnace in the basement. I’d like to keep the chimneys and fireplaces. If they need to be replaced, that’s fine. Just make them nice.”
Blakely takes notes, “Yes, sir.”
“If possible, I want to modify the upstairs as shown in this drawing. Eliminate a bedroom and make the upstairs with three bedrooms with in suite bathrooms. These two with showers and the master with a shower and tub.”
“Yes, sir. Is your wife happy with these changes?”
“I’m not married. This house is for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I like the high ceilings, but most of the plaster is cracked. I’d like it replaced. Also, add wainscotting, molding, and trim in the Victorian fashion. The office needs varnished wood paneling and floor to ceiling bookcases. Here’s the drawing of what I’d like.”
“Sir, what species.”
Shawn smiles, “I know materials are hard to come by. I prefer hard wood, but I’m flexible. Use what you can get.”
“Sir, the house also needs insulation. Celotex makes an excellent insulation board.”
“It’s asbestos. No asbestos in this house. It causes lung disease and cancer.”
“So, what do I do?”
“Corning is making fiberglass cloth for war materials and pipe and wall insulation. When it’s available, that’s what I want. We’ll figure it out.”
“Color preference?”
“Outside, all white. Inside, no wall paper. Paint all the rooms white, except for the office. But no lead paint. If you can’t get white paint without lead, use soft blues and creams. Just don’t make the place a tomb.”
“Should I finish the basement?”
“No, just work benches and I need power.”
“The outbuildings?”
“Tear the old garage down. I want a new four vehicle garage with one large bay. Here’s the drawing. As for the barn, repair and paint it, for now. I’m going to lease the farm land to a neighbor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As for the landscaping, don’t worry about it. The farmer is caring for the grounds as part of the lease. Oh, the last thing I need. Please repair the dock. Replace the stairs and the ramp accessing it.”
“Right.”
“When do you think you’ll have an estimate?”
“Tomorrow, sir.”
“Good. Thank you, Mr. Blakely. I need to get back to the ship. Here’s the keys.”
CHAPTER 30
BALL ROOM, BEVERLY HILLS HOTEL, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
1755, 21 December, 1942
Commander Samantha Hunt, in her dinner dress uniform, walks into the ballroom. The first person she sees is John Wayne. Under her breath, she says, “Fuck me.”
Major Pettigrew spots her and walks over, Katherine Hepburn gets to her first. “Hello, Commander.”
“Hello, Miss Hepburn.”
A waiter offers a champagne flute, Sam smiles, “No thanks. A ginger ale would be nice.”
Hepburn smiles, “Please, call me Kate. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Thank you. Please, Sam. Actually, it’s a great pleasure for me to meet you.”
“You don’t drink?”
“Not when I’m flying the next day.”
Major Pettigrew waits impatiently.
Kate, “I see. Wise. I was quite impressed by your air show. But, more so by your accomplishments in Britain.”
“Thank you.”
Kate turns to the major, “Do you need anything, Mr. Pettigrew?”
“Major Pettigrew, Miss Hepburn. I’d like to introduce Commander Hunt to some people.”
Sam frowns, “I just arrived. There’s plenty of time for that.”
Pettigrew tightens his lips, “It’s Mr. Hitchcock, Samuel Goldwyn, and Herbert Yates.”
Sam smiles, “Yes, Major, but not now. I’ll meet them in due course. Excuse me.”
Pettigrew controls himself and walks away. Kate smiles, “I like you, Sam.”
They hear a distinctive voice, “Well hello, Commander.” Walking up to them is John Wayne, “It’s an honor to meet you. You too, Miss Hepburn.”
Sam, “Hello, Mr. Wayne. An honor to meet you as well.”
“Folks call me John, or Duke. May I call you Samantha?”
“You may. How are you doing, Duke?”
“Well, truth told, I’m itching to get into the war.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Well, I’m under contract, and I can’t afford the law suit.”
“I see. Would anyone in Hollywood be so callous as to sue someone for serving their nation in a time of war? An executive who did that, well, sir, it would be downright un-American.”
Kate grins, “It would.”
Sam, “They might even be black-listed. A not so shining moment in our history, but it happened.”
Wayne, “What would you recommend?”
Sam, “Do you have a college degree?”
“I lost my scholarship to USC when I was injured.”
“The maximum he
ight for flying fighters is six-five. How tall are you?”
“Six four. Commander, I’m willing to shovel shit, if I must. Begging your pardon.”
Sam laughs, “John, how good are your eyes?”
“I have perfect vision.”
“Do you want to fly?”
“Is it possible?”
“It is. But do you want to?”
“If I can, I want to fly. If not, the surface Navy. I want in the action.”
Sam smiles, “This guy who wants to sue you, is he here?”
John’s eyes widen, “Yes. It’s Herbert Yates.”
Sam looks Wayne in the eyes, “After the war you became an iconic star. Your biggest regret in life was never serving in the war. Want to correct that mistake? I need you to decide.”
He takes a breath, “I do.”
She snags a waiter, “Paper and pen, please?”
“Of course, Commander.”
As they wait, she says, “You know, my father absolutely loved your films. He was devastated when you died of cancer. Your smoking contributes to your death. Do what you will with that information.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The waiter arrives with a pad of paper and a pen. They find a table and Sam starts writing. “John, what’s your legal name?”
“Marion Robert Morrison.”
Sam writes:
To: Recruiting Facility, Department of the Navy
From: CDR Samantha Hunt, CO VFA-214
REG: Commissioning of Marion Robert Morrison, AKA John ‘Duke’ Wayne
At 1840 on 21 December, 1942, I issued the commissioning oath to Mr. Morrison. Please accept Ensign Morrison into the Aviation Cadet program.
Respectfully,
CDR Samantha Hunt
Sam signs the paper and hands Wayne the letter, “Where’s Yates?” Wayne points. She smiles, “Please, come with me.”
When Sam, Wayne, and Kate walk up, Yates is talking to Hitchcock and Goldwyn. All three turn to Samantha. Pettigrew seeing that something is up, runs over. Pettigrew, “Mr. Goldwyn, Mr. Yates, Mr. Hitchcock, may I introduce Samantha Hunt. Samantha…”
Hunt sighs, “Major, it’s Commander Hunt.”
He sighs, “Commander Hunt, this is Mr. Goldwyn of MGM, Mr. Yates of Republic Pictures, and Mr. Alfred Hitchcock. I was talking with them about producing your story.”
Hunt, “I see. Major, you work for me. You do not, nor will you ever own the rights to my story.”
“But…”
Sam stares at him, “What do you say, Major?”
Face red, clenching his jaw, he sputters out, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now, I have another matter to discuss. Mr. Yates, it seems there’s a misunderstanding between you and Mr. Wayne. I wish to resolve it.”
Yates eyes narrow, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“He expressed his desire to seek a commission in the military and contribute to the defense of our nation. He seems he thinks you would sue him for doing so.” Yate’s mouth opens, shocked. She continues, “I’m certain you would never do something so un-American. If word of your stance against your own country became public, people would be rightly upset. They may even accuse you of fascist sympathies. Not me, of course. But it could happen. Let’s put this matter to rest, shall we? Mr. Wayne, please raise your right hand.”
Bemused, John Wayne does, and she administers the commissioning oath. She grins and shakes his hand, “Congratulations, Ensign Morrison. I suggest you get ready and report to a recruiting station in the next couple of days.” She turns to Yates, “Thank you for your patriotic stance in this matter.”
Hitchcock fails to suppress a smile. Yate’s mouth is still open, his jaw slack. Goldwyn says, “Well done, Commander.” He applauds and the rest of the guests follow suit.
At dinner, Alfred Hitchcock is at her right, and Katherine Hepburn on her left. Hitchcock, “Dame Hunt, I would like to personally thank you for all you did to protect my country.”
“Mr. Hitchcock, I love Britain. I love the people, the land, the literature, the history. Anything I can do, I will. Oh, and please, just Samantha.”
The three talk film, technology, and history while they eat. Finally, the evening is over and Sam retires to her bungalow.
BUNGALOW 5, BEVERLY HILLS HOTEL
Jeremiah is eating his dinner and reading a book by the light of a small lamp. He hears a key in the door and stands. He watches a staff person let the pushy man from the receiving line in. Jere recognizes his profile as he turns to tip the bell hop. The door closes and the man switches on the overhead light. He has a dozen roses in his hand.
Buford, “May I help you?”
The man recoils, “What are you doing here?”
“You first, sir. This is Commander Hunt’s room.”
“Of course, it is. I’ve made arrangements to spend the evening with her.”
“I see. So, she asked you to come here?”
The man frowns, “Why are you here?”
Buford smiles, but it does not reach his eyes, “I’m her security. I was not informed of this.”
“Well, I’m quite sure she just forgot to tell you.”
“No, she does not forget. There’s no way she’d have one hundred and fifteen kills if she was forgetful. Did she tell you to come here, or did someone else?”
“I’m not saying. I’ll look out for her. You may go.”
“Sir, I am under orders to stay here. I cannot leave until she releases me. You can leave or stay. I don’t care. I’m staying.”
“But you have to go. It’ll be fine.” He holds out some money, “Go have some fun.”
“Sir, I am under orders. Apparently, you have never been in the military, or you would understand that. I cannot leave.” Buford stares at the man with all the warmth of a scientist pithing a frog.
“Look, there must be some misunderstanding.” The man begins to sweat, “You really have to go.” He starts when he hears the door open behind him. He turns and sees Commander Hunt walk in, a puzzled look on her face.
Sam, “What are you doing here?”
He smiles and holds out the roses, “Please tell your guard to leave.”
“What?”
He looks between a puzzled Hunt and a glowering Buford, “I was told you were seeking company tonight.”
Sam, “Told by whom?”
He turns pink, “I’d rather not say. I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Sam thinks for a moment, “I don’t think so. You were deliberately set up. So, who?”
“An Army man. He said…I should go.”
Sam, “What’s your name?”
“Um…Um, Farren Bergan.”
“Okay, Mr. Bergan, you may go.”
Bergan, clutching the roses, is out the door and gone. Bemused, Sam turns to Buford, “Thanks for not assaulting him.”
“Not necessary. Do you thing he meant to assault you?”
She laughs, “No, just sweet words and flowers. God, what next. Oh, wait. Never say those words. Damn.”
“Are you going to fire Pettigrew?”
“Can’t. He’s technically in charge of the shows. Have you had dinner?”
“Room service. I’m fine.” He cocks his head, “You okay? Somethings up.”
She hugs him and looks at her watch. “Yes. I have to call Dad.”
After a few minutes, she hears, “Hello?”
“Hi Dad. I’m in LA. I’m sorry to call so late, but I did something you need to know about.”
“Are you pregnant or married?”
Sam laughs, “No, Dad. I just swore in John Wayne as an aviation candidate, ensign.”
“You used his real name?”
“I did, Marion Morrison. His studio head threatened to sue him if he joined up. I made it pretty fucking clear that doing that would be unpatriotic. When Mr. Wayne shows up with my letter, I don’t want him turned away.”
“Okay, he won’t be. Does Hollywood hate you now?”<
br />
“Yates at Republic does. But, for the rest, they’re on Mr. Wayne’s side. I had dinner with Alfred Hitchcock and his wife, Alma, and Katherine Hepburn. We’re friends. She’s awesome.”
“I’m glad, Darling. How’s the tour?”
“Okay. The major, well, I’m struggling with him. I get the feeling he was commissioned without any military training.”
“Right. Darlin’, I need to go. Please, take care of yourself.”
“Okay. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too.”
Sam hangs up.
Jere, “I thought your dad was a Marine.”
Sam smiles, “He is. That was Admiral Richard Lee. He adopted me.”
“Admiral?”
“Yep.” She sees movement through the window onto the patio, “Stay here.”
Sam walks out and shuts the door behind her. She watches as Pettigrew, with a full head of steam, stalks toward her, his face red and head lowered. “You fucking destroyed me. You made a mockery of me. I should be a feature director. I should have those guys fighting over me. Instead, they think I’m a neutered fool.”
Sam slides a foot over and rests into a defensive stance, “Major, you destroyed yourself. I’ve been completely consistent with you. Go to your room and sleep it off before you say something stupid.”
“Yates hates you now.”
“I don’t care.”
“What?”
“I. Don’t. Care. He cannot help me, and he cannot hurt me.”
“He can.”
“Does he fly jets for Germany or Japan?”
“No.” He shakes his head, confused.
“Major, they are my enemy. From what I see, Yates is the kind of guy who would convince himself he was my best friend if it made him money or got him ahead. He would also throw anyone under the bus if that would help him, as well. Guys like that do not matter in the greater scheme of things.”
“He could write you as a terrible person.”
She laughs softly, “Major, the world knows who I am. Go to bed. We fly out in the morning.”
He stares at her, the fight draining out of him. “You’re not afraid. How can you be not afraid?”
“What do you say, Major?”
He sighs, “Yes, ma’am.” He turns and walks away, shaking his head.
As soon as Pettigrew is out of sight, Jere walks out and wraps his arms around her from behind, “Everything okay, Sam?”