‘I had to cook dinner and clean up,’ Peggy said. ‘Hi, Louise.’
‘Hi,’ I said.
‘So now that your conjugal duties are completed satisfactorily you can come have a drink with your friends,’ Rose said, coming out of the kitchen and handing me my Martini. ‘I am never getting married. The usual, Peggy? Dubonnet on ice?’
‘Please,’ she said, ‘and yes, Sadie, I had to feed my husband. But he’s safely ensconced at his desk working now, just like every night.’
‘It’s a good thing your apartment house is just across our alley or we never would see you,’ Sadie said.
Rose handed Peggy her tumbler of Dubonnet. Still a little breathless she dropped on to the sofa and sipped from it.
‘What a day,’ Peggy said. ‘There is one piece of good news, though. Apparently Paul Hughes is OK. He was taken ill visiting his mother and since his landlady didn’t have a telephone his mother sent a telegram.’
I perked up my ears.
‘Paul is a friend of ours,’ Rose said to me. ‘He hasn’t come to work this week and there was no word from him. We were all worried.’
‘The office sent someone to Paul’s boarding house and his landlady had gotten this telegram from Paul’s mother. So I guess that he’ll be back at work when he feels better,’ Peggy said.
I didn’t volunteer that I was that first ‘someone’, or that I had spent a day documenting Hughes’ file usage at OSS.
‘So, Sadie,’ Rose said, ‘what clever things did Mr Churchill say today?’ She turned to me and said, ‘Sadie is Terence Layman’s secretary. She sees whatever crosses his desk.’
‘You’re joking,’ I said. Layman was the most prominent gossip columnist in Washington. His column ran in the Washington Times-Herald, the conservative newspaper run by Cissy Patterson. Patterson loathed Roosevelt.
‘Yes, I work for Mr Layman,’ Sadie said. ‘I don’t agree with him politically, but I don’t have to. I rarely see the man. He’s out at parties most nights, comes into the office at all hours and leaves me instructions on the Dictaphone. The most interesting things cross his desk, you wouldn’t believe. And no, Rose, I don’t think Churchill said anything clever today.’
‘You don’t like Winston Churchill?’ I asked.
Rose hooted.
‘Of course not,’ Peggy said, ‘he’s a Tory.’
‘Although he makes an excellent speech, you have to admit,’ Sadie said.
‘That’s just about his only positive trait,’ Rose said.
I’d never before heard anyone speak about Prime Minister Churchill this way.
‘Don’t look so horrified, Louise,’ Rose said. ‘Oh, and don’t worry, anything we talk about here doesn’t leave this room.’
‘So why don’t you admire Churchill?’ I asked.
‘Let’s see,’ Sadie said, ‘He’s an aristocrat. And a royalist. You know, keep the servants in the basement just as God ordained it. Some people are simply born to be rich and powerful.’
‘And the British Empire must keep its colonies. Like India. No matter how much the Indians want their freedom,’ Rose said.
‘Just wait until after the war is over,’ Peggy said. ‘I don’t think speechifying will help Churchill much then. The British people will demand social reforms, not a return to feudalism.’
‘I just hope life in this country doesn’t revisit the thirties. Remember Herbert Hoover? Dear God,’ Rose said.
I agreed with that.
‘That does worry me,’ I said. ‘I want to keep working after the war is over. But will there be as many jobs for women?’
‘Don’t forget the Negroes,’ Sadie said. ‘After fighting in the war and working regular jobs do you think they’re going to want to go back to sharecropping and cleaning houses?’
I thought of Madeleine. She wouldn’t live her mother’s life without putting up a fight.
‘We’re all going to have to work very hard to make sure that doesn’t happen,’ Sadie said.
‘Which is why people like us have to meet and plan now,’ Rose said. ‘We must be prepared to act.’
I had been thinking much along the same lines. Worried about what would happen to me after the war. But I’d kept my thoughts to myself most of the time. It was liberating to talk openly to other girls who felt the same about the future as I did. Girls who did not want to go home to their parents or get married for marriage’s sake after the war because there were no jobs for them. I felt a pang as I reminded myself that I’d avoided a romance with Joe to avoid offending anyone at OSS.
Peggy took a long sip of her Dubonnet. ‘Gosh,’ she said, ‘this tastes so good.’ She slid out of her light jacket and threw it on to the packing case which served as a coffee table. When it landed a pamphlet flew out of the pocket.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I almost forgot! I picked up one of these at work. If you want to be outraged take a look.’
Rose reached for it. ‘Listen to this,’ she said, reading the title, ‘“Relocation of Japanese-Americans”.’ She read to herself for a few minutes. ‘Disgraceful!’ she said. ‘The government is interning American citizens! A hundred thousand Japanese-Americans who’ve done absolutely nothing wrong at all!’
I noticed the publication line on the pamphlet: ‘War Relocation Authority, May 1943’.
‘Peggy, you didn’t take that from work!’ I said. ‘You could be fired!’
Peggy shrugged. ‘There were stacks of them,’ she said. ‘No one will miss one. I figured Sadie could take it to her boss and perhaps he’d write an article about it.’
Sadie hooted. ‘Not a chance; he works for the Herald, remember?’ she said. ‘But I know a cub reporter for the Post I can slip it to.’
‘Don’t look so horrified,’ Peggy said to me. ‘The pamphlet is being routed to the Library of Congress and bunches of other places. It’s not secret.’ She picked it up and tossed it to me. I could only bear to read the first paragraph.
‘… with invasion of the west coast looming as an imminent possibility, the Western Defense Command of the United States Army decided that the military situation required the removal of all persons of Japanese ancestry from a broad coastal strip. In the weeks that followed, both American-born and alien Japanese residents were moved from a prescribed zone comprising the entire State of California, the western half of Oregon and Washington, and the southern third of Arizona’, I read. What military situation, I wondered? Did the military really think that if Japan invaded the west coast Japanese-Americans would join them? What about the Japanese military dictatorship would appeal to them? It was absurd. I felt sick.
‘I need another drink,’ Rose said, lifting herself from the sofa and heading toward a makeshift bar.
My God, I thought. Innocent Americans from four states imprisoned without due process. For once I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. ‘Of course,’ I said, after browsing the rest of the pamphlet, ‘the internment camps have all the comforts of home, behind their barbed wire fences.’ I tossed the pamphlet to Sadie. I didn’t think it would matter much if she could find a reporter to write the story. Most Americans agreed with the government’s internment policies. I did too, once.
As I walked home from Rose’s place in the soft spring evening I felt as tranquil as I’d been in ages. I’d spent the evening with women like me … well, Rose and Sadie were more radical than me, but still we were simpatico much of the time. Where I could actually say out loud much of what I thought without Henry or Phoebe tut-tutting me. And have a cocktail in a lounge instead of in my bedroom. And listen to new music instead of the same old big band stuff.
‘I hope you’ll come back next week,’ Rose had said as she walked me to the entrance of her apartment house.
‘I’ll be here,’ I said. Next time I’d bring a bottle of gin with me to restock the bar.
As I turned into the front gate of ‘Two Trees’ Ada came out of the house, shutting the door softly behind her.
‘Hi,’ I said, surprised to see her.
She raised her finger to her lips and hurried up to me, taking my arm and leading me back out to the sidewalk.
‘What on earth—’ I began.
‘Shhh,’ she whispered. ‘Come, we need to stand where we can’t be seen from the lounge.’
We moved down the street a few yards. ‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Milt,’ she said. ‘Oh, Louise, it’s terrible. Awful.’
‘Why?’ I said.
‘He was badly hurt. Much worse than he told Phoebe. She got the phone call from the hospital right after you left and she and Henry went to pick Milt up. He’s gotten so drunk since he got home. You need to be prepared to meet him.’
‘What happened to him?’ I asked, afraid of the answer.
The door to ‘Two Trees’ opened.
‘Louise,’ Phoebe called out, ‘I thought I heard your voice. Come inside and meet my son!’
Ada squeezed my arm hard. ‘I need to find a taxi and get to the hotel. I’m playing ten to two tonight.’ She hurried down the street toward Pennsylvania Avenue.
I found myself inside the entrance hall of ‘Two Trees’, being led by Phoebe into the lounge where Henry and Milt sat. At first I didn’t notice anything, but then Milt stood up. His left shirtsleeve was neatly rolled up and pinned under his shoulder. He was missing his entire left arm.
Thanks to Ada’s warning I was able to react without shock.
‘Louise,’ Phoebe said, ‘this is my oldest son, Milt.’
Milt stood up, swaying slightly, and extended his right hand.
‘So you are the delightful Louise,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’
I shook his hand firmly. ‘I’m glad to meet you, too, and happy that you’re home safely.’
I didn’t want to pretend I didn’t notice his injury. ‘I hope you’re recovering well,’ I said.
Milt picked up a glass from the table as he sat down, draining the inch or so of bourbon left in it. ‘With some help from my friend here,’ he said, tossing the glass back. ‘I’d like another, please, Mother.’
Phoebe poured him another shot, her hands shaking slightly. Henry, sitting across from Milt, hadn’t said a word yet and clutched his own glass.
I took a deep breath and sat down next to Milt on the sofa.
‘I’m so sorry about your injury,’ I said.
‘You don’t need to be,’ he said. ‘It’s just part of the job of being a hero.’ He drained his bourbon in one gulp.
Henry’s lips tightened into a thin line.
THREE
General experience indicates that “husky” girls—those who are just a little on the heavy side—are likely to be more even-tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.
‘1943 Guide to Hiring Women’, Mass Transportation magazine, July 1943.
With a little trepidation I got off the bus at New Hampshire and ‘U’ Street, right in the middle of the colored neighborhood of Washington. It was teeming with people as I expected it would be on Saturday night. Throngs of Negroes wearing everything from zoot suits to military uniforms to tuxedos crowded the streets on their way to ‘U’ Street’s famous bars and clubs. Plenty of white people strolled ‘U’ Street, too, lured there by hot music, especially jazz, the best in the country outside of Harlem.
Which is why I was there.
At lunch on Friday Rose slid into a spot next to me at the cafeteria table where I was eating chicken à la king with Joan. ‘Louise,’ she said, ‘Sadie and I have decided we are going to “U” Street on Saturday night to see what all the excitement is about. Don’t you want to come with us?’
‘“U” Street?’ Joan said. ‘At night? Do you think that’s a good idea?’
Rose shrugged. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘Just because it’s a colored neighborhood doesn’t mean it’s not safe.’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ Joan said. ‘It’s just that so many of the nice hotels have jazz bands now; why not go to the Willard or the Mayflower?’
‘I’ve been to the Willard and the Mayflower,’ I said. ‘I’ve never been to “U” Street.’
‘I’ve heard there’s sometimes gunfire in the streets and police raids on those clubs,’ Joan said.
Rose ignored her and said to me, ‘Guess who’s playing at the Club Bali! Louis Armstrong and his orchestra!’
The Club Bali. I’d seen its advertisements, bordered in palm fronds and strewn with exclamation points, in the newspaper almost every day (‘In Person! On Stage!’). It was the biggest club in the ‘U’ Street neighborhood and served exotic Korean food. I’d never dreamed of going to such a place before.
‘I’d love to come,’ I said.
‘It’s expensive,’ Rose said. ‘The cover charge is five dollars, dinner about two fifty or so, and then there’ll be the drinks.’
‘I’ll cash a check on my way home,’ I said. I could skip buying a war bond this month.
‘First one who gets there saves a table,’ Rose said. ‘For four. We’re going to bring a man friend with us to chaperone. See, Joan, we can be proper!’
For a minute it looked like Joan was going to ask to go with us. I could see in her expression that her fun-loving nature was struggling with her lofty upbringing, but in the end she gave in to the upbringing.
After Rose left Joan said to me, ‘Be careful and call me Sunday. I want to hear all about it.’
I escaped the bustle of ‘U’ Street, turning off on to 14th and walking south to ‘T’, where the crowds were less stifling. A long line of colored and white people stood outside the entrance to the Club Bali, where two bouncers at the door made sure no one was carrying guns or their own liquor. Once inside the men checked their hats in the cloakroom. I paid my five dollars and moved with the crowd into the main room. It was huge and filling up fast. I guessed the space could hold almost three hundred people. A raised stage topped with a phoney thatched roof jutted from the far wall. The band playing on it was just an opening act, I guess, no one was paying any attention to the singer and I didn’t recognize the music. Plastic palm trees with red paper flowers tied to them lined the dance floor. Pretty colored girls in grass skirts with trays hanging around their necks worked the crowd, offering mementos for sale as well as cigarettes. Already a few people were eating at tables that hardly looked big enough to hold one plate. The odor of the Korean food was foreign to me, but I could hardly wait to taste it.
I spotted Sadie waving at me from a table near a corner of the stage. I edged my way to it between the crowded tables and squeezed into a chair. Rose was there too, and a tallish man wearing a blue linen suit stood to be introduced to me. I recognized him immediately. He was Clark Leach, one of General Donovan’s most trusted aides. Leach was an expert on China and spoke fluent Mandarin, sometimes even translating for the President. He was one of the Yale-educated crowd that filled so many spots at OSS. I guessed he was about forty. His dark hair was greying at the temples and receding a bit. Eyeglasses protruded from his handkerchief pocket.
‘This is our friend Mrs Louise Pearlie,’ Rose said to him.
‘Pleased to meet you, I’m Clark Leach,’ he said. I shook his outstretched hand.
‘Call me Louise, please,’ I said.
‘And I’m Clark,’ he answered.
I didn’t expect Leach to recognize me from OSS. He was a star while I was just another government girl. So of course I wouldn’t indicate that I knew he worked at OSS.
‘We ordered food for you, I hope that was OK,’ Sadie said to me.
‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t know what to get anyway.’
‘Clark steered us away from too much spice,’ Rose said. ‘We figured we’d share everything.’
An exotic-looking mulatto waitress with an order pad stopped by our table. She wore a sarong and a top that was more like a bra, except that it was patterned with flowers. Real flowers – orchids, I thought – decorated her long soft black hair. ‘Ready for drinks?’ she asked.
> ‘Start a tab for me,’ Clark said. ‘I’ll take care of the drinks.’
‘No, Clark,’ Sadie said, ‘you mustn’t, we can pay for our own drinks.’
Clark shook his head. ‘You’ve had me over to your apartment so many times for drink and food this is the least I can do. I’ll have bourbon, on ice,’ he said to the barmaid.
‘I’ll have a gin sour,’ Rose said. I requested my usual dry Martini without olives and Sadie ordered a beer.
‘Clark is one of those rare men who appreciates intelligent women,’ Rose said.
‘You sell our sex short,’ Clark said. ‘Many men like smart women. And I’m not perfect. I enjoy the company of attractive women too. Tonight I am fortunate to be with ladies who have both attributes.’
‘We’re not blotto enough to fall for that line, Clark,’ Sadie said. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
Clark smiled a friendly, familiar smile at Rose and Sadie, and I found myself thinking that if Rose and Sadie were fond of him he was bound to be OK. And I was glad I looked nice tonight. I’d worn a black and white striped rayon dress with sleeves that stopped above my elbows, a thin black belt, my pearls and an artificial but darling white flower pinned gaily behind one ear. Festive, but still in good taste, I hoped.
The waitress returned with a tray crowded to its edge with drinks and passed ours across the table to us. My Martini had an olive in it but I didn’t care because it was pierced with a fancy pink toothpick. I discarded the olive and put the stick in my purse as a souvenir. I sipped my Martini slowly. If we were going to be here for hours I didn’t want to drink too much.
The opening band finished their set and left the stage to a scattering of applause. An emcee with slicked back, glistening hair and a wide-lapel tuxedo stepped on to the stage and grasped the microphone. Anticipation rippled through the audience.
‘Welcome,’ the emcee said, ‘to the Club Bali! I’m not going to waste your time, my friends! Tonight we have here on our stage, live, one of our favorite performers, Louis Armstrong!’
The roar from the crowd made me cover my ears. Armstrong, followed by his band, strolled on to the stage. It was a big band. The musicians had to squeeze themselves and their instruments into their places. Armstrong, his cornet tucked under his arm, grasped the microphone.
Louise's Blunder Page 6