“But it’s up to you,” Lavinia said. “If you want me to come with you . . .”
“No.” She took a deep breath, refusing to let such an inane fear stop her. “You’re right. I should practice going places on my own.”
“All right, then.” Lavinia picked up her bag. “Let’s have a look at the bus map and see what’s running this afternoon.”
They divvied up their money for bus fare and agreed on where to hide the apartment key in case they didn’t get home at the same time. Then Lavinia left the apartment, the beach bag over her shoulder.
The wall clock ticked hollowly in the silence after her friend’s departure. It was a little unnerving to find out how right Lavinia was and how little she liked being alone. Glancing at the clock, she saw she still had twenty minutes until her bus. Plenty of time to change her mind and put off her errands until tomorrow.
Stop it, Genie. You’re not a coward.
Desperate for a distraction, she opened her bag and hunted around until she found what she was looking for. Sitting down, she unfolded the thin crinkly paper of the overseas V-mail, conspicuously marked with its bright red and blue borders, and picked up a pen. The apartment disappeared as she concentrated on the blank page. Where should she even start? So much had happened since she had last written him. A deep longing for one of his hugs welled within her. Please, Lord, let him and Zhenzhu and everyone else be safe.
As if in answer to her prayer, a sudden calm washed over her. She could almost feel her father beside her, steady and wise, waiting for her to speak. Tears filled her eyes as the ink flowed from the nib to the blank page: Dearest Father. I hope you and Zhenzhu are well. I am in California, safe and sound, but I’m afraid the journey isn’t over yet . . .
Chapter 30
Charity plopped down onto the office chair across from Genie and folded her hands expectantly. Genie ignored her and concentrated instead on the memo she was typing. It had taken nearly two weeks of practice to memorize the layout of the typewriter keys—the seemingly haphazard placement of the letters making no sense to her—but now, if she was on the ball like she was today, she could make the keys click as smoothly as a well-tuned engine. The rhythmic staccato, combined with the sounds from the other machines in the office, made a satisfying kind of music that she was loath to disturb.
“Ahem.” Charity cleared her throat, and Genie missed a key.
Casting a sour glance at her friend, she backspaced to the beginning of the word. One mistake she could X out and retype. Two and she would have to start the form over. Silently she willed her friend to go away so she could focus.
Her friend didn’t catch the hint. “So are you going to take lunch today or not?”
“Not.” XXXX. Her finger pressed the key with savage intensity. “I’m working through so I can leave early without being docked. With two flight lessons this weekend to pay for, as well as a few other things, I need every dime of my paycheck this week.”
One of the other things being Nathan’s grave plaque, which she hoped to pick up after work. She had found a place in Chinatown that would make one for her even without a death certificate. Lord bless the Chinese for being such pragmatists. All it took was the right price and a little compromise on her part. Instead of the stone she had envisioned, which would have required a truck to transport, she had opted for the much smaller, lighter, less expensive option of a bronze plaque. She would have to attach it to something larger later, but that was the key word: later.
She started typing again more slowly. Leaving early would depend on her getting through her entire inbox, which left no time for mistakes.
“Two lessons? Holy cow, Genie. I swear you’re at the airport more than the flight instructors.” Charity leaned forward with a sly gleam in her eye. “Come clean; it’s a fellow, isn’t it? You met a pilot that you just can’t get out of your head, and you want to impress him.”
A sudden image of Ted’s darkly handsome face made her fingers curl, and she almost hit the wrong key. Shoving aside the wayward thought, she advanced the form to the next box. “No, I just happen to like flying. Is that such a crime?”
“Well, no. But you didn’t grow up around airplanes like I did, so it seems a little unusual. I mean, when was the first time you even saw a plane?”
“When I was sixteen.” With no little relief, she finished the last line error-free. She carefully removed it from the typewriter and put it in her out-box. Then she picked up a blank form and began threading it into the platen. “My father took me to an aviation exposition in Shanghai that was in honor of Generalissimo Chiang’s birthday.”
“Really? I didn’t know China had planes back then. You know what I wish? That I could go with you when you return to China. Just to visit. After all, I love Chinese food. And think of all the gifts I could find! My mother adores Blue Willow china. It would be fun, don’t you think?”
Genie made a noncommittal sound. She had given up trying to educate the girls in the office pool that living in China wasn’t like walking through LA’s Chinatown. It wasn’t just using chopsticks instead of forks, or all about the silk robes and hopelessly outdated court customs featured in Hollywood films. It was much more rich and complex, with ancient butting up against modern. They didn’t want to hear about modern Peking, with its streetcars and electricity, or even Kunming with its modern hospital and Western-style university.
“Of course, we have to win the war first,” Charity breezed on, thankfully looking like she was getting ready to stand up. Then she stopped. “That reminds me—did you see in the paper that Lee somebody-or-other is touring North America in her plane to raise funds for China? The article said she’s a big-shot movie star in China.”
Genie paused midturn of the carriage knob and glanced at her friend, suddenly all ears. “Lee Ya-Ching? Did it say if she’s coming to LA?”
“I don’t think it did. But wouldn’t that be nifty! I bet she would love meeting you, another girl pilot, and one who could talk to her in Chinese. You two could even gossip about meeting Madame Chiang, because I bet she has, too.”
An unexpected wave of homesickness slid between her ribs and straight into her heart. Without thought, she rubbed at the ache in her upper chest and then, realizing what she was doing, stopped. Hoping her friend hadn’t noticed, she refocused on correctly aligning the paper in the typewriter.
How odd that walking through Chinatown only made her mildly nostalgic, whereas being reminded of that dinner with the Chiangs hit her so much harder. Maybe because she could so clearly picture Nathan that night, uptight and disapproving, and Ted in his uniform. It had been her first time in a Western-style dress . . .
She shook off the memory and prepared to type. “Let me know if you hear anything. In the meantime, if I don’t get these forms typed, I’m sunk. I have to leave early today, and I don’t want Skip firing me for leaving things undone.”
Charity waved Genie’s fears away. “Bah, Skip would never fire you. Have you seen the way he looks at you? You could be all thumbs and still keep your job.”
Genie’s fingers twitched, and she only barely missed hitting a j instead of a u. She had indeed noticed the way her boss looked at her and had fervently hoped it was her imagination that he came out of his office every time she arrived for work, and that his gaze ran up and down her legs every time he passed her desk. But if Charity had noticed it, too . . .
“Baker, you’ve got a phone call,” the department secretary called from the doorway, her voice as gravelly from cigarette smoke as Wu Fang’s had been.
Surprised, she pushed her chair back, the casters squeaking as they moved across the linoleum floor. She couldn’t imagine who might be calling her. Lavinia was working next door in the plant, and the gravestone maker didn’t know where she worked.
She picked up the receiver on the department’s communal telephone. “This is Eugenia Baker.”
“Genie, it’s Dick. Dick Pelton.” His normally rich voice sounded thin and tinny through
the phone. Still, it was the most welcome sound she had heard in weeks.
She turned her back on her friend’s narrowed gaze and smiled, pleasure racing through her blood, warming her from the toes up. “Dick, where are you?”
“Believe it or not, I’m just down the road. In San Diego. What do you say I come up there and visit you, maybe take you out to dinner?”
Her heart leaped. “That would be lovely.” Then she remembered. “Oh, but where will you stay? We’ve completely taken over your place.”
He laughed, the familiar warmth and amusement melting the distance between them. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay with a friend. And I can’t stay long, anyway. In fact, I was almost afraid to call for fear of getting your hopes up, only to have to cancel at the last minute.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she teased, hoping she sounded confident and mature.
“Not given a choice, but alas, my time is not my own. Nevertheless, I’m hoping I can steal away for at least a day, because I really want to see you.”
“Ditto,” she replied, afraid to say too much. From the sudden quiet in the room behind her, she was pretty sure the few remaining girls who had yet to leave were hanging off the edge of their chairs, trying to catch every word.
“Let’s see, today is Friday, and weekends are a no-go for me. How about Tuesday? You free that day? I’ll make sure to call first, before I leave, so you’ll know I’m on my way.”
“That would be perfect.”
“And, Genie . . .” His voice became husky, deep. “Look pretty for me, will you? I’ve been dreaming of you for weeks, and I want to take you somewhere fancy.”
The rush of nerves stole her ability to speak for a moment. Something more than dinner was at stake here; she could hear it in his voice, and it left her both dizzy and flushed. “S-sure.”
After they both said goodbye, she hung up the receiver and turned to find Charity staring at her with moon-wide eyes.
“Well?” her friend asked as Genie made her way back to her chair, her legs as shaky as a newborn lamb’s.
She released the breath she wasn’t even aware she’d been holding. “Mr. Pelton wants to take me out for dinner.”
“You mean Uncle Fred’s friend?” Charity frowned slightly. “No disrespect intended, but isn’t he a little . . . well, old for you?”
“Not really. He’s only thirty, or maybe thirty-five at the most.” Then happy disbelief made her laugh. “I can’t believe he called.”
Charity’s eyebrows rose. “Are you sweet on him?”
“What? No,” she said, ruthlessly jerking herself back to reality. “He’s just a friend.” A friend who happens to be an extremely good kisser. Warmth curled low in her belly as she remembered the details of that first kiss in New York.
“Oh, that’s all right, then. For a moment, I thought . . . well, never mind. Since I’ve never met him, I thought he was my uncle’s age.”
Genie gave herself a mental shake. “He’s not. And he’s coming up next Tuesday, so maybe you’ll get to meet him then. He also wants to take me somewhere nice, so I’ll need your help to look my best.”
“Look your best, eh?” A speculative gleam lit her friend’s eyes.
“Baker. Newcombe.” Skip’s irritated voice made them both jump. He stood in the door of his office, arms crossed and scowling. Genie’s skin prickled as his dark eyes locked on hers. She felt like a fly pinned to a specimen board. “Either get to work or clock out. I’m not paying you to gab.”
“Yes, Mr. Winston,” she and Charity both answered, though Genie suspected his comment was directed mostly at her.
Her supposition was borne out at the end of the day when he called her into his office to lecture her on how her wanting time off couldn’t become a habit, and how he would expect her to work late in the future, if the need arose. Then, after reviewing her work, he kept his word and let her go.
It took longer than she expected to make her way to Chinatown and back. The buses were all packed to overflowing and running later than usual. As a result, she didn’t get home to the apartment until after six. Her shoulders ached from carrying the nearly twenty-pound grave marker, but at least it was discreetly bound in paper and string, so no one had given her a second look on the bus. It took a moment of juggling to get her key out of her purse, but soon she had the building door open and was up the two flights of stairs to the apartment.
She opened the front door and peeked in. For reasons she couldn’t fully explain even to herself, she hadn’t mentioned today’s errand to Lavinia. Her friend had been doing so well of late—losing some of her gauntness and having fewer nightmares, even making some new friends—that Genie was afraid to do anything to jinx it. Perhaps later, when she had saved up enough money to purchase a small grave plot, she would bring the subject up. That is, assuming she could sneak the package past her friend tonight.
The good news was that Lavinia wasn’t in the kitchenette. The bad news was the pot of water on the stove starting to boil, which meant Lavinia had to be nearby.
Briefly, she entertained the idea of leaving the package in the hallway for a few hours, perhaps until bedtime, when she might be able to smuggle it in without Lavinia noticing. The problem with that, though, was the nosy neighbors, who were bound to notice it and then knock on the door to tell Genie and Lavinia that it was there.
She eased the door wider. Water was running in the bathroom, masking any sound she might make. Relieved, she tiptoed through the apartment and opened the front closet. The water pipes thumped as the faucet was abruptly shut off.
“Genie, is that you?” Lavinia called from the bathroom.
“It’s me.” She hurriedly shoved the package in the back of the closet and shut the door. “Sorry I’m late.”
Lavinia came around the corner, toweling off her short dark hair. Her face was freshly scrubbed, too. And Genie wasn’t sure in the early-evening light coming through the window, but her friend’s eyes looked faintly puffy. “Did you hear Kitty is getting married? To a soldier, no less.”
“Wow. That was fast,” she said, a little shocked by the news. It hadn’t even been a month since they had last seen the woman. “How did you find out?”
“Mr. Pelton. You just missed his call.” Lavinia headed back to the bathroom with the towel.
Genie’s pulse went through the roof with excitement at the mention of Dick. Then crashed with disappointment as her friend’s words sank in. “Did you tell him to call back?”
“No,” Lavinia called out from the bathroom, horrifying Genie with that single word.
“Whyever not?” she asked in disbelief.
“Because he said he wouldn’t be able to.” Lavinia reappeared, her hair now combed into some semblance of order. “Can you believe Kitty, though? She doesn’t even like soldiers. She told me she hated everything to do with the war.”
Genie followed her friend into the kitchen, suppressing her irritation with Lavinia’s refusal to stay on topic. “Did Dick say anything else? Leave a message for me?”
Lavinia dumped spaghetti into the now-boiling pot. “Yeah. He said he’s very sorry, but he’ll need a rain check on your date next week.”
“Oh.” Genie’s spirits ebbed. “Did he say why?”
“He’s going to be out of the country.” Lavinia set the timer and then turned to face her, a frown gathering on her delicate face. “When did you two start dating?”
“I don’t know if you could say we’re dating, exactly.” A guilty heat spread up her neck, though, as she remembered the smoky purr in his voice when he asked her to wear something nice. She looked away from Lavinia’s too perceptive gaze. “We’re just friends.”
“Well, for your sake, I hope you keep it that way.”
Irritation surged within her. “What is it you don’t like about him, Lavinia?”
“I never said I didn’t like him.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Genie snapped. “You haven’t liked him from the moment you met him.”
/> “Genie, I . . .” Lavinia made a frustrated sound. “Well, it’s just you could do so much better than Mr. Pelton.”
“In what way?”
“He’s—” Lavinia shook her head as she headed back to the bedroom. “Never mind. Just don’t do anything you’ll regret, all right?”
“For the last time, we’re friends,” she said, following after her.
“That’s fine.” Lavinia opened one the bureau drawers and began digging through it. “Do we still have that card Kitty gave us in New York?”
“Why?” Genie asked, instantly on alert. “You’re not planning on contacting her, are you? Because I’m not at all sure that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?” Lavinia asked distractedly as she shut the drawer and opened a new one.
“Well, for one, she was pretty steamed at you the last time you saw her.”
“She’s making a mistake,” Lavinia said without pausing her search. “And someone needs to tell her.”
“It doesn’t have to be you,” Genie said a little desperately. “Lavinia, you’re not contacting her.”
Lavinia finally looked up, her brows drawn in confusion. “Why not?”
“Because I threw the card away ages ago.” Which was the truth. It had been one of Genie’s first acts once she had safely reached LA, as she had been so relieved to be done with the woman. “Let it go. If she had wanted to remain friends with you, she could’ve made an effort those five days we were in New York. But she didn’t. She left all the arrangements to her personal assistant. Remember?”
Lavinia’s gaze slid away, and her chin took on the stubborn set Genie knew all too well.
“And think of this,” Genie continued, “think of how expensive those airline tickets had to have been. If you contact her, she might decide we need to reimburse her, which we simply don’t have the money for.”
“That won’t happen,” Lavinia said flatly. “She got off easy buying us those tickets.”
Genie stared at her friend. “What do you mean?”
A Girl Divided Page 29