“It’s okay. Really it is.” Landa smacked his lips. He needed coffee. And it was cold in here. Todd must have left the heat off.
“Can I make it up to you?” she asked.
“It’s not necessary.”
“I got it. How would you like to see a radio show? Bing Crosby? Jack Benny? I can send a bunch of tickets. You can bring Todd and...and...”
“That’s very nice, er Laura. Thank you. But I’m shipping out. I’m on stand-by for transportation to, well, you know, out there.”
“Well then. How about a USO show? I’m doing another recital day after tomorrow right there on the base. You know, just like the one I did a while back...”
“Sorry, I wasn’t there.” Landa recognized the oblique reference to her piano recital at the base theater two months ago. Ingram had told him that Luther Dutton marched on stage and accompanied her on the violin. At the same time, Landa was at the officer’s club, singing and shouting and pounding his mug for more beer.
“...well?”
He leaned forward. “Tell you what. If they haven’t manifested me on a flight, then I’ll show up.”
“Good. I’ll leave a ticket for you in will-call.”
“You don’t need to do that. I can buy general admission.”
She chucked at his discomfort over having to sit in an area normally reserved for top brass. She said, “Front row center.”
“I’ll handle my own ticket. But thanks.”
“Well. The ticket will be there if you want it. And thanks again for taking the trouble to come up yesterday. I was kind of crude. Please forgive me.”
“Shock therapy.”
“If you don’t come tomorrow, how can I stay in touch with you?”
Landa sat up. It was the way she asked the question. Or was he inferring too much? Finally, he gave her his military address. “Thanks for calling. It’s very nice of you.”
“Yes. Goodbye.” She hung up.
“She what?” Asked Ingram. They sat with drinks on the Officer’s Club patio, watching the sun set over the Palos Verdes Peninsula.
“Drunk on the job. On the keyboard. Cheap scotch and all. But then she called back this morning and apologized.”
“Wish I could do something,” said Ingram.
“You can’t. Nobody can. But she’ll come out all right.” The crushed ice in Landa’s highball glass gave a comforting rattle. It was filled with scotch, a lemon twist perched on top: Scotch mist. He didn’t want to talk about Laura, or his discomfort with the fact that he’d decided not to go to the USO concert tomorrow night. So he changed the subject. “I interrupted you. You were going to tell me about your day with Frank Ashton.”
“He offered me a job.” Ingram gave a crooked grin.
“He did what?”
Ingram’s answer was obliterated by a pair of F6F hellcats roaring over the Officer’s Club, heading for the NAS Terminal Island airstrip next door. Dropping their flaps and gear, they curved up and around, bleeding off speed to set up for their downwind leg. Watching them gave Ingram a good feeling. He’d seen a lot of the new fighters around Long Beach during the last couple of weeks. People praised them as the Zero buster. These, most likely, were joining the Essex’s airgroup.
“Frank Ashton offered me a job this morning. Fleet Technical Liaison for a new Combat Support Unit.”
“Frank Ashton offering you a job?” Landa stirred his drink with his index finger. “I’m surprised he isn’t hiding in a cave somewhere.”
“Jerry. Give the guy a chance, damnit.”
“What about your ship? What about the Pence?”
“That will have to wait.”
They looked up, as four more hellcats growled overhead in echelon. Soon the F6Fs peeled off into their landing patterns. Landa said, “So what was your answer?”
“I asked for a couple of days to mull it over.” Ingram’s stomach began to grind.
“You mean you really have to think about this?”
“I know how you feel about Frank Ashton and I’m sorry. But it’s not clear to me why you two are at war. Probably, it’s none of my business. All I know is that this seems to be an opportunity I should consider. Don’t you?”
Landa downed his drink in one gulp, then carefully lowered the highball glass to the table and gently pushed it away. He leaned back and crossed his hands over his stomach. “Like you, Ashton’s a ring knocker, huh?”
“That’s a dumb thing to say.” It just popped out. Ingram couldn’t help it, and he couldn’t dodge the fact that this had spun out of control. “This isn’t an Academy Protection Society thing or whatever you want to call it. And it’s not a question of shirking a command. He said I would get a ship soon. It seems a legitimate offer, and I believe I should really consider it.”
“Umm.” Landa nodded slowly. “I’m not talking about any Canoe U petty jealousy. What I am talking about is common sense. Here you are, fully qualified for command, and you have orders to your ship. All you have to do is hop on a plane and head for...”
“Tulagi.”
“Yes. Tulagi. But Instead, you turn your back on it, when some sweet talking gold-brick offers you a cushy Stateside job.”
Ingram felt his bile rising. “I don’t like the inference, Jerry.”
“What you going to do for an encore, Todd? Punch me in the snot locker, again?” Landa gave a demonic simile and waved at tables crowded with high ranking officers. “Right here in front of all this brass?”
Landa stood and straightened his blouse. “Well now, Mr. Ingram. Enjoy your tour with Frank Ashton. Next stop, CNO staff in Washington D.C. You’ll like the Pentagon life. Plenty of south-ends to kiss on the north-bound ladder. For me, I’m on standby for a flight to you-know-where. So I’m moving out and staying at the BOQ. Good bye.” Landa whisked his cap off the table and walked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
31 March, 1943
San Pedro, California
The wind blew, waking Ingram up for the third time in the last hour. Early last evening, an unexpected cold front had snuck in bringing thirty knot winds and driving rain. And now, as he blinked at the darkness, it was stronger. He looked over to find the clock and telephone receiver missing from the night stand. Craning his neck over the edge of the bed he saw them scattered on the floor amidst a pile of magazines. He’d been tossing and turning so much during the night, he barely remembered knocking everything over. He reached down, hung the phone up with a clatter, then grabbed the clock and lifted it to his ear. It still ticked; the time read nearly two-thirty.
A gust roared and tugged at the little house, making him wonder if it could be torn off its foundation. The pressure built; the wind wailed and pounded. The garage door banged, and the branches of a Chinese Elm just outside scratched and thumped at the window. Fred lay at the foot of the bed, his head up, ears twitching. Ingram glanced at the window, its shade half drawn. For a moment, he expected to see Bela Lugosi peering in, black velvet cape and all. Then he turned over, glad in a convoluted way, that if he couldn’t sleep, at least he had the storm for a bizarre form of entertainment.
Another gust roared; thick rain drops pounded the window. The garage door banged harder, and he realized he would have to crawl out of this warm bed, put on clothes, trudge out there and secure it, before it smashed itself to pieces. A light flipped on next door: Mrs. Peabody. Chances were the garage door was keeping her awake. Damnit. I really have to go out there.
After a while, Mrs. Peabody’s light went off. He rolled to his back and laced his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He’d heard nothing more from Landa, who had moved to the BOQ Monday night, taking everything except his brother’s trunk. He’d already said goodbye to Leo Seltzer, who had finagled orders to the Pence. He’d been manifested aboard a flight which left Long Beach Airport at seven forty-five that morning for Honolulu. Strange when he shook Seltzer’s hand, though. It was almost as if they were speaking for the last time. Seltzer didn’t seem happy about In
gram’s new appointment, and Ingram felt bad about that. And Landa would soon follow Seltzer back to the South Pacific.
He wished he’d called Jerry to say good-bye properly. He didn’t like to leave things like that and realized, in many ways, they were too much alike: Impetuous, pig-headed. Quick to plunge ahead without considering all the consequences. Sometimes, such a quality was required for command, especially when fast, oftentimes intuitive, decisions had to be made. But it could get one into trouble, like last Monday at the officer’s club.
Well, if Landa wants to keep risking his butt out there, fine. But Ingram had a chance to get away from all that and still make an important contribution; still hold his head up high. And, stay alive. In fact, Ashton had called yesterday morning, offering Ingram more time to consider. He finished with, “Let’s talk it over Saturday after golf.”
The wind roared, and the house shook and rumbled. The Elm scraped. Fred sat up now, looking from side to side. Mrs. Peabody’s light flicked on again, as the wind screeched and twirled though cracks in the house. Something snapped like a shingle tearing from the roof. Fred rose to all fours, his eyes wide open. He looked at Ingram, then hopped off the bed, went to the window, stood on his hind legs and looked out.
“You’ve been watching too many Boris Karloff movies.” Ingram rolled over and scrunched deep into the covers, mashing the pillow over his head in a vain attempt to muffle the noise. After a minute, he flipped to his back thinking of the intruder Mrs. Peabody had seen. A Navy officer. Lieutenant? Commander? Maybe it was the same person who had walked in on Helen?
The wind screamed again. But something was different. The garage door! The damned thing wasn’t banging. Ingram sat up, finding Mrs. Peabody’s light was still on. He felt like a heel. That hearty old widow had gone out there and done his job.
His feet had just hit the cold floor when he heard footsteps in the living room. A dark figure filled the doorway. “Ah!” he yelped.
He caught his breath as the figure walked toward him, raindrops running off a glistening overcoat.
“Todd!” she said.
“Helen?” In a second, he was out of bed his bare arms around her wet, raincoat. He found her mouth and covered it with his, kissing her deeply. “How did...?
“Change of orders. Why, I don’t know. They turned me around and put me on a hospital plane flying directly to Long Beach.”
“You should have called.” He held her tight, kissing her eyes and cheeks.
“Phone was busy.”
What a homecoming, he thought. Being tossed around an airplane in this storm must have been horrible. But then she couldn’t get through from the Long Beach airport, he realized. “Damnit. Sorry. Off the hook...I knocked it over. Cab ride must have cost a fortune.”
“Hmmmm. Bet you had a girl in here. What was her name?” She kissed him on the neck.
“Mrs. Peabody.” He pulled off her scarf letting her silky black hair tumble out. He buried his face in that wonderful, sweet aroma. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“Me, too, honey.”
“You here for a while?”
“For Good. Back to fighting the battle of San Pedro.”
“Fantastic.” He took her face in both hands. There was enough light to see into her eyes. Raindrops ran down her face. Or were they tears? He kissed them away. “I love you.”
“I Love you, too.”
He kissed her again as she fumbled with her rain coat buckle. Finally, she tore it off, threw it aside, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Wind blew through the house making papers tumble off the desk.
She said, “Umm. Your heart is jumping.”
“Scared the hell out of me. Next time--”
“--Mrs. Peabody! You said Mrs. Peabody!”
“Yeah?” He sat back on the bed trying to pull her on him.
“Wait.” She stepped back. “Mrs. Peabody.”
“What about her?” Ingram stood and kissed her on the tip of her nose.
“Outside. She was doing something to the garage door when we pulled up. And my luggage is out there.”
“She’s out there now?”
“I think so.”
“Good, God.” Reluctantly, Ingram let her go. Then he walked to bathroom, grabbed his robe and put it on. “Don’t go away.”
“I don’t think so.”
Wind ruffled his hair as he walked into the living room. Sure enough. The front door stood open. He leaned outside just as a gust slammed against the house. He had to yell. “Hello? Mrs. Peabody?”
“Mr. Ingram?” She was huddled in a corner roosting like a mother hen on two large B-4 bags.
Ingram stepped out, shivering. “Thanks for taking care of Helen’s bags,” he shouted.
“She looks wonderful, doesn’t she?”
“You bet.”
“Isn’t it a miracle?” She yelled.
“Miracle, what?”
“That she got to come home. I prayed and prayed.”
“It sure is.” Ingram tossed the bags inside. “Thanks for fixing the garage door.”
“I’m afraid I had to nail it shut.”
“I’ll get to it tomorrow.”
“It’s that hinge. You shouldBA
“BGood night, Mrs. Peabody. And thanks again.” Ingram closed the door and locked it. The house was still dark as he padded through the living room. There was a pile of clothes on the bedroom floor. Helen lay in bed, waiting...
The aroma of coffee and bacon wafted in. Ingram’s eyes flipped open. The rain was steady outside and the clock said: Holy Smokes! Eleven fifteen. Then he lay back and stretched, savoring the moment. Puttering in the kitchen was his just reward: Helen making breakfast. How much sleep had he had? He couldn’t remember, and come to think of it, he didn’t care.
Donning his robe, he walked into the kitchen. “Morning.” He kissed her on the cheek.
“Almost good afternoon.” She tossed a smile, grabbing toast as it popped up. “You hungry?” She wore a white satin night shirt that ran to mid-thigh.
“Depends what’s on the menu.” His arm went around her waist. “Ummm.”
She chuckled, then pulled away to flip four sizzling eggs in the skillet. “About ready. Pour yourself some coffee and sit, mister.”
Ingram did. It tasted wonderful. “Can you believe the time?”
She gave a sideways glance, “What, do you suppose happened?”
Ingram took a chair at the little breakfast table, waving his arms in the air. “Not my fault. No siree. Last night, I’m just laying there, fast asleep, minding my own business when this absolute, eye-popping, bombshell walks in my bedroom, disturbing the peace. What’s a man to do?”
She set a plate of eggs, bacon and toast before him. “Eat, That’s what a man’s supposed to do.”
Later, they sat back, sipping coffee and watching the rain. Both plates were on the floor with Fred happily licking the remains. Ingram finished his story of Ashton’s offer by saying, “You’d like him. He’s on a fast track. Next stop, the Pentagon.”
She gave a quick smile, then held her cup with both hands and looked out the window. “It’s only drizzling.”
“Right. It’s a great opportunity, honey.”
“Yes.” Helen rose and began to clear plates.
“What I really like about it is that I get to work in my specialty: Ordnance.”
“Yes.” Water ran. She scrubbed dishes, her back to him.
“All sorts of new stuff and technology. The Japs won’t know what hit them.” One of the many things Ingram loved about Helen was her eyes. They were beacons to her soul, reflecting so much of her. Just looking into her eyes told him so much, almost like speaking to her. But now, he couldn’t see them. Why?
Helen shuddered.
“What’s wrong?” Ingram walked over and spun her around, finding tears running down her cheeks. “Baby? What is it?”
“I’m fine,” she said, “happy to be home.” Wiping tears with the back of her
hand, she said, “You want to have dinner at Olsen’s tonight?”
“Olsen’s? Well, yes. That’s a good idea,” He said with some sarcasm. “Why the hell don’t we have dinner at Olsen’s?” He held her tight then kissed her. Gently, he cupped her cheeks in his hands and tried to look into her eyes.
But she buried her face in his shoulder and said in a muffled voice, “Well, if you do, then you better fix the garage door so we can get the car out.”
Near the corner of Ninth and Grand, Olsen’s was a smallish, but upscale restaurant. A long bar dominated the right side of the room with several red-leather booths arranged against the opposite wall. A trio of sax, bass, and piano played softly in a far corner. The salad and prime rib were excellent. That was followed by a light dessert and coffee. Now, they sat back. Ingram fussed with his cup. “Did Ollie ever get back to you?”
“Just before I left. He said Otis was traveling with General Sutherland and would be inaccessible for three or four weeks.”
“Ouch.”
“There’s nobody else we know that can work at that level is there?”
“No there isn’t which means nobody ever got back to you about where those crazy orders to North Africa came from nor how they were rescinded.”
“Not yet.”
“Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“Weird...what?”
“Who issued them and why were they rescinded?” He grinned, “Not that I’m unhappy that they were rescinded. But, how did it happen?”
She shrugged. “...no idea.”
“Well, let’s try Ollie, tomorrow.”
She toyed with the sugar bowl and nodded.
“Dinner all right?”
“Great.”
“You feeling okay?”
“Yep.”
The waiter walked over, bent over the table and said, “Commander, that gentleman over there has picked up your check.”
“What?” They looked up to see an elderly couple walk by. The two waved, the white haired man saying, “Give ‘em hell, Commander. And thanks for what you’re doing for all of us.”
WHEN DUTY WHISPERS LOW (The Todd Ingram Series Book 3) Page 24