Ingram tried to rise, but by then, the couple had walked out. He looked up to the waiter. “Who was that?”
“The Raffertys. Fine people. They’re here often.”
“Well, please tell them thanks for me the next time you see them.” Ingram handed the waiter a two dollar bill.
“Of course, and thank you.” The waiter walked off.
Helen’s eyes glistened. “What marvelous people. I hope we’re like that when we’re that age.”
“You ready?” He started to rise.
“Todd. What is it?” Her hand went to his forearm.
“It’s you is what it is.”
“We better go.”
“You don’t like Ashton’s deal.” It was a statement.
Her shoulders slumped.
“You think it’s that bad?”
“How can you tell?”
“It’s not as if I don’t know you.” He leaned over and brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of his index finger.
She doubled her fists. “God, I don’t want this. I never have. Corregidor. Mindanao, the South Pacific, Brazil. All I want is a chance to live our lives.”
“Me too, honey. And I thought this was it.”
“No, it’s not. “ she said.
“What?”
“You know and I know that it’ll rip you apart if you turn down the Pence. Your own command? You’d never get over it if you turned your back.”
Ingram’s face flushed. “But I told you Ashton said---“
“---I don’t care what Ashton said,” she hissed. “And don’t argue. You think this is easy for me? Of course I don’t want you to go. I just got here, remember? How do you think I feel. But I know you’ll never forgive yourself.”
“Honey...”
She took his hand in hers. “How much time do we have?”
“Time for what?”
“When do your orders say you have to shove off?”
He wished he smoked a pipe or a cigar, something that gave him time to think.
“Todd?”
“I love you, very much.”
“Me too very much. Now, how long?”
“Two more days.”
“What are we waiting for?”
They got up and walked out.
The next morning, Ingram was in the living room, sipping coffee. The phone rang and he picked it up. “Hello?”
“Ollie? Good God, how the hell are you?” Oliver Toliver III, a former shipmate of Ingram’s aboard the Pelican, was now Ordnance Liaison Officer to the Fourteenth Naval District in San Francisco. Toliver, Ingram, Helen and Colonel Otis DeWitt, had escaped the horrors of Corregidor together in an open boat. After catching up with each other, Ingram broke the news.
“She’s back?” Toliver’s voice ranged over the line with incredulity.
“Walked in on me two nights ago,” said Ingram. As in confirmation, he glanced out the front window, watching her talk to Mrs. Peabody.
“Where was she?” asked Toliver.
“Got as far as Natal, Brazil. Then she got new orders, rescinding the old ones.”
“Well, I’m glad for you. But what a puzzler.”
“Our words, exactly,” said Ingram.
“Well, I called to tell Helen and you, that I got a message from Otis. He’ll be in his office next week. He’s been touring with General Sutherland. Then he’ll grab a line and we can talk openly, rather than speak around all this gobbledegook.”
“Well, you don’t have to,” said Ingram. “She’s back now.”
“You know, this is weird enough that I think I should follow through. Maybe it could happen again.”
Ingram sat up at that. “You don’t think so?”
“Well, let’s put it this way,” Toliver said. “Whoever tries that crap again will have to deal personally with General Douglas MacArthur. That’s what Otis’s message said.”
“That’s great Ollie.”
“Yeah, but let’s not stop there. Let’s find the ghoul who did this in the first place.”
“I’m for that. Say, you still have your Packard?”
“Nope, I sold it to a guy from Southern California. Got a brand new ‘42 Olds with hydramatic drive. Had to talk like hell to get the dealer to sell it to me.”
“What the hell is hydramatic drive?”
“The coming thing.”
“What’s it do?”
“You drive along without shifting gears. But the damn thing craps out all the time. It’s been in the shop ever since I bought it. No one knows how to fix it.”
“That’s progress. Why don’t I feel sorry for you?”
“Come on Todd.”
“ Please let me know what Otis says.”
“Will do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
31 March, 1943
Base Theater, Long Beach Naval Station
Long Beach, California
Sailors crowded the aisle forcing Landa to turn sideways so he could squeeze past. As he expected, the number of rings on the officer’s sleeves rose the closer he drew to the stage. At last, he reached the first row finding three admirals standing about surrounded by a bevy of captains and commanders. They wore aviator’s wings and cast icy stares, as Landa worked around to his seat. Checking his ticket number he found, damnit, she’d done it; his seat was right in the center of the front row.
No sooner had he sat then the lights flickered. Quickly, people took their seats and the place became dark, so much so that he had trouble reading his single-page blue mimeographed program:
By Popular Demand
Laura West
Featured Pianist with the NBC Symphony Orchestra
Returns with:
J. S. Bach French Suite
Beethoven Passionata
Chopin Ballade
Brahms Rhapsody Number 2
The seat to his left jiggled but, Landa didn’t take notice until a blue sleeve with a rear admiral’s brilliant gold rings flopped on the arm rest. Landa turned to look into steel grey eyes of a flag officer who nodded curtly. On the admiral’s left was his aide, a full lieutenant with a wolfish face who gave a look as if Landa was already on his way to prison at Fort Leavenworth. To Landa’s right was a close-cropped Marine bird colonel with more decorations than Macy’s at Christmas time.
After a short, offstage announcement, a single spot light flicked on and Laura West stepped from behind the curtain with a radiant smile. Putting her palms together, she bowed deeply as the audience applauded. Landa was amazed. This was not the unkept, drunken Laura Dutton he’d met in Hollywood. This woman wore rimless glasses and her sandy, once messy hair was now meticulously pulled-back into a perfect French twist. She wore a long sapphire blue gown perfectly accented by a large rhinestone broach with matching earrings and bracelet. She looked a little thin, Landa thought, yet she brimmed with energy as she walked to her long, black, concert grand, sat and arranged herself.
She waited for the crowd to fall silent, then, with a smile, began Bach’s French Suite.
This is what Landa had been dreading. He had no idea how he was going to pass the next hour, let alone stay awake. He reminded himself that he was surrounded by men who could decimate his career with the snap of a finger; thus he looked for something upon which to concentrate so he wouldn’t fidget. Ahh, the Colonel’s shoes. With glee, he noted something had spilled on the left toe of a pair of beautifully spit-shined shoes. And the Marine didn’t seem to notice, as he stretched his feet out and laced his fingers over his belly, watching Laura.
And look at that! The Colonel’s heel was scuffed and red chewing gum was stuck to his sole as...
...her playing seemed perfect. Landa’s head was tilted, and he realized he hadn’t heard anything like this before. But it made sense, as Laura leaned into the keyboard, almost becoming one with the piano; willing it to capture the sounds and nuances penned by Bach. Too soon, the Bach was done and Landa now had a far different idea of what Laura West was all about. Like the Admi
ral to his left and the Marine colonel to his right, he stood and applauded enthusiastically when the piece ended.
Then came the Passionata...Ballade...2Rhapsody #2; they all ended so quickly, the hour and twenty minutes having flown by. Landa, whose father was a stevedore, had never heard anything like it. This was on a level he’d never imagined. The tempo, the technique, the chords, everything blended; Laura West had done it all masterfully. And he wondered what it meant.
She stood, faced the audience with her left hand on the piano and took another bow, as a balding Navy lieutenant mounted the steps. With the audience cheering, cat-calling, and whistling, he handed her a large bouquet of red roses. She smiled, then stood on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek, leaving the lieutenant with a broad grin.
Then Laura sat and waited as the lieutenant drew a floor mike to her side. Her voice seemed breathless as she said, “Well, boys, what a thrill to be back in Long Beach.”
That got the crowd going again and she had to wait a full thirty seconds for the din to fade. “I told you I’d come back. Remember one of the pieces we did last time?” With that, she started playing I’ll be seeing you. At a nod, the audience joined in the verse. Landa knew the melancholy words and found himself singing with everyone else. Then she played Lili Marlene, bringing moist eyes to the crowd. Even Landa felt a lump in his throat as she played and the crowd sang.
And, on the last note, Laura West looked directly at Landa. And smiled.
“How’d you work that one out, son?” It was the Admiral beside Landa.
“I hardly know her, Sir.”
“You gotta be kidding.” With a grin, the Admiral rose and clapped with the rest of the crowd.
With everyone standing, Laura had them sing God Bless America, and everyone’s eyes went moist once more. The audience cheered, as she bowed, and bowed again. Finally, she stepped offstage for the last time, and the house lights came up.
Landa waited, as officers crowded up to the Admiral. The Marine colonel was gone; off to shine his shoes, Landa supposed. But he had to linger a few moments until things thinned out. Finally, he managed to step around the aviators and head into the aisle.
“Sir?” It was the flower-bearing Lieutenant.
“Yes?”
He handed Landa a small envelope. Inside was a heavy stock panel card with a handwritten note:
There’s a party at the Villa Rivera, room 1600, the penthouse. There will be lots of uniforms and I think I need protection.
L
Built in 1921, the French gothic Villa Rivera Hotel had a steep-pitched copper roof, was sixteen stories high, and easily was the tallest structure in downtown Long Beach. Within yards of the Pacific Ocean, it had a commanding view down Ocean Boulevard west toward San Pedro and the Palos Verdes Peninsula. At the war’s outbreak, the Navy had taken it over and converted it to officer housing.
It turned out the Rear Admiral who sat next to Landa was billeted in the penthouse which occupied the entire top floor. His name was Larry Dunnigan, and he greeted Landa like an old friend as he stepped off the elevator. Then Landa was handed off to Dunnigan’s aide, the Lieutenant with the wolfish face who wore a Bakelite tag bearing the name: KLOSTERMAN. He shoved a drink in Landa’s hand, then showed him around, his thick, beefy hand sweeping across the elegant foyer and high ceilings. Then Klosterman disappeared and Landa found himself alone among aviators, the decorated ones reliving dog-fights, and using their hands to once again, shoot down the enemy. Overhearing them, he learned Dunnigan commanded a carrier division.
Klosterman walked by and Landa asked, “Say Lieutenant, mind if I use a phone to check in with my transport in Long Beach? I’m on call for a flight to Pearl.”
“Sure. It’s in there.” Klosterman pointed to an open door to what looked like a study. But just then, there was a commotion in the main foyer.
Laura West walked in on the arm of the broadly grinning bald Navy Lieutenant. Instantly, Admiral Dunnigan was at her side, with Klosterman rushing over to provide introductions.
Laura had taken off her glasses and undid the French twist, her hair now falling in long waves to her shoulders. A half dozen officers ranged around her, taking her hand and talking to her as Dunnigan stood by, nodding and smiling. At one point, the Admiral subtly eased a drink into her hand and Landa saw her mouth ‘thank you.’ As she raised her glass, she caught Landa’s eye, nodded and gave a mock toast.
It was a tiny sip, a gesture really, Landa noted. He smiled and gave her a thumbs up. Laura nodded back. But then Landa’s view was blocked by a tall Navy captain who stepped between them.
Landa sighed, walked in the study and closed the door. It was nearly pitch black but he couldn’t find the wall switch. Finally, his eyes adjusted, and he found the phone on what looked to be an ornate desk by a heavily draped window. He dialed the number and while waiting, parted a drape with the back of his hand. A full moon brilliantly illuminated a blacked-out Long Beach against a cobalt blue sky. To seaward, a gentle wind stirred little wavelets in the harbor, their reflections dancing like jewels among the men-of-war darkly hulking at anchor.
Outside, the laughter and glass tinkling grew louder. Landa checked his watch. Damn, he’d been in here for five minutes while the numbskulls at Long Beach Airport tried to figure out if they had a spot for him on tomorrow’s flight. Finally, someone came on the line. “Hello, Commander Landa? This is Chief Squire.”
The door opened, letting in noise. He turned his back to it and plugged his ear.
“Yes, Chief?”
The door closed.
“We have a flight for you tomorrow. Actually there are two. You have a choice of the morning or late afternoon flight. Actually, the afternoon flight is far less crowded.”
Laura West stepped right in front of him.
“Good God!”
“Commander Landa, Hello?...Hello?”
She said something.
Landa was dumbstruck. “What?”
“I don’t know how else to say this.” Laura ran her arms around his neck.
The phone was still pressed to Landa’s ear as they kissed long and deeply. Then they broke and held each other for ten seconds.
“...hello, hello? Commander Landa? Are you there?”
Landa said, “The afternoon flight is fine, Chief. Thanks.” Then he cradled the phone, put his arms around Laura’s waist and pulled her a foot off the ground, kissing her slowly.
The door opened and Dunnigan’s aide stood silhouetted against the light.
Landa growled, “Later, Klosterman.”
Klosterman expelled breath and closed the door.
Landa eased her back to the floor. “Whew! Who would have ever thought?”
“I have a confession.”
“So do I.” He kissed her forehead, her hair. Her scent was Chanel Number 5, he thought.
“Me first. I’ve been thinking of you ever since you walked in on me in the...well, you know, the rehearsal studio.”
It hit Landa. She’s on the rebound. Jerry. Get the hell out of here. Now! But she felt so good, her voice sounding like velvet when she added, “I don’t know why, except that I had to see you. Thanks for coming.”
The hell with it. “Honey. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Thanks for the front row ticket. The show was swell. You were swell.” He kissed her again, and then again.
The door opened again and a figure stood in the doorway. “Ahem.” It was Admiral Dunnigan.
Landa let her go. “Sorry, Sir.”
Dunnigan reached over and snapped the wall switch flooding the room with light. “Just wanted to make sure you two hadn’t jumped out the window.” Then he snapped it off and started to close the door.
“Larry,” said Laura.
“Yes?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right out.”
“Well, you don’t have to...”
“A promise is a promise, Larry. I said I’d do it.”
“Okay, thanks.” Dunnigan walked o
ut, softly drawing the door shut, once again plunging the room into darkness.
And as the door swung, Landa realized a light was going out in his life.
“It’s for his boys. They’re about to ship out and Dunnigan wants me to give them a piece of...well...home.”
“Right. You better get out there and I have to...hell, I have to ship out, too.”
“No.”
“Tomorrow morning, Early. Seven am flight,” He lied. It was the toughest thing he’d ever done.
“Didn’t you just say tomorrow afternoon’s flight?”
“I have a DC-3 for San Diego tomorrow morning. Then I head out tomorrow afternoon.” Another lie.
“To where?”
He tilted his head west.
“Oh God, I just found you. Can’t you...” Her eyes bored in. “It’s Luther, isn’t it?”
Landa took a step back. “I don’t know, Laura. Hell, I’m all mixed up, too. Yes, damnit, it’s Luther. And I’m on an airplane, tomorrow. And it’s about this damn war.” He looked at her; grasping her arms he said, “Can’t this wait, a little?”
“I only knew him thirteen short months. And yes, I loved him. But he’s gone now. And I’m here. And you’re...Oh God.” She dropped her head in her hands.
The door opened and light streamed in.
“...ahem.” It was Klosterman.
Landa had had all he could take. “Out of here, Lieutenant or I’ll have your b--”
“--It’s okay, Bruce. I’m coming.” Laura looked up to Landa. “We’ll talk after this. Twenty minutes, tops. Okay?” She kissed him on the nose.
“Okay.”
“Stick around. Promise?”
“Promise.”
“I’ll play one for you.” With a wink, Laura walked out with Klosterman holding the door for her.
Landa started to follow, but Klosterman closed the door. He drew up, ready to do battle. But then he waited in the dark, drumming his fingers on the wall near the light switch, counting to fifty. They applauded and soon, piano music drifted in. It was Laura playing something fancy. He didn’t know what it was, but it was beautiful.
WHEN DUTY WHISPERS LOW (The Todd Ingram Series Book 3) Page 25