W E B Griffin - Men at War 1 - The Last Heroes

by The Last Heroes(Lit)

  "How fine of you!" Canidy said. "St. Mark's would be proud of you. "Greater love hath no man than that he dines with the Roosevelts."'

  "I didn't think of it that way," Whittaker said modestly.

  "Big affair?" Canidy asked. "Or just you and Uncle Franklin?"

  "Uncle Franklin and Aunt Eleanor, actually." Whittaker said.

  "And Aunt Eleanor will do the cooking herself, no doubt?" Bitter asked, going along with the joke.

  "God, I hope not," Whittaker said. "She's a lousy cook."

  "How did our Commander in Chief do you dirt?" Bitter asked.

  "I joined up with the solemn promise from the Air Corps that after I trained, I'd go immediately into the reserve. Two weeks before I graduated-by presidential order, or executive order, or whatever the hell they call it when he speaks ex cathedra-the rules were changed. All Reserve officers on active duty have to do another year, and resignations will also not be accepted from Regulars for a year."

  "I hadn't heard about that ' " Bitter said.

  "Me either," Canidy said. "But it probably explains Commander Whatsisname's icy attitude. I thought that sonofabitch was treating us as if we had been caught pissing on the flag."

  "Who?" Whittaker asked.

  "The guy who's processing our discharges," Canidy explained. "I'm sorry you got caught, Jim."

  "You're sorry?" Whittaker snorted.

  "Well, when you see your uncle Franklin," Bitter said, "you can tell him what a stinking thing that was for him to do."

  "I'm tempted, I'll tell you that," Whittaker said seriously.

  Bitter looked at him in surprise, and then decided his leg was being pulled again.

  "Have you got the Rolls, or are we going to have to call a cab?" Canidy asked, moving his suitcases to the door.

  "I told you, I came here from the airport," Whittaker said. "And anyway, the Rolls is in Jersey."

  Bitter decided that settled it. His leg was being pulled.

  "We can call for a cab downstairs he said.

  "%y the wall?" Ed Bitter asked when the cab dropped them in front of the house on Q Street. : "My uncle Chesty built it when Roosevelt got elected," Whit taker said, "to preserve civilization as we know it from the barbarian Democrats."

  E I d Bitter laughed. "That wall's at least fifty years old." And then he made the connection. "Chesty? Chesty Whittaker? Chesley Haywood Whittaker?"

  "One and the same," Whittaker said. "You know the name?"

  "He and my uncle Brandon are friends," Bitter said. "My father, too, I think."

  "Brandon what?"

  "Brandon Chambers," Bitter said.

  "Newspapers, right?" Whittaker asked, and waited for Bitter to acknowledge the association. When Bitter nodded, Whittaker unlocked the heavy wooden door in the wall, pushed it open, and waved Canidy and Bitter through.

  Paul, the butler, opened the door as they approached. "Good afternoon, sir," he said to Whittaker, and then looked at Canidy. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Canidy. Just set those bags down. I'll take care of them."

  "How are you, Paul?" Whittaker said. "Is my uncle here?"

  "I just sent the car to fetch Mr. Whittaker, sir," Paul said. "Miss Chenowith is in the library."

  "Then that's where we'll go," Whittaker said. "Would you please bring some beer to the library, Paul? Unless you'd rather have something stronger, Ed?"

  "Beer is fine," Bitter said.

  "Yes, sir," Paul said.

  Canidy and Bitter followed Whittaker across the wide foyer, where he slid open the double doors. Cynthia Chenowith, her shoulder-length brown hair parted simply in the middle, was sitting sidewards on a couch, with a newspaper laid open next to her. She looked up when the door slid open.

  "I'm glad you're here," she said. "Your uncle was worried."

  "Edwin Bitter, officer and gentleman, USN, say hello to Miss Cynthia Chenowith," Whittaker said. "But don't get your hopes up.

  Not only is Canidy smitten with her, but I have been in love with her since she was eight and I was four."

  Cynthia smiled at Bitter.

  "Didn't your mother ever tell you you are judged by the company you keep?" she asked. "Hello, Canidy."

  "Miss Cynthia, ma'am9" Canidy said, in a mock Southern accent, and bowed deeply.

  4"You. could have called," Cynthia said to Whittaker. "We weren't even sure you were on the train. It was damned inconsiderate of you. Aren't you ever going to grow up?"

  "That time of the month again, is it?" Whittaker asked, without thinking.

  "You can go to hell, Jim she said. With her face flushing with embarrassment and anger, she stormed out of the room.

  "Why the hell did you say that?" Canidy asked Whittaker as soon as she was gone.

  "Who the hell does she think she is, talking to me that way, my mother?" Whittaker replied. "And since when do you take her side? What happened between you when you were here before?"

  "I didn't make a pass at her, Jimmy " Canidy said, "if that's what you are asking, though I confess the possibility entered my mind."

  "Then what?"

  "Could it be a case of mutual loathing, Jimmy?" Canidy said, with an angelically innocent smile. "In my experience, that's the reason a man and a woman are at each other's throats every time they see one another."

  "I think Dick is right " Ed Bitter said, trying to keep a straight face. "It couldn't be that you two actually like each other, could it?"

  "Oh, fuck it," Whittaker said, wanting to stop the conversation before he was really stuck on the hook.

  A few moments later a young black woman in a maid's apron and cap came into the room and set a tray with three bottles of beer and three glasses on the coffee table before the couch.

  As she left, Cynthia Chenowith returned.

  IV "Can I get you something, Miss Chenowith?" the maid asked.

  "Nothing, thank you", Cynthia Chenowith said, and then looked at Canidy.

  "Jim is sorry," Canidy said. "Tell her you're sorry, jackass I"

  "To the extent an apology is required, I apologize," Whi' said. ttaker "Accepted," she said. "I don't know why I thought I had a right to give you hell, and I'm sorry."

  "Truce?" Canidy said.

  "Truce," she said.

  "That's better," Canidy said. He made the sign of the cross.

  "Bless You, my children. Go and sin no more! "I Cynthia Chenowith smiled and shook her head.

  Jim. "Why do I suspect that isn't your first of the day?" she asked Canidy was afraid that would start it all over again, but Whittaker just grinned.

  "To counterbalance your breathtaking beauty and overwhelming desirability," he said, "God has given you a nasty, suspicious na-ture. And it isn It. I had a couple of beers at Anacostia. waiting for Dick."

  "What brings you back to Washington, Dick?" Cynthia asked.

  "We're on our way to New York," Canidy said. "Tomorrow."

  "They're on their way to China," Whittaker said. "The damned fools joined that American Volunteer Group."

  "Have you really?" she asked.

  Bitter was surprised to see that Cynthia Chenowith seemed to know about the American Volunteer Group.

  "So," Whittaker said lightly, "it seems to me the least you can do before these brave boys go off to China is feed them, and otherwise let them know how much the home front appreciates their sacrifice."

  Before she could reply, the door from the foyer slid open again, and Chestywhittaker came into the room.

  "Dick!" Chesty Whittaker said. "You're back. How nice!"

  "You won't think so when you hear why," Jim said.

  "My name is Chesty Whittaker," he said, putting out his hand to Bitter.

  "Ed Bitter," Bitter said.

  "He's Brandon Chambers's nephew," Jim said.

  "Then you're twice welcome," Chesty said.

  "My father is Chandler Bitter, Mr. Whittaker," Bitter said.

  "Aren't you acquainted?"

  "What is Chan Bitter's son doing with these thugs?" Whittaker as
ked.

  "Being embarrassed by this one," Jim said. "And going to China with the other one:'

  Chesty Whittaker looked quickly at Canidy.

  "You went to the AVG, Dick?"

  Canidy nodded.

  "I hope you know what you're doing," Whittaker said, "It has something to do with saving the world for democracy, and a lot more to do with six hundred a month," Canidy said.

  "You heard Jim's going to the Philippines?" Chesty Whittaker asked.

  Canidy nodded.

  Chesty Whittaker gave his hand to Cynthia Chenowith.

  "It's good to see you, my dear I " he said. "And thank you."

  "I'm happy to be asked," she said.

  44Could I impose even further and ask you to amuse these two while Jim and I are off to see the king?"

  "I'd be happy to," she said. "We were just talking about it."

  No one who hadn't seen Chesty Whittaker sneaking out of her apartment in the wee hours would ever suspect they were lovers, Canidy thought.

  Another man entered. Chesty turned and greeted him, and then he introduced the newcomer to the others.

  "I want you to meet my lawyer hiend, Mr. Stanley Fine."

  Fine shook hands with Cynthia, Canidy, and Bitter.

  As their eyes met, Canidy knew who Fine was.

  "We've met," he said. "Professionallyl@

  There was no recognition in Fine's eyes.

  "The charge was arson," Canidy said.

  "My God," Fine said after a moment. "Reverend Canidy's Son, right?"

  "Right," Canidy said.

  "Arson?" Jim said, absolutely fascinated.

  "Arson and inflicting grievous bodily harm with an explosive device," Canidy, smiling broadly, explained. "A kid named Fulmar and I stood accused of trying to bum down Cedar Rapids, and of trying to blow up a teacher. We were in jail about to undergo 'rehabilitation for what a fat lady in charge called our 'societal problern,' when out of the west, on his white horse, comes Mr. Fine, who got us out. I stand forever in your debt, sir."

  "My pleasure, Mr. Canidy," Fine said, smiling at the memory.

  "How did he get you out?" Jim asked. "How come I don't know this story?"

  "It was a painful memory," Canidy said. "You should have seen the fat lady. It wasn't the sort of thing one talked about."

  "It wasn't all that difficult," Fine said, laughing. "All it took was a new Studebaker."

  He and Canidy laughed aloud.

  "A new Studebaker?" Chesty asked, confused.

  "To replace the one he and Fulmar blew up," Fine said.

  "I want to hear about this in some detail, of course," Chesty Whittaker said, chuckling. "But right now there's not the time. Save it for later."

  "How is Dr. Canidy?" Fine asked.

  "Very well, thank you," Canidy said.

  "Everybody's staying here tonight, right?" Chesty said. "So we won't have the problem of moving people around?"

  Everybody nodded.

  "Then all Jim and I have to do is get dressed," Whittaker said.

  The Mavflower Club Washington, D.C. l0:20 Pm., June 16, 1941

  Stanley S. Fine, vice president, legal, Continental Studios, Inc., swung his gaze in some surprise around the dining room of the Mayflower Club. The club was not nearly as elegant as Fine would have imagined. Tables had uneven legs, and the wallpaper was peelin spots. There were indeed far more elegant places in Califoring nia, with food at least as good. But there was an ambience here that the more elegant places he knew simply did not have-an ambience bom of white Anglo-Saxon money and power, an ambience that practically screamed at Stanley Fine: "You have no right to be here. You are to us an outsider forever." But Stanley was equally aware that here he damned well was, and he was also certain that he was absolutely right about doing it.

  When he returned to Los Angeles, he knew, he might have some explaining to do. He might even have some problems with some other people's overly tender-but no less important-feelings. He would have to tell his wife, for instance, that he had managed to invade WASP heaven. And through his wife, news would reach his employer's wife and in due course the ears of Max Lieberman.

  "Max," his aunt Sophie would say to Max Lieberman, founder and chairman of the board of Continental Studios, Inc., "you wouldn't believe what Shirley told me. When Stanley was in Washington, Mr. Chesley not only had him in his own house, but-would you believe ifl-he took him to the Mayflower Club I"

  Not long ago (until the federal government broke its system up) Continental Studios had owned substantially all of its motionpicture theaters. And Whittaker Construction had designed and built virtually all of them.

  In New York and in other large cities, these theaters were usually housed within office buildings. And these buildings were usually owned by corporations in which Continental Studios, Whittaker Properties, and other interested parties held a controlling interest. The government's successful antitrust suit against the studios had affected the ownership of the theaters, but not the control of the real estate they were part of. Colonel William B. Donovan's law firm had worked out an agreement with the Justice Department, which had softened somewhat the governmental edict that flatly forbade motion-picture studios to own or control motion-picture theaters. Thus, so long as real estate owned by Continental was managed by a third party (in this case, Whittaker Properties) which had no interests in motion-picture production, the studio would not have to sell its stock in corporations (in a Depression-lowered real estate market) which happened to own buildings which happened to house movie theaters.

  It was an unlikely alliance, but Continental Studios and Whittaker Properties-and therefore Max Lieberman and Chesley Haywood Whittaker-were in business together.

  Max Lieberman had met Chesley Whittaker a dozen times in Washington, D.C., but he had neither been in the house on Q Street nor a guest at the Mayflower Club. Money wouldn't get you in the door. A German-Jewish accent would certainly keep you out.

  Would Uncle Max be hurt that Stanley had made it where he himself could not go?

  Or would he conclude with his customary immodesty that it was one more proof that he'd been right to spend whatever it had cost to get Stanley into Harvard Law?

  One of Uncle Max's dozens of profound philosophical observations-"It's really a small world, isn't it?"-seemed to be proved again tonight. Stanley S. Fine was in Washington to deal with a problem involving Eric Fulmar.

  As vice president, legal, of Continental Studios, Inc., Stanley Fine's duties were rather simple. He actually practiced very little law himself. It was another tenet of Max Lieberman's philosophy that "it was cheaper in the long run to go first class." As applied to matters legal, this meant the retention of the best law firrns available to deal with specific problems.

  Donovan's firm, for example, was retained by Continental to dea primarily with the federal government. Other firms handled labor relations, finance, artists' contracts, libel and slander, copyright, and the myriad other specialized fields of law with which the production of motion pictures was involved.

  Stanley Fine had two functions, and for these he was paid very generously: to have at his fingertips the status of whatever of Continental's legal affairs Uncle Max had that moment wondered about; and, more important, to have a fast answer when Uncle Max looked over a document and demanded, "Stanley, what the hell does this mean?"

  It wasn't as simple as it sounded. Max Lieberman was by no means the fool he often seemed to be. The questions he asked were often penetrating, and almost always demonstrated his uncanny ability to "look for the dry rot under the varnish."

  The question Uncle Max had asked that had brought Stanley to Washington, at the moment, had no answer: "What about Monica Carlisle's kid? He's in Morocco for some god damned half-assed reason. Find out. Also find out what he's a citizen of," Uncle Max had said. "We'd look like shit if he joined the Nazis."

  Uncle Max had thought that over a minute and then added, "Do it yourself, Stanley, and do it next."

 
; Stanley had taken the first plane he could get, a Transcontinental and Western Airlines Douglas Skyliner to Chicago, and when his connecting flight to New York had been delayed, the train. The man to ask about this was obviously Colonel William B. Donovan, a man who was not only a good friend of Max Lieberman and Continental Studios but who also was the man Franklin Roosevelt most depended on for foreign intelligence.