The GI Bride

by Simantel, Iris Jones

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he slurred.

  ‘Don’t you remember? I’m taking an art class at the high school,’ I replied.

  ‘No, I don’t remember. You didn’t tell me that so don’t lie to me. You’re not going anyway.’

  ‘I’ve already paid for it out of my own money. I have to go. I’m in the middle of a project.’ I immediately regretted mentioning my own money; I had made it secretly by sewing for people.

  ‘You don’t have money of your own. That’s my money you’re wasting. No wonder we’re in debt.’ I couldn’t believe my ears when he said that. I certainly had a lot to learn about living with an alcoholic and how they twist things to shift blame.

  He staggered into the bedroom and I followed him, still pleading.

  ‘I’m not taking care of your kid while you go off gallivanting,’ he spewed. ‘Now leave me alone.’ He flopped onto the bed. For a minute, I just stood there, watching saliva dribble out from the corner of his cruel mouth. At that moment, I hated him.

  I phoned Mary and told her what had happened. She said I could bring Wayne over there if I still wanted to go to my class, so that was what I did. I wasn’t going to allow that maniac to stop me having something for myself.

  With Wayne safely in Mary’s care, I crept back into our apartment and grabbed my handbag, but as I started towards the back door, suddenly he was there, blocking my way. He grabbed me, and dragged me away from the door towards the bedroom. There, he tried to lock me into a closet. I think he was shocked that I fought back and he loosened his grip long enough for me to break away. I ran for the back door and managed to get outside. When he realized that I had left, he came after me with an umbrella and began hitting me with it, trying to make me stop. I just kept running. I was about seven months pregnant and I couldn’t believe he was doing this to me and, frankly, I didn’t care if he killed me, but I was not about to give in to him. He finally left me alone and went home. I continued to the school but was in no condition to go to class and never went back. I sneaked into our apartment building and went to Mary’s, where I sobbed my heart out and stayed until we were sure that Palmer was asleep. The next day he claimed not to remember what had happened.

  Shortly after that incident, Palmer announced that he’d been offered a job as sales manager at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas, and that he was going to accept it. What he failed to mention was that the Convention Bureau was letting him go and that he would only be working there until he had trained his replacement. He said that the Vegas hotel would pay our moving expenses and that we could stay at the hotel until we found a place to live. I was so far along in my pregnancy, and so unsure of Palmer’s behaviour, that I told him he should go ahead but that I didn’t want to move until after the baby was born.

  In the meantime, Mary and John, who lived next door, expressed an interest in moving into our apartment when we left. After a lot of brainstorming, we came up with a plan: when our furniture was put into temporary storage, Palmer could go to Las Vegas and Mary and John would move into our apartment. Wayne and I would stay with them until after the baby arrived. Everyone thought that was a great idea. Palmer would be happy, Mary and John would be happy and I would still be under Dr Crown’s care. It would also buy me time to decide if I wanted to join Palmer in Las Vegas.

  One positive thing I had managed to do at that time was join a church. Wayne and I attended a nearby Lutheran church and involved ourselves in its activities. I had attended a Billy Graham event in Chicago, and had been ‘saved’, and I was now reading the Bible regularly and doing a home-study course provided by the Billy Graham Foundation. Palmer made fun of me, but I ignored his gibes. The church provided me with a sense of security and stability in my fractured life and I was sure it would give me the strength I needed to keep my marriage together. I had begun teaching at Sunday school and had fun creating Bible-related projects for the children in my class. I was especially touched when they brought me little presents. Sundays became very important to my sanity. The church was one place where I felt safe.

  Palmer left for Las Vegas at the end of August 1961, which left Wayne and me sharing what was now Mary and John’s extra bedroom. We were enjoying the relaxed atmosphere without the constant threat of Palmer’s behaviour, and Mary and John enjoyed having what we jokingly called a live-in maid. I kept the apartment sparkling clean and had dinner ready for them every night when they came home from work. The peace was heavenly, and the laughter a gift. It seemed like every five minutes they’d have the camera out, taking photos of me and my giant bump, which they found hilarious.

  We received regular phone calls from Las Vegas and it sounded as though things were going well out there. Palmer must have been on his best behaviour during the honeymoon phase of his new job. He told me that his bosses were pleased and impressed with his sales ability and general know-how. In fact, Palmer was a brilliant young man. He’d had a great reputation nationally and was highly thought of in the industry until his drinking ruined his career. When he was sober, he was a different person.

  We began hearing of all the celebrities he was meeting, including many of the big-name stars who were headlining in the shows out there. Palmer had always been a name-dropper, often exaggerating his connections with the rich and famous, so we never really knew if he had just passed someone in the hallway or if he really was acquainted with them. He said he could hardly wait for us to get there so that we could see where he worked and meet all the important people he knew. I guess I wanted to believe him.

  Again, it seemed my pregnancy would never end, and every time I saw Dr Crown for a check-up, we thought it would be the last visit before the baby arrived. Finally, before I left his office one day, the doctor gave me an injection that he said might get labour started, if the baby was ready. I went home and, sure enough, began having contractions. When they were coming regularly, Mary rushed me to the hospital. Every time we hit a bump in the road, she’d scream, thinking she might have hurt me, but the look on her face had me laughing so hard we both ended up with tears rolling down our faces.

  ‘Oh, stop it,’ I said. ‘Now I’ve gone and wet myself!’ Off we went again, and laughed all the way to the hospital.

  After I’d been admitted, someone took me directly to the labour ward. There, a nurse prepped me for delivery but suddenly the contractions stopped. It had been a false alarm and eventually the doctor sent me home again. I, of course, was disappointed but Mary said she was grateful for the practice run.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I told her.

  ‘Don’t be,’ she replied, ‘I’ve been scared to death about getting you there in time, and now, when it really happens, I’ll be an old pro at playing the part of Daddy.’ My pal Mary was a real trouper.

  We carried on for about two more weeks, but then Dr Crown decided labour should be induced, but this time it would be in the hospital. The baby was again quite large and in the right position. Mary took me to the hospital and off we went to the labour ward. There, a nurse put me on an intravenous drug to induce labour. The contractions began almost immediately, and this time they didn’t stop. Once more I was in labour for a long time but finally, in the delivery room, when Dr Crown announced that I had a healthy baby girl, I was over the moon with joy. She weighed in at nine pounds two and a half ounces, so, after all that exercising, I hadn’t produced a smaller baby, but I was a bit smaller this time.

  Robin Lee, as we named her, was born on 4 October 1961 and was the most beautiful baby: she had enormous dark eyes and a thick mop of black hair. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and when I finally closed them, I could still see her perfect face. I couldn’t believe I’d been lucky enough
to have a little girl, especially after I’d wished for a son as my first child. Mary made me laugh when she told me what had happened in the fathers’ waiting room.

  ‘I was a nervous wreck,’ she said. ‘I was pacing up and down, and someone told me I shouldn’t be in there, that the room was only for fathers.’

  ‘I am the father!’ Mary had protested, in her agitated state.

  We congratulated each other on the great job we had done and she left to notify Palmer. Throughout Robin’s life, we have often joked about who her ‘real’ father was.

  I soon received roses and a phone call from Robin’s biological father, who cried, saying he would never drink again, that he loved me, couldn’t wait to see us and couldn’t live without me. In the next few days, I heard from him a lot, always with the same promises. His parents came to see the baby and they were delighted with their little granddaughter, especially because she was so much like her daddy.

  We went home to Mary and John’s, and for the next few days there was a stream of visitors and tons of gifts. Even the local shopkeepers sent flowers and presents, such was the excitement about our little daughter’s birth. Wayne, who was now almost six, was just as excited as everyone else was about his little sister and we had to remember to make a fuss of him too. He was always such a loving little boy that no one would ever want his feelings to be hurt.

  My family in England was thrilled for me because they knew how much I had wanted a girl. I wished I knew when they would get to see her; it was nearly two years since I’d been home.

  I knew it was time to face the future positively so I booked our flight to Las Vegas. Palmer told me he had found and rented what he described as a luxury furnished apartment, complete with swimming pool, and until we found the right house, we were to leave our own furniture in storage. After shipping the baby gifts, we got ourselves packed up too. Then, when Robin was just ten days old, we said a tearful goodbye to Mary and John, and flew to Nevada, to start the new and wonderful life Palmer had promised us.

  16: Las Vegas, City Without Clocks

  When we got off the plane at McCarran Field in Las Vegas, it was like stepping into a steam bath. The heat that greeted us, even though it was evening, almost knocked me over it was like being smothered with a hot damp blanket. I was immediately reminded of my first summer in Chicago, in 1955, when the heat had been so oppressive and I’d been so miserable. Oh, my God, I thought, if it’s like this at night, what must it be like during the daytime? I couldn’t dwell on that now, though, because there was too much else to think about. As we came through the gate, there was Palmer, grinning from ear to ear. He was obviously smitten with his new baby daughter and happy that we had finally arrived. By that time, he had bought a car, and drove us away to our new luxury accommodation.

  In 1961, Las Vegas was not nearly as built up as it is today and we had to drive through some desert areas before we reached ‘The Strip’ where all the big hotels and casinos were. It was late evening so the lights were dazzling as we passed the Flamingo, Dunes, Sands hotels and many smaller properties. All of those original hotels and casinos have since disappeared, replaced with much bigger and far grander buildings. On a later visit to Las Vegas, many years later, I found that I didn’t recognize the area where we had lived; in fact, I couldn’t find it.

  Our eyes were almost popping out of our heads as we drove down a new road that had desert on either side and pulled into the brand new Sunset Sands Apartment Complex. The buildings looked much like rows of motel units with a swimming pool between each pair. There was a small amount of grass around each pool, but other than that, it was just sand for miles around.

  ‘Welcome to your new home,’ said Palmer, as he slid open the glass patio door that took us straight into the living room.

  ‘Is that the only door?’ I asked.

  ‘Nope, there’s another just like it into the bedroom,’ he replied.

  ‘That’s weird,’ I said. ‘Not very secure, is it?’ I suppose I was a little wary after living in the big city.

  ‘Nothing to worry about here,’ he said, laughing. ‘No one’s going to bother us in the desert.’

  Wayne was already off checking the place out. ‘Where do I sleep?’ he asked, and Palmer showed him a room with two double beds. ‘Wow, can I have a friend to stay over?’ We laughed and told him that as soon as he found a friend, he could certainly invite him to stay the night.

  The apartment itself was fairly new and decent but, again, felt like a motel. There was a smallish living-dining area, a galley-style kitchen in the middle, and two large bedrooms, with a shared bathroom off a connecting hallway across the whole back of the apartment. It was a strange layout but there was a washing-machine in the kitchen, which was a great relief since we had diapers. Palmer had not used the washing-machine: it still had its Styrofoam packing inside. I discovered he had been sending all of his dirty clothes out to be laundered and ironed. Even his underwear was in the closet on hangers.

  ‘Isn’t that a bit expensive?’ I asked later.

  ‘Well, there’s no dryer and I wasn’t about to hang stuff out on the line,’ he said. ‘Besides, I didn’t have an iron and wouldn’t know how to use one if I did.’

  Men, I thought. Mum was right. They’re bloody useless.

  Palmer had the next day off work so we ventured outside to explore this strange new desert world and, of course, Wayne headed for the swimming pool. ‘It’s too cold,’ he said, shivering, with goose bumps all over him the desert night air had chilled it. He looked disappointed. I was relaxing on a poolside lounge chair and the baby was in her buggy beside me. Palmer assured Wayne that the water would be much warmer after the sun had been beating down on it for a few hours and told him to try it again after lunch. By the time ‘after lunch’ came, it was too hot to be outside so he had to wait until early evening. We realized that we had to adjust our thinking and schedules to the desert temperatures.

  On many occasions I ended up doing my grocery shopping at midnight since the supermarkets were open twenty-four hours a day. I was surprised by the rows of slot machines at the front of all the stores, just after the checkout lanes, and shocked to see how many people used them before leaving. I came to enjoy shopping late at night: not only was it much cooler, but that was when I was most likely to see some of the stars doing their shopping. One night, I thought I’d die of embarrassment when I almost knocked down Keely Smith the singer, and wife of Louis Prima the band leader with my shopping cart as we both sailed around the end of an aisle. She was startled but smiled at me. ‘We really must stop meeting like this,’ she said. We both laughed, but my knees were knocking. I couldn’t wait to get home to tell Palmer.

  Two strange weather-related incidents occurred when we lived in our new desert home. The first was a sandstorm, which almost totally removed the paint from the car we had no garage so it was outside in the parking lot. Thank goodness, our insurance paid to have it repainted. The second was another storm, wind this time, and I had forgotten that I’d hung laundry on the line overnight. When I remembered it and went outside to retrieve it, it was gone. Now, that wasn’t all bad: I’d only had some old sheets and towels out there, but lots of new sheets and towels had blown over into our yard from one of the hotels on the Strip. I decided it was poetic justice and kept them all.

  Palmer couldn’t wait to show us around the city and to introduce us to the people at the Flamingo Hotel, all of whom had been anxious to meet his family. The casinos were palatial, with their crystal chandeliers and all the other glitz, but the cigar and cigarette smoke made my eyes water. The sound of all the slot machines was unbelievable. It reminded me of something I used to hear on bus
es in England, when the conductor’s little machine spat out the tickets, ka-ching, ka-ching. I was amazed to see how packed those places were at any time of day or night. That was when I learned that Las Vegas truly was the ‘City Without Clocks’, just like the title of the book by Ed Reid. There were no clocks in the casinos. Of course, the idea was that people should forget the time and how long they’d been there.

  Besides the casinos and the extravagant shows, there wasn’t much to see in Las Vegas. We drove up to the Hoover Dam, which was spectacular, but it gave me the heebie-jeebies. I couldn’t stay there for long because, for the first time ever, I experienced some kind of phobia. It almost suffocated me. I felt closed in by all those high, cliff-like mountains. I had the baby in my arms, and when Palmer asked me to come and look over the parapet at the water below, I was petrified that I would drop Robin over the edge. I had nightmares about it afterwards.

  When I studied the map of Las Vegas, I noticed there was an Indian reservation on the edge of town. I’d been disappointed when the one I’d visited in Wisconsin had turned out to be just a tourist attraction. Perhaps this is the real thing, I thought. After all, we’re out in the old Wild West now. I asked Palmer to take me there and I was disconcerted to find that it was just a bunch of shacks, some not much better than chicken coops, with Native Americans living in them. It was depressing, and just one more disillusioning American experience.

  ‘Is this really how they live?’ I asked Palmer.

  ‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘They’re all drunks, so what can you expect?’

  Hmm, I thought. You should talk.

  One of the first things I did after settling into our new home was to find a Lutheran church. After we’d attended services for several weeks, the pastor invited the congregation to come forward to accept Holy Communion. I stood in line to await my turn at the altar. When I was in front of the pastor, he stopped and looked at me, and as he began to offer the sacrament to me, he suddenly withdrew it. He leaned in close to me. ‘I’m sorry but you can’t receive Communion,’ he whispered.