Christmastime 1942

by Linda Mahkovec

And now it would be over two weeks before she saw him – not until Christmas week. She wished they could start all over again and do it better this time.

  Everything had been fine, at least between them, until their conversation about her job. She hadn’t meant to snap at him, and wished she had simply explained how she felt. He would understand. She could have explained that she was at a point in her work as an artist that was important to her development. To quit her job now, with no guarantee of future work would be a setback. And what if –

  “And the same goes for you artists,” Rockwell continued, looking directly at her.

  Lillian looked up. What had he been saying?

  He leaned forward and frowned. “I understand that we’re still waiting on submissions for the poster contest. The deadline is coming up. What are you all waiting for?” He scowled at the list of names handed to him by the head of Art, and began reading them off.

  “Mr. Gilford. What’s your excuse?”

  “I just submitted it before the meeting, Mr. Rockwell. A ‘loose lips’ theme. Silhouette of a sinking ship against a fiery sky.”

  Rockwell grunted his approval. “Miss Albrecht? Can you deliver on another Army Air Corps poster?”

  “Yes, sir. Nearly finished, sir. Handsome pilot. Lots of planes. Pretty girls in the background,” she said, fluttering her fingers in the air.

  “Mrs. Drooms?”

  Lillian sat up straight. “Well – I’m considering a couple of different ideas. The Nurse Cadet Program and a War Bonds theme – ”

  “Too tame. Save those for the weeklies. We need to stir up sentiment – and not the sappy kind.” He shuffled through a pile of drawings on the table, and glanced up at her. “Understood?”

  Lillian dipped her head in agreement.

  “And speaking of the weeklies,” he continued to address her, “how’s that cover coming along – the one with the dame on the ladder decorating a Christmas tree?”

  The head of Art leaned over to Rockwell and whispered, “She’s taking the decorations off the tree, actually, sir. For the New Year’s insert, actually.” He noticed Rockwell’s displeasure at being corrected and quickly added, “But that deadline is indeed fast approaching.” He swept his hand to Lillian to respond.

  Rockwell was now glaring at Lillian. “Well?”

  Lillian folded her hands on the table, hoping to give the impression of a well-thought-out response. “Yes. Well, sir, that image has already been done a few times, so I was thinking – ”

  “I don’t pay you to think, Mrs. Drooms, I pay you to draw, and if I ask for a dame on a ladder, then you’ll give me a dame on a ladder! It sells magazines and that’s what we’re in the business of doing.” He pushed the drawings aside. “Make it your own, if you have to – sweet. But make it patriotic and alluring. And I want her in a dress. None of this menswear business.”

  Lillian cringed. There it was again. Sweet, soft, tame – words used to describe her drawings of family, gardens, children.

  Rockwell pushed back his chair, and addressed everyone with a final remark. “And I don’t have to remind you of WPB restrictions on garments – no cuffs, no pleats, no excesses of any kind.” He leaned in the direction of Lillian. “Less fabric in general, if you catch my drift,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her.

  Only Izzy noticed the slight pursing of Lillian’s lips at his unsubtle remark.

  “Meeting adjourned,” he snapped, with all the authority of having slammed a gavel on the table.

  A few employees flocked around Rockwell as he left the room. Izzy walked up to Lillian, who remained seated, and leaned against the table.

  “Another dame on a ladder,” said Lillian.

  Izzy smiled and shrugged. “That’s what you get for making her so fetching the first time.”

  “Patriotic and alluring.” Lillian groaned and pushed herself away from the table. “I’ll dress her in a red, white, and blue negligee – short. Do you think that will make him happy?”

  “Only if it’s see-through. We on for lunch?”

  “Yes,” laughed Lillian, walking with Izzy to the elevator. “Sometimes I feel that I’m losing any artistic vision I might have had, drawing to specification as I am.”

  “Well,” said Izzy, “of course you have to fulfill your assignments, but you have to stay true to yourself.”

  Exactly what Lillian had always believed, and she tried to live in accordance with that idea – but this was work. This was different. “I have to give him what he asks for.”

  “That’s just it,” Izzy countered. “He doesn’t know what he wants until he sees it. You’re the artist. That’s what he’s paying you for. I say go with your instincts.”

  Lillian considered this – and quickly realized that she lacked that kind of confidence. Perhaps at some later date, she thought, when she had proven herself, when others saw her as an artist.

  The elevator opened and Izzy stepped in. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  *

  On their way to the little café around the corner, Izzy kept snatching glances at Lillian. “You look a bit down in the mouth. You’re not letting Rockwell get to you, are you?”

  “Hmm? Oh, no,” she answered.

  “Already missing Charles, is that it?”

  “No. I mean yes, I do miss him, but – The weekend didn’t go at all well.”

  “No?” asked Izzy, taking her arm companionably. “Why not? Did you have the dinner for Gino?”

  “Oh, that was the high point,” said Lillian. “We had a wonderful time. But then – I don’t know. It seemed like everyone was on edge. Tommy behaved rudely to Charles. He seems to resent the fact that Charles is away – and I know it made Charles feel bad. Then Charles and I quarreled about – stupid things. Little things. He hinted that I should quit my job. Somehow it set me off. I know he’s just worried, but he doesn’t realize how hard it was for me to get this job. What it means to me.”

  “Maybe you need to tell him.”

  “I did. Sort of. I just can’t see myself sitting at home. I guess I’m afraid that I might just sit there and worry and not get anything done.”

  “I know what you mean. I’d go bonkers if I had to stay home. I need to keep busy.” Izzy pulled open the door to the cafe. “Gosh, are we later than usual?”

  The place was crowded and they had to wait for several minutes. They finally settled for a seat at the counter and put in their order for sandwiches while the overwhelmed waitress filled their coffee cups.

  Lillian continued with her train of thought as she poured in some milk. “It would serve no purpose right now. If there was some reason why I had to be at home anyway, then it would make some sense. I would enjoy being at home.”

  Izzy studied Lillian’s expression. “You mean if there was a baby? Is that what’s bothering you?”

  Lillian lifted one shoulder in a thwarted shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I was hoping it would happen.”

  Izzy rubbed Lillian’s arm. “Well, it can take time, and that’s the one thing you two haven’t had. You married in January and then he was called up in – what was it, March?”

  “February 20th. And we’ve only had a few scattered weekends together since then.”

  “Well, there you have it.”

  A fleeting sadness passed over Lillian’s face; for a few brief seconds she saw a baby in her arms, Charles smiling down at them. And then the vision was yanked away from her. “No. I think maybe I’m too old. I’m thirty-seven now.” She took a sip of coffee. “How about you, Izzy? Isn’t that something you want out of life?”

  “Oh, if the right guy comes along,” Izzy said breezily. “But I’m not going to lose any sleep over it, that’s for sure. I’m too busy enjoying my life. There’s a dance tonight to raise funds for the USO, and I intend to raise some serious bucks.”

  The waitress soon set their sandwiches down in front of them and then hurried back through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

  Izzy lifted her sandwi
ch, took a big bite, and gave a sigh of pleasure. Then she moved her shoulders back and forth to the swing music on the radio.

  Lillian put an elbow on the counter and watched Izzy. “Such gusto. And on a Monday.” She took the toothpick out of her sandwich. “I don’t know where you get all your energy.”

  “Didn’t you notice? I took a little nap during the meeting. You’re going to have to tell me what Rockwell said so I can write up the minutes.”

  “No, seriously – you’re out volunteering at least three nights a week, you have an active social life, a full-time job – and yet you’re always bursting with energy. Don’t you ever slow down?”

  Izzy leaned her head back and laughed. “No time for it! There’s too much to do – there’s money to be made, dances to be danced, soldiers that need an ear, or in some cases a kiss. I gotta keep moving. I’ll slow down once this war is over.”

  Izzy took another bite of her sandwich and talked with a half-full mouth. “I love my work at the Stage Door. You should see the look on those kids’ faces. Oh my God, Private Taylor, on Friday – no, it was Saturday – what a sweetheart!” She set her sandwich down, and for a moment was back at the Canteen. She sighed, and then picked up her sandwich again. “Some of them want me to be their best girl and want to write to me. I must have a dozen boys I’ll be writing to. Others are fresh and want to flirt. But most just want to talk about home, their girls, their families.”

  Lillian briefly imagined such a scene. “Such young boys. It sounds heartbreaking.”

  “No. It isn’t,” said Izzy, brushing crumbs from her hands, “because none of us will let it be. We all put on a brave face. Those boys are determined to come back home. Soon. And I tell them all they better, because Izzy Briggs will be waiting for them.”

  “But don’t you ever get tired – just physically tired?”

  “Sore feet some nights.” Izzy turned to Lillian, as if she just realized something. “But I have to say, I’ve never slept better! I think all the girls feel the same way. It’s exciting, and every night is different.”

  Lillian lifted her sandwich, about to take another bite, when she remembered what Charles had said about Edith. “By the way, you were right about Edith. Charles asked Mr. Mason, and apparently Edith is seeing someone – an actor.”

  Izzy nodded. “Desmond Burke. He’s a Shakespearean actor, and he’s done a lot of off-Broadway. He seems like a swell guy. Sure helps out at the Canteen. Several girls have set their caps at him, but he wasn’t interested. Until Edith-the-mystery-woman showed up. He can’t keep his eyes off her.” Izzy took another bite of her sandwich, and then cocked her head as she considered something. “She’s a funny mix.”

  “Edith? I know what you mean. I was trying to explain it to Charles. She’s both earthy and other-worldly at the same time. That contrast is part of what makes her so beautiful. That low, soft voice, and her sudden actions. I told Charles that she has the kind of beauty an artist would appreciate.”

  “You’re right. She’s full of contradictions. At first, I thought maybe she was shy. The way she sometimes looks down or away – but then other times her gaze is piercing, goes right through you. She’s different – I like her. It’s almost like she’s from another time. She dresses in clothes a good decade old, sometimes older – longer hems, scarves and shawls. I assumed it was to disguise her limp – though it’s really not so noticeable. But those older fashions somehow suit her.” Izzy picked up the dessert menu. “Feel like some ice cream? While we can still get it?”

  “Sure, why not? Chocolate for me,” Lillian said to the waitress.

  “And I’ll have peppermint. Two scoops. With chocolate syrup,” Izzy called out to the vanishing waitress.

  “Anyway,” said Lillian. “I’m happy for Edith that she has a friend.”

  “Oh, I think he’s more than a friend. I saw them by chance late one night – early morning really – getting into a cab. And they didn’t look like friends.”

  Lillian considered this, holding her coffee cup. “I guess that’s why Mr. Mason is concerned. Well, she’s a grown woman, after all.” She took a sip of her coffee, and suddenly looked over at Izzy. “And what were you doing out so late?”

  “I’m a grown woman, too,” laughed Izzy.

  “Isabell Briggs! Are you seeing someone? And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Well, not exactly. I saw someone once or twice. Once, actually. He only had a 24-hour leave. Staff Sergeant Parker.” Izzy let out a moan of pleasure. “Gorgeous.” She shook off the memory. “I’m sure I’ll never see him again. Whichever shore he lands on, the girls are sure to swoon over him.”

  “Izzy!” Lillian leaned over and whispered, “Do you mean – you spent the night with him? At a hotel?”

  “We were lucky to find one, let me tell you. Everything is overbooked these days.” She shook her head at some thought. “Dating the GIs from the Canteen is strictly prohibited. They’ll take away our IDs if we get caught. What a crazy rule,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Here are these young men, going away, very likely to die. And we’re supposed to shake their hands and say ‘good luck soldier?’” She shook her head at the impossibility, and made way for the ice cream that was just being placed in front of her.

  Lillian was still staring open-mouthed at her friend. She picked up a spoon and looked down at her ice cream, briefly imagining Izzy and her clandestine encounter: hat pulled low over one eye, coat collar turned up, stepping out of a shadowy doorway, into the arms of a handsome young man. All very romantic. But, still.

  Though she was only a few years older than Izzy, Lillian took on the tone of an older sister. “Well, I hope at least you were careful.”

  “Oh, I’m always careful,” Izzy smiled with a wink, and dug into her ice cream.

  Chapter 6

  *

  Tommy and Gabriel left school with their salvage drive partners, the Kinney brothers, who lived down the street from them. Mickey, Tommy’s age, was the team captain. Though his younger brother, Billy, only sporadically helped out with the drive, Gabriel always enjoyed it more when he was around.

  “We gotta come up with something that will make people want to give us their scrap metal and paper,” said Tommy. “Everybody has junk just lying around. Stuff they don’t need.”

  “We just need a better plan,” said Mickey. “Knocking on doors with our bags held out isn’t working.”

  “It works for Halloween,” said Billy.

  “Well, this is different.” Tommy kicked at some dirty snow edging the sidewalk. “All we got last week was a total of sixteen tin cans, some newspapers, and an old toaster. We’ll never win the prize that way. We only have two more weeks before Christmas.”

  “Maybe you need to explain how important it is,” offered Billy.

  Tommy threw his arms up. “I keep telling everyone that one old shovel can be used to make four grenades. But it doesn’t seem to make a difference.”

  Billy made explosion sounds and covered his head with his arms as he ducked for cover.

  Gabriel enjoyed the dramatic enactment, but then he suddenly turned to Tommy. “Maybe people don’t want to think about grenades at Christmastime.”

  “You got a point there,” said Mickey. “Well, we gotta think of something. And fast.”

  They walked in silence for a few moments, except for Billy, who was now walking with one foot on the curb, the other on the street. “Look!” he cried, hobbling up and down. “I’m a wounded soldier!”

  “Hey!” said Gabriel, stopping. “How about we sing Christmas carols?”

  Billy started to sing, “Good King Wenceslas looked out,” still bobbing up and down.

  “Not now,” laughed Gabriel. “I mean for our drive.”

  Tommy shook his head. “Don’t be a dope, Gabe.”

  Mickey grabbed Tommy’s arm. “Wait a second!” He ran a scenario in his mind and then cried out, “That’s brilliant! Don’t you see? It’ll put everyone in the holiday spirit. They’ll all w
ant to give. I can see it now. We’ll have more scraps than we can carry.”

  “Oh, bring us your scrappy papers,” sang Billy.

  “Oh, bring us your flattened tin cans,” added Mickey.

  “Oh, bring us your scrappy metals, and bring them right now!” sang Gabriel, finishing up with a fisted flourish.

  Tommy finally joined in, throwing his arm around Mickey. “We won’t go until we get some, we won’t go until we get some…”

  By the time they got to Mrs. Kuntzman’s brownstone, they had run through several carols, and were bursting with confidence that their plan would work.

  “We’re gonna nail this contest!” hollered Tommy. “See you guys tomorrow!” He started to run up the stairs, as Mickey and Billy raced each other home.

  “You sure are in a hurry for a babysitter you don’t want to go to,” said Gabriel, trailing behind. “Hey, look! Here comes Amy.”

  Tommy froze on the top step as Amy approached.

  “Hi, Amy!” Gabriel called out.

  Amy was walking alone, carrying her books. She gave a big wave. “Hiya, Gabriel. Hello, Tommy. What are you guys up to?”

  “Oh, hi,” said Tommy, as if he just now saw her.

  Gabriel pointed up to the brownstone. “This is where our babysitter –”

  “We’re going to ask someone here for some scrap metal,” said Tommy, cutting him off. “For the salvage drive.”

  Amy stood in front of the steps and smiled up at Tommy. “Are you collecting a lot of stuff?”

  “Uh, not really,” said Tommy.

  Amy waited for Tommy to elaborate but he suddenly became fixated on his shoe.

  “Skippy Petrie stopped by our house to ask for tins and paper but I told him I was saving all our scraps for you. I mean for your team.”

  Tommy looked up, not sure if he had heard her correctly.

  “Gee, thanks, Amy,” Gabriel said. He knew he was supposed to let Tommy do all the talking, but for some reason Tommy wasn’t saying anything.

  Amy smiled over at Gabriel, then back to Tommy. “He even asked for rubber, and that drive doesn’t start until January. He’s trying to get a head start. No fair! My mom knows to save everything for you, just in case he comes back.”