Juliana Read online

  “Well, what am I sposed to do? Miss Cowl said I had to decide about him and if the guys are starting to—”

  “One guy,” Virginia said. “It was one guy. Tommie has been a dedicated worker. He gets along with everybody. He shouldn’t be punished because of one guy.”

  Tommie looked up at me with tears in his eyes. “Please, Al, I didn’t do anything.”

  “But Miss Cowl said—”

  “I’m sure she didn’t mean what you’re suggesting,” Virginia said.

  “Well, what did she mean? What am I sposed to do.”

  I stormed out of the kitchen and knocked into Henry. “Hey, there,” he said, gripping me by the shoulders “What is it, honey?”

  “Could you take Tommie home in a cab? I don’t think he should go on the subway with his face like that.”

  “If that will help you out, certainly. Then I’ll come back and pick you up.”

  “No, I’m gonna lock up so Miss Cowl and Miss Royle can go.”

  “Then I’ll wait for you.”

  “No, Henry. I’ll call you tomorrow. “

  “Alice, I don’t want you going home late at night by yourself.”

  “Henry, please! I need some time alone. Can’t you just do what I asked?”

  He stared at me a moment and walked into the kitchen.

  I stood there not believing I’d just done that to him. When Henry came back out with Tommie, I went over to him. “I’m sorry, Henry. It’s been a terrible evening.”

  “I know,” he said. “But I never want you to speak to me that way again. Especially not in public.”

  “I won’t. I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow, dear.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “What about me?” Tommie asked. “Is this it for me, Al? ”

  “I don’t know, Tommie. Give me time to think.”

  “Yeah, sure, think .”

  I spent the rest of the night in my office trying to come up with some fair decision about Tommie, hating being placed in this position and hating myself for how I’d spoken to Henry.

  There was a knock at my door. “Come in,” I called.

  The door opened and Virginia stood in the doorway taking off her apron. “I’m going, Al.”

  “Okay.”

  She turned to leave then stopped and asked, “Can I talk to you a minute?” She closed the door.

  “Are you mad at me?” I asked.

  “Maybe. No. I think I’m confused by you. You can’t kick Tommie out of the Canteen. We’re all that boy has. Max is in Europe, his family and town don’t want him. The army won’t take him, and he hasn’t landed another job in a show yet. He found a purpose here.”

  “Virginia, can’t you see the spot I’m in? After what happened, the guys must know about Tommie.”

  “Al, there’s knowing and there’s knowing. They’ve always known about Tommie, but they didn’t want to know what they knew so they didn’t. For them a homosexual is a demented man who sneaks around grabbing young children off the playground and doing perverted things to them. He’s the creepy little guy who hides in the men’s room spying on unsuspecting men and magically, beyond their control, lures them into obscene acts. None of these descriptions fit Tommie. They like him, so he can’t possibly be what they know he is. They don’t even let themselves think about it, but if you kick Tommie out they will think about it, and then they’ll know what they didn’t want to know and that will be dangerous for Tommie.”

  “Miss Cowl said I had to do something about him.”

  “You can’t possibly believe that she hasn’t known about Tommie from the beginning. She’s in the theater.”

  “Virginia, what did you mean when you said you were an old hand at this? Who else?”

  “I’ve glued Max back together a few times.”

  “He got beat up for being gay?”

  “It’s all part of it. And one time it was Shirl.”

  “Why would anyone beat up Shirl?”

  “Think. She risks her life every time she leaves the house. That was a bad one too. It took her girlfriend, Mercy, and me to put her back together. Weeks of recuperation. But she absolutely refused to go to the hospital. She was convinced the hospital staff would kill her.”

  “Why would she think that?”

  “Because that’s what they did to her first girlfriend. Back in the early thirties, Shirl’s girlfriend went into the hospital for a double mastectomy. Cancer. So, young.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Shirl met Helen back in twenty-six, in the audience of The Captive. They’d been together for five years before Helen was diagnosed. In the middle of the night, after the operation, Shirl got a call from Helen. She told Shirl that she’d called for the night nurse to give her something for the pain. The nurse stood at the end of her bed and said, ‘I know about people like you. Unnatural. Sick. Diseased. I hope you die.’ Then she left the room without giving her anything. Shirl raced over to the hospital, but no one would let her see Helen or tell her a thing about Helen’s condition. She waited hour after hour for any bit of news. Finally, in the afternoon someone told Shirl that Helen had passed during the night.”

  “If people like Shirl and Tommie have lives that are that hard, why don’t they just give up trying to be different and go along with everybody?”

  “Because they’re not trying to be different; they are different. And I like them for that.”

  “Okay. I don’t get it but okay. How about this? What if I have Tommie work in the kitchen with Alfred, Lynne, and you? That way he wouldn’t have so much contact with the G.I.s, and gradually he’d start back on the tasks he was doing if there are no more incidents. What do you think?”

  “That could work. And the Lunts being lavender will get a kick out of it.”

  “You mean Alfred and Lynne are both—?”

  “Good night,” Virginia said, rising.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  August, 1943

  “Call her,” Henry ordered holding the phone toward me. We’d just gotten back to my apartment after arranging for the church. With the war, nobody was having elaborate wedding receptions. Henry thought with him being young, but not in the service, it would seem especially bad to have a big, happy party, so we decided to just have wine and cake in the church basement after the ceremony. When that was over, Henry and I would take the afternoon train to Niagara Falls for our honeymoon.

  “Call her,” Henry repeated.

  I walked away, my arms crossed in front of me. “You don’t understand. You think everyone has a family like yours, all happy, singing around the Christmas tree.”

  “Mothers want to be involved with their daughters’ weddings. If you don’t ask her, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. And our children are going to have two sets of grandparents.”

  “What children?”

  “Our children. We’re getting married. Married people have children.”

  “Oh.” I looked out my parlor window, past Dickie’s blue star, into the courtyard. The tree down there was looking stronger and greener even though Aggie had been away and couldn’t take care of it. “I never thought about children.”

  “Surely, when you were a little girl, you played with dolls and pretended they were your babies.”

  “I used to shoot my dolls.”

  “What?”

  I turned to face him. “Danny and I played cowboys and Indians. We had guns and holsters, and, sometimes, we shot my dolls. ”

  “Oh.” Henry’s brow furrowed and he looked worried. Then a smile creased his face and he shook his head. “You are such a card. Not like any other girl I ever dated.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “It must be good. You’re the only one I asked to marry me. But will you please call your mother?” He shook the receiver at me.

  “It’s a three-call charge.”

  “I’ll pay for it.”

  “But—”

  “Stop stalling, and call her.”

/>   “Okay, if it’s so important to you.” Henry was so good that I never told him about my mother being crazy sometimes. I didn’t think he’d believe people could be that way, especially not my mother. I shuffled over to the phone and took it out of his hand. He dialed for the operator.

  “Number, please?” she said.

  “I’m calling HAmilton 3-2315. My number is ALgonquin 5-3435.”

  “One moment please,” the operator said.

  I waited, my heart beating in my throat like I was about to be taken out to have my head chopped off like Anne Boleyn.

  “Hello?” I heard my mother say.

  She didn’t sound crazy. But still, when I tried to speak nothing came out. I looked at Henry, panicked.

  “Talk to her,” Henry whispered.

  “Hello?” My mother said, more sharply. “Who is this?”

  “It’s me, Mom,” I squeaked out. “Alice.”

  Silence. I waited. The silence continued. I wondered if she hung up. “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m … getting married.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, uh, I’d like you to come to the ceremony.”

  “All the way into the city?”

  “It only takes an hour.”

  “I don’t know if your father will want to drive. How’s the parking?”

  “You could take the train.”

  “Your father would never take the train. Just a minute. Arthur,” my mother called. At least she’s not crazy today. “It’s your daughter, Alice. Do you want to go into the city for her wedding?”

  “She’s getting married?” I heard my father yell in the distance. “Hello? Hello,” he said into the phone. “Alice, is that really you?”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Al, it’s so good to hear your voice,” he shouted into the phone as if he was speaking into an orange juice can tied to a waxed string.

  “You don’t need to shout, Dad. I can hear you fine. ”

  “Are you all right?” he asked, still shouting. I pictured him standing next to Mom in his beige cardigan sweater, despite the August heat; he was almost a foot shorter than Mom. “Do you need something?” he yelled.

  “I’m getting married,” I yelled back, forgetting myself. Henry looked at me strangely.

  “Now, isn’t that nice?”

  “I want you and Mom to come to the wedding.”

  “I’ll have to ask your mother. You know how your mother is about going into the city.”

  “Yeah, I know, Dad.”

  “Your number’s still the same one you sent me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll call you after I discuss it with your mother.”

  “Bye.” I hung up the phone.

  “Well?” Henry said. “Are they coming?”

  “They have to discuss it.”

  “What’s to discuss? You’re their daughter. They haven’t seen you in two years. What’s their number?”

  “Skip it, Henry. It’s the way they are.”

  He held the phone against my mouth. “Tell the operator the number.”

  “Henry,” I whined. “You’ll just make it worse.”

  “How could it possibly get worse?”

  “Number, please,” the operator said.

  “Please give me HA3-2315. I’m calling from AL 5-3435.”

  Henry took the phone. “Hello, Mrs. Huffman? This is Henry Wilkins. I’ll soon be your son-in-law. Nice to meet you, too. You and Mr. Huffman really need to—an editor for Scribner. Yes, it’s a good job. A pretty good salary. Then you’ll come? Good. It’ll mean so much to Alice.”

  “Oh, please don’t tell her that.”

  “It’ll be two weeks from today. Saturday. Why don’t you and your husband come on Friday? You can stay in a hotel. Alice’s apartment is too small for guests. Well, then, I’ll pay.”

  “No, you can’t, Henry.” He shushed me with his hand.

  “Alice and I will meet you at Penn Station.” He hung up the phone. “They’re coming.”

  “Henry, you can’t pay. The girl’s parents are sposed to pay, but they’re not paying for anything. Emily Post says it’s the absolute worst bad etiquette for the groom to pay for the wedding. She wrote that in big letters. Oh, this is terrible. I’m going to look like a ragamuffin. That’s what you’re getting, Henry. A ragamuffin.”

  “But a very sweet ragamuffin.” He wrapped his arms around me. “Don’t worry, Alice. You need your parents on your special day. The most important day in a girl’s life. And they’ll get to meet my parents. ”

  “You have no idea what those people can do to me.”

  Henry squeezed me tighter. “I’ll be here to protect you. You’re my sweet, innocent Alice. And soon you’ll be mine forever.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  In the middle of the wedding preparations, we had to stop for the opening of the film version of This Is the Army. The only one who’d heard anything from Max was Virginia. Wherever Virginia went, she had the most recent letter from Max tucked away in her brassiere. Only I knew that. She’d look around to be sure no one was watching and then she’d put her hand down the front of her dress and pull out the letter. I always got a little jolt when she did that. She’d open the letter with care as if fearing the slightest breath would tear the thin V-mail page. She would read it in her best actress voice as if reciting Shakespeare from the apron of a stage.

  July, 17, 1943

  Dear Virginia,

  I can’t tell you where I am, but I’m glad you’re not here. I am filthier than I ever thought possible. We consider ourselves lucky if we get to wash once a week. Some of the kids here are so young. They should be playing baseball and driving their dads’ cars, not doing what we’re doing. I’m overjoyed they refused to take our Tommie. All of this would have squashed his beautiful spirit.

  I killed my first man today. I killed him with my bayonet the way they taught us in boot. There’s a special way to take your weapon out of the body before it falls because human flesh and blood makes metal stick. Oh, God. I wish I felt something about killing that man. Who are we that we do this? Yes, I was afraid. But I was even more afraid that I’d behave in a cowardly manner. Anyone here who shows a yellow streak is ostracized. That would be far worse than being killed. You need your buddies to survive this hell .

  Yesterday, I sat on a hill with a couple of the men. We watched the sunset glad we were still here to see it.

  It occurs to me that I haven’t always treated you the way you deserve.

  Forgive me, darling. I do love you. In my own way. Why don’t you move into my apartment for the duration of the war and get away from your mother? Shirl has the key and can help you get settled.

  Sincerely,

  Your Very Own “sometimes sweet,”

  Sergeant Max

  By the time, she got to the end of the letter, tears were blurring her view of Max’s perfectly shaped forms. She gently replaced the letter next to her heart. She took a handkerchief from the other side of her brassiere—I wondered what else she had in there—well, besides the obvious—and blotted the tears from her carefully applied makeup.

  “What about moving into Max’s apartment?” I asked. “You’d have the place to yourself. No mother to wonder what you’re doing.”

  “Do you think I should? I mean, an unmarried woman living alone in an apartment? How would it look?”

  “Like you’re one of those new independent modern types. Like Katherine Hepburn in her films.”

  “Even she gets married in the end.”

  Henry dressed in his tuxedo for the opening of the film, and I wore a lavender, sleeveless gown with matching opera gloves. Tommie, in his white dinner jacket, escorted Virginia who dressed in a silver lamé gown.

  During the standing ovation, I heard Henry mumble, “I should be in this fight.” I squeezed his hand. Max only had a small nonspeaking role, but just being in it was an honor. We left the film glad to be Americans.

&nb
sp; We stopped a moment outside the theater, the night air still warm.

  “Weren’t those guys playing Stage Door Canteen hostesses funny?” Tommie said.

  “Yes,” Virginia said. “I hope I don’t look like them in my striped apron.”

  Henry leaned toward us. “You’re certainly not as hairy as those guys, Virginia.”

  We all laughed.

  Limousines pulled up in front to pick up various well-dressed patrons. Juliana was walking to one of the limos, her arm linked through the arm of a young man in uniform. I wondered if he was her husband.

  She left her escort next to the limo and came toward us. I tightened my grip on Henry’s sleeve, trying to hide my face in the cloth of his tuxedo. She wore a lime-green gown with spaghetti straps and a translucent, lime-green chiffon wrap tossed loosely about her shoulders.

  “Hello, Mr. Wilkins,” she said .

  “Please. Call me Henry.”

  “All right, Henry. Quite a film, wasn’t it? That song ‘God Bless America’ makes your blood bubble right up with patriotism.”

  “You’re certainly right about that,” Henry said.

  “And how are you , young man?” she said to Tommie. “Your face looks healed.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m fine.”

  “And, Virginia. Have you heard from Max lately?”

  “Yes,” Virginia said, taking a step back from her.

  “That’s good. And Henry, how have you been?”

  She kept dragging out this inane conversation and hadn’t looked at me once.

  “Good,” Henry said. “I’m sure Alice told you that she and I are getting married next week. August 21st.”

  “No,” she said, surprised. “Alice didn’t tell me it was to be so soon. Did you, Alice?” She finally looked at me. “You look lovely, Alice.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, yes, it’s to be next week,” Henry said. “It’ll be small. With the war, you know. Why don’t you come?”

  I couldn’t believe he’d just done that.

  “Yes, I think I’d like that. Thank you.”

  “Alice will send you the invitation. Won’t you, Alice, dear?”