Lieutenant Joe Howard was sitting on a battered, chrome-framed, plastic-upholstered couch in Colonel Harris’s outer office, thumbing through a copy of Collier’s. He got to his feet when Stecker came out of Harris’s office.
"What we’ll do now, Lieutenant, " Stecker said, "is take you out to the 2ndRaider Battalion and introduce you to Colonel Carlson, his S-4, and Captain Roosevelt. Then we’ll get you settled in a BOQ. And then, I thought, tonight we’ll celebrate your bar, wash it down, and maybe get a steak, at the officers’ club."
Howard looked a little uncomfortable.
"Something wrong with that?"
"Sir, I’ve got sort of a date tonight."
"Oh?"
"I met a nurse at the hospital," Joe said. "I asked her to supper."
"Well, hell, I wouldn’t want to interfere with that," Stecker said. Then he smiled, dug in his pocket, and came out with a key. "Here," he said, handing it to Howard.
"What is this, Captain?" Joe asked, confused. Stecker had handed him a hotel key from the Coronado Beach Hotel.
"We Mustangs have to stick together," Stecker said, as they walked down the corridor toward the front door. "Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR, gave that to me. We served together in France in the first war. I was a buck sergeant, and he was a corporal. He just came in the Navy, as a captain."
Howard was visibly confused.
"Between wars, Pickering is in the shipping business. Specifically, Pacific and Far Eastern Shipping. He owns it. And they keep a suite at the Coronado Beach Hotel, permanently, to put up their officers who are in port. If you want to impress the nurse, take her out there. Just show that key to the maitre d’ and he’ll give you a table. Without a reservation, I mean."
"And I can use it?"
"I think Captain Pickering would be delighted to have you use it, under the circumstances," Stecker said. "And who knows, Joe, you might get lucky. The suite has four bedrooms. Odds are, one of them ought to be empty."
"She’s not that kind of a girl," Joe Howard said.
"The one thing I’ve learned about women, Joe, over the years," Stecker laughed, "is that you never can tell about women."
"I said she’s a nice girl," Joe Howard said sharply. "From Philadelphia. She’s even got a college degree."
"I’m sure she is," Stecker said.
(Eight)
The Coronado Beach Hotel
San Diego, California
1930 Hours 3 February 1942
There was a long line of people waiting to get into the main dining room. The line overflowed the bank of upholstered benches intended for those waiting for a table.
"We’re never going to get in here," Ensign Barbara Cotter said to Lieutenant Joe Howard.
"Trust me," Joe said, with far more confidence than he felt. He put his hand on her arm and marched her past the sitting and standing people waiting to get in. Some of them, senior officers, many with their wives, looked at them either curiously or unpleasantly.
The maitre d’, in his good time, raised his eyes from his list of reservations.
"Your name, Sir?"
Joe showed him the hotel key.
The maitre d’s eyebrows rose.
"Certainly, Sir, will you come with me, please?"
The enormous, old fashioned, high-ceilinged dining room was almost full, but here and there there were empty tables with Reserved signs mounted on brass stands. The maitre d’ led them to a table by a wide window overlooking the water. The window was now covered by a heavy black curtain.
"Your waiter will be here shortly, Sir," the maitre d’ said, as he held Barbara’s chair for her. "Enjoy your meal."
"What did you show him?" Barbara asked.
He handed her the key.
"I don’t know what you think I am, or who you are-" Barbara flared, and started to get to her feet. She saw the horrified look on his face, and stopped.
"Captain Stecker loaned me that," Joe said. "He said to show it to the headwaiter, and it would get us a table."
"Who is Captain Stecker?" Barbara asked, partially mollified.
Why am I so furious? So far, he hasn‘t even looked directly at me, much less tried to put his hands on me.
"He’s my boss, the one that got me the commission," Joe said, and then blurted, "I’m not trying to get you into a hotel room or anything like that."
"I certainly hope not," she said.
"All the key is for is so we could get a table," Joe said.
"You said that," she said. "He lives here, or something?"
"No. The key . . . this is an involved story. . . ."
"I’m fascinated," she said.
He told her what Stecker had told him. Their eyes met, and in them she saw that he was telling the truth.
And now that’s over,she sighed inwardly. The key has been explained, and I believe he did not get himself a room here, confident that I would jump in bed with him. So why do I feel a little let down? He almost sounds as if he doesn’t want to go to bed with me. My God, this is an insane situation!
"I’m sorry," he concluded.
"Why should you be sorry?"
"Because you thought-"
"Let’s just let it drop, OK?"
"OK," he said, with enormous relief. "What would you like to drink? I mean, do you drink?"
"Scotch," she said.
"Scotch?" he asked, in disbelief.
"Something wrong with Scotch?"
"I didn’t think girls drank Scotch."
"Girls drink gin fizzes and brandy Alexanders, right? Things like that? And then they get sick to their stomachs. Well, this girl learned that in college, and this girl drinks Scotch. If that’s all right with you."
My God, why did I snap at him like that? What the hell is wrong with me?
"Sorry," he said.
"Stop saying you’re sorry!"
"Good evening," a waiter said. "May I get you something from the bar?"
"Scotch," Joe said. "Scotch and soda. Two of them."
"I’m very sorry, Sir, we’re out of Scotch."
Barbara looked at Joe, and she saw that he was looking at her, and that his lips and his eyes were curled in laughter he was afraid to let out.
"That figures," Barbara said, and then she laughed; then, without thinking about it, she reached out and touched his hand with hers. But instantly withdrew it.
"What now?" Joe asked.
"Do you have any rye whiskey?" Barbara asked the waiter.
"Yes, Ma’am."
"Rye and ginger ale, please," Barbara said.
"Two, please," Joe said.
He handed them menus and left.
They read the menu. Joe was astonished at the prices; Barbara was horrified.
He’s only a first lieutenant. He can’t afford this. I wonder how he would react if I suggested we go Dutch treat?
"I’m not really very hungry," she said. "I think I’ll just have a salad."
"I know what you’re thinking," he said.
"I certainly hope not," she said. "What am I thinking?"
"You’re thinking the prices are crazy."
"They are," she said.
"Two big things have happened in my life in the last forty-eight hours. And I happen to have a lot of money. Let me splurge. Please."