from California, "she's a nice girl, and I mean you'd have to be blind not to see she's a living doll… but you gotta admit-she's been around."
“Take that back!" Bill said, stiffening.
"Okay, okay," Dan said, patting the air with his palms. "I didn't mean she was … fast or anything. Just that she's dated a few guys…. Maybe you should wait a couple months, get to know each other better."
"Dan's right," Hully said. "Wait a little bit-get past the physical attraction and know each other as people … just to make sure…."
"I am sure-Pearl's the girl for me. She's sweet and she's nice and she'll give everything up for me, her singing, everything… just to be my wife and have my babies."
"Maybe you ought to think about that, too," Dan said.
Bill glared at him. "What?"
"What it'll put your kids through-you know, the racial thing."
"Pearl's half white. Our kids'11 be all American. Dan, I won't hear this kind of talk."
"Okay, buddy … I'm just trying to help. You've helped me before, plenty of times-I'm just trying to be your friend."
Bill sighed and nodded.
The band was starting to play "I'll Remember April," and one of the guitar players began to sing the lilting ballad. Bill shot out of his chair as if from a cannon, muttering, "This is one of Pearl's free songs," and headed for the bandstand.
Then he was out there dancing with her, holding her close, gazing into her eyes like a lovesick puppy, and she was gazing back, a beautiful woman who seemed equally in love. It was romantic, and frightening.
"His father is going to kick Bill's ass," Dan said.
"I know," Hully said, and nodded toward the entry-way to the lobby.
Colonel Fielder-slim, casually attired in red aloha shirt and white slacks, his dark hair widow's-peaked, with a narrow face and hawkish eyes and hawkish nose-stood just inside the doorway, staring out at the dance floor, obviously viewing his son dancing with the nisei singer-and just as obviously unhappy.
Shaking his head in apparent disgust, Fielder exited.
"It's gonna be ugly," Dan said.
"Pearl asked me to set up a meeting between her and the colonel-she wants to plead her case."
“If she thinks batting her lashes at that hardnose is going to do the trick, she's dreamin'."
Out on the dance floor, something "ugly" was already transpiring. A soldier-a handsome brown-haired kid in a green sportshirt and tan slacks, not very tall but with wide shoulders and an athletic carriage-was tapping Bill on the shoulder-hard-as if to cut in.
"Oh hell," Hully said, shaking his head.
"Who is that guy?" Dan asked.
"Jack Stanton-he's a corporal over at Hickam… used to date Pearl."
"Ouch."
"Fact, that's who she threw over for Bill."
"Double ouch."
Out on the dance floor, Pearl was desperately trying to keep the peace as the sailor and the soldier began shoving each other.
"You take Bill," Hully said, getting up, "I got the dogface."
The crowd was forming a circle around what was clearly about to erupt into a fight, with reactions that ranged from shouts of indignation to squeals of delight. Hully and Dan broke through just in time to see Stan-ton connect with a right hook to Bill's jaw.
Bill went down on a knee, but came up with his own right hand to the soldier's belly, doubling the boy over.
And the fight was over before Hully and Dan could break it up, because the soldier-like everyone here-had been to that sumptuous, endless luau, and his stomach … filled with poi and raw fish and roast pork and a dozen other delicacies … did not take a punch well.
The soldier, clutching his stomach, scrambled out of there, struggling not to throw up, heading for the men's room, as relieved laughter rippled across the crowd. Soon the onlookers began to dance again, the Harbor Lights beginning to play "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy," with Pearl magically back onstage to sing it.
"I'm going after that bastard," Bill said, lurching forward, and Hully grabbed him around the arms, from behind.
Hully whispered harshly in his friend's ear. "You get back to the Arizona-you want your dad to see this? Much less get wind of what this fight is about?"
Bill, oke or not, sighed and nodded.
"Get him the hell out of here," Hully said to Dan.
"Sure thing," Dan said, and took charge of his friend, walking him out.
Then, suddenly, O. B. was at Hully's side. "Did I miss some action?"
"Just a sailor and a soldier, fighting over a dame," Hully said.
Jitterbuggers were jumping and kicking before them.
O. B. asked, over the blaring music, "Fielder's son?"
Hully nodded.
The old man shook his head, nodded up toward the pretty girl in the low-cut blue dress, her breasts jiggling provocatively as she sang the up-tempo tune.
"That little Pearl of the Pacific up there," he said, "is gonna get some poor fool killed."
And then O. B. turned and went out, leaving his son to marvel at how little got past his old man.
FOUR
At the luau, after his son had gone in to enjoy the dance band, Burroughs sought out his friend Colonel Kendall "Wooch" Fielder, and chatted on the Niumalu lawn under the soft pastel glow of Japanese lanterns … an irony lost on neither man.
Burroughs sipped a glass of red wine, and the slim, hawkish-countenanced Fielder worked on both a cocktail and a cigarette. Wooch-a nickname that dated to the colonel's Georgia Tech football days-was a frequent participant in Niumalu poker games. Sunday through Thursday, curfew requirements kept everyone but officials indoors, and card games had become a favorite pastime.
Lots of drinking went on at these "whiskey poker" games, and Burroughs had kept active, despite his current abstinence from the hard stuff. He loved poker with a passion, and was accepted as "boss of the play and ruler on all technicalities."
Fielder was a key player because liquor was rationed, but as a high-ranking officer, Wooch could bring unallotted bottles from the officers' club.
"Listen, Wooch," Burroughs said, "I want a correspondent's card. With war coming, no one's gonna give a damn about fiction writing-I want to get in the thick of it, and write about what's really going on."
"Ed," Fielder said, smiling, exhaling smoke, "what the hell do you want to fool with that nonsense for? A man of your reputation, a man your age …"
"An old fart, you mean. A hundred bucks says I can do more sit-ups than you-right here, right now."
Fielder laughed, a little. "And here I always thought you talked that way because you were drinking."
"Well, I have had a little wine-but come on, Wooch… you can hook me up, you can wrangle me that card. I want to see some action."
"Let's wait till there's some action to see, why don't we?"
Over to their left, in the flicker of torchlight, standing near one of the bungalows which was draped in purple and rose-colored bougainvillea, General Short was engaged in a smiling conversation with Morimura of the Japanese Consulate. Mrs. Short, in a floral muumuu, was at the general's side, and a pretty Oriental girl, with contemporary makeup and hairstyle but wearing a kimono, was on Morimura's arm. Everyone had cocktails in hand.
"What's the story on the toothy little Jap diplomat?" Burroughs asked Fielder.
"If that pipsqueak is all Tojo has in store for us,"
Fielder said, snorting a laugh, "we don't have much to worry about. Intelligence clears him-inexperienced, doesn't show up on any list of attachEs."
"Why is the brass so friendly with him?"
"What's the harm? Morimura spends most of his days playing golf, and his nights in nightclubs and restaurants. He drinks heavily, and I understand practically lives at the Shuncho-ro."