Aces (28 page)

Back in his office, Gold settled down behind his desk and began to scan the supply purchase orders from the Mines Field facility.
Normally he let his secretary handle this sort of thing, but with money so tight, he’d decided to personally approve all expenditures
for the time being.

He was at it only a few minutes when he gave up. He couldn’t concentrate. He found himself brooding about his marital problems.

He leaned back in his chair and stared out at the bay. Since their argument on the night of the plane crash he and Erica had
become even more like strangers to each other, if such a thing were possible. She’d begun talking about taking the children
on a trip to see their grandparents for a while; a
long
while… Gold could read between the lines; he knew what she was hinting at. The thought of losing his family—of being alone,
again—horrified him. But in reality, wasn’t he alone now?

His attention was distracted by a squawking flurry of sea gulls, hovering and darting above the fishing boats that were coming
into port. The fishermen were tossing overboard the trash fish. The gulls were conducting aerial combat over the free lunch…

Gold’s thoughts lingered on the gulls. He stood and went to the window, leaning out to get a better look at the birds as they
wheeled and dived.

He kept a pair of binoculars in his desk drawer for airplane watching. He went to get them and then returned to the window
to focus in on the gulls, watching as they pivoted in the air, swooping down in abrupt, accurate dives, often to pluck the
trash fish right out of the fishermen’s hands. He noticed that the gulls’ trailing wing feathers curved down when the birds
came in for a landing on the scow’s rolling deck…

Smiling to himself, Gold hurried to his drafting table. He made several rough sketches of an oversized wing flap that could
be lowered into the airflow to act as an aerodynamic brake for short landings. When he was done drawing, he pulled the paper
off the table and ran downstairs with it to the design lab Teddy shared with his staff.

Teddy, seated behind his desk, looked up in surprise as Gold dashed in.

“Everybody gather around,” Gold called out as he slammed the drawing on Teddy’s desk. As the designers formed a huddle Gold
explained his concept. When he was finished, he said, “I want you to get outside and start feeding those damned gulls. While
you’re doing that, watch those trailing wing feathers in operation.”

One of the engineers was looking at Gold like he’d gone crazy. “Let me get this straight. You want us to feed birds?…”

Gold smiled. “You’re all looking too pale, anyhow. That’s the trouble with this organization. We’ve been spending too much
time with our noses pressed against our drafting table. When was the last time any of us enjoyed ourselves? Maybe even wasted
a little time daydreaming?”

“I didn’t think you were paying us to daydream.” Teddy was grinning.

“I pay you to come up with ideas!” Gold challenged him. “And I don’t mind a little daydreaming. Without it, I couldn’t have
gotten this far—”

He stopped short, thinking that maybe this was what Erica had been trying to tell him, in her way. He wondered how he ever
could have forgotten it. And when he’d changed from a dreamer into a worrier. Supposedly he was doing what he’d wanted to
do. When had it stopped being fun?

“I’ll leave you gentlemen to your work,” Gold said. “Get outside. Feed those gulls. Sketch and photograph them. I expect you
all to be sunburned, sonofabitch sea gull experts!”

Grinning, feeling like the world’s weight had dropped from his shoulders, Gold went skipping up the stairs to his office.
He wanted to thank Erica for being so clever, to promise her that things were going to be different from now on. Tonight he
would leave work early. They would go somewhere nice for dinner and celebrate, maybe at the Coconut Grove, over at the Ambassador
Hotel. They would drink champagne, and dance, and get to know each other again.

He wondered what Erica was doing right now. He felt horny as hell.

“Get my wife on the telephone,” he told his secretary.

“I will, but Collins Tisdale called while you were downstairs.”

“Really?…” Gold was startled. The publisher of the
Los Angeles Gazette
was notorious for avoiding the telephone.

“He said that it was urgent, and asked that you get back to him at the newspaper as soon as possible.”

Gold nodded. “All right, telephone him first.” He went into his office, wondering what this was all about. His secretary signaled
that she’d put the call through, and he picked up the telephone. A few seconds later, Tisdale came on the line. “Collins,
how are you?”

“I’m fine, Herman,” Tisdale said. “Herman, this is difficult for me, but I felt I should call you personally, before my paper
went with the story.”

“What’s going on?”

“Your rivals for your CAM routes have just held a news conference,” Tisdale said. “They’ve announced that they’ve rented a
facility at Clover Field and purchased four airplanes.”

“Jumping the gun a bit, aren’t they?” Gold asked sardonically. “If you’re looking for a quote from me, you can say that as
far as I’m concerned—”

“SCAT also announced that they’ve made you an offer for your airplanes,” Tisdale cut him off. “An offer that you’re seriously
considering…”

“That’s a lie,” Gold said flatly. “I’m going to need my airplanes.”

“SCAT also made some serious personal charges against you.”

“Such as?”

“They brought up your war record,” Tisdale said.

“Well, hell, Collins… Everybody knows that I’m German…”

“You’re not a United States citizen, are you?”

“Well, I guess not… I mean, not technically…”

“They made that point at the press conference,” Tisdale replied. “They asked why a foreigner should be awarded government
business while bona fide American citizens go begging. And they said more. That you’re unpatriotic. That you bought German
airplanes, risking the public’s safety, because your loyalties still lie with Germany—”

“Now that’s bullshit!” Gold exclaimed in anger. “Those Spatz planes were the best available at the time!”

“It gets worse, Herman.” Tisdale hesitated. “They claimed that your name was Goldstein before you came to this country. That
you’re a
Jew
…”

Erica
, Gold thought.
He’d never told Erica the truth
— “When did this all happen?”

“About an hour ago. It’s already on the radio,” Tisdale replied. “So, what they’ve said is true?… Herman?… Hello?… Are you
still there?”

“Yeah,” Gold managed. “I’m here… It’s true.”

“I see,” Tisdale said briskly. “Well, then! I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt before my paper ran the story,”
Tisdale said brusquely. “Good-bye, Herman.”

Gold listened to the dial tone’s hum. It figured that Tisdale would cut him dead, Gold thought as he dialed his home. Gold
knew all along that he’d been playing a dangerous game concerning his charade. The important Jews in town, like those in the
film industry, kept pretty much to themselves. Gold knew a lot of people like Tisdale who would not appreciate the fact that
they’d been tricked into unknowingly socializing with a Jew.

But right now he could care less what Tisdale or anybody thought, except for Erica. Gold listened as the ringing went on at
the other end of the line. He willed Erica to answer, but nobody picked up, not even the house girl. But that was typical,
he thought.

He hung up, deciding that he would go home; that way he would be there to talk to Erica as soon as she got back from wherever
she was. He buzzed his secretary. “I’m going home for the rest of the day—”

“But you’re due to see Lane Barker, Mister Gold,” his secretary said.

“Oh, hell, you’re right!” he groaned. “And I’d better not stand him up, not today…”

The Pacific Coast Bank was an imposing, red granite building located downtown, on the corner of Broadway and Temple Streets,
near the Hall of Justice. Gold entered through the bronzed revolving doors and into the bustling lobby, with its gray and
white marble floor, pale green walls, and high, gilded, cathedral ceiling. He walked past the island of public writing desks
and the long row of tellers’ cages. Off to one side, separated from the cages and lobby by a wall of potted ferns and palms,
were a dozen or so desks. There men in dark suits sat scribbling in ledgers and talking on the telephone, while young women
in high-collared dresses sat clacking away at typewriters and adding machines. Beyond the desks, separated from them by a
waist-high, varnished wood railing, was a carpeted area with chairs and smoking stands. A matronly-looking receptionist sitting
behind a desk guarded a series of doors which led to the private rooms in which the bank officers conducted important business.

He approached the receptionist and told the woman who he was, and that he had an appointment to see Mister Barker. The receptionist
looked uneasy.

“Excuse me—”

Gold turned. A short, stocky guy in his twenties, in a cheaply tailored, blue gabardine, double-breasted suit, was offering
him a winning smile. The guy had a round face, with wide-set, dark eyes. His auburn hair was parted in the middle and slicked
down.

“My name’s Tim Campbell. I’m a junior loan officer. Mister Barker regrets that something has come up which will keep him from
seeing you today.”

“All of a sudden, huh?” Gold asked suspiciously. “When can he see me?”

“I’m afraid his appointment calendar is full for the time being,” Campbell said. “He’s very busy, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Gold’s face began to burn. He felt the receptionist’s eyes upon him. “So what’s next, Campbell?”

“Mister Barker has authorized me to discuss your application. I’ve been looking over your financial statement…” He pursed
his lips. “If you’d care to follow me to my desk?—”

Desk?
Gold thought.
This guy doesn’t even rate an office?
As Campbell turned, Gold noticed that the seat of the guy’s pants was shiny, and that the heels of his shoes were worn down.
He guessed that Campbell didn’t have the authority to approve the cashing of an out-of-state check, let alone what Gold needed.
Lane Barker was clearly giving him the brush-off. Gold knew that he had to take it, but he didn’t need to be a masochist about
it.

“Nothing personal,” Gold said, stopping Campbell. “But I don’t see any point in wasting each other’s time.” He turned to go.

“Wait, Mister Gold!” Campbell called out. “I have some things to discuss with you—”

“Look,” Gold interrupted. “I have only one question to ask you. Is the bank going to give me what I want?”

Campbell hesitated.

“That’s what I thought. You don’t need to cushion the rejection with an explanation, Mister Campbell.” Gold smiled. “But I
do appreciate your trying to be tactful. This is an awful job that Barker’s given you; you’ve handled yourself well. I hope
that the bank will reward you some day. Maybe even give you a set of walls and a door to go with your desk. Good-bye and good
luck. Mister Campbell.”

Good luck to both of us
, Gold thought as he left the bank and walked to his car. He was in a daze as he drove home to Pasadena; consumed with money
worries, and worries about how he was going to face Erica. She had to have heard the truth about him by now…

As he turned into his driveway he was relieved to see Erica’s green Packard Runabout. Thank God, she was home! He was sure
that she would understand why he’d kept the truth about himself from her, and how much he loved her… He would
make
her understand.

“Erica!” he called out as he entered the house. “Where are you? We’ve got to talk!” It seemed strangely quiet to him as he
stood in the front hallway. Where were the children? He wondered. Where was Erica if her car was parked outside?

The house girl came into the hallway from the living room. She looked anxious.

“Ramona, where is everyone?” Gold asked.

“
Señor
, the
Señora
, she has gone away with the children. She ask me to give you this…”

Gold took the sheet of paper folded in half and opened it. It was a sheet of their personal stationery.
HERMAN AND ERICA
was engraved across the top in script.

“We’ve gone east, to visit my parents,” Erica had written. “Please don’t try to follow or contact.”

That was all, except for seven words slashed across the bottom of the sheet, written so forcibly that the pen point had made
dagger marks in the paper: “HOW COULD YOU HAVE LIED TO ME???”

“The
Señora
had me help her pack,” Ramona was fretting. “Then she called the taxi cab to come take her and the children to the train
station. Please believe me,
Señor
, she told me not to call you, not to even answer the telephone. Please don’t be angry with me…”

“I’m not,” Gold murmured, staring at the note as if he expected something more to appear on the paper. “You did as you were
told. I understand that.”

“
Señor
, the
Señora
and the little ones, they will be gone a long time?”

“I don’t know,” he said vaguely. “I hope not…”

“
Señor
, please! I am a good Catholic girl,” Ramona shyly insisted. “My parents, they do not wish me to remain alone in a house with
a man. Until the
Señora
returns, my parents wish me to sleep at their home. My father will come to pick me up each afternoon,” she added quickly.
“He will bring me back first thing in the morning. Each day before I go I will leave you your dinner in the oven—”

Gold was hardly listening. “I’ll give you a key so that you can come and go as you wish.”

“
Gracias, Señor
,” Ramona said, hurrying away into the kitchen.

Around six, a rumpled, dusty pickup truck rattled its way up the driveway. Ramona left for the evening, promising to be back
by six-thirty in the morning. Gold watched the truck drive away. He felt like crying, seeing her go; now he was all alone
in the big house.