China Dolls (37 page)

Good iron should not be made into nails nor gentle men into soldiers
.

Sorry to be low, Helen

Train to Denver
June 17, 1944

Dear Helen
,

Greetings! I’m sitting in the lounge car on a train heading to Denver, and I’m surrounded by boys, boys, boys—all in uniform. They’re playing cards, drinking beers, and doing their darnedest to distract me from my letter writing. Outside the window, I see salt flats—nothing to write home about, although I’m writing about it to
you
. I hear it’ll be beautiful when we start climbing into the Rockies
.

Remember when Eddie used to tell us that all troupers are born tramps and that when you’re in show business, you’ll go east, west, north, and up the hill to get a job? That’s me now! I broke in my act at the Mapes Hotel in Reno. Then I traveled to El Rancho in Las Vegas, the Ranch on the Everett Highway in Seattle (where I broke the theater’s record for highest attendance!), and the Clover Club in Portland. I’m seeing America all right. Everywhere I go folks are 100% behind the war. People are pulling together and doing their parts. I’m doing my part too by giving my ALL!

After a tiring show, I can knock off a sixteen-ounce sirloin, but I’m still holding my weight under a hundred pounds, because I dance so hard and travel all the time. The other day, when I was interviewed about my figure, I said, I eat like a bird—like a bird who eats cats. (Big laugh.) Dancing is strenuous work, I told another reporter, but it’s better than going back to the laundry. (Remember when Charlie used to crack that one? Well, it’s true for me!)

I’m copying this from one of my reviews—

If not for the Oriental Danseuse’s race, she would undoubtedly be in New York’s Rainbow Room or some other first-line cabaret. She is that beautiful, witty, and talented
.

I’ll get there too!

I’m really happy I did this, but, Helen, I miss you tons. Please give Tommy a kiss and a hug from his special auntie. When you have a chance, will you write to me about Eddie? I’d sure like to know how he’s doing
.

Your gal pal, Grace

P.S. I almost forgot to mention that I ran into the Merry Mahjongs! In Las Vegas! Crazy, huh? They’re out on the road too—kicking that gong around!

P.P.S. Why haven’t you written? You aren’t still mad at me, are you?

Somewhere in the Pacific
June 23, 1944

Grace, baby
,

I’ve seen more, done more, and learned more in the past few months than I imagined possible. Have I told you about the guys on our ground crews? We’ve got Chinese, Mexicans, Poles, Irish, and Negroes all working together. We may not look alike, but we eat the same bad food, follow the same crummy orders, are bitten by the same damn mosquitoes, and suffer the same blasted heat and humidity, because we all fight under the same flag to defend the same land. When this thing is over, our country will be very different. But don’t you go changing! I want my girl just the way she was
.

I wish the two of us were back in your apartment, if you catch my drift. When I get home, baby, we’ll never leave the bedroom
.

Loads of love, Joe

Topaz War Relocation Center
June 24, 1944

Helen!

You’ll never guess what came in the mail today—a letter from Lee Mortimer, the night-life editor for the New York
Daily Mirror
! He wrote, All the Japanese dolls are vanishing, leaving playful gentlemen like me to fend for ourselves— Funny, right? Turns out he’s quite fond of Oriental girls— He’s already married and divorced a couple of them— He wrote that he’s long been an admirer, thanks to Life, and complained that I’ve been too far away for him to enjoy the pleasure of my company. He’s going to sponsor me and bring me to New York right away. Right away in camp lingo could mean months, but I’m excited!

Please forgive me for sounding like I’m only thinking about myself. Here’s the most important question— How’s Eddie? Have you heard anything from him since D-Day? I know he’s all right— He has to be— He’ll dance around any and all bullets! Yes, I’m making light, but it’s the only way I know to get through these days
.

Yours till the kitchen sinks, Ruby

Somewhere in the Pacific
June 27, 1944

Dearest Grace
,

Have I told you how hot it is in a P-38? HOT! The guys and I strip down to our skivvies, tennis shoes, and parachute packs to fly at low altitude. We can’t outrun Zeroes when we’re close to the ground, but we’ve got superior rate of climb and our firepower is hands-down better and more effective. Grace, I want you to trust that if an engine fails or I take flak, I can drop fuel tanks and outrun the Japs all the way back to base. What I’m saying, baby, is don’t worry about me. But I sure as hell worry about you out there on the road. What if you meet some guy who didn’t get called up or maybe has flat feet? I bet you have tons of rich guys lining up to see you too. Just don’t forget about your old boy out here. Every flight I take, I’m carrying you in my heart
.

Loads of love, Joe

P.S. I’ve received all your letters and packages. You sure know how to remind a guy what we’re fighting for
.

Train to St. Louis
July 10, 1944

Dearest Joe
,

I’ll take your heat and raise you some. I had to sleep in a tornado shelter the other night. I’d forgotten the Midwest’s humidity. Yuck! You must have forgotten it too, or is it really hotter than blazes flying over the ocean? Seems crazy to me, but what do I know? I miss you. I pray that you’ll be careful. Promise you’ll come back to me
.

Forever yours, Grace

Train to Chicago
July 12, 1944

Dear Helen
,

Is there anyone besides you and Tommy left in San Francisco? I’ve run into George Louie, the Lim Sisters, Jack and Irene Mak and their two kids— I hate to say it, but our friends are still doing a bang-up job of putting the chill on me. The Merry Mahjongs and the Lim Sisters mostly ignore my presence, but George has become the road king of spite. (He’s sleeping his way across the country, just in case you want to know. The guy goes bananas for that you-know-what place between a girl’s legs. I’ve seen him arrive in town, date one, two, three girls, and then hit a dry patch, so to say, which means the gossip mill has gotten going and he’s plumb out of luck. He doesn’t worry about it, because a new crop of girls is just a town and a gig up the track.) Anyway— He can’t decide which accusation he likes more—that I ratted out Ruby or that I hid two Japanese in my apartment. I’ve tried to wave him off. “Aw, tell it to someone who cares.” If he blabs on, I say, “Run along now, Georgie. Your mother’s calling you.” Jack and Irene tolerate me, though, because I’m a good babysitter. Thank Tommy for teaching me the ropes!

You haven’t written to me. What’s up?

Your gal pal, Grace