China Dolls (39 page)

Will write from the BIG APPLE!

More soon, Ruby

Fox Theatre, Detroit
August 10, 1944

Dear Helen
,

Your first letter finally reached me, and it contains such sad news. I’m very sorry to hear about Monroe. I feel just terrible. And it seems so unfair. Monroe was always so full of life. And opinions! Remember when he took me to the protest against sending scrap metal to Japan? At the time, I thought he was stuffy, but he was right. Now I wish the whole country had paid more attention to what Monroe and others like him were trying to warn us about. You’re surrounded by your family, but please write to me if there’s anything I can do
.

You’re in my thoughts, Grace
.

San Francisco
August 14, 1944

Dear Ruby
,

That is great news. I’m happy for you
.

Did you get my note about Monroe? Maybe it got lost in the mail? Or have you already left the camp? If so, you won’t even receive this. Monroe’s got lobar pneumonia. They say he won’t make it. I keep thinking about the word
worse
. Is his pneumonia worse than if he’d been maimed or died alone on a battlefield somewhere? Is it worse that I’m more worried about Eddie than I am about my own brother? Is it worse that I want to stay home, get all the kids off to school, and make sure they complete their homework than go back to volunteering with the Gray Ladies with Mama? I just couldn’t take it anymore. I’d seen too many boys who’d lost limbs or had been burned
.

I’d better quit now before I feel
too
sorry for myself
.

Helen

Train to Buffalo
August 15, 1944

Dear Helen
,

I suspect this is going to be another long one. Sorry about that. But I have so much to ask you and tell you. I wish you could know how lonely I get out here by myself. I wish even more that I could come home to San Francisco, the Forbidden City, my friends, and YOU!

First things first. I still haven’t heard back from you. I don’t know what that means. Is there something more about Monroe you haven’t told me yet?

All right. On to me and my problems. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask in my last letter, but I was really hoping you could give me some advice about what I should do about Joe. You weren’t too happy when he proposed to Ruby. I’m Oriental too, and he’s still an Occidental. Are you upset that our kids will be mongrels? (Your word!) Maybe you worry I’ve turned into a no-no girl. As you can see, I’m feeling very insecure
.

Last night didn’t help me any— The last straw— I just finished my gig at the Fox in Detroit. I was exhausted after the show and didn’t bother to remove my stage makeup before I left for my hotel. As I walked, I heard someone following me. I haven’t been that scared since Ray came out of Ida’s room holding the bloody knife. Petrified! Every time I stopped, the person following me stopped too. I pulled my guts together and ducked into an alley. I hid behind some garbage cans and prayed no dogs would start barking. I waited until the man ran past, and then I waited some more. I took off my heels and sprinted barefoot to the hotel. When I got to my room, I locked the door and wedged a chair under the knob. I checked my whole body to make sure I wasn’t injured. The man hadn’t touched me, but I ached everywhere, and my feet were cut pretty bad. I didn’t sleep a wink, and I cried buckets
.

Sorry my writing is so squiggly today. Bad stretch of track. The train is nearly empty. Makes me feel even more alone
.

Anyway, this morning I packed to
shuffle off to Buffalo
. I ran into George Louie in the lobby. He was coming in to play the Fox as I was leaving. I was still so upset that I told him what happened. I wanted sympathy, but he blamed me! “It’s your own damn fault for leaving the theater in your stage makeup. If you look like a Victory Girl, a guy will treat you like a Victory Girl.”

My own damn fault? I’ve heard some version of that my entire life. When my father apologized for beating me, he used to say I made him do it. Did I ask him to kick and hit me? Did I ask to be punished for something I didn’t do to Ruby? George is an ass. He doesn’t know anything about me or my life. Still, I pledge right here and now on this train never to leave a club in stage makeup again, even though that won’t protect me from someone like my father, Ray, or even—God help me—if Joe ever loses his temper again. (You see why I need your advice?)

We’re pulling into the station. Gotta go
.

Here I am again. Checked in to my hotel. Just did an interview with a kid from the local paper. He was sweet, but he asked the same question I get at every stop—what’s it like for a young woman like me to be on the road, away from my family and friends? Usually, I answer that this is my way to help build unity on the home front, but I told that kid that every night is a job. I go out there. I start the show. It goes well. The next night, I lay a bomb. I forget things. But how can I forget my routine when I’ve done it night after night for weeks? I forget because I’m anxious about the train I have to catch tomorrow and that I need to wash my undies before I go to sleep. I think about my mother, who I haven’t seen or spoken to in years, the war, or how nice the gown the woman sitting at the second table on the right is wearing and how much it might cost. I just
forget
. Then the next night I go out there, start the show, and maybe it’s great. I told that kid I can’t worry about it too much, because if I did, I wouldn’t last long in this business—

I’ve been thinking a lot about my mom, though. I’m spending so much time in the Midwest, how can I not think about her? I wonder if she might like to see me, but what about my dad? I don’t want to be hurt— Makes me sad—

Please give my best to your mother and father and tell them that I’m praying for Monroe. Kisses and hugs to Tommy
.

Your gal pal, Grace

Somewhere in the Pacific
August 20, 1944

Dear Grace
,

Sorry I haven’t written in a while. The other pilots have gotten a kick out of the photos and clippings you send. “You’ve got the most famous doll in the squadron, you lucky stiff.” They’ve decided you’re something you’re not, and they won’t stop rubbing my nose in it
.

I’m an ace now. I shot down my fifth Jap plane a couple of days ago, and today I knocked another out of the sky. I saw the pilot’s face when he realized he wouldn’t be able to bail out. The other day bullets ripped through the right wing of a B-17 a pal of mine was flying. It caught on fire. He crashed in the jungle not far from here. No one made it. Good guys, all of them
.

I’ve been thinking about it, Grace. I love you, but I need to concentrate on getting the job done out here
.

Sincerely, Joe

Train to Altoona
August 30, 1944

Darling Joe
,

Are you embarrassed by me? What we have is special. Don’t let the guys tease you. I know it’s tough out there and things are hard, but always remember that I’m right here—waiting for you. So please write. You’re scaring me
.

I’ll love you forever, Grace

Somewhere in the Pacific
September 15, 1944

Postcard:

Just shot down number seven. You’re a good egg, Grace, and you always will be. I look forward to seeing you when the war’s over
.