Louise's Blunder (7 page)

I shook his hand firmly. ‘I’m glad to meet you, too, and happy that you’re home safely.’

I didn’t want to pretend I didn’t notice his injury. ‘I hope you’re recovering well,’ I said.

Milt picked up a glass from the table as he sat down, draining the inch or so of bourbon left in it. ‘With some help from my friend here,’ he said, tossing the glass back. ‘I’d like another, please, Mother.’

Phoebe poured him another shot, her hands shaking slightly. Henry, sitting across from Milt, hadn’t said a word yet and clutched his own glass.

I took a deep breath and sat down next to Milt on the sofa.

‘I’m so sorry about your injury,’ I said.

‘You don’t need to be,’ he said. ‘It’s just part of the job of being a hero.’ He drained his bourbon in one gulp.

Henry’s lips tightened into a thin line.

General experience indicates that “husky” girls—those who are just a little on the heavy side—are likely to be more even-tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.

‘1943 Guide to Hiring Women’,
Mass Transportation
magazine, July 1943.

W
ith a little trepidation I got off the bus at New Hampshire and ‘U’ Street, right in the middle of the colored neighborhood of Washington. It was teeming with people as I expected it would be on Saturday night. Throngs of Negroes wearing everything from zoot suits to military uniforms to tuxedos crowded the streets on their way to ‘U’ Street’s famous bars and clubs. Plenty of white people strolled ‘U’ Street, too, lured there by hot music, especially jazz, the best in the country outside of Harlem.

Which is why I was there.

At lunch on Friday Rose slid into a spot next to me at the cafeteria table where I was eating chicken à la king with Joan. ‘Louise,’ she said, ‘Sadie and I have decided we are going to “U” Street on Saturday night to see what all the excitement is about. Don’t you want to come with us?’

‘“U” Street?’ Joan said. ‘At night? Do you think that’s a good idea?’

Rose shrugged. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘Just because it’s a colored neighborhood doesn’t mean it’s not safe.’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ Joan said. ‘It’s just that so many of the nice hotels have jazz bands now; why not go to the Willard or the Mayflower?’

‘I’ve been to the Willard and the Mayflower,’ I said. ‘I’ve never been to “U” Street.’

‘I’ve heard there’s sometimes gunfire in the streets and police raids on those clubs,’ Joan said.

Rose ignored her and said to me, ‘Guess who’s playing at the Club Bali! Louis Armstrong and his orchestra!’

The Club Bali. I’d seen its advertisements, bordered in palm fronds and strewn with exclamation points, in the newspaper almost every day (‘In Person! On Stage!’). It was the biggest club in the ‘U’ Street neighborhood and served exotic Korean food. I’d never dreamed of going to such a place before.

‘I’d love to come,’ I said.

‘It’s expensive,’ Rose said. ‘The cover charge is five dollars, dinner about two fifty or so, and then there’ll be the drinks.’

‘I’ll cash a check on my way home,’ I said. I could skip buying a war bond this month.

‘First one who gets there saves a table,’ Rose said. ‘For four. We’re going to bring a man friend with us to chaperone. See, Joan, we can be proper!’

For a minute it looked like Joan was going to ask to go with us. I could see in her expression that her fun-loving nature was struggling with her lofty upbringing, but in the end she gave in to the upbringing.

After Rose left Joan said to me, ‘Be careful and call me Sunday. I want to hear all about it.’

I escaped the bustle of ‘U’ Street, turning off on to 14th and walking south to ‘T’, where the crowds were less stifling. A long line of colored and white people stood outside the entrance to the Club Bali, where two bouncers at the door made sure no one was carrying guns or their own liquor. Once inside the men checked their hats in the cloakroom. I paid my five dollars and moved with the crowd into the main room. It was huge and filling up fast. I guessed the space could hold almost three hundred people. A raised stage topped with a phoney thatched roof jutted from the far wall. The band playing on it was just an opening act, I guess, no one was paying any attention to the singer and I didn’t recognize the music. Plastic palm trees with red paper flowers tied to them lined the dance floor. Pretty colored girls in grass skirts with trays hanging around their necks worked the crowd, offering mementos for sale as well as cigarettes. Already a few people were eating at tables that hardly looked big enough to hold one plate. The odor of the Korean food was foreign to me, but I could hardly wait to taste it.

I spotted Sadie waving at me from a table near a corner of the stage. I edged my way to it between the crowded tables and squeezed into a chair. Rose was there too, and a tallish man wearing a blue linen suit stood to be introduced to me. I recognized him immediately. He was Clark Leach, one of General Donovan’s most trusted aides. Leach was an expert on China and spoke fluent Mandarin, sometimes even translating for the President. He was one of the Yale-educated crowd that filled so many spots at OSS. I guessed he was about forty. His dark hair was greying at the temples and receding a bit. Eyeglasses protruded from his handkerchief pocket.

‘This is our friend Mrs Louise Pearlie,’ Rose said to him.

‘Pleased to meet you, I’m Clark Leach,’ he said. I shook his outstretched hand.

‘Call me Louise, please,’ I said.

‘And I’m Clark,’ he answered.

I didn’t expect Leach to recognize me from OSS. He was a star while I was just another government girl. So of course I wouldn’t indicate that I knew he worked at OSS.

‘We ordered food for you, I hope that was OK,’ Sadie said to me.

‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t know what to get anyway.’

‘Clark steered us away from too much spice,’ Rose said. ‘We figured we’d share everything.’

An exotic-looking mulatto waitress with an order pad stopped by our table. She wore a sarong and a top that was more like a bra, except that it was patterned with flowers. Real flowers – orchids, I thought – decorated her long soft black hair. ‘Ready for drinks?’ she asked.

‘Start a tab for me,’ Clark said. ‘I’ll take care of the drinks.’

‘No, Clark,’ Sadie said, ‘you mustn’t, we can pay for our own drinks.’

Clark shook his head. ‘You’ve had me over to your apartment so many times for drink and food this is the least I can do. I’ll have bourbon, on ice,’ he said to the barmaid.

‘I’ll have a gin sour,’ Rose said. I requested my usual dry Martini without olives and Sadie ordered a beer.

‘Clark is one of those rare men who appreciates intelligent women,’ Rose said.

‘You sell our sex short,’ Clark said. ‘Many men like smart women. And I’m not perfect. I enjoy the company of attractive women too. Tonight I am fortunate to be with ladies who have both attributes.’

‘We’re not blotto enough to fall for that line, Clark,’ Sadie said. ‘Not yet, anyway.’

Clark smiled a friendly, familiar smile at Rose and Sadie, and I found myself thinking that if Rose and Sadie were fond of him he was bound to be OK. And I was glad I looked nice tonight. I’d worn a black and white striped rayon dress with sleeves that stopped above my elbows, a thin black belt, my pearls and an artificial but darling white flower pinned gaily behind one ear. Festive, but still in good taste, I hoped.

The waitress returned with a tray crowded to its edge with drinks and passed ours across the table to us. My Martini had an olive in it but I didn’t care because it was pierced with a fancy pink toothpick. I discarded the olive and put the stick in my purse as a souvenir. I sipped my Martini slowly. If we were going to be here for hours I didn’t want to drink too much.

The opening band finished their set and left the stage to a scattering of applause. An emcee with slicked back, glistening hair and a wide-lapel tuxedo stepped on to the stage and grasped the microphone. Anticipation rippled through the audience.

‘Welcome,’ the emcee said, ‘to the Club Bali! I’m not going to waste your time, my friends! Tonight we have here on our stage, live, one of our favorite performers, Louis Armstrong!’

The roar from the crowd made me cover my ears. Armstrong, followed by his band, strolled on to the stage. It was a big band. The musicians had to squeeze themselves and their instruments into their places. Armstrong, his cornet tucked under his arm, grasped the microphone.

‘Ladies and gentlemen of our great nation’s capital, I am honored to be here!’ When he said the word ‘honored’ he tossed his head back and smiled, showing bright white teeth in a wide mouth. He turned to his orchestra. ‘Are you boys ready?’ he asked.

‘We’re ready!’ they answered in unison.

Armstrong let go of the mike and swiveled, raising his right hand to conduct his band. The band broke into ‘Heebie Jeebies’, and if I had the rest of my life I’d never be able to describe it. It wasn’t sparse and structured like hillbilly music, not mellow and organized like swing, it was loose and happy. Every instrument spoke independently but somehow as part of a whole piece. The music felt and sounded free. From there the band played ‘Alexander’s Ragtime Band’ and ‘Standing on the Corner’. Armstrong’s cornet was clear and true but I think I liked his singing even better. No one would say he had a good voice, nothing like Sinatra or Bing Crosby, but its raspiness gave his songs a personality no one could imitate. After he sang ‘Dinah’ with a touch of scat I didn’t see how anyone else could do it better.

Clark reached out a hand to me. ‘Dance?’ he said.

‘Yes, please.’

We edged out on to the crowded floor.

‘I’m sorry, but I can only foxtrot,’ Clark said.

‘Thank God,’ I said.

As men and women gyrated around us Clark put his hand around my waist and took my hand. He didn’t pull me right up to him. It was all quite seemly. Clark’s foxtrot was smooth, even if it was the only dance he could do. We couldn’t talk, it was just too noisy. We stayed on the floor dancing to a few more tunes. One called ‘Potato Head Blues’ made me want to break loose from Clark’s foxtrot and lindy-hop. But I managed to restrain myself for Clark’s sake. There was a shortage of men so Sadie and Rose jitterbugged together.

After the set ended Armstrong wiped the sweat from his face with a huge white handkerchief and said, ‘Just a little break now, y’all. Enjoy your dinner!’ He and the band left the stage to a cacophony of applause and cheers.

‘What a swell sound!’ Sadie said, as she took her seat again.

‘What do you think?’ Clark asked me.

‘I thought he was grand!’ I said.

‘He’s a great talent,’ Leach said. ‘I wish Billie Holiday was here with him tonight. Then you would hear some singing!’

‘You’ve seen Billie Holiday?’ I asked.

‘Before the war, when I lived in New York City, I used to go the Savoy Ballroom with friends all the time.’

‘In Harlem? What was it like?’

‘It reminded me of Paris. The streets were jammed with people, all kinds of people from every walk of life, enjoying life, food, music, fun. Americans can be such damn puritans.’

Sadie leaned into the conversation and lowered her voice. ‘Don’t they let colored people and white people dance together at the Savoy?’

‘Yes they do,’ Clark answered. ‘Like Paris. Before the war.’ His face darkened. ‘That bastard Hitler.’

During the heavy pause that followed a waiter brought us our dinner. A good thing, too; I’d let my friends convince me to order another Martini and my head was buzzing.

Clark had selected four dishes for us to share. There was a fried rice dish mounded with vegetables and an egg, chicken teriyaki, chicken dumplings and a noodle dish he said was quite spicy.

‘Watch out for the chillies,’ Clark said, pointing out the thin red strips embedded in the noodles. Even avoiding the chillies I had to drink half of Sadie’s beer to cool my mouth.

The food was delicious, if unfamiliar, and I ate my fair share.

After the table was cleared Sadie and Rose convinced me to order another Martini.

‘There’s another set to go,’ Rose said. ‘Plenty of time for the buzz to wear off.’

Armstrong and his band walked out on stage again and the audience stood up in unison and roared. He launched into ‘Summertime’ but instead of music I heard a distant roaring in my head and my legs trembled. My dinner began to roil in my stomach and I sat down hard. I was suddenly conscious of the wafting clouds of cigarette smoke that filled the room. It stung my eyes and made my throat ache.

Sadie sat down next to me and took my arm. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘I don’t feel well,’ I said.

‘Let’s get you some water,’ Rose said.

‘Don’t let me faint in front of all these people,’ I said.

In a second Clark was by my side. ‘I’ll take you outside for some air,’ he said. ‘There’s a back garden. We’ll get you some water out there.’ He pulled me up from my seat and put an arm around my waist to support me. I gripped his shoulder. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘it’s just a few steps.’

He guided me out a back door and into a rear garden where few of the tables were taken.

The garden was ringed with trees strung with glowing light bulbs and the air was cool, at least compared to the air inside.

Clark settled me in a chair. I inhaled huge gulps of air as if I’d been drowning. Clark beckoned for the waitress who served the garden.

‘Can you get the lady a glass of cold water?’ he asked. ‘And bring a pitcher more, with ice.’

The waitress took one look at me and said, ‘Ma’am, would you like some Bromo-Seltzer in your glass of water?’

‘Yes, please,’ I said. Unconsciously I placed a hand on my churning stomach.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Clark said. ‘I should have been more careful ordering dinner.’

‘I don’t think it was the food,’ I said. ‘I blame the third Martini. Thanks for bringing me outside. If I’d collapsed in there I’d have been mortified.’

‘No worries. It’s lovely out here.’

The waitress brought me my Bromo-Seltzer fizzing in a tall glass, and a pitcher of water.

After I’d swallowed the Bromo I felt much better. I chased it with a glass of pure, cold water.

‘Better?’ Clark asked.

‘Much,’ I said. ‘Please go back inside. I don’t want you to miss the show. I’m fine out here.’

‘I’d rather stay with you. We can still hear the music.’

We could. The sound rose and fell with the slight breeze that drifted through the garden.

There were just two other couples outside. They were tables away from us.

Clark leaned closer to me and lowered his voice. ‘No one can hear us, Louise,’ he said. ‘I believe we work for the same agency? I’ve seen you in the Registry many times.’

I nodded. ‘I know who you are, of course.’

‘What’s your clearance?’ he asked.

I waited until the waitress passed by, then answered. ‘Top Secret.’

Clark nodded. ‘I thought so. Aren’t you the woman who—’