The Chameleon (17 page)

She looked at Harry's large hands pulling back on the throttle. She liked the look of his strong neck as he turned from the task to her and back. She liked the way his leather aviator's jacket cracked as he expertly swung the plane around, in complete control. The ride was smooth. He was so good-looking squinting into a sun brightened by the snow's reflection. His eyes crinkled at the corners and he pushed on a pair of aviator glasses. And then he turned to her.

Either he was the handsomest fellow she had ever encountered or she was falling in love.

So Claire was merely shy but not offended when Harry drove directly from the airfield, where small planes hastily commandeered for Illinois Civil Defense were being painted camouflage colors, to the Palmer House. Packed with young men in uniform in the cocktail-hour commotion, the hotel's revolving door spilled out equal numbers of navy, marine, and army recruits with colorful precision in a parade of white, blue, and khaki. Laughter floated out from Trader Vic's like some tropical port of call. It was an eerie last hurrah for these untested military men, many of whom would soon ship out and likely die trying to recapture the very South Seas islands this hot spot gaudily imitated with its tiki torches and Polynesian totems.

The irony of the moment was lost neither on the well-read Claire nor on Harry, who was already savvy to War Department secrets. The Japanese had attacked the Philippines, Malaya, Wake Island, and Guam the day after Pearl Harbor. Harry knew of the reclamation plans and that even he could lose his young life for a piece of dirt on one of these palm-tree pockets of paradise in the South Pacific. Upstairs in the main lobby, music from the Empire Room rumba-boom-boomed with an urgent hilarity. There was more swaying than dancing going on as Claire and Harry poked their windblown heads inside to watch the clenched couples for a moment before he guided her to the brass floral-engraved elevator doors.

On the ride up, Claire nervously studied her boots as Harry awkwardly searched for the room key in the side pocket of his jacket.

What was she doing? she asked herself. She fought down the grown-up feelings he had aroused in her. Had she lost her mind? Was she going to give her virginity to a total stranger? Well, she assured herself, not really a stranger after a dozen dances, seven hours of conversation, and a ride in the sky. In the days before Pearl Harbor, the intensity of their night and a half together would have stretched out for months and been considered a long courtship. War hormones simply speeded up the process. Why, then, was she feeling like a village virgin about to be sacrificed to the lord of the manor, who was off to fight the Crusades?

She folded her slender arms across her chest. “I think we should shut down the engines right here. Slow down a bit. I mean, I'm not that kind of girl.” She realized too late that she'd just let a schoolgirl cliché tumble out of her mouth.

“I mean, Lieutenant Harrison, aren't you being just a bit presumptuous?” She wished the rush of erotic feelings inside her would be still.

“Geez, Claire,” he ventured cautiously. “I thought you'd like a little supper and some private time … like last night.”

“In your suite?” she queried sharply in her mother's voice.

“Well actually, it belongs to my dad. He owns an interest in this hotel with Cyrus.”

The Pettibones again. Was she actually going to lose her virginity in one of their business holdings? She flashed Harry an angry look.

“I … certainly didn't mean to give the impression…” Harry's words were pleading forgiveness but his eyes were full of desire. “You see, there isn't a decent restaurant in town that hasn't been invaded by some branch of the military. I figured the only way we could have a quiet dinner was in a private suite.” A shock of hair fell into his hazel eyes. As Harry brushed it aside, an irresistible grin spread across his face. “Besides, we had to fall out of the sky sometime, didn't we?”

“But that doesn't mean we have to fall straight onto a mattress.”

“Look, if you'd rather, we could eat downstairs at Trader Vic's or at the nightclub with all the other soldiers and their girls. I simply thought you'd prefer someplace quiet where we could talk. I thought you might enjoy it. Claire,” he said softly, “it's only dinner.”

He waited earnestly for her answer.

With all the other soldiers and their girls.
Yes, Claire thought,
their
girls. She stole a glance at Harry's patrician profile. Beguiled by his boarding-school manners and Ivy League look, tonight, even if it only lasted until the clock struck twelve, she would be like one of those swaying couples downstairs, closely held and possibly even cherished.

The elevator stopped at the penthouse. Claire took a deep breath then reached for Harry's arm and stepped out. “Which way to private dining? I'm famished.” She twinkled at him. So what if she might end up being dessert? She laughed, giddy with the prospect of the evening before them.

“What's so funny?” Harry ushered her into the marble entry of the suite, flipping on an enormous crystal chandelier with the stem of his aviator's glasses.

“I was just thinking about dessert”

“The lady is already contemplating dessert?” Claire found the slow grin spreading across his face very appetizing. “I thought you were the one who wanted dinner.” He studied the menu on the desk. “How about a bottle of wine? Shall we start with a little game hen? A hock of ham? And maybe I can scare up a cannoli or two from the Pettibones’
troppo
Italian table?”

“Can you imagine? Mussolini is the bad guy and the Pettibones have the audacity to throw a goombah
carnevale
!”

“Well, what do you expect?” Harry smirked. “All the women in that family have linguine and clams for brains.”

They both started to laugh.

She moved over to the couch and sank down into its plush burgundy velvet while he picked up the telephone to order.

“It'll be a while. Catering says there are three wedding parties going on downstairs and a bunch of soldiers’ farewell bashes. Do you mind? Can I get something, for you? Canned goods? Some army rations?” His grin was lopsided.

“You could light the fire.” Claire crossed her trim ankles and leaned back lazily on her arms.

She watched as he tossed his learner jacket over a satin chair, loosened his Princeton tie, and unbuttoned the first button of his white shirt. Perspiration stains made half-moons under his arms. The firelight sparkled across his handsome face as he stoked the flame. She rose and walked over to him. It seemed only natural that he should take her in his arms and bring their lips together. After all, both of them had been thinking about it all afternoon. They took their time, taking each other's breath away, dropping their inhibitions as they listened to one another's heartbeats instead of following the Boy Scouts’ handbook. He was pulling off her cashmere cardigan and laying it over his jacket. She was turning her slender figure toward him, now emphasized by the matching gray pullover and slim trousers she wore.

“Your hair is beautiful in this light,” he said, gently pulling the side barrettes out so that the length of her hair tumbled over her shoulders.

“Yours, too,” she brushed the errant shock of hair out of his eyes.

“You just want me to see better so I can tell you how lovely you are.”

She lightly placed her fingers on his crocodile belt and then lifted her eyes to his. He took her fingers from his belt and brought them to his lips, swallowing hard.

“Is it the war or is it me?” His question was sincere.

“I'm not sure.” She bit her lower lip.

“An honest woman.” He smiled, regaining his composure.

Then be an honest man … Is it me, or is it because she's not here?” Claire took a step back, the reflection of the fire dancing on her hair and slender neck.

“She's nobody I want.”

“But somebody you'll marry?”

A look of annoyance crossed his face, a fleeting moment of indecision, then a look of resolve.

“I'd marry you, Claire.” Harry's voice was trembling as he pulled her face to his, and then he suddenly lifted her in his arms in a single movement and carried her into the bedroom with its vast bed draped in silk and fringe.

He hesitated for a moment, watching the changing expression of her face, until the pouty mouth opened and the eyes fluttered shut signaling her readiness, then he laid her across the width of the bed and covered her in kisses. Gently, he pulled off her sweater, her boots and knee-high socks. She responded by unbuckling his belt, then tentatively pulling it through its loops, watching, fascinated, as he removed the rest of their clothing. He pulled his hands from her firm small breasts and told her how beautiful she was, running his fingers down the smooth slope of her legs and across her flat stomach. Naked, she was at once girlish and womanly. She gently traced the hair on his chest with her fingers and then lightly rested her hands on his thighs, pausing uncertainly, slow-dancing, both of them watching, inhaling each other's scents, not wanting to miss a single discovery. They were like two grown children, exploring, desiring, wanting, tasting slowly, with the most natural instincts in their purest desire to please one another.

He tenderly took her and she felt that a year had passed between last night and this moment.

“You hungry?” He burst into the room like he had just taken San Juan Hill. He was holding a bottle of Chateau Margaux 1934 like a saber. Harry was covered from his athlete's waist to his knees with a plush bath towel, hastily pulled around him in order to receive the room-service cart.

“No,” she whispered. She was still naked on the rumpled spread, her knees shyly pulled to her chest, as if playing peek-a-boo with her lower body, her hair cascading over her breasts, covering them. An uncertain little girl had left the ball with the handsomest boy there. And he had wanted her enough to make tender love to her, to guide her over the threshold into womanhood. A private smile was on her lips. She'd been proud of the way her body had responded. And if she hadn't quite lost herself in the depths of blinding passion and heard the trumpets described by Slim, she had taken to it instinctively. She exhaled. She had never felt so cherished.

“I'm not hungry at all. In fact, I'm feeling quite satisfied.” She threw back her head and stretched her arms and neck behind her, catlike, exposing her bare bosom.

He watched her greedily. He had made love to her and he desperately wanted to make love to her again. Her body had responded to every move he had made. Suddenly he didn't feel like awkward Harry anymore. He had pleased this pretty creature with the warm laugh who shared his passion for flying. His sexual experiences until now had been scattered and unsatisfactory. Minnie straddled him like Thunder and called out instructions like an animal trainer. Before her, there had been just a handful of girls, boldly sophisticated, who'd feigned virginity and blamed their ardor on the alcohol. Claire was the real thing, and she had just made beautiful love to him with no apologies.

He grabbed two glasses from the bar, holding both of them in one hand as he expertly poured the wine like a naked sommelier.

“For mam'selle.” He placed a glass in her hand. Noticing goose bumps on her flesh, Harry covered her with his leather flying jacket, gently pulling up the zipper. He had never felt so masculine before.

“Harry?”

“Ummm.” He plucked a leg from the well-garnished cornish hen sitting on the room-service table.

“I'm happy it was you. For the first time.” Claire blushed the exact color of the rose tufted headboard behind her. “In fact, it's always been you. You keep rescuing me, you see. And you don't even know it” Tears welled up in her eyes. He put the wineglass down and stared at her.

“Come on in,” she said, patting the bed. “Next to me. I want to tell you a story. A bedtime story.” He pulled back the spread and sheets and shot into bed.

“Are you settled in?”

He kissed her neck. “Yes.”

She brushed her heavy mane of hair off her face with the back of her hand.

“Once upon a time,” she began in a soft voice, “there was a little girl who lived in an enchanted department store with her three fairy godmothers. They loved her very very much, and she loved them in return. The fairy godmothers and their little girl didn't have much in the way of possessions, but they worked hard and were happy. There weren't any men in their little cottage so they learned to chop the wood, cook potluck meals, and play the wind instruments, bringing music into their lives.” Claire glanced up to see if he was with her.

“Go on.” Harry rested his head on his elbow.

“Then one day a great plague came over the land, called the Depression. Suddenly, the three fairy godmothers lost their powers. They couldn't grow food, their cupboards were bare, and one of the godmothers lost her wand and her job. It was bleak. The snows came. And the wolf howled outside their door. Then one day, an important lady came into their store and said, ‘I need a very special gift for my husband, for he is prince of the Tuxedos and ambassador to the court of King Franklin.’”

Harry looked at her, puzzled.

“One of the fairy godmothers showed the great lady an ermine coat since it was Christmas and very very cold. The heat had even been turned off in the godmothers’ cottage and their little girl had to sleep with one of them every night just to keep warm. But the fancy lady said the ermine coat was too grand, for while her husband was a great man, he was not a showoff. The next fairy godmother showed her silk scarves to tie around his neck, but the princess shook her head no saying, ‘The prince of Tuxedo is fastidious about his clothes and picks out all his own ties.’

“‘Oh,’ said the third fairy godmother. ‘Then I have the perfect present. It is a set of golden combs and brushes and bottles and boxes for the prince to take with him when he travels to other courts in the land. And it comes with a special magic that will protect him from harm.’ The fairy godmother didn't tell the princess that she had cast a secret spell on the gold treasures so that the prince's son, when he grew up, would one day return to rescue their little girl from all the mean witches who lived in the big castle.