“Tony Weil called me. They’re getting stage nineteen set up for some Technicolor tests. He said he needs some bodies for that, and if I send her over on Monday, he’ll give her dialogue and put her in costume, get her somebody decent to play against, and direct it himself. After that, I can send her back to Dr. Harry. I’ll think of some story to tell the kid, to let him down easy. I’ve got to send him to San Diego Monday anyway. She just won’t be here when he gets back. She had to see her sick grandmother in Dubuque, or something.”
“Tony’s actually going to direct her a test?” Veronica asked.
Dillon nodded. “He’ll also cut it for me. Do it right.”
“Tony’s all right. Not like some unnamed overrated hysterical Hungarian fags we have on the lot. That was nice of him.”
“He owes me a couple of favors. But he is a nice guy.”
“So are you,” Veronica Wood said, reaching out to touch his face. “A nice guy.” He looked into her eyes for a moment. “Speaking of costumes: Does the one I’m wearing give you any ideas?”
He looked thoughtful a moment. “Beats me.”
“You bastard!” she said.
“If you vant to geddin in my pants, sveetheart,” Dillon said, in a thick and very credible mimicry of the director with whom Miss Wood was currently experiencing artistic differences, “you shouldn’t ought to talk to me like dat.”
“You three-star bastard!” Veronica said delightedly, and pushed him back on the bed. Then she shrieked and looked at her fingers. “What the hell is that sticky crap?”
“It comes out of the plumbing that makes the roof of the car go up and down.”
“Well, I don’t want it on me,” Veronica said. “Go take a bath.”
He went into the bathroom, into the stall shower, and turned the water on. Veronica stepped in beside him.
“What the hell,” she said. “I was already in costume.”
[SIX]
Apartment 7B
The Bay View Apartments
Russian Hill, San Francisco, California
1145 Hours 24 October 1942
“I’m a little embarrassed,” Miss Bitsy Thomas said to First Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR. “I’ve never known Alex to behave like that before.”
She was referring to Miss Alexandra Spears. Two minutes before, Miss Spears announced that Miss Thomas and Lieutenant Pickering would have to amuse themselves, then led First Lieutenant William C. Dunn into her bedroom.
“Neither have I,” Pick said. “Perhaps it is love at first sight.”
“She had a lot to drink,” Bitsy said loyally.
“I’ve noticed that women who want to do something they think is a little out of the ordinary tend to take a belt or two,” Pick said. “It gives them an excuse.”
“That’s a dirty shot,” Bitsy said.
“In vino veritas,” Pick said. “Speaking of which, can I fix you another?”
“I think I’ve had enough, thank you.”
“There is no such thing as ‘enough,’ ” he said. “It goes directly from ‘not enough’ to ‘too much.’ ”
“Have it your way. Too much.”
Pick started to make himself a drink at Alexandra’s bar.
“Can I ask you a question?” Bitsy asked.
“You can ask,” he said.
“Do you always drink this much? You’ve really been socking it away.”
“Only when I can get it.”
“I’ve got another question, but I’m afraid to ask it.”
“Ask it. I didn’t promise to answer your questions.”
“Is it because you’re going overseas?” Bitsy asked. “Oh, God, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean to suggest you’re afraid.”
“If I was going overseas, I would be afraid.”
“You’re not going overseas?”
Pick took a sip of his drink, then met her eyes before replying. “I just got back.”
“You did? Where were you?”
“VMF-229, on the ‘Canal.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I flew fighters, Wildcats, F4Fs, on Guadalcanal.”
There was doubt in her eyes.
“That’s kind of hard to believe, Pick.”
“It’s even harder to believe when you’re there,” he said.
After a pause, she said, shocked, “My God, I believe you!”
“All’s well that ends well, to coin a phrase.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know. First they’re putting Us on display. And after that, who knows?”