“Aye, aye, Sir,” Captain Carstairs said.
“That’s right nice of you, Cunnel,” Bill Dunn said. “Could I offah you a small libation?”
“Thank you, no. Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Colonel Porter said, and marched out of the Officers’ Club.
“Nice fella, for a cunnel,” Bill Dunn said.
“I know who you are,” Captain Carstairs said, with a sympathetic shake of his head and the tight, small smile that Colonel Porter noticed earlier; but there was a warm glint in his eye. “You’re Dunn. I saw your picture in the newspaper this morning.”
“God-damn!” Dunn said. “Pick, didn’t I tell you that was going to happen?”
“Well, you’re going to have to change your attack. Try pinning the goddamn medals on. Maybe that will work.”
“You think so?” Dunn asked hopefully.
Captain Carstairs grabbed each officer by the arm and propelled them away from the bar and toward the dining room.
[TWO]
Live Oaks Plantation
Baldwin County, Alabama
1205 Hours 31 October 1942
Mrs. Alma Dunn walked into the large kitchen and sat down at the table, then picked up a biscuit and took a bite. She pointed to glasses sitting in front of her son; they were half full of a thick red liquid.
Lieutenant William C. Dunn, wearing a khaki shirt and green trousers, was sitting across the table from Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering, who was similarly attired. The table was loaded with food, none of which seemed particularly appetizing to either of them.
“Is that tomato juice or a Bloody Mary?” Mrs. Dunn asked.
“Bloody Mary,” her son answered.
“Kate, would you fix me one, please?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Kate said. Kate was a tiny black woman; she looked to Pick Pickering to be at least seventy, and to weigh about that many pounds.
“I hope you both feel awful,” Mrs. Dunn said. “You were pretty disgusting when you rolled in here last night.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Dunn,” Pick said.
“You should be,” she said matter-of-factly.
Bill Dunn’s mother did not look at all like Pick’s mother, Mrs. Patricia Pickering. Mrs. Dunn was a large, young-looking woman, whose sandy blond hair was parted in the middle and arranged in a kind of pigtail at the back. She was wearing a tweed skirt and a sweater, with just a hint of lipstick. And her only jewelry was a small metal pin, which showed three blue stars on a white background. Mrs. Patricia Pickering, in contrast, was svelte and elegant; Pick could never remember seeing her, for instance, without her four-carat emerald-cut diamond engagement ring. Yet she, too. wore a similar pin, with two blue stars. The number of stars on the pins signified how many members of the wearer’s immediate family were in the military or naval service of the United States.
But they’re the same kind of women, Pick thought. They’d like each other.
“God is punishing us, Mother. You don’t have to trouble.”
“What was the occasion?”
“It isn’t every day you get to meet the President of the United States,” Bill Dunn said.
“The President? When you came in here, you said you got your medal from Mr. Knox. And you’re in hot water about that, too, by the way. The Senator called your daddy.”
“Senator Foghorn’s mad they gave me a medal?”
“Don’t be a wise-ass, Billy. He saw your picture in the Washington papers. Senator Whatsisname from California…”
“Fowler, Mrs. Dunn,” Pick furnished.
“… Senator Fowler was in the picture. Senator Chadwick called your daddy to tell him he’d have been there himself if he’d known about it. And your daddy is mad that you didn’t call the Senator and tell him what was going on.”
“Mother, come on! What was I supposed to do, call him up and say, ‘Senator, they’re giving me a medal, why don’t you come watch?’ ”
“That’s what I told your daddy, but it didn’t seem to help much.”
Kate delivered a Bloody Mary, and Alma Dunn took a sip, nodded her approval, and then saw Pick’s eyes on her.
“Does your mother drink, Mr. Pickering?”
“Only when she’s thirsty,” Pick’s mouth ran away from him.
Alma Dunn laughed. “Now I know why you’re friends. Two wise apples.”
“Where is Daddy?”