“We’ll take care of the car, Sir,” the bellman said. “Are you checking in?”
“We’re here to see Major Dillon,” Macklin said. “I don’t think it’s permissible for a civilian to drive a military vehicle. I will park it myself, thank you, just the same.”
The bellman considered that a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and stepped out of the way.
Macklin parked the station wagon and carefully locked it. And then, with Lieutenant Easterbrook at his side, he walked into the lobby.
“How would I find Cottage B?” he inquired of the doorman.
“May I ask whom you wish to see, Sir?”
“Major Homer Dillon, USMC.”
“There must be some mistake, Sir. There is no Major Dillon in Cottage B.”
“How about a Lieutenant Pickering?” Macklin snapped.
“One moment, Sir,” the doorman said. “I’ll see if Lieutenant Pickering is in. May I have your name, please?”
“Macklin,” Macklin said. “Lieutenant R. B. Macklin.”
The doorman picked up a telephone and dialed a number.
“Excuse me,” he said to whoever answered. “There is a Lieutenant Mackeral at the door who wishes to see Lieutenant Pickering. May I pass him through?”
“He called you ‘Mackeral,’ ” Lieutenant Easterbrook observed, chuckling… quite unnecessarily.
“Turn right at the reception desk, Lieutenant,” the doorman said, pointing. “And then your first left. Cottage B is the second cottage.”
“Thank you very much,” Lieutenant Macklin said, somewhat icily. “Follow me, Easterbrook.”
There was just time for Lieutenant Macklin to be introduced to Lieutenants Dunn and Pickering when Captain Charles M. Galloway and Mrs. Carolyn Ward Spencer walked into the cottage. They were trailed by a bellman carrying luggage.
“The temporary arrangements,” Pick said, pointing to the door to the Palm Room, “are that you and Charley are in there. If you’d rather, we could find you some other…”
“This is marvelous,” Carolyn said. “Thank you, Pick. I keep saying that, but you keep doing things…”
“Enjoy it while you can,” Pick said. “I no longer have to polish the Skipper’s apple; me or Dunn. We are all now Instructor Pilots.”
“I heard about that,” Charley said. “I think it makes sense.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying that. You like the idea of being an IP?”
“He’s not going to be an IP is why,” Carolyn said. “Somebody blew a trumpet, and he’s going back over there.”
“How did you work that, Skipper?” Dunn asked.
“Clean living, Mr. Dunn,” Galloway said. “You ought to try it sometime. Works miracles.”
Clean living indeed, Lieutenant Macklin thought. What the Captain is up to with this woman is defined as illicit cohabitation. It’s conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentlemen, de facto and de jure.
“Any chance we can go with you, Skipper?” Pick asked.
“No,” Galloway said. “I asked, and the answer is no. Somebody decided clowns like you two are worth their weight in gold. But thanks, Pick. I wish it was otherwise.”
“This must be the place,” a female voice announced from the doorway. “I can smell Marines in rut.”
That’s Veronica Wood! Lieutenant Macklin realized in surprise. Did she actually say what I think I heard?
Veronica crossed the room and kissed Lieutenant Easterbrook wetly, then moved to Jake Dillon and kissed him with a little more enthusiasm.
“Bobby gets kissed first,” Veronica said, “because he’s prettier than you are, even if you are my fianc‚.”
“Jesus,” Jake said.
What did she say? “Fianc‚”? Macklin thought.
Veronica glanced around the room and noticed Carolyn for the first time. She walked to her and kissed her. “The East Coast President of the Marine Corps Camp Followers. When was the last time?”
“The Hotel Willard, in Washington,” Carolyn said.
“Right!” Veronica said, and then accused: “You promised to write, and you never did.”
“I thought you were just being polite,” Carolyn said.
“Don’t be silly. We have to stick together. You going on the tour?”
“No, she is not,” Jake Dillon said. “Which brings us to that. Enjoy tonight, children, because tomorrow it’s all over. Tomorrow at 0900, we will all gather at the Hollywood Roosevelt, luggage all packed and ready to be loaded aboard the bus….”
“Bus?” Pick asked. “What bus?”
“The Greyhound Bus we have chartered to carry everybody on the tour,” Dillon said, “on which, regrettably, there is no room for anyone else.”