They had gone to Bethpage, been checked out in F4F-3s fresh from the assembly line, and then practiced low-level aerobatics just out of sight of land over the Atlantic.
Canidy, as an engineer, was very impressed with the Wildcat. As a pilot, he had been very impressed with the airplane as an airplane. Privately, Dick Canidy thought the last three weeks had been enough proof, if one was needed, that insanity and childishness were no bar to promotion in the United States Navy.
He was not sorry he had volunteered for the hush-hush childishness. For one thing, it had taken him out of the backseat of a Kaydet, the 90-mph biplane in which he taught basic flying techniques to fledgling naval birdmen. For another, it had given him the chance to fly the F4F-3. This would add to his general fund of knowledge, and when he took off the sailor suit, it just might result in a larger paycheck. He had taken pains at Bethpage to subtly let Grumman officials know that while he was looking forward to working for Boeing, he had not actually committed himself to going to Seattle.
When Canidy touched down at Anacostia he felt a mild tinge of regret that this was the last chance he would have to fly the F4F-3 for a while. Finishing the landing roll, he taxied to the end of the runway where Hawes and Bitter were lined up behind a Follow Me, a Ford pickup truck painted in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern.
The aerodrome officer was waiting for them, smiling broadly, and handed Commander Hawes a telephone message form. Hawes read it, smiled happily, and showed it to Lieutenants Bitter and Canidy.
Tass to Commander Ha, Done. Derr, Vice Ac “Well, gentlemen Commander Hawes said, “we pulled it off.”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Bitter said.
“There’s going to be a little dinner tonight at the Army-Navy club,” Commander Hawes said. “You’re of course invited.”
“Sir?” Canidy said. “Yes?”
“Is it a command performance, sir? The reason I ask is that I have a friend in Washington I’d hoped to see.”
“A friend?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No,” Commander Hawes said, somewhat taken aback but making an effort to be pleasant. “Of course it’s not a command performance. Go see your friend.”
When he had been a young lieutenant, it would not have entered his mind to turn down an invitation to dinner from a superior, particularly when he would have an opportunity to bask in Vice Admiral Deer’s approval. Although his performance of duty could not be faulted, Canidy did not have quite the proper attitude for a junior officer.
,,If my absence would in some way be awkward, sir..
“Not at all. Go see your friend.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Bitter waited until they were alone in the BOQ before he told him he thought he had made a mistake to decline the invitation.
“Eddie, you want to be an admiral. You go to the dinner. My sole ambition at the moment is to get laid, and I don’t think I’d have much chance to do that at the Army/Navy Club.”
“You are coming back here tonight?”
“I devoutly hope not,” Canidy said.
“In case I have to get in touch with you, where will you be?”
“At the house of a friend of mine on Q Street, NW. It’s in the book under Whittaker.”
Eddie Bitter wrote the name down in a notebook.
Thirty minutes later, a taxi left Dick Canidy standing on the sidewalk in the Embassy District of Washington near Rock Creek, outside a ten-foot brick wall. He had changed into a jacket and slacks and was carrying only a small overnight bag with a change of linen. He didn’t think he would need other clothing, since what he looked forward to was a couple of sets of tennis, and then some girl chasing.
A bell button was mounted in the brick wall. Canidy pushed it and waited for the buzz which would open the lock. Then he pushed the door and went through it. There were trees and paths, and even Central Park-type benches between the wall and the house itself.
The house was a turn-of-the-century mansion, stately in its ugliness. The building was faced with sandstone. Gargoyles at the roofline spouted rain from the slate roof. A widow’s watch crowned the peak of the building and two snarling stone lions guarded the massive double front door. There was a marble veranda twenty feet wide across the entire front of the house, and four sets of cast-iron tables, each with four cast-iron chairs. Canidy had been coming to the house on Q Street since he was a fifteen-year-old, gangly second former at St. Mark’s School, and he had never seen anyone sit on one of the cast-iron chairs.