“I thought Stan was with the SHAEF movie branch,” Canidy said.
“I am,” Fine said quickly.
“All right, then,” the Scorpion said. “We won’t talk about that.” Her appetite, Fine saw, was whetted by her belief that the horny young hero was involved in intelligence.
“We’re assigned to the 32nd Bomber Group,” Canidy said. “I’m an engineering officer, and Eric has the parachute-rigging detachment.” “Oh,” she said, more than a little disappointed. “Then you just met Stanley?” “Oh, no,” Canidy said, “we’re old pals. From Hollywood.” The Scorpion brightened considerably.
“You’re in the industry?” she asked. Canidy nodded. She smiled at Fulmar. “I should have guessed. You carry yourself like an actor.” “I’m not an actor, sorry,” Fulmar said sharply.
“But you were in the industry?” she insisted.
“Stuntman,” Canidy said. “He did all of Errol Flynn’s stunts.
Alan Ladd’s, too.” “Really?” she asked. “How fascinating!” She beamed at Fulmar and sat down next to him.
Fulmar rose to the occasion. He told her that Errol Flynn had a phobia about horses, and that in his stocking feet Alan Ladd was five feet one and had to stand on a platform beside his leading ladies.
And then a full colonel, wearing a SHAEF patch and Chemical Warfare Service insignia, came to the table and asked the Scorpion to dance.
She hesitated, and then got to her feet.
“Let’s get the hell out of here while she’s gone,” Canidy said, standing.
Fulmar and Fine quickly followed him into the lobby.
“You don’t have to come with us, Eric,” Canidy said. “You could pursue the Red Cross lady. She seemed fascinated with you.”
“Don’t laugh,” Fulmar said. “As she stood up to dance with the colonel, that kindly old gray-haired lady grabbed me on the cock.”
“Well, you can’t say Stanley didn’t warn you,” Canidy said, laughing.
“I didn’t believe him,” Fulmar said.
The Packard was outside, but the driver was a tall, thin WRAC corporal.
Which meant, Canidy thought, that Agnes was off somewhere with Bitter.
“We’ll take the car,” Canidy said. “I don’t think that Jimmy and Her Gracefulness are going out anywhere.” On the way to meet Joe Kennedy and John Dolan at the Air Corps Officers’ Club, Eric said, “Before we get schnockered, what should I do about my mother? See her or not?”
“That’s up to you, pal,” Canidy said. “She’s not my mother.”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said. “What the hell, she is my mother.”
“If you’re asking if there is any reason you shouldn’t see her, some OSS reason,” Canidy said, “the answer is the OSS doesn’t give a damn, one way or the other.”
“I wonder where she is, how I could find her?” / g Take care of that little detail for the lieutenant, Stanley, will you?” Canidy said.
“Sure,” Fine said.
“Thanks,” Eric Fulmar said, emotionally.
Xll [ONE] The Surhotel llgarburg an der Lahn, or many 1T January After Peis brought Gisella and some trollop into the restaurant, it was a little awkward between Muller and Gisella. Stiff and formal.
Which was understandable. Gisella was embarrassed. Every one would think she, too, was a whore Peis was serving up to him.
Gisella is not a whore, Muller thought. She did what she did because she had no control of it. A whore is a whore because she wants to be a whore, because it is easier. Gisella was forced to sleep with other men because Peis is an asshole.
But what other people think about Gisella tonight can’t be helped.
Actually, it’s useful, it will be safer for both of us if everyone thought she was what she looked like, a young woman being sweet to an older man because he was a Standartenfuhrer who could provide nice things that younger, less important men could not.
Even when Muller and Gisella danced–despite what had happened between them on New Year’s Eve–it was awkward. They danced like a father with his daughter. Which was also understandable, though he wasn’t quite old enough to be her father.
But as they came off the dance floog Gisella caught his hand in hers.
She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. When they reached the table and had to let go, he knew she really wished she could continue holding his hand.