When I got home, the first thing I did was to check to see if I had any mail. I wasn’t expecting any letters, nor was I expecting to see a RAF hat on the table and a RAF overcoat on the coat rack. I wasn’t Sherlock Holmes, but there seemed to be only one explanation — Michael was home early from Germany. I quietly opened the door to the morning room, and there was Michael, stretched out the length of a chair and ottoman, sound asleep. The fire had gone cold, but, apparently, so had Michael, who was softly snoring.
When I arrived in Germany in August 1946, I was a naive, devout Catholic, who believed that sex outside of marriage was not only a mortal sin in the eyes of the Church, but just plain wrong, and that such intimacy had a place only in the bedroom of a married couple. In the subsequent two years, I lost a good deal of my naiveté, and although I faithfully attended Mass, I hadn’t received Communion in months because I was guilty of the sin of lust. To make matters worse, I was lusting after two men at the same time, and one of them was asleep in the chair in front of me.
He looked so peaceful, and I wanted to touch his face. Instead, I left a note for Geoff on the foyer table telling him that his cousin was asleep in the morning room, and I went downstairs to find something to eat. I had been eating sardines and crackers for two nights in a row, and it seemed as if I was going to be eating them for a third when I heard Geoff’s familiar footsteps. He had bought some Chinese takeaway, which was becoming a mainstay for the two of us.
“Michael’s arrival blows Beth’s plans for a surprise party all to hell, doesn’t it?” Geoff asked.
“Not necessarily,” I answered. “Jack and Beth can go with him up to Crofton, and we can plan the party for this weekend. It was going to be tough pulling off a party midweek anyway.”
“Do you want a beer?” Geoff asked, as he gazed into the refrigerator.
“Make that two beers,” Michael said as he came down the stairs. Geoff jumped up and shook Michael’s hand to the point where he looked like he was working a water pump.
After grabbing a beer, Michael asked, “Were you two planning my surprise party?” Geoff and I looked at each other but said nothing. “I got here at noon, and Mrs. Gooding told me that Maggie had gone to Finsbury to buy flour to bake a cake. So the cake was either for my demob party, or someone is having a birthday.”
“Your mother will be so disappointed if you’re not surprised,” I said.
“I promise to be surprised.”
“How’s everything going with the Airlift?” Geoff asked.
“They’ve got this thing running like a well-oiled machine,” Michael answered. “A plane lands in Berlin every five minutes. They offload the cargo in a matter of minutes, and if there’s nothing wrong with the plane, off it goes back to its home base. The only thing that messes with the system is the weather.”
“Don’t you find it a bit odd to be doing all this just three years after we were trying to kill them?” Geoff asked.
“Yes,” Michael said, nodding his head. “When I got to Lubeck, I was told it had been a night fighter base. We have two German crews working for us. They are well-trained and extremely competent, but I couldn’t help but wonder if some of these men had worked on fighters that went after our planes. But you have to get past it. In war, hatred is a valuable tool in keeping you alive. In peacetime, it’s a millstone.”
Thinking that the conversation had taken a martial turn, I saw it as a chance to make my exit. The last time I had been with Michael, he had been holding me so tightly I could hear his heart beating. I hadn’t mentally prepared for his return.
“Good night, gentlemen. I’ll let you two catch up. Tomorrow’s a work day for me.”
As I walked past Michael, he caught me by my arm and said, “Hell, I don’t want to catch up with Geoff.” Putting his beer down, he said, “Let’s go somewhere. There must be a dance club around here that isn’t shuttered.”
The three of us ended up in a half-empty club with a threepiece band and a piano player who was feeling no pain, but it seemed that neither Geoff nor Michael cared about the quality of the music. While Michael was ordering a round of drinks, Geoff headed straight for a blonde, who was coming out of the ladies’ room. After putting three ales down in front of me, Michael offered me a cigarette. I shook my head and told him I didn’t smoke.
“You don’t smoke, and you drink very little. Do you have any vices?”
“Yes, I swear like a sailor.” Michael started to laugh. He had the most beautiful smile. His father told me that he had spent a fortune on braces for Michael, and it had been worth every penny. “My mother always said there were three things a lady never did: smoke in public, chew gum, and cross your legs at the knees. I think she read it in a Ladies’ Home Journal article.”
“Well, it’s true that smoking is very bad for you. I’ll agree with your mother there. And chewing gum is repulsive, regardless of sex. However, I have to disagree with her about crossing your legs at the knees. In your case, it’s just bad advice.” It seemed that our flirtation was up and running, and Michael had been home only for a couple of hours.
The band was now playing a piano number that was even worse than the first, but Michael insisted that we dance. Although it wasn’t a slow dance, he was acting as if it was and started singing “Always,” the song the band had played at Montclair for its last number. I was back in his arms again.
When we returned to our table, two men were sitting there. The more sober one had heard my accent, and he started in on Americans.
“The way I hear it, the British had their thumbs up their arses while America saved the world. Isn’t that right, deary?”
There’s always a fine line when talking to someone who has had too much to drink. Do you engage in the hopes he will settle down, or do you just walk away? The problem was, he was sitting at our table. I could see Geoff and Michael were not amused and were about to give both of them the boot. I didn’t want a barroom brawl, so I decided to walk away and told the boys I was heading home. Michael was out of his chair in a flash. “You can’t go home yet.”
“Actually, I can. That is possibly the worst band I have ever heard, and I’ve heard lots of them. I come from a town where every kid thought he was the next Tommy Dorsey. Besides, I have to work in the morning, and I’m tired, but I’d appreciate it if you walked me to the Underground.” And we left Geoff behind with the blonde.
Sitting on the bench waiting for the train, Michael asked what I had been doing since our farewell at the train station.
“I’m still with AAFES.” I explained about the three B-29 squadrons that were now stationed in England. “But I’m pretty sure I’ll be heading home in January.”
“Has something caused you to change your mind about going back to your hometown?”
“Yes, my Aunt Marie has been ill for a few weeks now, and she’s in her eighties. Besides, I’m beginning to feel as if I’m in limbo here.”
“I’m confused as to your plans,” he said. “After seeing your family and aunt, are you staying in Minooka? I didn’t think that was an option because of the lack of jobs.”
Seeing his furrowed brow, I said, “Don’t worry. I have cousins strategically placed throughout the country and a sister who lives near New York City.”
“I’m probably out of line here, but where is Rob in all of this?”
“Rob’s employment with TRC ends on December 23rd. After that, he’s going to Omaha to visit with the family of his friend, who was killed on the Stuttgart mission. From there, he goes to Arizona to be with his family, and on to California, where he’s going to graduate school at UCLA.”
“In school, I was pretty good at geography,” Michael said. “It seems to me that while you remain on the East Coast, Rob is moving west.”
Just before the train arrived, I had been on the verge of telling him that Rob’s whereabouts were of less and less interest to me. But the moment passed.