"This way, please," the man in the dinner jacket said. He led them to a table near the bar, snatched from it a brass RESERVED sign, and moved the table so that Carolyn could slide into the banquette seat against the wall. McCoy waved Banning in beside her, then sat down.
"Where did you come from?" Carolyn asked with a smile.
"The rock turned over," Banning said, "and there he was."
"Ed!" Carolyn said, shocked.
"Would you like a menu right away?" the man in the dinner jacket asked. "Or would you like something from the bar?"
"I'd like a drink," Carolyn said. "Martini, please, olive."
"For me, too, please," Banning said.
The man in the dinner jacket started to move away.
"You didn't ask what this gentleman is having," Carolyn protested.
"I know what the Lieutenant drinks," the man in the dinner jacket said, somewhat smugly.
McCoy smiled at Banning, even more smugly.
You're enjoying this, aren't you, McCoy?
"Ken, may I present Mrs. Carolyn Howell?" Banning said. "Carolyn, this is Lieutenant Ken McCoy."
Carolyn smiled and offered McCoy her hand; then the bell rang in her head.
"You're Killer McCoy?" she asked incredulously.
"Thanks a lot, Sir," McCoy said angrily.
A young woman who wore her jet-black hair in a pageboy suddenly appeared at the table and leaned over to kiss McCoy on the top of his head. "You're not supposed to call him that," she said. "It really pisses him off."
What did she say? Carolyn wondered, shocked. Did she really say what I think she did?
"Hi," the young woman said. "I'm Ernie Sage."
Banning rose to his feet.
"How do you do?" he said politely. "I'm Ed Banning. This is Carolyn Howell."
"Oh, I know who you are," Ernie Sage said. "Ken's told me all about you."
All about me? That I'm married? And that my stateless wife is somewhere in China... if she's managed to survive at all?
A waiter delivered the drinks. Ernie Sage grabbed McCoy's and took a swallow.
"I need this more than you do," she said. "Today has been a real bitch!"
The waiter smiled. "Shall I bring you one of your own, Miss Sage?"
"Please," Ernie said. She turned to Carolyn. "I guess you know these two go back a long way together. But I never met him before. I admire your taste."
Carolyn was uncomfortable.
"Are you a New Yorker, Miss Sage?"
"Please call me 'Ernie,' " Ernie said. "I was raised in New Jersey. I've got an apartment here. When I'm not being a camp follower, I'm a copywriter for BBD and O."
"Excuse me, what did you say?" Carolyn blurted.
"When Ken has a camp I can follow him to, I'm there," said Ernie Sage. "So far I've failed to persuade him to make an honest woman of me."
"Jesus, Ernie," McCoy said.
"I even have a red T-shirt with MARINES in gold letters across the bosom," Ernie said, demonstrating with her hand across the front of her dress.
After a long moment, Carolyn said, "You don't happen to know where I can find one like it, do you?"
"I'm sure we can get one for you, can't we, honey?" Ernie asked, grabbing McCoy's hand.
The waiter delivered another drink.
"I'd like to wash my hands," Carolyn said. "Ed and I just came out of Radio City Music Hall."
"That made your hands dirty?" Ernie asked. She rose to her feet. "I'll go with you."
The men waited until the women had disappeared around the end of the bar.
"Very pretty, that girl," Banning said.
"Pickering introduced us, when we were in OCS at Quantico," McCoy said. "His mother went to college with her mother. Her family is somewhat less than thrilled about us."
"Carolyn knows about my wife, Ken," Banning said.
"I figured you would probably tell her," McCoy said. "You know that Rickabee has people checking on her in Shanghai?"
"No, I didn't."
"He probably didn't want to raise your hopes," McCoy said. "There's been word that some of the Peking Marines didn't surrender; that they're running loose with the warlords. Maybe she got in contact with them."
"That sounds pretty unlikely," Banning said.
"She's a White Russian. She's been through this sort of thing before. I'll bet she's all right."
What the White Russians did to survive when their money gave out, and they had nothing left to sell, was to sell themselves. Preferably to an American or a European. But when that wasn't possible, to a Chinese. Now that the Japanese are running things in China...
Banning had a very sharp, very clear picture of Milla, sweet goddamned Milla, who'd already survived so goddamned much... desperately hanging on to his hand as they were married in the Anglican Cathedral in Shanghai... seven hours before the goddamned Corps ordered him out of Shanghai for the Philippines, with no goddamned way to get her out.
"Shit," Banning said softly, bitterly.
McCoy looked at him.
"Drink your martini. There's nothing you can do about anything."
"Fuck you, Killer," Banning said.
McCoy let that particular "Killer" pass unnoted. And Banning, meanwhile, picked up his martini and drained it, then held it over his head, signaling he wanted another.
"So what brings you to the Big City, Lieutenant?" he asked, closing the subject of the former Baroness Milla Christiana Lendenkowitz, now Mrs. Edward F. Banning, present address unknown.
"I've been down at the Armed Forces Induction Station," McCoy replied. "What about you?"
"Rickabee ordered me to take a week off," Banning answered. "The week's over tomorrow."
"That figures. I paddle the goddamned rubber boat into the jaws of danger, while the Major sits on his ass in the Port Moresby Aussie O Club bar. And the Major gets a week off."
Does he mean that? Or is he pulling my leg?