A Pledge of Silence (10 page)

He told her about his older sister who still bossed him around, of his years in medical school, and his fantasy of being a golf pro. “I grew up on a ranch in Texas with horses and dogs. Someday, I’ll return there. I want you there too, Margie. Would you consider it? Just hypothetically, of course.”

She saw Evelyn on days when their schedules allowed, and they sometimes double-dated. Margie found these occasions trying, though, because she found Max insufferable. She also had heard rumors of his conquests of Filipino girls, some of which were purportedly not consensual. Over a drink in the bar, she discussed her worries with Royce.

“There’s something off about that guy. I hate how he treats Evelyn.”

Royce swirled his drink. “He lives by his own rules; brilliant people often do. Maybe that’s what attracts her.”

“I think he’s dangerous. There’s the Filipino nurse who was raped—”

“There’s no evidence it was Max. She won’t name her assailant. Don’t spread rumors, Margie.”

“I’m not. I’m only telling you what I heard.” She emptied her glass and debated if she wanted a refill. “The woman is scared. She’s afraid she’ll lose her job. I think Evelyn should at least be aware of what’s going on. Don’t you?”

“Only if there’s proof that it was Max. Even then, she would blame you for being the messenger. Are you willing to risk your friendship?”

No, she wasn’t, and that only made her quandary more problematic, because the nagging thoughts persisted. Max had no regard for anyone but himself, and Evelyn could be in harm’s way.

The night of the holiday dance, the residence hall lobby overflowed with fine-looking men greeting dazzling women in colorful dresses. High-heeled shoes clicked on tile floors, and perfume and shaving lotion mingled with the scent of fresh flowers.

Royce’s smile widened as he watched Margie make her entrance down the staircase, a vision in ivory silk and pearls. In her fiery-red hair looped and curled from the heat, she had pinned a white gardenia. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he whispered into her ear, “You’re drop-dead gorgeous.”

Equally stunning, Evelyn’s mint-green gown flaunted her ample bosom. Her blond hair, pulled back into a soft chignon, accentuated her small, even features and flawless complexion. A clear glass-bead necklace and dangling earrings sparkled multicolored in the light, and a huge orchid encircled her wrist.

“The car’s waiting,” Max said, ushering them toward the door. “Evelyn—stop a minute.” He inspected the back of her leg. “You’ve got a run.” He turned to Margie. “Do you have a stocking Miss Clumsy here can borrow?”

Dresses swished and heels tapped as the girls ascended the stairs. “Why do you let him talk to you that way?”

“What way? Oh that.” Evelyn shrugged. “It’s just the way he is. He grew up with six older sisters.” In the room, Evelyn unbuckled her silver sandal and peeled off the damaged hosiery. She waggled her newly freed toes. “I have some news. Promise not to say a word.”

“I promise.”

Evelyn tapped a cigarette out of the pack. “Max asked me to marry him.” She lit the smoke, glancing at Margie over the top of the flame.

“And what did
you
say?”

“Yes, of course.”

Margie reached for the pack to cover her crestfallen expression. What could Evelyn be thinking, planning a life with this unbearable man? Recovering her composure, she said, “That’s wonderful. When’s the big day?”

“We haven’t set a date, but soon.”

“What’s your hurry? You don’t really know much about him.”

“That’s not so! We’ve been dating for months. He’s told me all about his family. His grandparents still live in Italy. His mom and dad came over to start an import business. His sisters are all married, and he has dozens of nieces and nephews. It was his mother’s dream that he became a doctor.”

Margie retrieved a stocking from the dresser, checked the color against Evelyn’s ruined one, and handed it to her.

Evelyn scrunched it from thigh to toe into a donut shape. “When we get home, he wants to specialize in pediatric surgery. He loves kids.” With her heel on the edge of the chair, she reached for her toes, the formal dress difficult to work around. “He sends his mother flowers every month. I bet you didn’t know that.”

Margie didn’t, but the revelation didn’t change her low opinion of the man. She inhaled deeply on the cigarette and said through blown-out smoke, “We’re all living in a fantasy world here. It’s not the best time to make a big decision. Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure.” Evelyn stopped struggling with the stocking. “Look, Margie, I know you don’t like him. I can tell. But you don’t know him like I do. He can be arrogant, and sometimes he says things that sound mean. He doesn’t always relate well to other people. It’s because he’s a perfectionist. He doesn’t tolerate stupidity or anything sloppy, especially when it comes to his patients. I think that’s a good trait. More of the doctors should be like him.” She slipped the stocking over her foot. “Underneath, he’s soft and sweet. He’s a romantic. He writes me love poems.”

Margie observed Evelyn’s beaming face. She couldn’t tell her about the rumors making the rounds, so she faked a big smile. “Then I’m happy for you! Congratulations!”

Evelyn slid the stocking up her leg, clipped it to the garters dangling from her panties, then smoothed her dress. “Max is different from other men. He’s a little mysterious. Doesn’t that excite you?”

Margie’s brow wrinkled with concern.
Mesmerized. Completely mesmerized
.

They entered the Manila Hotel through an atrium of waterfalls and tropical greenery lit by hundreds of twinkling lights. The pavilion teemed with men in formal dress and women dripping in diamonds. Roving waiters offered appetizers and drinks, and an orchestra played holiday songs. Margie and Royce wove through the room to a patio that overlooked the harbor. The moon had risen, and the sky winked with stars, a storybook setting.

They sipped French champagne, and Margie tapped her foot to
Jingle Bells
while watching sailboats slowly drifting by, their masts and riggings decorated for Christmas with garlands blinking red and green. Nearby a group conversed in loud voices.

“The Filipinos jump at their own shadows,” a loudmouth said. “Take my cook. I’m waiting for breakfast, and he’s nowhere around. When he shows up, he says—” the loudmouth slipped into a falsetto, “ ‘Ah, sir. The streets are haunted at night. An evil spirit followed me home and flew in my window. I begged a friend to share my bed to protect my soul.’ ”

The group laughed at the performance.

A woman in red said, “I like the locals. They’re friendly. They tell a good story.”

The loudmouth lit a cigar. “Bullshit! He wanted a screw at my expense. God help us if our lives are ever in their hands. To them, every shadow’s a ghost and every slanty-eye’s a spy. Hell, half the Japs in the Osaka Bazaar are FBI.”

“Then half the Japs in the Osaka Bazaar
are
spies,” a mustached man quipped.

“You better believe it. Spies are everywhere.” He lowered his voice. “I know for a fact, there’s a mole on the air-raid alarm staff.”

The woman in red said, “My friend saw planes over Camp John Hay. The Japanese are parachuting in. They poisoned the water at Baguio, you know. My friend’s cousin got so sick she went to the hospital.”

The mustached man said, “Our guys found a horse slaughtered in the woods. They think the Japs are eating the meat.”

“Can’t be too careful. They’ll slit your throat for no reason at all.”

“Or for a meal. They’re cannibals, you know. Human liver’s a delicacy.”

Royce steered Margie away from that bunch, but she could still hear their boozy drivel.

The mustached man said, “I heard they’re building bomb shelters in Tokyo.”

The loudmouth blustered, “Those bucktoothed monkeys will need their bomb shelters if they keep messing with us. I say, bring them on! Let them attack us! We’ll wipe ’em out in a week. Let ’em come and see what they’ll get.”

A gong boomed, announcing dinner. The partiers feasted on crab soup, mixed greens salad, prime rib with thyme au jus, whipped potatoes, creamed peas, soft rolls with butter, chocolate truffles, coffee and cigarettes. Wine glasses brimmed with fine Cabernet. After consuming all they thought they could possibly hold, cheese blintzes with raspberries appeared.

As the orchestra turned up the volume and livened the beat, overstuffed people flocked to the dance floor. The bar stayed open, ensuring further imbibing, and the lights in the room dimmed. Margie and Royce box-stepped around the crowded floor, bumping others’ shoulders and backsides. After a drunken partygoer elbowed her, Royce led her to the less crowded patio. He inspected her arm.

“It’s nothing,” she said, dismissing the bump and taking in the beauty of the scenery. A soft breeze stirred heavy-scented flowering trees, and moonlight shimmered on the bay. Music drifted from inside, the singer crooning a dreamy tune.

Royce took her in his arms, and they swayed to the slow rhythm. He gazed at her face and hummed along softly. “You’re truly beautiful. I must have dreamed you up.” His lips brushed her cheek before finding hers. Enjoying his spicy scent, she found pleasure in the feel of his hand cradling her head, and the rhythm of the music ebbing and flowing; could she live in this moment forever? She closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest to listen to the steady beat of his heart. She felt like she was floating.

The music swelled, and Royce twirled her around and dipped her back. She laughed as her hair swept the floor.

He drew her against him and said, “You’ve touched me more deeply than I ever dreamed possible.” Time and place blurred as they shared passionate kisses under the winking stars in the soft, scented breeze. He whispered, “I love you. I love us.”

Margie’s thoughts drifted to love-spangled years and chubby babies shared with this sexy hunk of Texas charm.

The music stopped, and the spell broke.

Breathless, they rejoined Max and Evelyn at their linen-draped table. A photographer aimed his camera at them. “Wonderful! Big smiles.” Royce draped his arm over Margie’s shoulder, and she leaned into him. The foursome raised their champagne flutes in a toast to the camera. The flash popped, recording the magic moment in time.

“Come dance with me, Margie,” Max said. “It’s the Lindy Hop.”

She grabbed Royce’s hand under the table. “Um, thanks, but I don’t know the steps.”

“I’ll show you. Come on,” he insisted, tugging at her arm. She followed him onto the dance floor, biting her lower lip in distress.

When he turned to her, however, she smiled brightly. “When did you start dancing?”

“I was ten. I broke my ankle when my sister pushed me out of a tree. The doctor said I’d walk with a limp. My mother didn’t want a gimp for a son, so she signed me up for ballet lessons. I was the only boy in a sea of tutus.”

“What did your father say about
that
?”

Max shrugged and tapped his foot in rhythm. “It’s eight beats, follow me.” Holding her firmly, his movements conforming to the music in feeling and phrasing, he led Margie through the steps. She found his smooth, solid style easy to follow. When he released her right hand, spinning her out and reeling her in, she danced as if she had been doing it all her life. She laughed, marveling at her newfound ability.

The Lindy Hop ended, and Margie turned to leave, but Max grasped her arm. “One more,” he insisted, “it’s a foxtrot.” She held herself stiffly as he propelled her around the floor, expertly avoiding collisions with others. While maneuvering a step, his hand stroked her breast.

She stepped away and wondered—an accident or a sample of his twisted pleasures? Through tight lips she said, “Evelyn’s beautiful tonight, don’t you think?”

“She’s pretty enough, but I’ve a taste for redheads.” With a thrust and a spin, he dipped her back until she was unbalanced and at his mercy. As she struggled to regain her footing, he licked the base of her throat.

She stifled a cry, then she heard Royce’s voice. “You’ve had Margie long enough, Max.”

She buried her face in Royce’s shirt and muttered, “That guy’s a pervert. He gives me the creeps.”

Royce held her closer. “If he’s bothering you, we won’t do this anymore. See Evelyn when you can, but no more double dates.”

She said, “That’s fine with me,” but wondered what she would tell Evelyn.

The festivities continued late into the night. Though rumors of espionage and sabotage swirled around, Margie felt safe. A portly captain assured her Japan wouldn’t strike the Philippines. The island was heavily fortified, he said, and more airfields were under construction. More troops, more bombers and fighter planes, and a flotilla of PT boats were scheduled to arrive soon. Additionally, the Filipino Army continued to train intensively.

General MacArthur, upbeat and looking a little flushed, circulated through the crowd, proclaiming everything was coming along splendidly.

Only a few people knew the White House had issued a classified dispatch to commanders in the Pacific:

Consider this dispatch a war warning. The negotiations with Japan in an effort to stabilize conditions in the Pacific have ended. Japan is expected to make an aggressive move within the next few days. An amphibious expedition against either the Philippines or Borneo is indicated by the number and equipment of Japanese troops and the organization of their naval forces.

The brass in Manila disregarded the dispatch. More important things called to them, like the evening’s festivities—the women, the food, and the booze.

While Royce took part in a discussion with his colleagues and Evelyn chatted with her navy friends, Margie went out to the patio for a view of the bay. Carrying her shoes, she tiptoed through the sand to the water’s edge. In a reverie, she walked along the beachfront, following the pale light of the moon. The jungle soon encroached on the shore, and the lights of the pavilion disappeared behind a thick cover of vegetation. Coconut trees loomed eerily, and giant mangrove roots reached out like talons.