Johnnie (3 page)

“It certainly can’t be regulations to walk around the streets drooling paste. Take it off.”

He moved warily nearer the lighted room, gazed downward at the damage. He could feel it thick on his seat but he hadn’t known that it also lay in gobs all over the front of his uniform. It had even splashed up on his tie. He didn’t have words for what he was thinking. An M. P. would have them.

“Take it off,” she commanded. “Quick.”

“Then what?”

She shook her head dolefully. “I’ll send it around to the little cleaner’s on Columbus. He’s open late. He can do something with it, I guess.” She didn’t sound too hopeful. “The shoes, too. He’ll do them for me.” She bristled. “Don’t just stand there. Rudolph’s due any minute. He has an awful temper when things go wrong.” She raised her voice. “Take off that suit!”

“What’ll I put on?” He just didn’t know what to do.

“You can wrap yourself in one of those aprons the paper hangers left.”

He wiped his hands on his pants, began unknotting his tie. This was against regulations. Only regulations didn’t cover something like this. One thing, he wouldn’t dare appear in public looking like a paste pot. The M. P.’s would pick him up for sure.

“Hurry,” she urged.

“You tell that cleaner to hurry,” Johnnie countered. “I can’t stick around here all night. I got big things to do.”

“I’ll get one of Dorp’s men to take it around right away.”

He had the shirt off, bent over to his shoes.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, not a bit friendly, “I don’t want you here any longer than necessary. In fact, I don’t want you here at all.”

He stepped out of the shoes into a dry place. His folding money was still safe in his sock. His fingers fumbled at his belt, hesitated. He gave her a look. “Aren’t you going to turn around?”

She glared before she turned, then she ran back to the front windows. He heard the car as he stepped out of the gummy pants. He removed the wallet containing his identification papers. He removed his cigarettes, his matches, his Scout knife. She came running back to him. She caught his hand.

He pulled back. “Wait a minute. I don’t have that apron—”

“Too late now. You’re an idiot, but come on.” She was pulling him and he understood it was important for him to cooperate, but fast. He wasn’t dressed for company. He grabbed his stuff. She dragged him over to the chenille, stuck her head out, and hand-led him across to the staircase. She whispered, “Just don’t talk, That’s all.”

He couldn’t have talked if he’d wanted to at the moment. He was too loopy. He’d never run into anything like this before, not even in the movies. She didn’t hesitate on the second floor but kept right on leading him, retracing the corridor soundlessly, up another flight of stairs to third. Her knuckles rapped on the door at the right, front.

“Who is it?” Another babe inside.

“It’s Trudy. Open the door.”

There were footsteps and the door opened, just a little. Trudy said, “I’ve got to dress fast. Rudolph’s here.” She pushed Johnnie inside. “For God’s sake, do something with this!”

The door closed behind her. Johnnie was in a bedroom. Garbed only in striped magenta shorts, G. I. socks and dog tags, he was standing in a lady’s bedroom. And before him was one of the most gorgeous queens he’d ever laid eyes on.

T
HIS WAS MORE THAN
a bedroom. It should be called a boudoir. It was all fluffy white and solid gold. Even the rugs were white. There was nothing in it that belonged to the shabby parlor below.

Trudy, the blonde number, had vanished completely. But this substitute was a honey. She was taller, slimmer, and had dark hair flowing down her shoulders. Her eyes were queer, narrow, and as green as grama grass. Her eyelashes stuck out about two feet, and her mouth and nails, even her toenails, were the color of strawberry jam. Johnnie started blushing when he took in the toenails. Because she certainly couldn’t be called dressed. She had on a fluffy white thing that wasn’t even fastened, and the white satin criss-crosses on her toes were what the kid sister called mules. Maybe this was one of those skin games he’d read about. Well, he wasn’t going to give up his hard-earned pay for any racket. He’d dish out some Commando stuff first.

The green eyes weren’t looking at him with any embarrassment or any particular surprise. She said, “You’re late.”

Johnnie blinked.

“Dorp’s men were all supposed to be ready before seven. I don’t know why Trudy put you off on me. I’m not dressed either. Is Rudolph actually here?” Her voice was kind of like sorghum, dark and thick, just a little foreign.

He began, “Well, a car stopped in front of the house and—”

She brushed his words aside. “Then I’ve a few moments. Rudolph wouldn’t be in the first car.” She studied him out of those slant green eyes. “Where’s your uniform?”

“It had an accident,” Johnnie admitted. She must have taken in his G. I. haircut and his dog tags to know he was a soldier. He wished she’d concentrate on the hair not the ensemble. His wallet and stuff didn’t make much of a screen. He wished she’d offer him a bathrobe or a barrel.

“You look it.” She frowned. “What are those strings around your neck?”

“Identification—”

“Dorp thinks of everything. Sometimes—What’s your name?”

“Johnnie Brown.” His toes curled on the white velvet rug.

“Johnnie. I’ll slip up to the wardrobe and get you another suit. How tall are you? Come here.”

He didn’t want to but he moved toward her. She leaned against him. Her hair smelled like cape jasmine. The top of it touched his chin.

“Shoe size?”

“Nine and a half.” This wasn’t Johnnie Brown. He’d gone to sleep on the subway and he’d better wake up, but fast.

“Sit down. I’ll be back in a moment.” She trailed out, closed the door.

He didn’t sit down. No irate husband was going to come barging in and catch him off guard. He kicked the gold leg of a chair and yelped, “Ow!” He wasn’t asleep. He must be asleep. He rubbed his ear. He looked at his hands, went over to the gold and white dressing table mirror and squinted at the reflection. It was the same old face. Freckles on the long nose, red cheekbones, redder than usual, blue eyes, yellow cowlick that curled whether it was cut G. I. or Texas. He turned quick when the door reopened.

The beauty was back with a suit over one arm, black boots in one hand. She threw the clothes on the ruffled white bed, dropped the boots, closed the door and turned the key in it. “Put these on. There’s no time to waste. Hurry.”

He stood still in the middle of the floor. “You mean—I should get dressed here—in your room?”

Her strawberry red mouth curved in disdain. “If you’re squeamish, go on in the bath. You need some soap and water anyway. That door. But hurry. They are here.”

He picked up the clothes and the boots and went into the bath she’d pointed. It was all gold and white too. He had a feeling he hadn’t ought to be doing this, putting on somebody else’s clothes. There were Army rules about wearing uniform. But he didn’t have a uniform at the moment and he certainly didn’t want to go around in his underwear any longer. Not before strangers. Somehow this was like being in a game or a show, if it wasn’t a dream. You did things you wouldn’t think of doing in your right mind. The gal out there had an idea about something and this seemed to be it.

Sans pants and shirt, he called through the door, “Hey, what’s your name?”

She said, “I am Magda. Hurry, Johann.”

“Just plain Johnnie suits me, Princess,” he called back. That was it; she spoke like a princess, gave orders like one. There was something peculiar about the whole setup. He could catch on that far. Two men talking German hadn’t led him into any ordinary house. He might as well get dressed and find out some more. He lathered with the white perfumed soap, hands and face, dived for a towel that felt like velvet. Some dump this even if the girls were kind of screwy. Black shirt, black britches, black coat with silver snakes embroidered on the collar, black leather Sam Browne belt.

He got into the britches. “What am I supposed to be, your chauffeur?”

“Never mind that. Hurry.” She said something like: Damn my hair.

He got into the shirt, black tie, coat. He felt for his folding money, still there safe in the right sock. Boots a little big but better than too small. His wallet he slid into an inner pocket. Knife in his pants. Cigarettes handy. He started to open the door then remembered she was dressing. He called, “Can I come out now?”

“I wish you would. You’ll have to hook my dress. I can’t imagine where Trudy’s vanished to.”

He blinked when he saw her. She was something to pin up on the barracks wall. She’d piled her hair on top of her head and she looked more like a princess than ever. Her dress was all white skirts sprinkled with brilliants. A little piece of white covered her breasts. The white straps looked as if they wouldn’t hold up a feather.

She pointed to the back end of the little piece of white. “There.”

He swallowed.

“Hook it.”

His fingers were too big, besides they jittered.

“Hurry,” she commanded.

“I am hurrying,” Johnnie mumbled. “These dang things are too small.” He got it done somehow and heaved a sigh of relief.

Her green eyes examined him. “You’ll do. Only stand up straight, like a soldier.”

“I am a soldier.”

“I know. Stand like this. Stiff. That’s better. Where Dorp finds you young men, I don’t know. Just remember to keep quiet and do as you’re told, then you’ll be all right. You carry my wrap, over your arm, like that, and my bag.” She laid the white velvet cape just so over his left arm, thrust the white velvet purse in his hand. “You follow me. One moment—”

She went to her dressing table, opened a golden box, and pulled out a handful of stuff. Johnnie didn’t whistle. His mouth merely pursed. She hung four bracelets on one wrist and three bigger ones on the other. The rocks in them would put out your eyes. On her ring finger she slipped a ruby, big as a reflector.

“Now. We won’t wait for Trudy. She’s probably been called downstairs. Come along and remember, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Ottomkopf is a terrible stickler for discipline.”

“Yes, Princess,” he grinned.

“And don’t do that,” she said sharply.

“Do what?”

“Don’t smirk.” Her green eyes were harassed. “Don’t smile at all.”

He grinned again. “Not just a little one?”

Her face was suddenly angry. “Do as you’re told!”

“Okay, Princess,” he said.

She seemed about to explode but she didn’t. She only said, “Don’t call me that,” and she muttered, “Wait until I see Dorp. And Trudy.”

He followed her to the staircase. She gathered her skirts and floated down with dignity, one hand just touching the balustrade. He followed, not so lightly. At the foot of the stairs she turned a warning glare. Then she smoothed it off until her face was a beautiful picture. She floated across to a double door. There were two guys outside it, one on each knob. One had yellow hair like Johnnie’s, not curled, and one had brown hair. Neither one was as big as Johnnie. Their faces were screwed up tight, not a smile in a faceload. When Magda floated between them, the two acted like jumping jacks. They bowed to her and they bowed to each other and they swung open the door.

Not until he was following Magda into the room did Johnnie notice. Those guys had had on chauffeur suits just like his, even to the silver snakes on the collar. The reason he took notice then was because there were so many suits just like that already in the room. Otherwise he probably wouldn’t have taken note; the room itself was knocking him loopy.

The first thing that hit him in the eyes were the three chandeliers. They were probably made of cut glass but they looked like big hunks of diamonds. The next thing he saw was Trudy and she was something to whistle at. She had on white skirts like Magda’s but instead of brilliants there were ermine tails spotting them. The little white wisp above the waistline was even skimpier than Magda’s. The hardware on her wrists was brighter than the chandeliers.

When he got his eyes off Trudy, Magda had already left him behind. He stuck out his boot to follow per orders but Trudy’s bracelets were wig-wagging him to stand still. At least he gathered that was the signal. Anyway he stood still and watched.

Magda had floated up to a guy standing on a red velvet platform and she was curtseying to him just as if he were King of the May. He didn’t look it. He looked like the squirt, Theo. Only he wasn’t Theo. Theo was wearing one of the chauffeur suits with his face screwed up like the jumping jacks outside. As a matter of fact the King of the May had on one of the same kind of suits only his had a lot more silver embroidering it and there was a whole chestful of medals dangling on the front. This guy was a little taller than Theo but he had the same pasty face, the same patent leather hair. Johnnie figured it must be Rudolph, the one who had this house in such a tizzy.

Rudolph was smoking a cigarette in a three-inch long black holder with silver snakes on it. He gave Magda a nod then turned up his nose as if she smelled bad instead of like cape jasmine. Well, maybe he didn’t like the smell of jasmine. Johnnie did. Reminded him of home, down around Corpus Christi way. Every man to his own smells.

By that time Johnnie had located Dorp. He was bursting the seams out of his white tie and tails. Probably rented it. His shoes still weren’t good, the patent leather was wrinkled across the toes. But Dorp—at least Pudgey was Dorp to Johnnie till he found out different—looked happy. His fat face was bisected by a blissful smile. He was the only one in the room wearing a smile. The chauffeur squadron didn’t even look human. And Dorp’s pal, the glass-eyed, hatchet-faced menace, looked more sour than ever. He was standing beside Rudolph with a big ribbon across his middle, like pictures of the little New Year on magazine covers only the ribbon was red, and instead of a diaper he was wearing full dress like Dorp. His gray head looked as if it needed a shave.

This room was really something. The windows were covered with red velvet and all the chairs were red velvet. The one on the platform had a canopy of red velvet with a golden crown and scepter embroidered on it. Even the rug was red velvet. If he hadn’t just come down the stairs with Magda, Johnnie wouldn’t have believed he was in the same house he’d entered half an hour ago. This room and Magda’s room certainly didn’t fit with Aunt Clotilda’s parlor downstairs.