The Fly Boys (22 page)

“That’s a bet you win,” she said. “But don’t you think you should call a girl by her first name when you’re looking down her
dress?”

“Oh! I–I’m sorry!” Steve stuttered, feeling sick that she’d caught him.

Linda laughed. “Don’t be sorry. I think I like it. If I didn’t like it I wouldn’t let you do it. Get it?”

Steve tried to regain his composure. She was a new kind of dame for him. Somehow she’d put herself in the driver’s seat, but
what ruffled Steve’s feathers was not so much that she’d done it, but that somehow she was making him like it.

“Just how old are you, Cap’n Steve?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Hmmm….”

“What’s ‘hmmm’ supposed to mean?” Steve demanded, laughing.

“Just, hmmm….” Her eyes were sparkling sapphires. She used them like weapons. She’d moved closer to him, gently drawing his
arm tightly around her waist. Her body felt strong and sleek beneath her snug-waisted satin dress. As she pressed against
him, the scent of her perfume seemed to rise up from her cleavage, enveloping him in a fragrant cloud that made him feel giddy,
as if he were dancing on air.

“How old are
you
?” Steve asked as the soaring music twirled them triumphantly around the dance floor.

“You’re twenty-three, all right,” Linda chuckled ruefully.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’ve got a lot to learn about women if you can ask a question like that.”

“Please! Turn down those baby blues before I go blind!”

She laughed. “Maybe I
like
to blind men.”

“Maybe you don’t like to play fair!”

“Maybe you’re a fast learner, after all, Cap’n Steve.” She pressed her head against his chest as they danced.

It was like being in a dogfight with a master ace, Steve thought as he lightly rested his chin in her hair. He was fascinated,
even as he felt stung by the way she seemed to effortlessly fly bewitching rings around him.

He desperately wanted to ask if there was anything besides business between Harrison and her, but he didn’t know how to bring
it up without risking putting his foot in his mouth. He liked her a lot, but he wasn’t ready to show her
all
his cards.

And then the music stopped and their time alone was over. Was it his imagination, or did her arms linger an instant around
his neck before releasing him?

As Steve reluctantly escorted her back to the table, he glanced over to the bar and saw that his friends had arrived. There
was a blonde waiting with them. He didn’t know her. Obviously she was his blind date. She was pretty. She looked okay.

Franks and beans are okay as well, but not when you’ve just had yourself a taste of filet mignon
, he thought to himself. What he wouldn’t give to spend the rest of the evening in Linda Forrest’s company!

“Do you work on Saturdays?” Linda suddenly murmured.

“No, why?”

“This is my first visit to Washington, but Don is going to be tied up with dreary appointments all day tomorrow. Could I impose
upon you to show me the sights?”

“Uh, sure….”

“That’s if you’re free,” Linda added quickly.

“Oh! I’m free!” Steve instantly replied. “Why don’t I pick you up at your hotel,” he suggested as they approached the table.
“Where are you staying?”

“Very near here, at the Mayflower.”

“How about eleven?”

She nodded, smiling. “I’ll be waiting in the lobby. Oh, I know we’ll have
such
fun together….”

There was a cop pounding the pavement on the corner of Desales Street and Connecticut Avenue as Steve Gold pulled up in front
of the hotel’s main entrance. The Mayflower was the oldest hotel in Washington, and the largest, with something like one thousand
rooms and suites. It was always bustling, and there was never a place close by to park, so Steve tucked the Buick Roadmaster
into the only available space: in front of a fire hydrant.

He had no time to find a legal parking spot. He was already fifteen minutes late.

Once last night’s blonde was gone, he’d dressed quickly. It was a beautiful day, but a lot cooler than the day before—normal
October weather. Steve had pulled on a light blue turtleneck sweater, dark green pleated slacks, tan buck moccasins, and a
dark brown horsehide, double-breasted, belted car coat. By quarter of eleven he was in the Roadmaster and on his way, but
when he hit the snarl of Saturday morning traffic going into Washington on the Mount Vernon Highway, he knew he was done for.
The nine-mile drive took half an hour.

The cop who’d been on the corner looked grim as he came over to the fire hydrant, but before he could say anything, Steve
flipped down the passenger side sun visor to reveal the
U.S. AIR FORCE OFFICIAL BUSINESS
placard he’d swiped from the office.

The cop nodded respectfully and continued on his way. Steve grinned. You weren’t supposed to use the placard for personal
business, let alone personal cars, but what the hell, it sure made parking a snap.

He jumped out of the car and hurried into the hotel. The lobby was busy. It took him a second to spot Linda. She was standing
by the newsstand, reading the various headlines. She was wearing a loden-green suede leather jacket over a white blouse that
was tucked into a brown tweed skirt.

“Hi, I’m sorry I’m so late,” Steve said, coming up to her.

“It’s okay.” She looked at him then did a double take. “What are you grinning at?”

“At you,” Steve said, unable to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. “I guess I forgot what you looked like.”

“What?” she laughed. “I’d hoped I’d made more of an impression on you than
that
last night.”

“I mean, I remembered what you looked like, but not how good.”

“Quit right there,” she smiled.

“While I’m ahead, you mean,” he nodded, chuckling. “I guess I will. If you’re ready, I’m parked just out front.”

“Just a sec.” She scooped up a half-dozen different newspapers, and paid for them, along with a package of Chesterfields.

“Something happen in the news I’m not aware of?” Steve asked her as they left the hotel.

“Oh, these?” She looked at the thick bundle of papers. “I like to keep up with current events. I’ve worked on a couple of
newspapers.”

“Well, hand them over and I’ll put them in the trunk to keep them from blowing around,” Steve said as they walked over to
the car.

“Wow! Swell car!” Linda said as she ran her hand over the gleaming, cream and maroon paint of the four-door Roadmaster. “It
must have cost a mint. Just what
is
my government paying Air Force captains these days?”

Steve laughed. “Not enough to buy one of these, that’s for sure.”

“Oh!” Linda snapped her fingers. “But you’re Herman Gold’s son,” she said knowingly.

“I don’t take money from my father,” Steve said coldly, stung by her assumption that he did.

“Hey,” she began softly. “Sorry….”

Steve, forcing a smile, shook his head. “No, I should be the one to apologize. My father is a touchy subject with me.”

“Oh, really?” she asked playfully. “I think I smell a story here.”

“But I know better than to talk about it to a journalist,” Steve said. “To change the subject—which I intend to do,” he added
firmly, “my maternal grandfather was a wealthy man. When he passed away he left each of his grandchildren a trust fund.”

“So you’re independently wealthy?”

Steve shrugged. “I can indulge myself when it comes to a nice car and sharp clothes. The Air Force takes care of the rest.”
He came around to the passenger side of the Buick to open Linda’s door. “Now, then, if the lady is ready for her guided tour
of our fair city?”

“I place myself in your hands,” she said demurely, sliding into the car.

Steve pretended to leer. “The lady knows not what she says.”

Linda winked at him. “The lady is a writer, remember? Words are her business.”

They spent the next several hours on a whirlwind tour of Washington. The speed at which they zoomed around Pennsylvania and
Constitution avenues in the Roadmaster, parking wherever they wanted thanks to the Air Force official-business placard, became
their private joke.

They strolled the Mall all the way from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol. Then, around three, they hopped back into the
car and made a circuit around Union Station, and then down First Street, past the Supreme Court and the Library of Congress,
ending up at the Tidal Basin. There they grabbed a much needed snack of red hots and sodas from a sidewalk vendor near the
Jefferson Memorial.

“You’ve seen a lot,” Steve told her as they finished their late lunch. “If you don’t mind, I think we should leave the tour
of the Smithsonian and the National Gallery for another day.”

“You don’t have to twist my arm,” Linda laughed. “You’ve been very kind. A marvelous guide.”

“It was my pleasure,” Steve said.”It was a lot of fun. It let me see this beautiful city through fresh eyes.” He paused, looking
at her intently. “Very beautiful
baby-blue
eyes, I might add.”

Linda blushed and looked away. “As I was saying, you’ve been a marvelous guide, except that you’ve neglected to show me one
very important sight.”

“Which is?” Steve asked, frowning.

“Your apartment,” she said, smiling shyly. “It’d be
s-o-o-o
nice to kick off my shoes, put my feet up, and have a drink.”

Okay!
he thought happily. “Then let’s go.”

The traffic was light driving back across the Potomac into Alexandria. In ten minutes Steve was pulling up in front of his
apartment house on Prince Street.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Linda said, gazing at the tall, narrow brick-and-clapboard town house with its green shutters. Do you know
its history?”

Steve shrugged indifferently. “Only that it once belonged to a famous Civil War general whose name escapes me. It was turned
into apartments sometime during World War One.”

He got out of the car and came around to the passenger’s side to open the door for Linda. “Hope you don’t mind stairs. My
apartment’s on the top floor.”

The apartment—a small kitchen, living room, bedroom, and bath—was in the rear of the building, overlooking a brick-walled
garden. Steve unlocked the door for Linda and stepped aside to let her enter.

“It’s very nice,” Linda said, looking around. “But …” she faltered, turning to stare at him, “how long have you been here?”

“Two years. Why do you ask?” Steve said as he helped her out of her suede jacket and hung it in the hall closet, along with
his own coat.

“Well,” Linda began, frowning, and then she burst out laughing. “Where’s your furniture?”

Steve shrugged, looking around. The blue-carpeted living room had brick walls painted white. The room was bare except for
some large pillows on the floor that were bracketed by a pair of orange crates holding lamps and ashtrays swiped from various
nightclubs. Against one wall, on shelving built out of cinder blocks and planking, was a portable phonograph and a radio,
along with a small collection of LPs.

“Well, furniture is kind of boring, you know?” Steve said. “I mean, you can’t drive it or wear it….”

Linda was laughing and shaking her head. He watched her cross the living room to the bedroom and peek in. He kept his fingers
crossed as he came up behind her.

Yes! The bed—a big double mattress resting on a box spring—was freshly made, which meant that he’d changed the sheets. He
confidently expected that he’d be changing them again before the day was over….

Next to the bed was another orange crate, this one laden with another lamp, a swiped ashtray, and his alarm clock. Against
the wall, between the closet and the bathroom door, was a maple lowboy he’d picked up secondhand at a shop on King Street.
(It had been a bitch getting it upstairs, but he’d needed
someplace
to stick his clothes.) On the dresser was the telephone, and next to it, a local directory. Steve could see the cover of
his little black book sticking out from beneath the directory, but he didn’t think Linda would notice it.

“I’ve got to see the kitchen,” she said.

Steve showed it to her.

“Just as I thought,” she laughed, opening the pantry cupboards in the galley kitchen. Steve watched her discover an extensive
selection of liquor and mixers, some glasses and coffee cups, two dinner plates, and no food or cooking equipment at all.

“I can make coffee,” Steve said, “but most of the time I eat out.”

“I’d pretty much guessed that about you, Cap’n,” she said merrily. “Umm, I’d love a scotch and soda on the rocks.”

“Two scotch and sodas coming up.”

He fixed the drinks and brought them into the living room, where Linda was reclining on the stacked pillows. She’d kicked
off her shoes and was smoking a cigarette. Steve set her drink on the orange crate, and settled down beside her with his own
drink in his hand.

“Well,” she said, picking up her drink and toasting him, “here’s to a lovely day. Thanks again.”

Steve sipped his scotch and soda as he watched her take a big swallow of her own drink. He wondered if she was trying to drink
some courage. Was now the time to make his move?

He put his glass down and slid closer to her. She watched him as he took her drink out of her hand and kissed her lightly
on the lips.

She kissed him back. Her lips were smoky from the scotch and cool from the ice cubes.

“Is this part of the tour?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“I did place myself at your service….”

“And I did place myself in your hands….”

Uh-huh
, Steve thought. “Then I think we should continue this in the bedroom,” he confided, standing up. “It’s your kind of room.”

“You mean it has some furniture?” Linda murmured, getting to her feet.

“All the furniture we’ll need,” Steve replied.

She grabbed her handbag. Steve picked up the drinks and led the way.