Cold Victory

As she reached the top of the stairs, she looked down to find her key in her leather handbag, which hung from a strap cutting diagonally across her chest. When she looked up again, she saw a man sitting in front of her door. She gasped and then registered that the man was wearing a bright red Santa Claus outfit complete with a curly white moustache, beard and a floppy, pointed cap with a white pom-pom on the end. Ashamed to be afraid of Santa Claus, she giggled in embarrassment and exclaimed, “I’m sorry, Santa! You startled me.”

Santa responded by opening his arms wide and singing in a deep, cheerful voice, “You better watch out, You better not cry, Better not pout, I’m telling you why: Santa Claus is comin’ to town.”

The moment sound came out of his mouth, Kathleen recognized J.B.’s voice. When he fell silent, she burst out, “J.B.! I mean, Captain Baronowsky! Where did you come from? How did you get here? I mean, in here? Unescorted.” She looked around confused; an American officer had no business inside the WAAF quarters.

“With the Station Commander’s permission of course,” J.B. answered, getting to his feet.

“The WingCo allowed you to —”

“He approved my offer to bring some candy for the children at the daycare centre and when I said I wanted to stop by to say hello to a friend afterwards, he had his adjutant bring me over. I think his name was Stan.”

“Flying Officer Stanley; we all call him Stan.”

“Well, Stan, being a true English gentleman, grasped the unspoken delicacy of the situation and — after convincing himself I was not a threat to British National Security or Gatow personnel — he agreed to withdraw discreetly.” J.B. paused and his tone changed from jocular to serious as he tore his hat and beard off with one sweep of his hand. “I’m grateful I could come, but I wish I weren’t dressed up in this silly costume.” He stopped and added with evident feeling, “It’s good to see you, Kathleen.”

“I was told you’d gone back to the States to get married.”

“Yeah. I went home. My fiancé’s father got his congressman to request my recall.”

“Oh, my!” Kathleen was impressed and intimidated by connections like that. Unconsciously she took a step backwards.

J.B. hastened to explain, “Only, when I got there, I realised that I couldn’t marry Patty.”

“You didn’t marry her?” Kathleen asked astonished. Then she had a second thought and added in alarm, “I hope that wasn’t because of me. I didn’t mean—”

He gestured for her to relax. “You didn’t mislead me. When I made my decision, I honestly didn’t think we’d ever see each other again. But Patty wasn’t the right girl for me. I couldn’t face spending the rest of my life with her.”

“But — what about her father? And the congressman? There must have been a terrible scene!”

“Yeah, it was pretty bad,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Worst drama I’ve ever seen. Patty found more ways to insult me than I’d ever heard before — and I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. She raged a lot about how much money she’d wasted on the wedding, but what really made her hysterical was being humiliated in front of her friends.” He paused, looking off into the distance rather than at Kathleen as he remembered. When he resumed the narrative the slightly humorous, entertaining tone he had used up until now was gone. “It was odd — at least I thought it was odd — that she never once tried to talk me out of leaving her. She never said she’d be willing to move to Willow Run so I could have the job I wanted or anything like that.” He stopped again and lowered his voice before adding, “And not once did she say, ‘I love you, Jay.’ Not once.”

“Oh, Jay,” Kathleen responded with instinctive sympathy. “I’m so sorry for you! It always hurts when we discover we’ve given our affection to someone who doesn’t return it — or deserve it. It’s not just the lack of reciprocity that hurts, it’s the realisation that we have misjudged someone so completely.” She was thinking of her humiliating ‘affair’ with Lionel.

J.B. looked over at her in surprise, and then his eyes looked deeper. After a moment, he simply said, “Thank you.” Pulling himself together, he put a smile back on his face, and tried to find again a light and witty tone as he concluded, “Given the fact that she didn’t love me in the least, I must have done the right thing. And while I didn’t leave her because of you, I do hope you’ll let me see more of you.”

For a second time, he dropped the façade of jocularity to plead, “That’s all I ask, Kathleen, that you give me a chance to show you who I really am.” By the way he looked at her, he was far from certain of her response.

Yet Kathleen wanted exactly what he did: to get to know him better. With a smile, she answered, “Why don’t you start by coming in out of this chilly hallway.” She stepped toward the door and inserted her key as she warned, “My daughter will be home in less than an hour, but you have time to change out of your Santa suit while I make a pot of tea.”

“Tea,” he echoed with a faint smile.

“Oh, sorry. Did you want something stronger?” Kathleen looked over her shoulder.

“No. After all the melodrama of the past two weeks, there is nothing in the world I’d like more than a calming cup of English tea.”