As J.B. placed the order, the bartender leaned forward and hissed at him. “Captain, sir. Your lady friend isn’t dressed appropriately.”
“What?”
“She’s in slacks, sir. Women in slacks aren’t allowed in the officers’ club.”
“Aw, give me a break. Rick’s a wartime buddy of mine. Jan’s his wife. Look the other way, will you?” J.B. slapped an extra quarter on the bar, and the enlisted man pocketed it.
J.B. returned to the table with two bags of chips and the cokes, but he also suggested they move to a less conspicuous spot. He sat between Jan and the rest of the room. “OK. Tell me the whole story from the top.”
“There’s not that much to tell, really,” Rick started. “We had a parking accident with a luggage carrier down in Mobile, and it wrecked the alignment on the undercarriage. I don’t know how such a little bump can cause so much damage, but I couldn’t do the repairs myself and what the airfield maintenance workshop wanted was beyond our budget. Business wasn’t all that good anyway, so we sold off NRJ48 and spent the cash to buy tickets out here. We started looking for work on the Airlift; not with the Air Force, of course, but with one of the civilian outfits, but—” he shrugged eloquently, “no dice.”
“What do you mean ‘no dice’?” J.B. asked back with a glance at Jan, who was nervously turning her coke around and around. “I heard the civilian carriers were desperate for everything from pilots to sparkplugs.”
“Just not ‘girls’ — as they insist on calling me,” Jan looked up and met his gaze. “The only jobs I’ve been offered are working in a canteen or doing laundry.”
“I’m not gonna let her do that! You understand, don’t you, J.B.?”
“Yeah, I understand, but I don’t know how I can help,” J.B. admitted. He was just a lowly pilot, a copilot to be precise, and had so little contact with the brass that he hardly recognised his squadron leader, let alone anyone more important.
Jan and Rick looked at one another, and Rick leaned towards J.B. to say in a low, earnest voice, “We came to ask for a loan — enough money for us to get back home. Or, if you don’t have that much, enough for Jan to go home alone. I’ll work until I can buy my own ticket and pay you back. It’s just we’re broke, buddy, and I don’t like the looks some of the guys are giving Jan.”
J.B. knew he had to help, even though he short on cash. “How much is it?”
“Third-class steamer fare from Hamburg to New York is three hundred-ninety-six bucks,” Rick told him bluntly.
J.B. didn’t earn that much in a month, and he didn’t have it saved either. On the assumption he’d be earning good money come August, he’d spent his college savings on things for his wedding and honeymoon. Now he was back to earning peanuts. “You know I want to help,” he pleaded with Rick, “but that’s a lot of money. I’d have to request an advance on my pay.”
“I told you he wouldn’t be able to help,” Jan said bitterly, getting to her feet.
“Jan! Stop! Sit down!” J.B. urged. Besides feeling bad, she’d just drawn attention to herself, and they were getting dirty looks.
“It’s all right, J.B.” Jan was used to talking over wide distances on a ranch or over the sound of engines. Her voice carried far, and more heads turned. Turning to address Rick, she concluded, “We should have known women pilots were no more welcome in Europe than in the States. We were dumb to come and shouldn’t expect anyone else to bail us out.”
“Wait,” J.B. tried to soothe her. “I want to help, I just honestly don’t have the money. Please sit down, Jan.”
For a moment she stubbornly remained standing, but Rick coaxed her back into her seat with a gentle, “Come on, honey. J.B. didn’t say he wouldn’t help.”
Before they could continue their conversation, a man was standing over the table. J.B. looked up and sprang to attention at the sight of a major. “Sir!”
“I need a word with you, Captain,” the major said with a stiff nod to the civilians. He drew J.B. just far enough away so they couldn’t be overheard. “You have no business bringing that floozy in here—”
“Sir! She’s not what you think. She is the wife of my friend Rick Orloff, who flew —”
“She’s in pants and that makes her a whore in my book. Get her out of here fast! And that’s an order.”
Resentfully, J.B. went back to his table, but Rick and Jan were already preparing to leave. “I’m really sorry about this,” he stammered, embarrassed.
“Don’t worry. We’re used to it,” Rick answered, his eyes averted, expression grim.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish
Comment on this Bubble
Your comment and a link to this bubble will also appear in your Facebook feed.