THE HOWARD HOTEL was a bustling night spot in the West End of London, with a large restaurant, a small ballroom with swing dances on Saturday nights, and “entertainment in the lounge” the other six nights a week. Lisa posed for a photograph that was placed on an easel in the foyer: “In the Oak Room, Lisa Jura, at the Piano.”
She had explained her classical training and lack of “popular repertoire” to the enormously busy manager.
“Fine, fine, fine, don’t worry! You’re very pretty, that’s the main thing,” he said, returning to his inventory of the glasses and bottles behind the bar.
The hotel atmosphere took some getting used to—the chatter and laughter, the clinking of glasses, the occasional brawl. But Lisa was happy and grateful, not only to be playing music, but to feel a part of the sophisticated beat of London.
The City was crawling with soldiers on leave—the Yanks, the Free French, and the Royal Navy, Air Force, and Army. Uniforms were as ubiquitous as civilian clothes, and it seemed that as many women wore them as men.
Gina was green with envy, but she rose above her feelings to help Lisa get ready for the first night. Lisa floated into the beauty salon, where her friend had stayed late to curl, swirl, and wrap her hair in the latest fashion. A touch of bright red lipstick, and off she went.
The first night, she chose the liveliest of Chopin’s mazurkas and several of Mendelssohn’s songs without words. She learned fast to avoid Bach and Beethoven. The crowd was appreciative, and so was the manager when he saw the patrons moving from the restaurant to the lounge to order additional drinks.
“Play ‘Peg o’ My Heart’!” someone yelled. “No, play ‘I’ll be Seeing You’!”
Lisa smiled and tried to be charming, but she realized immediately that she had better find some new music. The next day, reveling in the wonder of having a free morning, she shopped near Tottenham Court for the favorite tunes of the day.
Her training in sight-reading really paid off, and soon the entire room was singing along with Lisa’s spirited versions of the wartime hit parade. She played “We’ll Meet Again” and “I’m Gonna Get Lit Up (When the Lights Go Up in London)” and “When They Sound the Last ‘All Clear.’ ”
More and more Americans were coming in, the overflow from the famous Rainbow Corners dance hall up the street, where Count Basie and Woody Herman blasted the big band sound to frenzied dancers leaping to the jitterbug. The Yanks loved it when she played “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition” and yelled out for “Deep in the Heart of Texas.” There was always some outgoing type who led the crowd in singing along, cheering loudly at the end of each favorite.
Truth be told, one of the things Lisa loved best about the job was being the center of attention. She was now nineteen; her hair was bobbed, there was a charming sway in her walk, and flirtatiousness was in her blood. The soldiers were young and oh, so handsome, and she was the center of this small universe in the lounge of the Howard Hotel. Mash notes were a nightly occurrence. “Would the beautiful lady with the red hair care to join me for our own Hungarian rhapsody? Squadron leader Lou ‘Lucky’ McGuire.”
Sometimes, when she saw a soldier in an RAF uniform, she would think of Aaron, although more with nostalgia than with the sting of longing she had first felt at their parting. But her worry about him intensified after the hostel received a telegram from the War Department advising them that Paul Goldschmidt had died. The telegram was addressed to Mrs. Cohen, whose name had been filled in under “Mother.” Mrs. Cohen passed the telegram around the quiet dinner table, and saddened fingers touched the words valiantly gave his life in service . . .
Mrs. Glazer led the recitation of the kaddish: “May God remember the soul of Paul Goldschmidt who has gone to his eternal home. . . .”
Paul’s death was a blow to Lisa, not only because she missed his sunny smile but because it brought home the reality of the danger Aaron faced. The next day, she went to a small storefront shop that she had often passed in Cavendish Square, where she had seen the sign “Star Sound Studios—Send greetings to your loved ones far away!”
Even though the man was impressed by Lisa’s rendition of Liszt’s romantic Liebesträume, adjusting the dials of the huge machine that cut the grooves into the 78 rpm gramo-phone record, he still charged the full two pounds for the service. She left him the address of the paratroops division headquarters and inscribed the gold-and-white label in the center “Dear Aaron, with all my love, Lisa.”
As time went by it became easier to put thoughts of Aaron aside as night after night Lisa entered this sophisticated new world. She loved her new job, and what she loved most about it was the fellowship, the soldiers and bomb-weary Londoners who were looking for a haven of friendly camaraderie as much as she was.
But how many times could she play “Peg o’ My Heart” without feeling starved for the depth and beauty of the great composers? So it was with renewed enthusiasm that she redoubled her practicing and went to her weekly lesson with Mabel Floyd.
“Architecture!” the master teacher said for what seemed like the hundredth time. “You must envision the whole of the piece, not just these little segments I hear. Try the last section again, please.”
And once again Lisa played the offending section while Mrs. Floyd listened intently.
“Shh! Let the melody build, don’t give it all away at the start,” she said, starting to sing the beautiful melody, raising and lowering the volume of her voice as Lisa approached the climactic moments. “That’s it! Hear that? It’s the answer to the question on the other page. . . . Now keep it going! . . . Don’t stop there! . . . That’s right, Lisa! Listen to the response!”
Eyes shining, Lisa began building to the thunderous conclusion. She was beginning to think she’d make it this time.
“No, no, no!” Mrs. Floyd said, stopping her once again. “You’ve lost the rhythm. If the pattern of the left hand becomes erratic, the architecture is lost! Once again, now.”
By the end of a lesson, the pages of Lisa’s music were covered by arrows, circles, and annotations of all descriptions. It was hard work, but Lisa emerged from the studio filled with exhilaration.
Gina usually got back to the hostel from the beauty parlor around the time Lisa was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, readying herself for her evening of glamour on the West End. Recently her smiles and compliments at Lisa’s elegant new clothing had dried up and were replaced by a coolness that was subtle but unmistakable.
One Friday night, when Lisa was trying on an expensive new jacket (which had cost a week’s salary and used up her remaining allotment of sixteen clothing ration coupons), Gina walked in, put her purse on the bed, and frowned.
“Isn’t it dreamy?” Lisa asked, anxious for her friend’s approval of the tailored masterpiece.
“The color is awful on you,” she answered. “It’s totally wrong for a redhead.” Gina turned and walked downstairs for dinner.
Lisa surveyed herself again in the mirror, turning nervously. She had paid a lot of money for this jacket! Suddenly, from the top bunk across the room, came the voice of Edith from over the pages of her movie magazine.
“It looks just fine, don’t listen to her.”
“I wish she’d just be nice for once!” Lisa said angrily. “Don’t you see what she wants, silly?” said Edith. “What?” Lisa asked, genuinely not having a clue.
“She wants you to take her with you,” came the advice from her usually silent roommate.
It was so simple, Lisa couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t thought of it before.
Lisa was thrilled at the prospect of sharing the evening at the lounge with her best friend and delighted that Gina had accepted her invitation. She was also amazed that Gunter had let Gina come without him; he’d become a real bore since he’d begun to study so hard.
“Ooh, it’s a good thing the stick-in-the-mud isn’t coming! Wait until you see all the Yanks!” said Lisa as the two young women hurried up Shaftsbury Street.
At first Gina sat alone at her own table, but she was soon mobbed by soldiers looking for a date. She bantered and chatted with the calm confidence of a woman who knows her heart is already taken.
Lisa played a moving rendition of “Deep Purple,” which momentarily stopped the chatter in the crowded room. At the end of it, she stood up to acknowledge the applause, and looked over in Gina’s direction, announcing loudly: “That was dedicated to my best friend.”
Gina took a little bow, and a group of American sailors rushed over to the pretty girl, saying, “Let me buy you a drink to celebrate!”
“Why not?” Gina smiled.
“ ‘Red River Valley’!” one of the sailors called out, and Lisa launched into the simple tune. After a few bars, he began to sing. “From this valley they say you are going . . . We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile . . .” He had a haunting tenor voice, and the raucous crowd quieted immediately. He sang so beautifully that Lisa stopped playing and let him finish a capella.
“So remember the Red River Valley . . . And the cowboy who loved you so true. . . .”
When he finished, there were tears in the eyes of many soldiers who were thinking mournfully of the beautiful girls back home.
At the end of the evening, Gina gathered up her purse and coat and walked over to Lisa. “I’m coming back every Friday night, no matter what you-know-who thinks. It’s too much fun to miss!”
One night, Lisa glanced out at the faces of the soldiers in the room and did a double take. For there was Aaron, completely unexpected, but, judging from the quickening of her pulse, more welcome than she had realized. She immediately stopped the piece she was playing, jumped up, threw her arms around him, and gave him a kiss. The crowd burst into cheers and catcalls, which then turned into the rhythmic clapping whose message was unmistakable: Get back to the piano!
“Sit right there! I’ll join you at the break!” Lisa said excitedly, then sat back down and launched into a heartfelt rendition of the Liebesträume, just for him.
Several inebriated flyboys nearby saw the fond looks she was throwing Aaron and whistled their approval.
When at last her work was done, she hurried to his table, where he sat alone in front of several emptied glasses.
“How about this place? Pretty fancy, don’t you think?” she said, pulling out a cigarette. Saying nothing, Aaron leaned forward and lit it with his lighter.
“Don’t look at me like that, you smoke, too! So, what do you think?” she continued with excitement.
“You played even more beautifully than your recording.”
“Oh, you got it!” Lisa cried out happily.
“Yes, thank you.”
A soldier approached Lisa, offering to buy her a drink, but she refused politely, following Aaron’s eyes as he watched the handsome soldiers all around her.
“Now, don’t be jealous. It’s just a job.”
Aaron smiled wryly, and blew smoke rings into the air. “So, tell me everything!” she begged.
“You first.”
Lisa chattered about the hostel and the Howard Hotel, but the more she went on, the more she realized she was looking at a changed Aaron. Where was his devilish swagger? He seemed so remote. She waited until he finished his drink, then she stood up, grabbing his hand. “Come on! Let’s go for a walk. I see too much of this hotel already.”
They walked slowly through the narrow cobblestone streets near Covent Garden, then meandered west up the wider avenues heading for Hyde Park. The streets were dark and deserted except for the occasional giggling couple, hurrying back to their homes or to barracks after a late-night rendezvous.
The gates to Hyde Park, where Lisa and Aaron had walked so often before, were locked. The antiaircraft guns stood as silent sentries behind the iron fence. They could make out the red glow of lit cigarettes near the huge guns, then staring closer, saw gunnery sergeants peering through binoculars into the clear, starry sky.
“Tell me about it, Aaron, what is it like?” Lisa asked gently, putting her arm on his shoulder.
In a monotone, he spoke about his regiment and his training. He had joined a parachute company in the 1st
Airborne Division and had trained in a secret location. When he described the sensations of jumping out of a plane, he became briefly animated, like the Aaron she remembered. Then he fell silent again, just walking slowly, as though he had no destination.
Lisa took his hand but didn’t feel any warmth from it; his coldness frightened her. The closer she clung to him, the more distanced she felt.
She wondered many things that she was afraid to ask. Were all soldiers like this? Was this what war did? Did it ruin everything? Where was the charming suitor who had whistled the Grieg in her ear? Where was the hurt but gentle boy who had watched his father walk out of the house, never to return.
“What was it like when you landed someplace?” she asked.
“You don’t want to know,” he answered, lighting two cigarettes and giving her one.
“Were you scared?”
“Of course, what do you think?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. I want you to talk to me,” she begged.
Aaron stayed stubbornly silent, and finally, Lisa stopped asking questions. After a while, he stopped abruptly, cocking his head toward the sky.
“What is it?” Lisa asked, alarmed.
“Shh,” he answered, standing perfectly still. Suddenly, before she could hear the sound that Aaron heard, the night was broken with the wail of air-raid sirens.
“It’s a V-2, hurry!” He took her hand and they ran together toward the underground station at Marble Arch. A wave of people rushed frantically from their blacked-out apartments and onto the sidewalks, carrying books, blankets, and hastily grabbed snacks. Aaron and Lisa ran after them, joining the hurried stream of Londoners running down the stairs into the safety of the tubes.
Down and down they went; Lisa stopped counting how many flights, grateful to be so deeply hidden from the approach of the German buzz bombs. When they arrived at the lowest floor, the cold tiled platforms were already covered by rows of sleeping bodies; these were the early birds, who had taken to spending every night in the tubes, not waiting for the sirens.
People were everywhere—on the escalators, on the stairs, draped over benches and chairs. The more organized families had brought cots and blankets; the others lay huddled next to strangers for warmth. Lisa’s mouth dropped at the sight of all the people; she had heard about these places, but had never been caught out at night in an air raid before.
With sleepy eyes, the tightly packed masses readjusted themselves to make room for the latecomers. Aaron found a wall to lean against, and the family next to them moved over a few inches with a nod of respect to his uniform. He took off his jacket and spread it underneath Lisa to shield her from the cold.
They were too far underground to hear the whine of the bombers, but every few minutes the ceiling gave off a layer of dirt and dust, shaken loose by the explosions topside.
Aaron leaned his head against the dirty, cement wall and stared at the sooty Londoners around him. “People are a sorry lot, aren’t they? We’re nothing but canon fodder,” his voice drifted off again into silence.
Lisa leaned her head on his shoulder and stared at the sleeping children next to them. An angelic two-year-old slept next to her leg, and as he tossed and turned, he yanked his blanket off, exposing his little pink legs. She pulled it back over him and realized as she did that tears were streaming from her eyes. She closed them and buried her face deeply into Aaron’s shoulder.
The all clear siren sounded several hours later and they dusted themselves off, making their way toward Willesden Lane. Overcome with exhaustion, Aaron and Lisa stood silently for a long moment in front of the hostel, watching the first light of dawn glowing in the eastern sky.
When they kissed good-bye, Lisa held him tightly, transported for a moment to the feelings she had the night when he first kissed her outside Mrs. Canfield’s house. The tighter she clung, the more she felt confused. Were these feelings merely the ghosts of her feelings from the past, or did she truly still care for him?
When she finally let go, Aaron smiled mysteriously and picked up his satchel.
“I’ll write you when I arrive,” he said, and walked slowly down the road.
She watched until he turned the corner and was sure she heard him whistling the first few bars of the Grieg.
“Lisa! Thank God!” Gina shouted when she saw Lisa tiptoe into the bedroom a few minutes later. “We were worried sick! Where were you?”
“I was caught in an air raid,” Lisa answered, in no mood to share confidences. “I had to spend the night in the underground.”
“We were really worried, they said a rocket fell near the hotel.”
Lisa said nothing as she put on her warm flannel nightgown and climbed into bed.
“Can I tell you something?” Gina asked, her voice filled with excitement.
Lisa waited silently, still lost in her upsetting thoughts. “Gunter and I are engaged, look!” Gina exclaimed, holding out her left hand. There was a simple gold ring on her finger. “This is just temporary,” she said, “until he can afford the real one. He promised someday he’ll buy me a diamond. You have to promise you’ll play at our wedding! Promise?”
“Of course,” Lisa answered smiling, disguising her sadness.
“Oh, thank you, thank you! I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am,” Gina went on, detailing the plans from beginning to end.
Lisa listened but her mind kept wandering to Aaron, trying to picture the images of happier times. Maybe when the war is over, he will change back into the Aaron I love, she told herself.
The next day, she felt grateful to escape her dark thoughts and return to her work entertaining the cheerful, raucous soldiers at the Howard Hotel.