Mac returned from the office the following evening to hatboxes and dress boxes everywhere. Saks, Bergdorf's, Lord & Taylor, not to mention a few unfamiliar boutiques. Neither Carla nor Hallie was anywhere to be found, but there was an open bottle of red wine on the countertop in the kitchen. Mac poured himself a glass of single malt, as he sat himself down in the twilight coming in through the living room windows. He watched his neighbors barbequing on their patios, trying to squeeze out the last of Indian summer, while he was considering the boxes all around him.
I did tell her to enjoy herself, he considered, as he looked at all the boxes. He drained the glass of scotch quickly, wishing he had filled it partially with ice.
Mac heard a set of keys rattling against the door from the hallway, just before the door opened, the two women laughing, with Milo trailing the parade. Carla had on a beautiful white polka dot beige dress, with a big hat to match. Hallie, too, was dressed more for the 21 Club, than for walking her dog. They were carrying on like old chums, as they sauntered into the apartment.
“Mac, darling, do you like my new dress,” said Carla, twirling around enough for her husband to get a good look at her long, shapely legs.
“Very nice. You look marvelous. Perfect for the White House.”
“Oh, Mac, don’t be silly. We picked out something special for the president. This is certainly not glamorous enough to meet the most powerful man in the world.”
“Don’t worry,” said Hallie, “we got some good buys. Christmas sales, you know.”
“I am happy if you two are happy. Let's go eat. I am hungry. Hi Milo, old buddy! Did you miss me?
“We are still going to the 21Club?” asked Hallie.
“Sure, why not? I could go for some of those crab cakes.”
“Give me a few minutes to get Milo settled, and to freshen up. I will meet you down in the lobby. I will tell Whitey to get us a cab.”
“That's fine,” said Mac, as Hallie walked out of the apartment door.
“Mac, you are not mad at me, are you?” crooned Carla, looking hopefully at her new husband with big doe eyes.
“No, no, I am glad you two hit it off,” said Mac, as he lit up a Lucky Strike. What else did you get?”
“I got something for you!”
“What did you get for me?”
Carla dug through the packages for a dainty red box, throwing open the lid, and pulling back the pink tissue paper. Mac could see that it was fine silk lingerie, very sexy, as Carla held it up to herself to show him.
“Well, now, that I certainly like!”
“That is for later, hubby. Hallie helped me pick it out.”
“I bet she did.”
“Mac, did you have a relationship with her?”
“We were very close. She is much older.”
“Yes, but she is very sexy. And I saw her naked when we were trying clothes on. She is something!”
That she is, thought Mac.
“She is a good person. I’m glad you two are getting along.”
“You did not answer my question, so I guess that answers my question.”
“Listen, you are my girl, now and forever. Only you.”
“Again, the perfect answer!” You really should be a diplomat.”
The young couple, accompanied by Hallie, cabbed the thirty blocks to the 21 Club. Hallie secured a table right away, imposing upon Charlie, the owner.
“You must try the crab cakes, darling,” said Mac to Carla. “They are incredible.”
“Mac, isn’t that Walter Winchell over there?” asked Carla, as the man got up and headed in their direction.
“How do you know Walter Winchell?”
“I do read English, Mac. I have seen pictures.”
“Hallie, darling, what brings you here?” yelled Winchell, halfway across the room.
Winchell had on a big red polka dot bow tie, and his hair was askew, suggesting that he had been there for a while.
“Mac and Carla are celebrating their recent marriage. I am always up for a celebration. Won’t you join us?”
“Love to, but only if you let me treat. After all, we cannot let the newlyweds pay for us.”
“You’re on, Walter,” said Hallie. “Come, sit next to me. You can be my date.”
“Thank you, Mr. Winchell. This is my wife, Carla.”
“Enchanted,” said Winchell, as he kissed the young girl's hand. “You are a looker, my dear. You got yourself a good man there, Carla. Mac is a wholesome, witty patriot. Mac, where have you been? I have not seen you in what, over a year?”
“I was in Italy, sir, working for the Vatican. That is where I met Carla, in Rome.”
“Well, that's grand,” said the large fellow. “So, what is really going on over there, with these fascist fellows?”
“Well, the Italians would be happy if there were no war. But Mussolini pretty much marches to the tune of the Fuhrer these days.”
“Really, now. I wonder what they will do, if the Japanese attack, as everyone is saying?”
“They will be drawn into it, kicking, and screaming. No one wants their sons killed in a far away war.”
“What do you hear about the Japanese, over there in Europe?”
“Off the record?”
“Oh, of course. All of this is just conversation.”
“I hear it is imminent, before Christmas. The Italians and the Germans are preparing for it.”
“Really, before Christmas? Yeah, that makes sense. Leave it to those heathens to attack during the holidays.”
“Walter, enough with the shop talk,” chided Hallie. “We are here to celebrate. I was shopping with Carla all day today. Isn’t she lovely, Walter? Talk to her.”
“Well, Carla, you know what Hallie is saying? That I have been rude. I apologize, you beautiful flower.”
“It is not necessary, Mr. Winchell. I love to hear my husband speak. I find politics and talk of conflict fascinating.”
“Charming, dear girl. Do you have any plans for while you are here in New York?”
“I would like to see the sights, and I am going to the theatre with Hallie one day, while Mac is at work. I love the theatre. I wish I could work with you Hallie. It sounds so exciting. I do not know how long we will be here, but if we stay a while, I would like to get involved myself.”
“Wonderful,” said Walter. “You are beautiful and charming enough to be an actress. Hallie, what do you think?”
“She is divine, Walter. And her accent, charming! She could definitely be on the stage, with a little training. If you want, Carla, I will take you around with me. You will get to know Broadway, and the actors. It might be fun.”
“I would love to, really, I would!” said Carla in an affected voice, batting her Betty Davis eyelashes.
“We will see what Mr. Roosevelt has in mind for me,” said Mac. “Then we will know about timing and such.”
“You are seeing the president, Mac?” asked Winchell.
“Yes, tomorrow. Apparently, he has an assignment for me. I have no clue what it is.”
“Interesting! Have you done things for him in the past?”
“Off the record?”
“Of course.”
“I report back to him from Italy with what I am seeing, and what the people are saying. He does that with a lot of people, I hear. His feet on the ground, so to speak.”
“Yes, I have heard that. He must really like what you are giving him, if he is taking the time to see you in person.”
“I think he finds me entertaining.”
“Well, good luck with all that. Who knows what this world will bring us, but you seem to be out in front of the wave.”
The small talk over crab cakes went on for hours, with Walter telling his stories of the places he had been, and the people he had met. The restaurant itself seemingly held Carla's attention, with the toys hanging from the ceiling, and the famous people she kept picking out from her movie magazines. The young couple excused themselves early, leaving Hallie with Walter Winchell, claiming that they had to get up early to catch a train to Washington. Mac wanted to get home to be alone with his wife and her new lingerie.
The next morning, they were up bright and early, down to Penn Station to catch the seven o’clock train to Washington. They arrived at Union Station by ten, and they made their way directly to the White House, with a brief detour to allow Carla to see some of the sights.
“Oh, Mac, it is beautiful, all the monuments! So clean, not decrepit like Rome. I cannot believe the White House is in the middle of the city. The president really is a man of the people!”
“We elect him to office, not like under fascism. He is a man of the people.”
The cab driver drove the young couple to the side door of the White House, after they had been checked in through the gate. The White House had just been renovated with all-new security measures, given the likelihood of war. Mac and Carla were shown to the West Wing, and they were told to have a seat in a marble hallway, in comfortable antique damask chairs. After what seemed like forever, a woman in her late sixties greeted the couple, telling them to follow her. They were advised that they had ten minutes in the Oval Office with the President; then they would be asked to leave.
“Nothing personal,” said the woman, “it is just that the president keeps a very tight schedule.”
Mac wanted to tell the woman that it was the president who summoned them both, and that they were not there as a favor, but he said nothing. The woman led them down a hall, past what was obviously her desk, to a white six-panel door, where she knocked, and then entered.
“Well, there he is! Commander Martin, and his lovely bride, Carla it is, right?”
“Yes, Mr. President. It is so good to see you again. Harry,” nodded Mac to the gentleman sitting to the side of the president's desk, “it is nice to see you as well. Yes, this is the famous Carla, sir. She is a little nervous, I think.”
“Oh, no need to be nervous, young lady. I love your blue suit! Boiled wool they call it, is that right?”
“Yes, sir,” said Carla, thrilled that he noticed. “I bought it yesterday at Saks, just to come see you! And, I got a matching pill box hat, how about that?”
“Well, that makes me feel very special,” laughed the president, along with Harry Hopkins. “You look lovely, my dear.”
“I understand that my half-naked pictures have been all over Washington, sir. I wanted to tone it down a bit.”
“Charming, girl, Mac,” laughed the president. “I can see how she stole your heart.”
“That she has, sir.”
“Well, I am glad that you were both able to get here. How did you like the flight, Carla? I understand it is a hoot.”
“Oh, it is more than a hoot, sir. I wet my pants on takeoff. Never been off the ground before.”
“Well, I bet the same thing would happen to me,” laughed the President, slapping his skinny thighs, while sitting in his wheelchair. “It is hard for me to get around, so I rely on people like your husband to do the traveling for me.”
“It is our pleasure to be here, sir,” said Mac.
“Harry, tell Commander Martin what we have in mind for him,” said the President, as he lit up a cigarette in his ceramic holder.
“Yes, Mac, we have big plans for you. We asked you to bring Carla, as the two of you will have to decide right away. There is this new training center opening in Canada on December 6th, and we would like you to attend. It trains men who will be asked to drop behind enemy lines, should war come. It is called Camp X. It is a concoction of the Canadians and the British, to teach young lads the finer arts of espionage. We chose you, as you already have some experience, and you have proven yourself to be adept at getting to things rather quickly. At this point, we are only sending a few Americans, but we thought that you would be a perfect candidate. You would be expected there right after Christmas.”
“Is this dangerous?” asked Carla.
“The training is no more difficult than any basic training experience, but I am not going to lie to you; the use of that training may be very dangerous. You would most likely be dropped behind enemy lines before any landing this country will endeavor on foreign soil. In your case, we will send you back to Italy, presuming we are at war already, when you complete your training. You will go to Sicily in advance of any Allied landing, and clear the way, so to speak.”
“I would be cultivating our resources, and making sure we are warmly greeted?”
“Yes, that would be a big part of it. But you will also coordinate with the local resistance, and conduct acts of sabotage, as become necessary. If you are caught, you could be in grave danger, obviously.”
“Oh, Mac! That sounds so dangerous.”
“I want to do it, Mr. President. Train me and let me be there for my country. Carla, I will be fine. They will train me, and I already know the language and the land.”
“Then, I am coming,” moaned Carla.
“No, you will stay here, in New York. Hallie will take good care of you. You wanted to work with her in the theater; that will be your chance.”
“Hallie Fitzgerald?” asked the president. “Harry, didn’t I appoint her to something dealing with the theater?”
“Yes, Mr. President. She is the director of the Federal Theatre Project, in New York.”
“Right, I remember her. Very attractive woman, as I recall. Carla, I will put in a good word for you. Miss Fitzgerald will take good care of you while Mac is away training. It may never amount to much, this training stuff, but if he is needed, I want your permission to send him where he needs to go for his country. Can I get your permission, Carla?”
“Well, I guess so. Where is this Camp? And how long will he be gone?”
“It is on the shore of Lake Ontario, I understand,” said Harry. “The course itself is about a month, but the special training for what you will be doing, could be longer. You know who runs the camp, Mac? You know him, I believe, Sir William Stephenson, the Director of British Security Co-ordination, there in New York. He has the office next to Bill Donavan, up there at Radio City. You met him at The Room, as I recall?”
“Actually, I met him during my training in Washington. Good man, that Stephenson. What kind of training is this?”
“You will be learning sabotage techniques, subversion, intelligence gathering, explosives training, radio communications, and the art of silent killing.”
“What?” moaned Carla softly. “Silent killing! Madonna!”
“Carla, dear, if there is a war, there will be killing,” said Mac. “Wouldn’t you want your husband to be able to take care of himself?”
“I suppose; but can’t you just do the radio thing?”
Both the President and Harry Hopkins laughed, as the secretary walked back into the Oval Office, with a look at the president.
“It's alright, Sally, they are staying for lunch. Tell Henry to set two more places.”
“As you wish, Mr. President,” said the clearly surprised woman, as she walked out of the door.
“Come, Carla, let's go see what they are feeding presidents these days,” said Roosevelt, as he pushed his wheelchair out from behind his desk. We eat right next door, so I do not have to push this damn chair too far.”
The young couple joined the president and Harry Hopkins in the adjoining office for tuna fish sandwiches and fresh lemonade. The president skillfully pushed the conversation in the direction of Carla's thoughts on what the Italian people were thinking, rather than her dwelling on her husband being in peril.
“My people are sick and tired of being dragged off to wars in foreign lands, sir. No one wants to lose their sons, their husbands, their brothers, their friends. But, if it comes to protecting our homeland, that's a different story. Italian men are fighters. They will not allow their Country to be run over by any foreign force, including that of America, without a fight.”
“I can understand that young lady. If someone were to attack the United States, I would get out of this chair of mine, and fire the first shot myself. That is why we need men like your husband to convince the locals that we are friends. More importantly, that we are foes of fascism. We are looking to free the people of Italy from their war mongering leaders.”
“I can understand that sir. And, if I must say, my Mac certainly has a gift of persuasion. He got me to marry him.”
“And, how lucky is he?” laughed the President. “Such a charming and beautiful young lady; not to mention, sharp as a tack.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. I am smart! People don’t realize; my age, I guess.”
“You are welcome. I wish my wife were here to meet you. She would just adore you, Carla. She loves Mac. She reads every one of his reports he sends back. Says he puts her right there with him, the way he writes.”
“I would love to meet Mrs. Roosevelt, sir. I have read so much about her. She is so wonderful, with all the good things she does.”
“I will make sure she looks you up when she is in New York. Maybe, she can get you involved in some of those projects she is so good at.”
“I would be delighted, sir.”
The young couple finished their lunch with the president and Harry Hopkins, said their goodbyes, and they were on the train back to New York by six o’clock. Carla held Mac tight the whole way, fearing to let him go even for a minute. A tear leaked from her eye, which Mac caught with his handkerchief.