Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [289]
“The story-the story he tells her-is that his last divorce isn’t final yet. Maybe he really wants to marry her-I don’t know-we’re hardly talking any more-”
“It’s that bad?”
“Oh, she still pays me the ten percent. She doesn’t have to, we never had anything on paper. I know for a fact Feather advised her to stop paying. But she pays. Not that I ask her. We had a hell of a fight over your letter-sorry I got my nose in your affairs, Willie-but I said something about Feather being a draft dodger, and she wasn’t buying any cracks about Walter at that point-”
“I’ve got to talk to her, Marty.”
“Well, let’s take a look. They might be rehearsing.”
They walked to the Aztec Lounge and heard music through the closed doors painted with green-and-yellow feathered serpents. The band was playing Anchors Aweigh. “See, a special welcome for you,” Rubin said. “Come on in.” They slipped through the doors. The big garish room had a wide polished dance floor and a multitude of empty tables. Green paper palms screened the doorway. Through them Willie saw May on the orchestra platform, singing. He was terrifically startled. Her hair was bright blond.
“Let’s wait here awhile,” Rubin said. He leaned against the wall with his hands in his coat pockets, peering at the stage through his thick greenish glasses. “How do you think she looks?”
“Fierce.”
“Feather likes his vocalists blond.”
The music slowed and died in the middle of the number. The leader was rapping with his stick. “Honey, what’s so tough about that phrase?” he shouted. “Let’s take it again from C-”
With an impatient sweep of her head May said, “Walter, I hate this damned song. Why do we have to do it? Such corn-”
“Look, baby, when that parade breaks the place will be jumping with Navy. We’ll be doing it all night-”
“Well, you do the vocal. I can’t stand it-”
“What parade?” Willie whispered.
The agent grinned. “How unconscious can you get? Don’t you know today’s Navy Day?”
The band struck up again. May sang a few bars and stopped, looking at Feather obstinately. He shrugged and waved the band silent. “Like some coffee, Marie?”
“Anything.”
“Break for a half hour,” Feather said to the musicians. They scraped their chairs and walked off the platform, chattering. May threw a camel’s-hair coat around her shoulders. She and Feather came toward the door, walking side by side in an automatic closeness that jarred Willie’s nerves. He stepped out from behind the palms, acutely conscious of his gold-buttoned bridge coat and white scarf and tarnished hat.
“Hello, May.”
The girl staggered back a step, putting her hand on Feather’s arm. Her mouth fell open. She stammered, “Good God, Willie. Did you want me to drop dead? How-how long have you been here?”
“Just came. Didn’t want to interrupt-”
“I-Walter, this is Willie Keith-Captain Keith, or Lieutenant Keith-I don’t know, which is it? Are you still captain of that minesweeper?”
“I decommissioned her this morning-”
Feather held out his hand. “Glad to meet you, Willie. Marie’s told me about you-” They shook hands. Feather was not bad-looking; the lobby picture was unfortunate. He had a pleasant, keen expression. The eyes were wrinkled and shadowed, and the plentiful brown hair had streaks of gray. His grip was firm and his voice strong, good-natured, and attractive.
“Hello, Marty,” May said coldly.
“Well, how about you two guys joining us?” the bandleader said. “We’re just going to grab a bite-”
“I’d like to talk to you, May,” Willie said.
“Well, fine, let’s all drop into the grill,” Feather said. “I’d like to talk to you, May,” Willie repeated dully.
The girl glanced timidly at Feather. She had a trapped look. “Whatever you want, Marie,” the musician said carelessly. “There isn’t a hell of a lot of time-”
She caressed the bandleader’s hand. “I won’t be long, Walter. You go ahead.”
Feather raised one eyebrow. He nodded, and smiled at Willie. “All dressed up for the parade, Lieutenant?”
“I’m not parading.”
“Oh. Too bad. Well, come around tonight. Bring a friend. As my guests.”
“Thank you.”
“Come on, Marty,