Judy lets out a compliant, “Yes, sir.”
“Lieutenant Colonel. Please. Stop,” I plead, louder this time.
Gammell’s hand freezes over the doorknob, and he says something under his breath. He seems frustrated, angry, and more than a little damp, but I take his pause as my opening. I stand up and clutch my purse in my gloved hands, still wearing my hat and fully buttoned coat.
“That man—uh—the one on the ground—he . . . he didn’t start the fight.”
Gammell takes in a rumbling breath and lets it out before responding.
“Miss, I’m sorry, but I’m not in the habit of second-guessing my men.” He turns to face me, his cheeks flushed. When he sees me, really sees me, his expression softens. When he speaks again, I feel like he’s looking at me as a little girl with pigtails asking why the sky is blue. “Listen, sweetie. I’m sure you mean well, but we have it all covered . . .”
“I’m sure you do.” I swallow and take a step in his direction. “But that prisoner wasn’t fighting. He . . . he got caught in the middle.” My hands tremble, but I hide it with a tight grip on my purse.
“I’m sorry, but . . .” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s losing his patience. “Have her report across the street, Judy. Call her a car. No need for her to wait.” He looks back at me with a paternal expression of satisfaction on his face. “There you go, dear. We’ll get you to the right place.”
He’s seeing me, finally, but not hearing me. Maybe hearing me even less because he can see me. He stands there, in his intimidating uniform with pins and patches I don’t understand the meaning of, expecting something—what? A thank-you? I’m not ready for any bursts of gratitude yet.
“The other one, the big one, Bononcini, he took something, a picture of the shorter man’s girlfriend, I think. And Trombello was trying to stop the fight. He was being a peacemaker. He was trying to stop it all.”
Lieutenant Colonel Gammell tilts his head and squints his eyes. Now he’s listening. A buzz of apprehension pounds in my ears as he searches me over with those sharp, probing eyes.
“Do you know these men?”
“No,” I answer quickly.
“Have you spoken to them before?” He seems suspicious.
“No. Never.”
“Have you been on this base before? What is your name again?” He looks toward Judy, who is about to answer when I speak up. I will be “onstage” Vivian. I will be confident. I will be warm. I will be clever if the circumstances allow.
“Vivian. Vivian Santini.”
“Ah, so you’re Italian? An immigrant?”
“Well, my parents are. They came to America after the war. I’ve lived here in Edinburgh my whole life.” I speak clearly so he can hear that I don’t have a hint of accent in my voice.
“But you speak Italian? Do you live with your parents?”
“My father and my younger sister. My mother is ill.” I didn’t expect to share so much on my first day, but I don’t think Gammell will take well to any information being withheld.
“And you are totally fluent in the language?”
“What? Italian?” I pause. Could I lose my job if I admit to having the same heritage as the enemy housed here? But I’ve never lied about my family. So I tell him the truth. “Yes, sir.”
“Yes, yes. Very interesting. And you’re our new secretary. What will you be doing for us here at Camp Atterbury?”
“I . . . I was told to report here, to this office,” I reiterate since he seems so determined to send me away. “I was told I’d be working the switchboard. Perhaps take a transcript here or there.” I finish off with his formal title, “Sir.”
“Hmm.” His voice reverberates through his chest.
I tip my chin up, knowing he’s trying to figure out whether he can trust me. To play it safe, to keep my job secure, I should’ve said nothing about the fight. I should’ve sat, half fainted, in my chair and then taken the offered car to a different job on the other side of the road.
“Well, that’s unacceptable.”
My stomach drops, but I don’t allow him to see my alarm, turning up the corners of my mouth ever so slightly and hoping my lipstick is still nicely in place. I’ll find another position. Perhaps not as well paid and perhaps not as close to home, but I can find something. Plenty of women have taken factory jobs with the boys away.
“I understand, sir.” I bob my head and shift my feet. A bus will arrive on the hour. I wonder if I can wait in the guardhouse out of the rain. I’d rather endure Talbot’s looks than the chill against my legs. I reach for the door.
“You aren’t leaving, are you?” His full baritone makes me freeze in place.
“I thought . . .”
“Judy, set Miss Santini up in the office with you. The spare desk, there. We’ll find another girl for the switchboard. We’ll keep you here to give Judy a hand and help out when our interpreter, McNeil, is busy.” I blink rapidly, dizzied by the changes happening right in front of my eyes. Then he turns to me, his face as stern as ever. “That is, if you’re up for it.”
“Absolutely. I would love to,” I say, as though I’m accepting a date, not a job offer. I don’t need to fake my gratitude. I should thank my lucky stars I got a promotion on my first day. Goodness, I should be grateful I even still have a job, but I have to be sure of one more thing.
“And Trombello?” I ask, holding on to my courage.
“I’ll check into it” is all he says, but it’s enough. Without any further discussion, he yanks open the door to a hallway that must lead to his office. Inside, several doors line a tiled hall. The first one looks to be the entrance to Judy’s secretarial sanctuary, a room I’m sure I’ll become well acquainted with. I expect the lieutenant colonel to stomp to his office, but instead, he holds the door open, takes a step back, and grumbles, “Welcome to Camp Atterbury, my dear.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, rushing through into a new world, a new job, and potentially a new life for me and my family.
CHAPTER 5
Elise
Present Day
Edinburgh, Indiana
“There you are!” Mac calls out to me as he walks down the middle of East Main Cross Street like he’s the king of the town. Mac looks just as flamboyant standing in front of me as he does on any news broadcast, TV show, awards ceremony, or after-party. His silvery-gray hair rests a touch above his shoulders, and a pair of dark-rimmed reading glasses acts like a makeshift headband, looking stylish and cool rather than utilitarian. He wears dark, crisp jeans that look like Conrad purchased them right before leaving New York, and his brown woolen blazer is tailored to his exact measurements. The whole getup is accented with a fuzzy tan-and-light-blue scarf tied in a messy but sophisticated knot around his neck.
I see why my mom is drawn to Mac. He has an air about him that makes it seem like he knows exactly what’s happening now and has a good grasp on what will happen next. But every time I see handsome, older Hollywood men, I can’t help but think of the unfair beauty standards in my mother’s industry.