Mid-summer bathed the sprawling military compound outside Rome with mature temperatures as its rays filtered through a haze of dust that seemed to settle into every crevice of the temporary structures. Inside the sweltering administrative building, oscillating fans circled overhead, stirring papers on metal desks. The technical sergeant’s uniform hung loose to breathe with them as he stood at attention and complained with accumulating frustration to the captain of the maintenance company, “The War Department is sending home fathers and replacing them with fresh-faced enlistees.” He extended a weathered hand towards the open window behind them where the maintenance yard was seen stretched in its orderly rows with corrugated roofs shimmering in the heat, he continued, “Morale is suffering. Work orders are slow to completion.”
The Captain looked up from a stack of requisition forms, his reading glasses perched focus from the bridge of his nose. Around them the staff section bore the makeshift quality of wartime efficiency with maps tacked to plywood walls, filing cabinets that had seen better days, and a perpetually percolating coffee pot. Removing his glasses and massaging his brows, the captain, by standing emphasized, “We are a linchpin for the 51st Carrier Squadron’s efforts to return men and equipment to peacetime through the Ciampino Airport.” His normally emotionless countenance revealed lines of exasperation as he looked past the sergeant toward the Battalion Commander’s office, where an open door allowed leadership to be heard on its terms. The plaintive look he cast as they walked toward it spoke volumes about the pressure bearing down from above.
From this Spartan corner office, the Lieutenant Colonel boomed with the authority that obscured expected mayhem from his motor transport responsibilities, “They will be treated to a USO performance here on September 29th.” He shuffled the consolidated morning reports and then impatiently drummed his fingers on them, the current general orders, and the unit journal, “In the meantime, I have a USAAF liaison officer breathing fire about needing one of our Scout cars for a bigwig. Can we spare anyone to make the delivery?”
Lit up with sudden inspiration, the sergeant resolutely straightened his posture, “By all accounts, our most responsible remaining mechanic is Private Bill Blythe. He is showing maturity, competence, and is talkative. Moreover, his closest friends are some of those fathers, and he isn’t going home without exception.”
“You are suggesting we give the industrious private this temporary duty?” The Lieutenant Colonel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest to calculate its ease.
“Yes. We can, further, save manpower by having him join one of the transport trucks heading north for demobilization.”
Approval emerged from the Lieutenant Colonel’s demeanor for their collective decision. “This private becomes the goose of liberty for the battalion. Excellent. Sergeant, return to the maintenance park and see to its organization. Blythe should view the assignment and special pass as commendations. If the moment doesn’t go to his head and he remains meritorious, I will also write him a field promotion when he returns.”
Corporal Ruth Ann Damico was summoned from her post. Her typewriter sat momentarily silent, a report still awaited finishing keystrokes, and a cup of lukewarm coffee grew cold beside a framed photograph of her family back in West Virginia. She fluidly rose from her chair, brushing her uniform skirt as she approached the Captain, who was already moving toward the door. Her dark eyes took in everything and held a question even before she spoke. “What is the excitement about?” she inquired, watching as the Captain gathered his cap and official documents.
“We are providing a car for the new USO tour set to begin in Tuscany,” he said while pausing in the doorway. “One of our mechanics, Private Blythe, will deliver the vehicle this afternoon after completing the preventative maintenance checks and services. We are giving him an overnight pass with the expectation that the trust we are extending will encourage him to help fill the leadership vacuum by example.”
Her face softened and with the soothing cadence of her Appalachian upbringing Joyce replied, “He is affable and sweet. We have shared meals and stories of his childhood in Texas and mine in West Virginia.” as her stature raising expressiveness concluded, “Believe me, he needs this as much as the repair bay needs his fastened diligence.”
The Captain nodded approvingly before heading toward S-3, where operation orders were drafted amid the constant clatter of typewriters and the rustle of carbon paper, and then to S-1, where personnel decisions like leaves and passes were created and recorded.
Directing her back to the present, the commanding officer ordered, “I want to speak to Lt. General Cannon of the USAAF by phone again, please”.
Joyce settled back at her desk, the black Bakelite telephone receiver feeling familiar in her hand as she placed the call, her fingers working the rotary dial with practiced efficiency.
Outside, dust and sand from the Sahara, carried by the hot Sirocco winds, yellowed the morning sky in sepia and promised an uncomfortable day of desert-thickened air. The open-sided bays and equipment storage areas of the maintenance park took on an otherworldly quality in the strange light.
The technical sergeant returned to his domain with renewed purpose. He immediately gathered the tools and parts needed for the next job. Private Bill Blythe joined him with the careful attention to detail that had earned him his reputation. His face, still bearing traces of the Texas sun that had bronzed it during his youth, embossed concentration as he unhesitatingly broomed up the service lane, prepared the portable jacks, and pulled the reconnaissance car with its canvas top rolled back into position with mechanical precision. The sergeant set the tools, brake shoes, spark plugs, and windshield wipers next to the jacks with intended distribution for methodical progression from one task to the next as a chorus to the rhythm of military life. Both men employed alacrity, their movements synchronized by months working together until the car’s engine ticked as it warmed. Blythe began wiping his brow with the shop towel he had tucked into his front pocket when he heard the distinctive hum of the Battalion Commander’s GP Jeep approaching. The sound was unmistakable, “Sergeant, are we being inspected?” His nervous voice hints at the respect any good soldier feels when senior officers appear.
Wiping his hands on his coveralls, the sergeant pliantly asked “Lt. Colonel Miller, how can we help you today?” as he stepped with purpose from the vehicle to survey the maintenance park with the practiced eye of someone who had spent years evaluating military operations.
“This bay is outstanding, Sergeant.” He motioned approval as he noted the organized tool layout, the clean surfaces, and the evident pride the men took in their workspace.
“Private Blythe’s consistently dedicated work ethic has provided leadership for newly arriving mechanics.”
Lieutenant Colonel Miller’s attention turned to Blythe, “Is the scout car ready?”
His men nodded.
“You are a trusted Deuce and a half certified mechanic, Blythe, so you will deliver this car to the Hassler Villa and, then, at the Via Salaria fuel depot join a convoy of those trucks headed north to Livorno for demobilization.”
Buoyantly, Blythe celebrated, “Yes, Sir!”
“Impressive.” The Lieutenant Colonel seconded his established approval. “The quartermaster is ready to fit you for this detail. Corporal Damico will have your orders and leave.”
As if summoned by the mention of her name, Ruth Ann appeared at the entrance to the maintenance bay. She approached with the careful balance of military protocol and personal affection, and when the Lieutenant Colonel departed, she closed the distance to Blythe. She carried a simple, black, leather-covered prism and two documents. “This is a big moment for you, Billy, but I am hoping you will spend some of your leisure time taking a 35 mm color photo of the altar sanctuary of the Basilica of Santa Maria in Aracoeli. We had an heirloom painting of it lost in a fire before my birth. I have written the details on this note.” she whispered, embracing him in a congratulatory hug. “I will miss seeing you front and center at Roll Call, so hurry back!”
_____________________________________________________________________________
“Underneath the lantern,
By the barracks gate
Darling, I remember” Billy hummed incredulously as he slid into the driver’s seat of the M3 Scout Car General Clark personally reserved for the transportation of & the rousing of fanfare for Marlene Dietrich while she dedicated herself to supporting troop morale with performances across Europe. Tasked with delivering the vehicle to her attaché at the requisitioned Hassler Villa, he wondered if he’d see her.
As part of the 2630th Transportation Corps Motor Transport Battalion for the Penisular Base Section, he arrived to its organization, completed support for Operation Torch, and its landing in Salerno. His battalion had rehabilitated the roads now taking him to the Spanish Steps looked upon by the Hassler Villa. As he drove the busy thoroughfares along Capitoline Hill and pocketed the note Joyce had written, confused emotions tugged him between the listless uncertainties of home life, the pulse she enlivened in him, incessantly barked orders, and discovering for the first time the aura of recognition. The distraction diverted his attention from the landmarks he learned about in his favorite Robert Graves history novels.
Towering above the summit of the Spanish Steps, the cream colored hotel painted itself as a cumulus cloud for the Roman sky, its Renaissance facade catching the amber light of early afternoon. Below the Via Sistina, the hotel’s gardens surged toward the exhaust-worn Piazza di Spagna.
In front of the hotel, two women stood with an officer on the sidewalk. The seasoned woman magnetically radiated presence. Her younger companion had softer features, the same yearning intelligence, and flowing auburn hair with a copper sheen given no consideration by Lieutenant General John K. Cannon. The stars on his shoulders gleamed seniority through his set in and scowling gray eyes that had overseen the strategic bombing of Italy and now the complexities of occupation.
After parking in front of them, Blythe saluted the Air Force Lieutenant General. The women quickly stepped forward. The older of the two commanded, “I expect to be saluted as well private or I will have you court-martialed for insubordination.”
Blythe guffawed, “Ma’am?”
To which she promptly flashed her captain credentials.
Shaken, embarrassed, and scarlet, he murmured an apology as the younger woman, equally crimsoned cried out in laughter, “Mom don’t torture the poor sop.”
Sympathetically, she offered her hand with the practiced grace of a woman who charmed kings and generals, her voice carrying just a trace of the Berlin accent she never wanted to lose. “I am Marlene. This is my daughter Maria. We were only having a bit of fun to see if it would evoke a smile from Lieutenant General Cannon who has been quite stern in our company.” All looked at Cannon whose attention followed the approach of a company grade officer.
Captain Rosenthal strode with the measured pace of a man who had survived fifty-two bombing missions. His dark hair was combed back neatly, his uniform impeccable despite the dust of Roman streets, and his eyes held the sharp acumen that had made him invaluable in the cockpit of a B-17. He crossed the stone terrace, two sealed envelopes in his left hand, and handed the messages to Cannon. “You serve with distinction Captain. Do not disappoint me in your prosecutorial assignments. Prove they suit you better than B-29 flight training and its sorties. Continue in your charge to see Captain Dietrich and her daughter to Livorno.”
Turning, “Blythe.” He frowned in guidance, “You will join a ‘Deuce and a Half’ in its convoy tomorrow at 0:500 en route for the demobilization of divisions in the IV corps.” Reaching into his pocket, “Tonight, this social calling card will get you quartered. Keep it clean. It will also gain you entrance to the Officers’ Club Rome. Do not overstay your welcome or embarrass me.”
He bowed, “Ladies.” and returned to his expected duties.
Marlene swiftly moved, as if pre-arranged, to give Rosie, Captain Rosenthal, a hero’s welcome, but he winced a bit. “Still tender?”
“It is nothing,” he replied.
“Private, you are in for a rough ride tomorrow. Not only that but you will need to find your way to the fuel supply depot at the intersection of the Via Salaria and Via Flaminia, Cannon’s card will instruct a motor pool officer to drive you there in a Willys.”
“Yes, sir. I understand my duty to keep the rigs steady,” Billy responded.
Smiling broadly between the tousles of her strawberry blonde hair being neatly tucked behind her ears, Marlene asked “Are we really in such a hurry? Couldn’t we drop him there as we get underway? I’ve just arrived back in Rome. I want to introduce my daughter to the city. Besides a drink or two and a nice meal might soften the ride north for us all.”
With empathic precision, Maria prayerfully grabbed Billy’s hand to plead “The war has spared no one” as the perfumed aroma from her loosened chiffon bound the new companions in memories of silent gardens.
Stoically, Rosie misted discontentment for his crew killed by enemy fire over Germany. His eyes abruptly met Billy’s to acknowledge war’s equality. “You are in for a treat tonight my friend. The fillets, desserts, drinks, and entertainment are rarely surpassed. Let’s go inside.”
The marble-floored lobby filled with footsteps as the four figures moved beneath chandeliers dimmed by rationing. The frescoed walls now centrally bore military notices and directional signs in both Italian and English.
“Will there be pen and paper in the room for a letter to my wife?” Billy peccantly asked.
Marlene and Maria tittered the boff.
“Hotel stationery is everywhere. Finish your letter before orders. I will have it airmailed.”
“I recently met Lt. Colonel Charity Adams. The Six Triple Eight will see it delivered within a week”
“The Central Postal Directory Battalion is exceptionally commendable. You two better have honed afternoon itinerary.”
“Thank You.”
“It is only a few stops” Marlene sarcastically protested. “It begins in the highly praised courtyard. Meet us there.”
Rosie instructively oriented Billy’s nescience with the administrative wing. “First Lieutenant Fred Seymour supervises the Billeting Office in room 101. It replaced the concierge here on the ground floor,” he explained, gesturing past temporary partitions that had converted former guest suites into various military quarters. Behind repurposed reception counters, clerks processed housing assignments.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, how do you know the billeting officer?”
“Just call me Rosie. He was at Thorpe Abbots, England when I arrived for duties with the 418th Bomber Squadron. He is genuine, honest, trustworthy, kind, and surprisingly still a bachelor.”
Appearing from behind them, the short and thin lieutenant with a receding hairline greeted Rosie with awestruck humility, “Everyone always praised your flying skills. I never thought I would read about them.”
“Fred, let me introduce the married private, Billy Blythe. He is eager to write home.”
“Private,” Fred said while generously offering his hand, “Lt, General Cannon has informed me of your needs. At the moment, the room formerly used by Major General Twining is the only available native suite returned to service. It is on the sixth floor; it has hotel stationery; and there are spectacular views of the city from it. Here is your key.”
“Who did you impress Billy and how?” Rosie affably chuckled rhetorically with inimitable respect. “Find your way to the room and meet us downstairs in an hour.”
“Do you know where I can get a car for tonight? The private delivered an MP car for Marlene Dietrich’s USO appearance. Its rear-mounted machine gun makes it unsuitable for leisure.”
“The departure of senior staff has left my office responsible for the security of a 1942 Buick Century Series 61. Its tank is full and at your disposal if you get her autograph on a publicity photo for the event at the American Red Cross Paramount Theatre I have on my desk.”
“Get the keys, the picture, and dress for the Officer’s Club Rome. We have a few stops to make, but will return for your front door pick up shortly after 1900.”
“I’ll walk you to the car now. We will use the Via Sistina entrance to recover it from Villa Borghese.” The friends exited the building in hushed conversation on a swift uphill path lined with sycamores and umbrella pines and accented by oleander toward the grand park waiting for its escape from wartime.
Marlene and Maria moved knowingly toward the central staircase with its burgundy velvet runners, familiar with their route to their second-floor room. The hallways retained their original sconces, though bulbs had been replaced with lower wattage for conservation.
“You are leading us back to our room. Were you surprised to see the Captain again, Mom?”
“Of the many heroes in this war, I admit, his fulminant courage pitches for crests. There is privilege in enticements from his staid eloquence.”
“Did you pack your teal rayon crepe, your linen fedora, and silk scarf to keep the hounds aloof and unsuspecting?”
“You know my mind and, though you will need a wide-brimmed hat to save you from the aeolian sky, was quicker to expectations for the evening with your decision to wear that A-line skirt with … my ivory silk blouse. I would complain bitterly if it were just a tuxedo night. This Roman air will also keep unpowdering us, so we should share to keep our clutch bags light.”
“How are we going to keep the private focused?”
“More food than spirits and encourage his homesickness to breathe. They will manage him as well as a key fob,” she said as they entered the room.
Billy found the suite and knew it was beyond his ability for description. The air, still and perfumed by cypress, was a balm for his anxieties, but not his restlessness. Its decor was a masterclass in grandness, reflecting a richness unscathed by war. He drew back the heavy damask curtains, and a pair of starlings could be seen resting on the windowsill, and tied them open with their silken cords to look at the city through the tall and arched framed windows. Sunlight spilled from the haze across the polished floor. Its shine-filled walls are adorned with demure portraits and silk tapestries depicting classic scenes.
Breathless, he sat on the inviting velvet sofa flanked by two upholstered armchairs to read Ruth Ann’s letter and understand her instructions.
Billy,
The Colonel and the General you will meet today are cousins. During their phone call this morning, it was learned that you would be quartered in the Hassler’s Presidential Suite San Pietro. I haven’t used any of the film included with my new camera. All but one of the exposures is yours to use. My family’s heirloom painting included the entire Basilica of Santa Maria in Aracoeli altar with the first Damico wedding held at the foot of its sanctuary. It encapsulated divine love with doves and eternity with a flaming heart. A broad and unobstructed photo is needed for an oil-painted recreation.
See you soon,
Ruth Ann
He rose quickly and placed the letter and stationery together on the carved desk stirring history from the corner it occupied in the room. He planned not to disturb the master bedroom or its four-poster bed with sleep. Still unsettled, he opened a hinged French door and walked onto the terrace to observe church bells scattered within the checkerboard of rooftops and how the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica controlled the skyline unmuted by the haze of the afternoon. Rome, in its laid bare chaotic beauty, was defiant. He spent an exposure to record the living canvas on the other side of the Spanish Steps then left the suite unexpectedly disconsolate from solitude.
Accommodations for the 2629th WAC Battalion members at the Hassler Villa were tight. The single rooms held four occupied bunks. Equally, Marlene and Maria always anticipated the privilege of having rackmates because it strengthened their bond with perspective. When settling into their room after breakfast, they were briefly introduced to Corporal Joyce Damico and PFC Elizabeth Branch whom they listened to and watched prepare for their clerical assignments.
Captain Lillian Harris knocked on the door puzzled by their early return.
“Captain Dietrich,” she said impressionably in her battledress blouse with its two imposing epaulet silver captain bars, the gold sleeve bars, and the deservedly displayed service ribbons above her left breast. “I was informed that you had already departed for your weekend performance.”
Thinking quickly Marlene answered, “Our liaison, Captain Rosenthal, received urgent orders about his permanent change of station, so we are delayed while he arranges the transport of his pro-gear. He has set our departure at 0:400.“
“Beth and Joyce will be returning soon. Please watch over them,” she curtly intimated as the door closed behind her.
“Your dress revealed our plans.”
“Captain Harris has seen war. Stylishness won’t keep secrets from her. It celebrates them with a Victory Number. We will follow her suggestion and wait for our new friends to return to the room.”
“How will we test the waters with Rosie?”
“We will invite them to the table.”
When given their battlefield promotions, Joyce and Beth realized immediately that their aptitude testing had set them apart from others assigned to Advanced Communications in the Signal Corps, S2, and Operations, S3. Both were, nonetheless, surprised and dismayed when informed by Captain Harris of their selection for transfer to Okinawa as part of her staff until Letters of Commendation were given to them to evoke within them the deep imbue of patriotism and national service. Luminous, they chased regrets away with conversant awe for the fame of the women they imagined juxtaposed in waiting for their return to quarters.
Maria promptly detected lingering tension in their smile-curled cheeks. She casually mentioned “We are going downstairs for coffee. Please follow us outside. I have so many questions.”
Her mother nodded emphatically as if coaxing their agreeable “absolutely” given simultaneously.
“We were among the first to have a delightful breakfast within its stone walls. Brigadier General Mollison personally intervened and authorized its verdant restoration days after the war ended in Europe and pushed our installation commander to open it within a month.” Joyce contemplatively noted.
“I told you they were listening.” Beth ruddily interjected.
Fred, as if routine, took the wheel of the stately car in silver trim and conveniently returned them to the hotel where their conversation deepened with discussion of his mixed Polish-Jewish heritage and missing relatives.
Approaching with deliberate grace, Marlene, trailed reminiscently by Maria, uplifted the forlorn commiseration in striking counterpoint, “Our new sisters are joining us here.”
With unbidden enthusiasm plucking his composure, Fred preened, “I am Lt. Seymour, the Billeting Duty Officer.” After Rosie repositioned his coffee, he, befuddled, momentarily closed his eyes and drew, in response, a breath to quell embarrassment, then continued less nervously, “I …” Marlene stealthily kissed his cheek before they opened and he could finish. The move dispelled tension and formalities with laughter.
From the bar, Billy nostalgically watched hierarchies dissipate in the scene until quietly calling out with instinct “Ruth Ann,” as Joyce walked by alone and sidled Maria.
“Where is Beth?” Maria quietly asked.
“She is caviling about your astuteness probably to hide from me misgivings she has about our new duty assignments with Captain Harris in Okinawa.”
Overtaken by curiosity and enticed by the fragrant potted citrus, geraniums, petunias, and shadowing scent of ivy and jasmine from the stone walls, he joined the growing party with a newcomer smile, was welcomed first by Maria, and, with mild shock, introduced to Joyce Damico.
Agreement finalized their evening plans as a party of six. Fred returned to work and Ruth Ann to console Beth upstairs. Marlene thoughtfully announced, “I don’t want to absorb your afternoon with my visit to CLN party headquarters at the Lateran Palace in its attempt to meet, thank, and learn from Ivanoe Bonomi, and to the Piazza Colonna Liberal Party headquarters to inquire about Benedetto Croce this afternoon.”
“I have just finished reading Croce’s Manifesto of the Anti-Fascist Intellectuals.” Rosie sparked, eagerly anticipating her peek.
Maria demurred, “Mom, you said they were friends. It sounds like an uncertain quest.”
To validate his claim to personal time and possibly solve her despair, Billy handed Maria Ruth Ann’s note to read. “Ruth Ann is my closest friend in Europe. ” With homespun persuasion, he added, “I just met her sister.”
Maria circulated the written request. “I don’t want to relive the broken history of this war. He is gifting a family continuity I know to be irreplaceable.”
Her mother nodded approval as Rosie clasped his hands as bars to the tips of Billy’s shoulders in a friendly shove before giving him the keys. “You are our driver and will need to help make our visit to the Liberal Party’s headquarters inconspicuous if this unauthorized foray is to successfully use celebrity to co-opt the provision of privacy and political security to satisfy curiosity.”
Furthering his analysis, he continued “Though the weather provides another safeguard, Marlene, the military veil that has kept your presence in Rome quiet since your arrival this morning will not last. If we remain intrepid, however, spontaneity will not lose its advantages as we navigate the solemn and imposing thoroughfares and piazzas where the fate of Italy is decided.”
“Are you risking your career for my personal indulgence?” she asked contrivedly.
“Seeking out Croce and Bonomi, at this particular moment, is not an overt political act, since they do not wield political power. Visiting them in the Capital’s corridors is nuanced but I would be credited for speaking to them at a library, concert, or art event and expected to file an intelligence gathering report. In essence, as long as an embarrassing political incident is avoided, we are tourists.”
The street is relatively quiet as the four settle into comfortable seating within the sleek and powerful automobile for the short drive through the heart of 17th-20th century Roman baroque elegance and its solid facades. Foot and vehicle traffic increasingly complicates their plans for stealth as their destination is neared. “There is an opportune break in crowd flow in front of the main entrance if you time it correctly Billy. Stop, walk around the car, and open Marlene’s door as I exit to prepare our entrance into the party office.” As he steps from the car, he says “Let’s go.”
Billy escorts Marlene and she reminds him, while pointing out the detailed spiral wheel on the Column of Marcus Aurelius, that he is on liberty and has a camera, before directing him back to the car to wait for either their exit within minutes or for a curtain to close in one of the eleven large architraved windows on the main floor as a signal of her mission being ongoing.
Once he’s back in the car, Maria concernedly admits “The uncertainties here are charged and suspenseful. It is exciting and flummoxing. Look! Why would they close a curtain on a main floor window? Is this dangerous?”
“It is our signal to drive to Capitoline Hill, but first I am taking photos of our surroundings. I am familiar with the Roman Victory Column. Do you know these buildings?”
Getting out of the car, Maria directs his attention. “To your right is the Palazzo Chigi, it is the heart of Italian political power and the location of the Prime Minister’s office. The clean lines of its grand facade have Renaissance origins. Construction of the Palazzo Ferrajoli, where you just left and which stands opposite, also began during the 16th century. Its floors are separated by string course bands and the four-story facade is divided vertically into three parts by four ashlar bands. We are also traveling on Via del Corso, the city’s historic main street dating back to Ancient Rome.”
“That was remarkably effortless and as comparably quick as my decision to marry during the summer of 1943 after a quick courtship following my drafted enlistment in April. I met my future wife, a nursing student, in a Louisiana hospital emergency room when a St. Paul’s Bottom gambling buddy, Bea Haywood, sought treatment for appendicitis.”
“I studied in Switzerland. Capitoline Hill is historically the most important district of Rome. We should go now. Besides, I want to hear more about your wife, your plans now that this war has been won, and Joyce, whom I have not forgotten.”
Inside Marlene is recognized as soon as she removes her hat and walks through the vestibule by a stout figure in a crisp light blue colored shirt, finely woven cotton tie, and with receding and sparse white hair, who felt incumbent, as they walked together, to softly offer Rosie corrective instruction on the subtle intricacies of conjugation in Italian to help him improve upon what he had learned since Operation Frantic.
“Marlene, it is my honor to introduce Signor Benedetto Croce,” he said with evident respect.
“Signora Dietrich. Given my staunch unwillingness to accord artistic, historic, and intellectual merit to or value the escape offered by cinema, you may be surprised by how well you are known to me,” furrowed Croce. “I am happily married with four daughters and we have seen many of your films.”
“In my youth, I aspired to be a concert violinist and studied at the Weimar Conservatory until a wrist injury made my limits known. My training as an actor that followed relied upon the classics, but they did not earn me a living or make me famous worldwide. The incomparable admiration I have for you isn’t academic; it is for your political and philosophical acumen. They have earned you my gratitude.”
Deflecting, “Your craft revealed its authenticity in your political defiance throughout Europe. It made Bonomi and me admirers. I will be happy to escort you and the Captain to a brief informal meeting with him now.”
“Hermann Göring’s capture will soon be followed by his interrogation. Will you provide me insight into the organization of the Nazi party and the structure of the power it wielded?” Rosie asked.
When leaving, and before Croce gave an incisive answer, Rosie almost inaudibly whispers to her, “You did great. Italian politics are complicating our moral authority for the post-war settlement.”
“Stop for a brief moment Billy and look to your left to see Palazzo Doria Pamphilj. It is where Filippo Andrea VI Doria Pamphilj, the mayor of liberated Rome, and descendant of catholic royalty that includes Pope Innocent X resides,”
“I’ve read the names many times. It is fantastically different to know them with scale as more than narrative. This parallels, as things and events that do not seem real, the less than two-month courtship of my wife that began after I received my draft notice on July 1st and my marriage in Texarkana on September 3rd. I reported for the bus to Basic Training at Camp Maxey on September 6th. The limited mail I have received has subjected me to self-doubt inflated by the constant stream of death pension ribbing from other members of my enlistment class, buck privates, motor heads, and NCOs.”
Maria resumed, “We are approaching the center of Rome. Mussolini was headquartered in the building to our north, Palazzo Venezia, and in the center of the square is the Altar della Patria which is dedicated to the first king of united Italy, Victor Emmanuel II; it has Corinthian columns and a white marble facade. Do you regret the marriage now that you have Ruth Ann, by all intents, as a wife?”
“We are friends and…yes, but no. I’ve traded in love with broken women since I first left home. Ruth Ann and Vee are ideal examples of what love can be. I don’t blame Vee for her waning enthusiasm. It is hard to love someone you don’t experience as real, when it is much easier to simply latch on to the next person.”
“Piazza d’Aracoeli begins here at the base of Capitoline Hill. As we climb the marble steps of The Aracoeli Staircase to have a panoramic view of Rome, for a broader look at the palaces, to marvel at how with its simplicity the Fontana di Piazza d’Aracoeli is aggrandized by its placement, and, finally, to reach the basilica, tell me what Ruth Ann thinks of Vee. Have you told her? “
“Honestly, Maria, Ruth has tended to my perspective on love as if it were a garden since she arrived in Italy. I mentioned that I was involved with someone, but did not say marriage. Am I being dishonest or am I struggling to define what exists between me and Vee as more than just a notarized document and rings? I am better able to think about this dilemma by talking about it. Thanks for listening and being considerate.”
“Is there anyone else? I know that broken loves linger with unresolved issues. With the war ending and demobilization, if you are to build something with Ruth Ann, you will need to have an ongoing conversation of self-disclosure.”
“My sisters, Pauline and Cora, are documenting two children from broken loves that do have lingering issues to improve my Adjusted Service Rating Score. Vee knows nothing about my past.”
She paused to admire the picturesque landscape. “The announcement of our victory tour led me idly to envisage exploring these sites with my mother. This pleasing experience, I believe, is providing considerably more freedom to think about the meaningfulness and cultural importance of the architecture, landscapes, and statues as monuments of life than I would have had in the pressing concerns of celebrity.”
A streamlined and aerodynamic black 1939 Alfa Romeo 6C Berlinetta pulled alongside the ground floor exit onto the Piazza Colonna as Rosie, Benedetto, and Marlene stepped outside. The sporty coupe’s passenger door welcomed them into its security as Benedetto directed the driver, “Take us to Lateran Palace.”
Keenly invested in recent High Court sentencings at Forte Bravetta, Rosie spun determinatively in the shared backed seat to Benedetto pointedly asking,” Have there been any other important arrests since the execution of Pietro Koch?”
“Many valuable lives were stolen by Mussolini at Bravetta. Everyone linked to the Committee for National Liberation (CLN) has lost someone. There are partisan formations, like the Garibaldi and Matteotti Brigades, who are unwilling to wait for the full restoration of police order and justice, but they are not seen in Rome. “
“It is my great shame to admit, while pleading for discretion, that I just learned my sister and her husband ran the canteen and cinema at Bergen-Belsen. I compromised their safety and they cooperated in response as so many died. I am as guilty as any.” she trailed in a flood of tears.
The car stopped and two weathered-faced Italian State Police officers moved forward from the grand entrance steps with one opening and extending the brace of the door with his full shadow to conceal the exiting passengers. Rosie comforts Marlene during the quick ascent and entrance as Benedetto parried in diversion, “If I were welcome, we could take in the aesthetics of the Holy Stairs across the street and the magnificent Cathedral of Rome on our left.”
Marlene brushed Benedetto’s elbow compassionately to disclose her disillusionment as heavy boots cordoned dragged feet in echoes. Her askance look murmured “There is blood on the floor” to Rosie.
Gunfire resounded as Luigi Longo and Sandro Pertini hurried from the Hall of Emperors with martial ethos to rein in an excoriating tempest from Ivanoe Bonomi, who, while noting the guests from the doorway to the Hall of Pontiffs, furiously decried under the impediments of growing political embarrassment, “Must the brigades be so strident in their defensive training? Pope Pius XII may be on retreat to Castel Gandolfo, but Monsignor Giovanni Battista Montini will bring the Vatican Gendarmerie.”
With processional deliberateness, Benedetto registered Bonomi’s raw indignation and fixed stern agreement with it to counsel expedience from imprudent chaos. The commanders shifted under its weight to strategically regroup in familiar responsibilities.
Bonomi had announced his resignation on the preceding day because summary executions by the brigades had quavered the support and trust given to him by Lt. General Ira Eaker and General Mark W. Clark by failing to meet their expectations for a greater number of Operation Sunrise arrests and newsworthy prosecutions. Benedetto’s decision to bring Marlene Dietrich and a USAAF Captain to party headquarters, he reasoned, must have foreseen an opportunity to use Allen Dulles, the head of OSS, America’s interventionist hands, to reclaim its power by affirming the legitimacy of the emerging Italian criminal justice system with custodial transfers of high profile war criminals, like Rodolfo Grazian, who is being held in a POW camp in Algeria.
Ushering the three visitors forward, “Your arrival, Maestro, is timely. Please, come in here. You are all welcome. I can offer confiscated cuvée cognac to hearten us past misgivings and the pathos of unease you, Signora Dietrich, are struggling to hide.”
_____________________________________________________________________________
Joyce found Beth hunched in a walled corner against her bunk despondent and tear-stained. “You aren’t fearing the transfer to Okinawa. It is your handsome pilot.”
With her fingers entangled in her long blonde locks, Beth lengthened herself and said “I am pregnant. Larry and the 15th Air Force are awaiting orders.”
“You have to tell him and Captain Harris. She will ensure that you obtain an honorable discharge to protect your benefits.”
“My mother was in the Army Nurse Corps. She endured the stigma of being an unmarried single parent without a death benefit. It is difficult. While I am grateful to Director Oveta Culp Hobby for freeing us from the burden of having a dishonorable discharge stigmatize our career and social path, my mind is on fire with all possibilities, especially for how my family will react to me inevitably being an unmarried Inland Empire mother. I have never before been made vulnerable by anxiety until now. I am fidgeting when not learning new tasks in S3.”
After untying her olive-drab, Joyce consolingly knelt beside Beth to gently pat the salt burns from her cheeks. “Larry is as shamelessly devoted to you as he is to his own family. With as much allure and charm, the NAAFI Girls of the British Eighth Army blended the colors of its ranks. Their love isn’t a hideaway. Neither is yours. It can defiantly help realize the future.”
Slouched by the embrace of comfort, Beth sought hope from her friend’s shoulder, “Where do you find strength for your faith?”
“Holding an infant, especially yours, is always a humbling miracle. Last summer, my nephew was in my care for less than five minutes before he departed with his parents and brother back to the Thompson home in Huntington, but I held his wrists and saw his eyes track mine in wonderment.” To herself, she repeated, “You can tell him,” while still wrestling with the memory’s indecision.
Silence engulfed the finish of their staircase climb until the Basilica’s bell tower, emerging with the horizon on their right, rung out to startle their attention to a concern with the elapse of time. “It is too early for Vespers,” Maria recalled from A-level, world religions studies, at Brillantmont.”We are beginning to see a masterwork of design, the Piazza del Campidoglio, by Michelangelo.”
“The paving has a disorienting effect, with or without this handy lens, for my eye line draw to the church, palaces, and the statue. It makes the square feel circular when I focus on one location,” Billy remarked with a momentarily unsettling growl of disappointment beading from him because he did not see a street vendor.
“The bronze equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius adds movement to the scene. It spins and suspends attention to, from, and between the Palazzo dei Conservatori and Palazzo Nuovo to gain focus for Palazzo Senatorio, the current City Hall. and the ridden toward descending flow of the Cordonata Capitolina.” Winded & sensing his intemperance, she directs herself back toward the basilica,” These large and imposing wood doors open to the narthex and then into the nave where we will improve our view of the altar, our objective, by walking through this main body of the church.”
While he positioned himself with fullest letter, he said, sheepishly containing a flippant volcanic smirk, “I read that you were married.”
Nonplussed and unprepared, from the shadow of a flash she cavalierly mustered a challenge to his bravery with deadpan frankness sped to direct their return, “I was engaged twice and briefly married once. They were escapes into foolishness, not love. We are made by the world with no choice but to do our best with what we find. I had always been told that people would ingratiate themselves to me because of my name, but did not understand it or the reach of my mother and father. Of course, in retrospect, they were right. I was rebelliously naive and, thus, blessed to have their angelic protection.”
Bonomi poured drinks to the curves of four gold rimmed balloon sniffers with wheel cut engravings of floral motifs and royal insignia which drew the scholarly attention of Benedetto who then excavated and elucidated their historical importance, “We are drinking from crystal ware gifted to Pope Benedict XIV by Louis XV as reward for his acceptance of the French claims to control the national church, his pliancy over disputes with the Jansenists caused by their moral rigor and intellectual independence, and the resolution provided on the appointment of bishops to minimize the impact of Parliamentarian Gallicanism.”
“Are you implying parallels between the barbarity of your brigades and the ecclesiastical power balance between church and state to diminish them as merely provincial?” Rosie responded while suggestively tipping the cognaçaise for a refill by Bonomi. “We have begun prosecuting the peace and the spirited violence by the Garibaldi Brigade aligns so closely with the rape and looting of Berlin by the Soviets that it defiantly parades Comintern support as much as your resignation. It has generated fears about the shifting power dynamics being too dangerous, chaotic, and poorly managed in a region where so much of our post-war resources are being devoured. And, it, consequently, roots my task to deliver messages on cooperation, disarmament, and the rebuilding of the Carabinieri military police.”
“Birth rates will always be higher in the culturally conservative south,” Bonomi chided. “Longo is returning to the industrial triangle of Milan, Turin, and Genoa to solidify working-class support. Two-thirds of Italian voters, however, are not socialists or communists. A majority will never embrace the dogmatic presentism party members rely upon to announce their status.”
“Out of decency,” Marlene sardonically perked with an empty glass raised as a knee is revealed by the languid rest of her crossed legs atop the brocade upholstered bench. “Where is the individual, what is talent, and who can have purpose in a sea?”
Benedetto obliged her thirst and answered, “History is the story of how conscientiousness and resolve build legacies for their meanings. The work of our lives, muddled and empty without predictive guidance from them, dies on vines like fruits of the Will to Power.”
“The signing of the Berlin Declaration has begun to mark out new divisions in global dominance. Resulting occupation zones are diplomatic dominos for simmering closed-door animosities from the war unallayed by compromises during the UN’s organization at the Yalta Conference,” Rosie volubly articulated with practiced courtroom banter. “Ending brigade violence and integrating them into established political life allows us to unmask military intimidation and political manipulation in Soviet occupied territories unsullied.”
Stretching her feet back to the floor, Marlene raised herself approvingly toasting Rosie and then Bonomi, “Your insight canters the tall arc of difficulties I just witnessed in Germany as well as the aromatic crawl of blended honey and caramel sweetness kindly shared by our host, the rare spiritual honesty of Monsignor Hugh Flaherty. and your own pliant coordination for the Trains of Happiness”
“In Milan, Luigi Longo, as the deputy commander of the Volunteer Corp for Liberty (CVL), the umbrella organization for all brigades, will be joining General Raffaele Cadorna Jr at a victory rally. While his political beliefs are intractable, his dedication to social and labor issues mostly carried on without financing from Stalin’s government has made him amenable to practical realities,” Bonomi clarifies as he graciously walks his visitors out.
Silence filled the car during the return trip to Piazza Colonna. All occupied themselves with events at Lateran Palace and the conversation with Bonomi. Benedetto broke its spell by solving the problematic detail of the attention that could be drawn if Marlene was forced to wait outside for her daughter. He followed up by revealing the Liberal Party’s role in the resistance movement in Milan. With his voice again filling the hall of Palazzo Ferrajoli, he continued uninterrupted until, when, seated at his desk, he took out his writing pad and filled its top lines with the names, Virginia Minoletti Quarello and Bruno Minoletti, and their address in Milan on Via Privata Siracusa.”Virginia has comprehensively journaled day-to-day life in the resistance, major events, and decisions since its birth, and important contacts that include interactions with OSS by others. If an opportunity., therefore, exists to co-opt Longo’s strategic mindedness, the Minoletti’s are essential to it.”
The opening of the main door is heard with street sounds not quieted by its close. “My daughter is here,” Marlene glistens in relief with her broadest smile as a Naples visit is promised, thanks are given, and goodbyes spoken.
“Maria and Billy I hope you became mussy making use of that camera,” Marlene mothered once back in the Buick.
“We have a few minutes to spare for her to clean up and for Billy to visit the PX. I will wait by the car until he hurries back to it, but I must remain tethered to signal corps while I am in Rome to avoid missing important messages about my new assignment. This will give the two of you about twenty minutes,” Rosie shepherded without hearing disagreement.
Billy did not dawdle and arrived back with a light blue and white plaid style sports shirt, toiletries, and patterned socks. Not long thereafter, the women made their exit, but Rosie caught up quickly, waved Maria forward, pulled Marlene aside, and handed her a note to which she nodded and then hugged him before they returned to the car. Soon Fred and Joyce appeared both in their summer service uniforms with him wearing a khaki cap with black and gold piping and her a black four-in-hand tie and her overseas cap. Rosie stood by the passenger door to allow Joyce’s petite frame to comfortably fill the middle of the front seat.
In the car, everyone heard Maria remark “We are crossing the Tiber now” for the realization of their battle plan as they traveled along Via Veneto to the Ludovisi District on the northeast flank of historic Rome. Rest Camp, as familiar personnel in the U.S. Fifth Army, intelligence officers, and the USAAF, fondly nicknamed The American Red Cross Officers Club Rome, adjoined the Hotel Excelsior. An MP controlled the rope for designated military parking like a valet guiding vehicles to spots along the wide curb.
The sidewalk is busy with locals, vendors, officers in uniform, and the spirit of families and friends reuniting. Billy strutted confidently through them with quiet sonder while attentively clearing away risk until they reached the guarded entrance where he was checked as blankly unrecognizable and handled until he appreciatively found Lt. General Cannon’s deference commanding card. Marlene begins humming “The Trolley Song” with the music playing inside as the MPs give way and signal for Major Stensworth, the officer in charge, to fulfill his VIP responsibilities. He leads them to the ballroom where the band plays and up two steps to a grand round table covered by a white damask cloth that adds gleam to silverware laid to encircle a charger plate and neatly positioned beside bone china dinnerware to capture the stage.
Joyce instinctively gave itemizing focus to the eye widening faces casting gasps with lightened moods in whispers as Marlene, Maria, and Rosie led the train to the table where they chose seats around its rear corner for privacy and to puzzle over familiar members of the 14 musician band as the others filled the nearest gaps. In this moment, Rosie, however, affably directed Fred and Billy to the far side as an honored request because he anticipated high-ranking visitors and an expected guest.
To break the ensuing awkward silence created when Joyce’s awareness was pulled by the weight of his astonishment, Billy finally, in a formalized introduction, said, “Your sister, Ruth Ann, is my friend.” Both adjusted to the seating arrangement by filling in polite details until the waiter brought the menu and Joyce, in perfect Italian, entreated – “Maggiore, il servizio qui è lodevole, ma cerco un’offerta di menu più ampia che mi ricordi l’anima di ciò che significa essere italiani” – “Major, the service here is commendable, but I am looking for a broader menu offering that reminds me of the soul of what it means to be Italian.”
Major Stenworth retreated into the kitchen and returned with the hotel chef, Alfredo Di Lelio, who carried a paper menu from the war-torn restaurant, Alfredo, that he had sold in 1943. Their conversation, which Rosie leaned in to make his own requests, produced a wide sample of Italian delicacies enhanced by the translated preferences she made for the other members of their dinner party; it included Carciofi alla Romana (Roman-style artichokes), Olive Ascolane (fried stuffed olives), Spinaci Saltati (sautéed spinach), Patate al Forno con Rosmarino (Roasted potatoes with rosemary), Risotto ai Funghi Porcini (beef fillet with mushroom sauce), and Filetto di Manzo con Salsa (veal with prosciutto and sage).
Maria listened closely and unfolded her napkin to give comfort an expression matched by Fred’s ear-to-ear grin and toe-tapping in time with “Tuxedo Junction” as if still in the live audience for its original performance. In a quick decision, she asked him to join her on the dance floor to lindy hop to “I am beginning to see the light.” Billy, urged on by Rosie who saw his expected guest, joined Marlene for the “Heavenly Waltz” and his lapsed smile had returned by the end of the two fox trots that followed when servers brought their meals.
While the partners found life in the music, Captain Harris and her date, whom Ruth Ann knew as JJ, came to the table. Rosie, intoning gravity to give light to her serious-mindedness for his formal introduction, began “Corporal Damico, ”Mr. James J Angleton is a very important OSS agent,” but was interrupted by him.
“Joyce,” he said. “Your well-regarded language learning proficiency, adeptness, and grasp of signal intelligence qualify you for an OSS career track. To advance them with field work, your selection to Captain Harris’s Okinawa staff was approved. Recently, however, assets working in the capital have identified trustworthy sources in Milan. We are asking you to embed there with the rally organizers for a few days to verify the details that these sources can share. If you agree, you will travel with Captain Rosenthal, whose priorities are being shifted to acquaint you with the details and keep you safe.”
“I have spoken to Beth,” Captain Harris offered as solace. “She will be accompanying me on my newly ordered weekend detail to escort Marlene and her daughter to their USO guest appearance. Mr. Angleton keenly monitors personnel files to sort and vet capabilities assessments. He identified you for recruitment and encouraged me to pair our careers. We cannot hide from the difficult responsibilities set before us. We must all do our part.” Her eyes narrowed with Joyce’s as both of their cheeks grew and warmed. “As equals, call me Lilly whenever military hierarchy is not forbidding.”
Mr. Angleton sees a wide assortment of dinner trays being carried through the ballroom. He pats Rosie on the shoulder as they stand to shake hands, and, before leaving with Lilly, informs him, “Check your messages. Croce has lent you his PLI car.’
After the dance partners returned to the table and toasted Joyce’s menu initiative, Lt. General Lucian Truscott, with orders, detached himself from his aide-de-camps, expanded the spotlight of security to the unexpectedly large party of VIPs occupying his usual table, and wrested overt comfort and familiarity from the seated guests memories of the evening by gruffing candidly, “Structure and efficiency are the cornerstones of success…” until the aroma from the plentiful roasted artichokes and stuffed olives caused him to pause. As he finished his first bite of the appetizers, an aide returned with messages and then quickly retreated. To keep them clean, he gave them to Rosie to read to the others. “We will all help form the convoy until reaching Florence. The corporal and I will continue north from there to Milan where I have been assigned logistic responsibilities and she will solve a communications issue. Captain Harris and PFC Branch will squire Marlene and Maria to their show. Private, you will drive the scout car to Livorno but provide assistance to any truck experiencing trouble.”
“Why can’t I drive the scout car for practice?” Marlene tipsily protested through the mask of discretion.
“I applaud the valor of your remarkable service Captain Dietrich,” Lt. General Truscott incisively answered. “You will, however, be traveling through areas where criminal elements and hardliner soldiers from remnant units of Mussolini’s National Republican Guards and Black Brigades have formed small cells and are committing assassinations, kidnappings, and small arms attacks to embolden local uprisings. We will not risk hardware or the safety of anyone for the accomplishment of a joyride. Military vehicles will remain within the defensive protection of the convoy at all times. I am, as a related point of fact, still dealing with the fallout of the Foibe Massacre near Trieste. Am I understood?” he concluded while grabbing a few more stuffed olives.
All rose graciously to answer in unison, “Yes, Sir!” and watched him return to the bar where he was almost impenetrably surrounded by junior officers. Disappointed servers soon trudged to the table with ready-to-use meal kit boxes and a paper sack he had ordered before toasting the event’s fruition to them.
Dreading his return to military routines, Billy nervously trilled “My suite is unbelievable. It is still early. You all should see it. After preparing for tomorrow, we could marshal there until morning.”
“A party, Billy?” Maria knowingly beams. “No one should be left out. Mother, what do you and the Captain think?”
“Fred grab the wine and marsala bottles and Billy bag our food. Maria, when you and Joyce return to the room, let her borrow whatever she needs from our wardrobes. Along her journey, the Apennines are naturally cooler and the Tramontana often sharpens the contrast of the weather for those arriving in Milan from Rome. In the meantime, I will ply the bartender with my wink and, if necessary, try to steal a moment with Truscott until Rosie returns to pick me up,” she infectiously plotted without dissent when he accepted the Buick’s keys.
Intuitively Billy and Fred settled into the back seat to stretch out and guard the food and drinks after finding common ground in a boisterous discussion about the best rivalries in professional baseball punctuated by the 1944 crosstown World Series played between their favorite teams. Rosie listened to his friends speak from a haven of contentment for the first time. It reposed the mood of everyone for quiet reflection until they were again walking through the lobby of the Hassler.
MPs guarding the door were losing control of a gathering frenzy tantalized by starlet gossip as Rosie again pulled in to curbed parking at the Excelsior to their relief. On stage, Marlene was finishing “Falling in Love Again (Can’t Help It)” for a shoulder to shoulder crowd of admirers that included the lieutenant general and left no room on the ballroom floor. Looking around at her accompaniment and then back at her audience, she prodded “How much are you going to thank the band that made tonight possible?” to the loudest cheers and chorus of whistles heard during her three song performance. Truscott followed Marlene’s eyes to Rosie and directed his aides to protect their exit and the gifted bottle of Marsala.
Once they are concealed by the night in the car, and, reporters, weighted by cameras, are seen running to factless dismay and exasperation, she falls into him with a kiss to ward off the breath of predictable remonstrance but is met by his fingers foraging soft tickles from the nape of her neck until they are phantoms of anticipation left by the withdrawal of his thumbs as support for her chin before they drive away banked from a successful heist.
Back in their room, Maria and Joyce found Captain Harris and Beth laughing about why eyeliner will more deeply stain a pillow than lipstick. Maria was so genuinely star-struck by the Captain’s achievements, renowned leadership, and empathic camaraderie that she quavered when respectfully inviting her to join them for a quiet gathering in the presidential suite assigned to Private William Blythe.
Lilly approvingly listened as Beth and Joyce revealed to Maria their off-duty friendship. She then added, “I have heard rumors about Billy’s room and can’t wait to see it. Besides, I think it is a good idea for us to start the morning without late arrival delays even if the camp we make is done under the auspices of a party.”
Upon reaching the sixth floor, Billy and Fred heard deliberate footsteps moving away from them down the hallway under the broad and pointed tunic of a high-ranking officer’s uniform. Billy notices whitening anxiety has colored Fred’s face. In response, he presses him with questions to force him to look outward into the moment to find their answers. “Who was that? Was it Cannon? Are there other officers on this floor?”
The echoing crisis evanesced before Fred collected himself and began to share the reasons underlying his distress, “The Chronological Record on my Official Military Personal File includes two Article 15s, the first, a Memorandum of Admonition, issued while I was in Officer Candidate School, and the second, a Letter of Reprimand, given to me when I pushed Colonel Harold Huglin into a table full of drinks inside the officers club, Silver Wings, spilling many onto the lap of General Curtis Lemay while at Thorpe Abbots after the 100th bomber group, the Bloody Hundreth, experienced high casualties, including my closest friend, during the Black Week Münster raid in October 1943.”
“If it becomes a question, ” Billy empathized, “I’ll fault myself for the noise complaints that brought you upstairs to inspect the suite, so relax and drink sensibly to avoid suspicion. There won’t be a court-martial without a third complaint. Are you ready?”
“The remaining pilots rallied around Rosie when he stood up for me and prevented my discharge for insubordination. For that and this, I give thanks to you both now even if some debts cannot be repaid. Okay. I am ready. Though just in case, let’s walk quietly to the door and use minimum lighting once inside.”
“When I arrived in Rome, my head was full of thoughts to share with my wife,” Billy segued to defend the gathering’s purpose. “Now, I don’t know how to organize the events so that they will make sense to her. I spent the day with celebrities. How am I suppose to convincingly share that fact? Do I focus on my tour of Rome? At least, I will have photos from it.”
“You are overthinking. If you have any film left, I can take a photo of you with the famous captains before I leave. The letter can tell all and still provide her with a mystery to solve.” He walked Billy to the desk and together they quickly personalized the day’s events with remembrances, addressed the branded envelope, and placed the letter inside.
Spontaneity escaped the car with their return to the hotel, but the fuel of intimacy flowed like lava. Rosie wondered if she would check on Maria or follow him upstairs until Marlene pulled herself close with the leverage of his bicep and kept him as support until the door opened, where, in hushed tones, Billy and Fred ushered them into the soft lighting. Lt. General Cannon, however, was surreptitious and able to push his way past their surprise. He chose to pull the desk chair between the four of them and gave them his demeanor of openness. “Truscott called me after your endearing performance tonight. He faced an inquisition from journalists who did not find a story or else this conversation would not be friendly.”
“My daughter, two NCOs, and their WAC captain will be arriving soon. Can I pour you a glass of wine or marsala, General Cannon?” Marlene gestured toward the evening’s loot.
“I’ve learned of the change in orders for your trip north and suspected, after being told about your large dinner party, that it would follow Blythe here. This suite was damaged and some of its decor was stolen by carelessly fraternizing officers before Lt. General Twining had it restored. The private was warned to keep it clean to protect himself from the Court of Military Justice. I am now extending that very serious warning to you all.” He got up. restored the chair to the desk, examined the letter Billy had written, and admired the room, “It is a marvel and on a different occasion I would stay until the end.” At the door, he fathered with kindness, “Goodnight and safe travels”
“Goodnight, Sir.”
Maria, Beth, Lilly, and Joyce were startled by their face-to-face encounter with Lt. General Cannon when the elevator door opened. All sighed, switched the load-bearing hand for the duffel bag they each carried, and saluted with a deferential “Sir.”
He responded, “At ease,” took their place in the elevator, and the elevator’s doors closed their encounter.
From the hallway, Bing Crosby could be heard as the guest host on the pre-recorded Armed Forces Network radio program Command Performances. Entering the room, they placed their bags near the door and watched Marlene adjust the volume on the Macroni 1561 and point out the liquor and food placed on the dining table. Opulence poured into the guests as elixirs as they toured the rooms, saw their reflections in the gilded mirrors, and considered the stories illustrated in the tapestries. Billy and Fred grouped them for photos when they finally idled to showcase the moment.
After Lt. General Cannon had left, Rosie walked onto the terrace to organize and replant his attention into the milieu of Lombardy. He was now responsible for providing Joyce background and a framework of understanding of the important social controversies dividing the anti-fascist National Liberation Committee (CLN), that included the Italian Communist Party (PCI), from the emerging Christian Democrats before she met Major Andre Pacate whose mission objectives she had been assigned in service. He had seen her personnel file before dinner and knew she was distinguished as independent-minded and a problem solver. Still, those remarks were given in the context of people and responsibilities familiar to her. Would her self-directedness emerge when most needed?
In response to Marlene joining him for the view, he shared his indecision about how to approach preparing Joyce. “OSS has assessed our corporal as the best possible asset for its Milan operation because she is quintessentially Italian and gifted. Her mission begins in Bologna where we will meet a staffette The future political stability of Italy and the course of American foreign policy in southern Europe will be impacted by what she learns. Her resilience will be tested because I am ordered not to tell her that my role in her mission ends when she is entrenched.”
She embraced him to assuage his disquiet, “Your worries will linger until you talk to her, so come back inside. Billy has a camera. The air tonight is stagnant with exhaust up here anyway.”
Once inside, Lilly guided them to their snapshot with Billy. Maria followed by handing them each a glass of Pinot Grigio as she raved about it like a first experience convert in defiance of the ambiance of temperance that kept slipping into some of the night’s conversations. In this atmosphere, Joyce had decided to patiently wait for the natural and irrepressible excitement Marlene engendered in others to wane before seeking assurance from her that the clothing she had borrowed would not cause any inconveniences. Pensively, she quickly realized, however, Marlene was watching her as if plotting escape from the pestering idiosyncrasies of awe, so she grabbed and unzipped the duffle bag she packed and politely set it at her feet before saying, “Not to intrude, but I wanted your opinion about the pointed collar blouse, two shirtwaists, the peasant blouse, and midgie I found in your wardrobe. I prefer versatility without ostentation., But I am unsure of how to hide the overfit. What do you recommend?”
Marlene picked up the bag to display it in recognition of the opening provided and excusably advised, “Let’s take this over to the love seat and lay the items you’ve selected on it for a better look.” As they walked by, Rosie, Fred, and Billy were trading bawdy and good-natured jokes for hysterics from the desk and armchairs. She winked and swung the bag wide to let a loose sleeve add wind to her captive’s ear. Fashion had always given impetus to her cultural studies and Joyce obliged her expertise by puzzling in inquiry “How are social mores and aesthetic norms for femininity and domesticity revealed by fashion, and what are some of their important signposts for political identity?”
Marlene was flabbergasted but unremitting, “Class consciousness is pervasive and divisive. It is revealed by the resourceful practicality of manmade fabrics and the new look importance of bella figura, presenting yourself well for every occasion.”
In the background, Billy had found confident footing with his new friends and positioned himself to draw the women into the audience by detailing the events leading up to the moment he met his wife. “The draft lottery had taken several of my childhood friends early,” he began softly. “On my phone calls home, my mother would always recount what she had learned about how they were fairing and warn me to focus and count my blessings. The calls darkened in tone by the time I received my draft notice. She was despondent, but I needed her to believe in me so I took my savings to Shreveport’s red light district to prove to her that I would always be lucky because of her by gambling at its St. Charles Motel. My first mistake was buying a double-breasted tailored suit as though I was a capo for the Chicago Outfit and Al Capone. To many, I was disrespecting the war dead and I didn’t get it until I read about the Zoot Suit riots in LA.”
“So you had your feathers pulled,” Beth chided with a smile that let him know that he had everyone’s attention.
He puffed to speak through the room, “Every night I would sit at the poker table and trade 10s for 5s. It didn’t take long for the table to find my last dollar or for me to learn from the madame where I could sell my Oldsmobile if my house credit did not change the run of my luck.”
“A brothel and gambling, not a good look, Billy, ” Rosie and Fred teased in a light chorus and with gestures. “Did you turn the table?”
“The cards did begin to favor me and I was able to repay the house, but I fell off again when a married couple from New Orleans drew the spotlight and excitement to the roulette wheel with the sparkle of their teeth and their heavily accented drawls. Bea, the matron, clung to their every word in deep fascination as if they sang of home to her heart for the lullaby response she made, ‘I can’t give you anything but love’.”
” I love that Adelaide Hall song as much as the vocal talents of Lizzie Miles,” Marlene indulged nostalgically. “You liked her. Was she Creole? Did she have a lounge act?”
“She knew how to make everyone feel like they belonged, and, that where they were mattered most. It felt like she was from New Orleans, but no one could talk more and say as little about themselves as she.”
“Shreveport, huh!”
“One night we all have our bets placed, including what would be my last, $100 on black 9,” he continued. “Suddenly, just as the spinning ball was beginning to rest for my win, Bea cries out in distress ‘My stomach!’ and kicks the table with force. While the croupier and I rush to her aid, the ball flies neatly within a blink to the red 32 pocket. Defeated, but without concern, I carry her to her room where it is decided that she needs hospital care. After ariving for emergency care, she is diagnosed with appendicitis, ordered to surgery, and, subsequently, hospitalized for a week.”
“Where does your wife fit into this nightlife debauchery?” Maria needled amiably and yawned behind an empty bottle.
“During her recovery, I visited Bea regularly. This made Vee, who worked in her ward as a nurse in training, curious enough to ask about me. Bea, the sweetest heart, downplayed her life to describe my care as neighborly. Vee responded by bringing me coffee and welcoming my small talk. I arrived early one morning with a fresh bouquet sent by a Public Service Commissioner. Bea despises the extortionist wretch and wants no reminders. So I convinced her to let me regift them to Vee. She then helped me write a brief but touching dinner invitation on a card I purchased from the hospital’s auxiliary shop. It worked. My summer ended beautifully with a marriage financed by the sale of my car, and with my mother rediscovering the quiet of happiness.”
“Hospital scenes are sleepy, Billy,” Fred stammered before he stretched himself, soundlessly caught the car keys Rosie tossed to him, and wearily waved goodnight to everyone as he left.
Marlene and Rosie retreated to the bedroom and threw Billy a few pillows expecting him to find comfort. They woke before the others and began the quiet clean up which stirred the light sleepers from the armchairs and love seat to prepare for their day. Billy was found by Rosie on the terrace with his back against the building alert with decision. He handed him the sealed letter to Vee. “I don’t know how to fully thank all of you for the last 18 hours. I haven’t felt like I was truly an integral part of a company of friends since marriage.”
“It is easy to forget the importance of a civilian life. I had only been practicing law for six months when I enlisted after Pearl Harbor. My service has been as guided by the regiments of command and obey as yours has.”
“Civilian life is easily forgotten. I had only been practicing law for six months when I enlisted after Pearl Harbor. My service has been as guided by the regiments of command and obey as yours has. It makes us inattentive to our natural identity. What are your post-war plans?”
“I’ve saved almost everything I have earned from Uncle Sam. There are scenic neighborhoods in Chicago with picturesque bungalows. If I return to equipment sales, I could easily afford one and enjoy a made man married life.”
“Don’t drive too fast or grow too big. I’ve crashed and burned twice in this war and lost people I was close to as a result. Buy that house. I will honestly look you up when I am in the city.” Before he finished, inside, Lily was heard organizing the shouldering of bags in a mollifying tone too soft to be understood from outside when Marlene coughed to the growing concern of Maria. “They are ready. Let’s grab our gear and the trash on the way out.”
Joyce’s widened eyes mounded Rosie’s path to the door with her doubts until Marlene surprised her by drawing a giant checkmark on her back and shoulders with a closed tube of lipstick. “You’ve forgotten to arm yourself with personal resilience. The partisans you will be meeting have endured hardships. Trading modesty with their scarcity is a trust-building tactic to remember and model for diverse conditions.” She pulled her toward the door when handing it to her and opened her clutch bag to study its balance.
“Your an operative?” she quietly puzzled while shrewdly pointing to a well used rouge blush, a beige eye shadow, and a dark eyeliner.
“Handing cigarettes and smiles to hospitalized German POWs made the Geneva Convention as real to me as the emblem of the Red Cross is dear.” Marlene closed her bag, and in a blush of envy hugged her. “You are going to meet heroic women. Lina Merlin and Teresa Noce are names to remember.”
