One for Our Baby Read online

  “Me too. Of course I was a bit stunned—dumbstruck really—but I’m starting to get my bearings back. This whole thing with Frank—”

  “You never told me you knew him. Why?”

  “We had a chance meeting in ’52—I don’t see him all that often. And when we were dating, I obviously had better things to do.”

  It wasn’t all true, but it was cover enough for the moment.

  “Hmm,” she said, drawing out the word while measuring me with a stare. “Well, Frank spoke of you like a brother on the way to the airport today. He said you’ve been a real lifesaver for him on a few occasions.”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding, “coupla times.”

  “Of course, how could I suspect you were the guy he was talking about? This is all confusing the bejeezus out of me, Lieutenant Commander Buonomo.” She placed her hands on her hips, tilted her head. “Just what goes on with you two?”

  I grinned. “Not much—besides you. We’re just a couple of guys from different parishes who look out for each other.”

  “Joe …” she chided, her voice trailing off as a dark blue Lincoln pulled in, glided to a stop, and dimmed its lights. A uniformed driver stepped out and stood at the passenger’s door. He wore an impeccably pressed dark suit that showed a good deal of cuff. Very Frank Sinatra.

  Neither of us stood. I just stared into those emerald eyes, wanting them to ensnare me again, newly aware of a feeling long dormant inside me.

  “Honey, there’s so much I want to say to you. I know you have to go—”

  “Listen, you, I live at the Regency Court Apartments, 399 North Palm Avenue in Alhambra—across from the park. If you’re not there at eight p.m. sharp to pick me up, I’ll never speak to you again.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight, Einstein.”

  “But it’s seven oh five already.”

  “You’ll think of something, I’m sure. You’re good like that.”

  She rose and motioned through the window. The driver snapped to attention and opened the car door. I quietly noted her regal air and poise. The farm girl was long gone.

  I swung the lounge door open and leaned back to let her pass. As she did, she pressed against me, kissing me full on the mouth, her long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings before my widening eyes. A wave of heat rose on my lips, crested at my temples, and then washed straight down over me. I almost pulled the doorknob off in my hand.

  “See you later, flyboy,” she purred, then turned and sauntered off toward the limo.

  I watched every step.

  6

  It took some doing but I finally convinced the charter company’s manager to let me borrow the airport car they kept on hand for local runs. The fin I gave him didn’t hurt, but I think the eyeful of Helen that he got tipped the scales in my favor.

  The car was a ’49 Stutz with rust in the wheel wells and a large dent in the front quarter panel—no radio, either. It could just as well have been Ben Hur’s four white stallions, all trimmed and brushed for the big race for all I cared, as long as it got me to 399 North Palm Avenue by eight p.m.

  I shot down San Fernando, cut back up 66, then ran south on Fair Oaks to the park doing a good sixty most of the way. Nobody died, but there were a few close calls in there. I pulled up in front of Helen’s place with a whole minute to spare.

  I had to fly later, and I also had some qualms about keeping her out when she had a screen test in the morning, but no way was I going to miss the chance to talk with her, to find out where she’d gone, to just be near her again—if only for an hour.

  As I drove, I sang a few bars of “Stars Fell on Alabama,” amusing myself by inserting Alhambra into the lyric in place of Alabama. The sudden nearness of her had filled me with powerful emotions, the good ones overwhelming the bad. I was as stupidly giddy as a young sailor on shore leave. I realized then that I still loved her—that I always had.

  Jesus, that girl could twist me in knots.

  7

  We went over to The Hat on Garfield to grab a sandwich and a soda. Helen had changed into a cashmere sweater and capri slacks that went a whole lot better with my flightsuit and boots than that velvet va-voom number of hers. I still wasn’t going to pass for Fred Astaire, but we weren’t exactly dining at Ciro’s anyhow.

  As we sat there on our stools, the wonderful scent of warm pastrami and mustard wafting up, it almost felt like it was 1955 again, that we were still together.

  But it wasn’t, and we weren’t. It was 1960 and Elvis Presley was on the jukebox, not Frankie Laine. This kid Elvis wanted to know if we were lonesome tonight, were we sorry we’d drifted apart. A real tearjerker, that kid. What timing.

  After some small talk, I got right down to brass tacks.

  “Helen, how did you fall in with Frank?”

  She sipped her soda, pursed her lips a moment. “We met in Acapulco about a month ago. I was visiting a friend who knows Bob Mitchum and we got invited to a party on Bob’s boat. Frank was down fishing with Jimmy Van Heusen and they crashed the party. It was just, you know …”

  “One of those things?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. Look, he’s been very good to me.”

  I took a bite of my sandwich, wiped my chin with my napkin. “I know. He’s good to all of them—three or four weeks at a time.”

  Her eyes went wide. “My, my. Aren’t we a bit catty? And he’s a friend of yours?”

  I smiled, picking a fleck of pastrami from my teeth with a thumbnail. “Look, honey, he is a friend of mine, but you’re someone I was madly in love with, and I just want you to see all the angles in play here.”

  “Was?”

  I didn’t bite on that one.

  “Just keep your eyes open, Betty Boop. I’ve seen some rather mercurial behavior from ol’ Frankie now and then.”

  She went suddenly serious. “Look Joe, I’m meeting with Darryl Zanuck tomorrow morning at Frank’s request. If I get nothing else out of this deal, that’s the chance of a lifetime. I plan on knocking their socks off at that screen test.”

  “That sounds a little calculating, darling. Surely you care for our Sicilian friend just a little, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what I feel, but I’ve been pounding these streets for six years. My shelf date is just about up, and I am not going back to America’s Dairyland to cuddle up with some farmer and bang out a brood of Beaver Cleavers, thank you very much.”

  “Wow. You’ve acquired a few sharp edges to go along with those curves, baby.”

  She didn’t say a word, just narrowed her eyes halfway down like an angry cat and put on a pout that could have broken Rodin’s heart. I felt an unpleasant wave of déjà vu and began to recall the other Helen who had popped up from time to time when we were together—the sullen one.

  “Can we go have a drink together?” she asked. “I’ve got another hour or so still and I wouldn’t mind a belt.”

  She hadn’t said things like that when we were together. Now she was talking like Frank, a change I didn’t care for at all.

  “I’m flying tonight, no drinking for me. But … I’ll go with you if you promise me a dance.”

  She perked right up, red lips parting into a matinee idol smile.

  “I know a place around the corner where they pour ’em tall and strong. Let’s hit the bricks, Lindbergh!”

  “He wouldn’t drink with you either, lady.”

  “I know, lover, but he wouldn’t be sitting here with mustard on his face, trying to make time with an actress either—the stiff.”

  * * *

  We buzzed over to the Sapphire Room. The place was fairly lively for a Sunday night, patrons lined up and down the bar and filling most of the tables. I wedged my way into an opening along the rail and ordered a Manhattan and a cup of coffee. I got a look from the bartender, but he took my buck fifty just the same.

  We found a spot in the corner at a small table and sat down. Helen took a cigarette out of a small gold case and I lit it for her wi
th my worn silver Zippo.

  “Still got that old thing?”

  “Had it since the war. You know how I’m sentimental, hon,” I said, looking directly into her eyes so she’d know how I meant it.

  I pulled a Lucky out of a battered pack for myself and torched it, still grinning at her.

  We swapped some catch-up stories and shared a few good chuckles. She told me about the parts she’d scored in some movies I hadn’t seen, and a relationship with a movie star that ended abruptly when she caught him wearing one of her dresses. I laughed out loud at the thought of the All-American heartthrob in polka dots.

  I filled her in on the semiepic affairs of my freight business, but steered clear of my occasional adventures with one Francis Albert Sinatra. There was no point in showing that card yet.

  While we were talking, I noticed a stocky guy in a Hawaiian shirt at the far end of the bar, dark eyes peering out from beneath a heavy brow. Helen was a stunner, all right, but he seemed a little too interested in us just the same. The first twinge of wariness sprang up deep inside me.

  The next time I looked up, he’d moved on down the line somewhere so I let it go. That’s the thing about a girl like her, though. You think every guy in the world wants something from her.

  Some dinosaur popped a nickel in the jukebox then and pushed “Moonlight Serenade.” I caught the first few bars and closed my eyes reflexively. It took me back—way back—like it always did, the personal Movietone reel replaying memories of flight school, wild nights on Oahu, and good buddies—some long dead.

  Helen saw my fade and stopped talking. I always loved that about her, the way she didn’t mind my occasional drifts or intrude on my reminiscences. She understood that we vets had some places inside where others couldn’t go.

  “Begin the Beguine” came on next. Jesus, the guy was wallowing in it, but I seized the moment. “Let’s dance, cutie.”

  “Let’s,” she said, her eyes shimmering in the dusky room.

  We joined a few other couples on the small dance floor and began swaying to the infectious Artie Shaw rhythm. I held her close, letting the nostalgia sweep over me, damn near bathing in it.

  Patsy Cline’s “Just Out of Reach” followed. We danced to that one and one more, then sat a few out while Helen had another drink. We shared more stories and laughs, all smiles and sunshine. I ate my heart out the entire time.

  That could only last so long. Both of us had questions we needed answered. It didn’t matter how it ended up, we needed to clear the air. It wasn’t the setting for me to delve into my past, but I hoped she would tell me her side. I’d been through too much not to ask.

  Helen had moved closer to me throughout the evening, our chairs now touching. When I looked down, her hand was on my arm. She had a look of longing in those exquisite eyes.

  “Honey,” I said, closing in, “I hate to bust up the ice cream social, but I have to know what happened between us. Tell me where you went—and why.”

  She moved into close range, ran her finger across my chin.

  “Not here. Let’s go back to my place, we can talk there.”

  “Talk?”

  An iniquitous smile bloomed on her face.

  “I can’t do that. You’re with Frank now.”

  “Yes, you can,” she said, willing me with those eyes, that voice. “Joe … we left a lot behind us a few years back. I’d like to try and find some of it.”

  My pulse raced at the words. I leaned in toward her until I was almost touching her glistening lips, feeling the pull of the current as I drifted into dangerous waters.

  “How much of it?”

  She just grinned at me, bedroom eyes narrowing. “All of it.”

  I stared back, trying to grasp what she said, but knowing full well exactly what she meant. A voice inside me protested but was drowned out by my overwhelming desire to hold that woman close through the long, dark night.

  A thin smile rolled onto my lips, a smile five hard years in the making.

  “Let’s go.”

  8

  We started off toward her place, both nervous but bubbly. Things were moving fast—way too fast. I knew that I loved Helen—but she wasn’t my girl anymore.

  More to the point, she was my buddy’s girlfriend. I just wasn’t that kind of guy, even at my worst.

  I took my foot off the gas, let the car coast to a stop sign while I decompressed. When I realized that I wouldn’t be going in with her, I exhaled with relief. Then I crossed the intersection, pulled over to the curb, and parked.

  “What’s up, lover?” she asked with a smile. “Are we going to start right here?”

  I made a small shake of my head, shifted around to face her, resting my arm on top of the seat. “Baby … you know that I still love you, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Joe. It’s as obvious as that wonderful Roman nose on your face.”

  “Thanks. You also know that if you tell me you love me, I’ll believe it.”

  “I do. Always have.”

  “Then … we can’t do this, honey. Frank is my friend. I know how crazy this situation is, but … I just can’t do that. I couldn’t face him again, and it would ruin any chance we had to ever make this work.”

  “Well, you can be sure he hasn’t made the same choice when faced with it,” she said, her lips curling up.

  I sat up. “That doesn’t cut any ice here, baby. This is about me, not him.”

  She went back to that pout again, crossing her arms and staring out through the windshield. An oncoming headlight rose up, bathing her face in light, then plunging it back into shadow when it passed. As I went to turn the key in the ignition she spoke, surprising me with the calm, measured tone in her voice.

  “You’re right. Not tonight, but he’s got to know. Something’s gotta give here.”

  I gazed into those eyes, for the first time not intimidated by them.

  “Are you sure? You are intimately involved with Frank Sinatra, the number one music and movie star in the world, who just happens to be nuts about you. You better think this one over long and hard before making any decisions, honey.”

  “I already have,” she declared, her voice cracking.

  First a tear, then a river followed. “Can’t you see how much I still love you, Buonomo,” she cried, reaching out.

  Slender arms wrapped tight around me as she began sobbing.

  “If you only had any idea what I’ve been through since I last saw you …”

  9

  I held her several minutes while she wept, her tears dampening my flightsuit. It was cool outside, but the windows began fogging up, so I rolled mine down halfway. Helen looked up as a nip of night air crept into the car.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, easing away.

  We sat there while she composed herself, dabbing her eyes and sniffling a bit. I brushed those long locks away from her face, stroking my fingers through them several times. She started to speak, but I put a finger to my lips, then touched it to hers.

  “Helen,” I said, weighing my words, “let’s take the night to think this thing over. You’ll get some rest, and I’ll get my newspapers up the coast then fly into Burbank and sack out in the Electra—I’ll be up by ten. How about we meet for lunch someplace and you tell me how your screen test went?”

  “That would be nice,” she said, wiping away a final tear stealing down her cheek.

  “Good. The charter company’s number is on the car door here, THorndike 3-5200. You just ring them up when you’re done and they’ll grab me. Deal?”

  “Deal,” she murmured low, almost with resignation.

  I pushed back the last few tear-dampened strands of hair, hooking them over her ear. “Don’t throw in the towel just yet; maybe there’ll be some way to work this out.”

  I turned the ignition over and the Stutz rumbled to life. I checked the rearview mirror, slid the transmission into first, and eased away from the curb.

  As I pulled out, I caught a glimpse of a man shuffling down th
e sidewalk in our direction. He stopped and stared at us, hands on his hips. He was too far away to recognize but looked too much like the guy in the bar for my liking.

  As we drove the remaining blocks, a wave of uneasiness came over me. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, but I wondered just what in the hell I was getting myself into.

  * * *

  Helen asked me to stop a few doors up the street from her building since she had a busybody neighbor who’d just love to tell the whole neighborhood that she’d been out late with another man. I told her I’d watch her go in, then drive past to make sure she got into her apartment all right.

  “This is a very nice neighborhood,” I said. “I guess one gossip isn’t too much a price to pay for these digs. But aren’t you rather far from the studio scene out here?”

  “Yes, thank God, but they usually send a car for me. I lived in Hollywood for several years, over on Afton with my girlfriend Betty, but that part of town was knee-deep in shady operators. A girl could find all sorts of trouble down there if she wasn’t on her toes.”

  “Really?” I asked, feigning surprise.

  “Really. Just ask Betty when you meet her. She’ll tell you.”

  I leaned back, crossed my arms. “I can only imagine.”

  “She’s made some questionable decisions, but she’s a true friend. She loaned me the most beautiful dress the other day for my audition. You’ll see it when we meet for lunch.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Okay, gotta go.”

  Helen leaned over and hugged me, then kissed me on the cheek.

  “You be safe up there tonight, Buonomo, I need to see your handsome face across from me at lunch tomorrow. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  Her sultry tone had returned. I liked that. I liked that fine.

  “Just make sure you call me no matter how your screen test goes,” I said, shaking a finger at her. “I don’t want to go chasing all over the world to find you again.”

  She got out, closed the door, and pattered around to my side. Then she leaned down into my open window, flashed her perfect teeth at me. “But you would, Joe, wouldn’t you?”