Asian Front

the kind of crap — corporate sponsor visits to thank our boys and gals at the front.” The fasten seatbelts sign was on, but Jay ignored it. “You got it? La Roche Chemicals pays tribute to our brave boys wounded in battle. Pile it on. And Francine — keep your fanny off the corporate gifts there.” There was loud, raucous laughter. “And for Chrissake cross your legs. I don’t want to see your beaver all over the New York Times.” There were more loud guffaws.

“How about in the Investigator, Mr. La Roche?” It was one of the La Roche tabloids.

“Hey! Now you’re talking. Legs wide apart, Francine.” There was another snorting, snuffling run of laughter. Francine watched him as he bent low, slightly off balance, looking out the window. If she knew anything, he was on something — not booze, nothing you could smell. She’d seen him like it often enough — before he’d hand her the strap for her to play “Mommy.”

“Maybe Lana’s on duty?” someone said. La Roche turned around, his face thin stone. “Hey, joker. This little soiree I told you to fix up with our gallant boys in the sticks is costing me change. I told the army, the navy, the fucking air force I wanted to meet all the nurses. If she isn’t there, joker, I’m gonna throw someone outta the fucking plane.”

The laughter died.

After the Lear touched down on the rain-slashed runway, droplets streaming against the Perspex, the plane taxiing toward the small, but obviously busy, terminal, Francine saw a row of heavy khaki overcoats and navy blue uniforms. She recognized Lana before the plane came to a stop. You could spot her at once, Francine thought — one of those women who looked beautiful even if you draped them in a sack. Gorgeous figure that was flattered, not flattened, by the Navy Waves’ dark blue uniform. And the spiffy little white hat with the snappy upturned brim made Francine sick. And Lana’s dark hair — that was the last straw. Whipped with rain and it just sat there, full and behaving itself. Ten minutes in that weather and Francine knew her own hair would be a wet mop.

Francine slipped on her siren-red coat, but despite the cold she left enough of it open so there’d be no mistake about her cleavage. Hell, she had to do something. She followed Jay out. He shook hands with the base commander, but ignored the rest of the staff, particularly Lana, as he and his party were ushered into the waiting USO army cars. With Lana left back on the tarmac, Francine was starting to feel better already.

Colonel Rodin, the commanding officer of Dutch Harbor, loathed La Roche and his ilk, but he was a professional and he wasn’t a fool. La Roche had splashed a lot of money and publicity around — and God knew the men posted in “America’s Siberia” deserved a little attention. Besides, if La Roche wasn’t happy and leaned hard enough on the Alaska congressman for Dutch Harbor and environs, there was a very good chance the CO could find something he loathed even more than La Roche: pushing a pen back in Washington. Even so, he afforded La Roche professional military hospitality but no more.

After the photo session, during which a bunch of reporters from Anchorage, including a photographer and reporter from Stars and Stripes, got their shots of the multinational financier shaking the CO’s hand, Colonel Rodin excused himself. In the crowded PX he sought Lana out and told her that Washington had “requested” that they be as cooperative as possible to La Roche Chemicals, “a major military contractor.”

“I’d prefer not to, Colonel,” Lana said rather grimly.

“I understand, Lieutenant. I’m merely conveying Washington’s wishes. Tell you—” He hesitated but said it anyway. “None of my business but I don’t blame you. They don’t look my sort of people either. Must be at least six guys there of draft age.”

“Health exemptions,” Lana said knowingly. “Four-F.”

Colonel Rodin grunted. “I guess. Well, please yourself, Lieutenant. Whatever you do is okay by me. Walk out if you want.”

“Thank you, Colonel. I appreciate that.” But she knew she had to at least say hello or some toady back in Washington was going to get paid to complain to the Pentagon about Colonel Rodin’s unhelpfulness.

As she walked over toward him through the crowd, La Roche didn’t turn around but kept talking to Francine.

“She coming?” he asked.

“Yes,” Francine said. “Lah-de-dah, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Jay.”

He swung around. “Lana!”

Francine wanted to throw up but, as instructed, moved off, swiping another drink from a tray passing by, its bearer, a GI, all but losing his eyeballs to the wonders of her chest.

“How are you, sweetie?” Jay asked Lana.

“Fine. You?”

“Terrific, terrific. What you think of my little party?”

She could hardly hear herself in the buzz of the PX commotion. “Very nice.”

“Yeah. Something for the boys at the front. And you gals, too, of course.” He laughed easily. “Get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

He lowered his voice, still smiling. “Hey, loosen up, babe. Muhammad comes to the mountain, right? Isn’t that enough?”

“For what?”

He reached out and took another soft drink. “See? No booze. On the wagon.” He downed the pop in one go. “Want you to come back, babe. Miss you. Hey — hey — before you say anything, I want to say I’m sorry. Mea culpa. Okay?” He moved to touch her arm. She withdrew it.

“Hey, swear to God, Lana. Checked in with a shrink. The whole bit. Cost me a bundle but I’m straightened out.”

“I’m glad.” It was the first thing she’d said to him that she had meant.

“God, but you’re beautiful.”

She said nothing, unmoved.

“Lana — this stinking war—” He glimpsed Francine watching them, sipping her Diet Coke. “Changed everything, right? None of us are the same people.” For a moment neither of them spoke. “Look, honey, you want the divorce, you can have it.”

She looked up at him.

“Yeah. I mean it. That’s what I came to tell you. But I want to do it civilly. You know — sit down, figure out a little something for your folks.”

“They’re all right.”

“You know what I mean. Your brother Ray — all those bums — I know a few people who—”

“Ray’s doing fine, Jay. He’s all—”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll level with you. I wanted to see you — that’s the truth. We’re also opening up a new plant in Anchorage. Perfume.” He laughed, that easy, gentle, good-looking laugh that had been the first thing that had attracted her to him. It seemed inconceivable now — so long ago. How she could have fallen—

“Crazy, isn’t it?” he said. “Whole damn world’s at war and people want to buy more perfume.”

“Yes,” she replied. “Well, not really I suppose—” She stopped.

“What d’you say you come into Anchorage for a day or two? We’ll settle it there. I’ll have the papers drawn up. Anything you don’t like — hey — we’re two reasonable people, right?”

“Are we?”

“Sure we are. Look, you don’t have to worry. I know about Shirer.” She felt the involuntary chill of a threat pass through her but said nothing. “That’s fine,” he went on. “I’ve got no problem with him. That’s why I came up. I don’t expect you to come back. I—” He looked thoughtfully down at his empty glass.

He’s making it up, she thought. He’s making it up as he goes along.

“I know I haven’t been any good for you, Lana.” He suddenly brightened. “On the other hand, if it wasn’t for me you’d never have met this guy and — hell, don’t make it hard, babe. All I’m saying is I know I gave you a rotten deal. A rotten deal. I can’t go back and fix that, but I can try to make amends.” He looked down at her and spoke softly. “It’s partly selfish. But I need to wipe the slate clean. I need to talk, Lana. Just you and me — sit down and straighten—”