Up in Honey's Room

German POW watching her with a pleasant expression; he seemed calm for a guy on the run. Joe Aubrey looked familiar, from the Bund rally in New York years ago. The other two must be Dr. Taylor and the houseman, the one Carl had called Bohunk, but the guy didn’t look bad in the gray sweater and skirt. Weird but kind of attractive. They didn’t look to Honey like a ring of German spies having a meeting, but that’s what they were.

She stuck out her right arm in the Nazi salute to show she’d come in peace, with no intention of causing trouble, and said, “Sieg Heil, y’all. I’m Honey Deal.”

Nineteen

'I have no reason to deceive you,” Honey said. “A federal marshal dropped me on your doorstep and left, not wanting to disturb you or with authority to do anything else. But I risked being denied entrance knowing that Walter Schoen, my former husband, was here and I’m anxious for Walter to hear what I have to say. Seeing him again the other evening, after so many lost years, I remembered how thoughtful he was during the year we were married.” She turned her gaze on Walter saying, “What I’ve come to do, Walter, is tell you I’m sorry, deeply sorry for the rude, unforgivable way I walked out of your life.”

She waited. No one said a word.

Do it, Honey thought and crossed the room to Walter, arms at her sides in the trench coat, saucy beret snug on her blond hair, Honey suppliant, going to Walter for his forgiveness, Honey hoping she wasn’t overdoing it. She reached out to him with both hands and he took them in his, his calloused, meat-cutter hands, his pince-nez catching flashes of light as he looked at his people and brought his gaze back to Honey. She would tell Carl sometime tomorrow, in a quiet tone, I saw the lost years welling in his eyes, Honey leaving herself open for Carl to say . . .

Walter sniffled before bringing out his white handkerchief, sniffled again, took hold of his nose and blew it, wiped his nose and looked in the handkerchief. He hasn’t changed, Honey thought and said to God, Please don’t let him cut one, I don’t play being shot anymore.

To Walter she said, “Would you like to introduce me to your friends?”

The one she was dying to meet was Jurgen from the Afrika Korps, but Vera got to Honey and took her by the arm to the kitchen, saying they needed to talk.

“We’ll get you a drink since you sieg heiled us. What would you say to a vodka martini?”

“You’re too kind,” Honey said.

“I could have used someone with your cheek,” Vera said. “Tell me about the federal policeman who dropped you off. You want it dry?”

“Very. He’s Carl Webster from Oklahoma. He fools you, you think he’s a shit-kicker till you look in his eyes. Carl’s a keeper, but he’s married.”

“Yes? That makes a difference?”

“Not to me especially. I’m with him I act a little like I’m on the make, but I’m not after him to leave home. I thought we might have some fun, but he’s the kind, he gives his word that’s it, it’s cut in stone.”

“Perhaps you’re trying too hard.”

“I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Yes, but you have to be subtle.”

“He comes to visit, don’t open the door bare naked?”

“You want him to think going to bed is his idea.”

“I haven’t given up.” Honey sipped the martini Vera gave her and said, “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“I hope so,” Vera said.

Bohdan stuck his head in the kitchen. He said to Vera, “Let’s not forget Mr. Au-bur-ree,” in kind of a singsong, and to Honey, “Love your beret, it’s classic,” and was gone.

Honey smiled. “He’s cute.”

“Bo’s my guardian angel,” Vera said. “He was reminding me I have to talk to Joe Aubrey before he leaves. About going into a business.”

“How can you stand that guy?” Honey said. “He never shuts up.”

“He’s Walter’s friend,” Vera said, “I see him only once in a while. But, my God, you were married to Walter an entire year? You must have come close to losing your mind. I tell him, ‘Walter, you love the Nazis so much, why don’t you go back to Germany?’ No, his destiny is here. Finally tonight we find out what it is. How he’ll change from Walter, the dullest man God ever made, to Walter the Assassin.”

“He wants to shoot somebody?”

“Crash a plane into the man’s house.”

“And kill himself?”

“Yes, but for the Führer. On his birthday or close to it.”

“Walter knows how to fly?”

“He knows how to take off.”

“Crash a plane into someone’s house for the Führer,” Honey said. “Joe Aubrey’s plane, that Cessna? He can’t be going far.”

“I thought it might be Himmler,” Vera said, “from the way Walter was talking about him. You know Walter believed all his life that in some mystical way he was Himmler’s twin brother.”

“The first time we met,” Honey said, “standing in front of church, I had to guess who he looks like. This was back in ’38, but I knew who it was. I told Walter he looked exactly like Himmler and Walter bowed his head and said thank you.”

“Well, this evening,” Vera said, “Walter denounced Himmler, called him Heini most of the time. Walter believes that in America his name will become as well known as John Wilkes Booth. You know who I mean?”

“The actor who shot Lincoln,” Honey said. “You’re saying Walter wants to assassinate President Roosevelt?”

“I can’t see him doing it,” Vera said. “But listen, I have to speak to Joe Aubrey before he leaves. Tell me if you want to meet anyone besides Jurgen.”

She expected Walter any second to walk into the kitchen and tell her how he’s going to give his life for Hitler, hoping to do it on the Führer’s birthday. What would she say? You don’t want to just send him a tie?

Without being a smart-ass what would she say?

Well, if that’s what you want to do, Walter. If you’ve made up your mind. Tell Walter it’s the bravest thing she’s ever heard of. Without overdoing it, stirring his emotions about lost years. She told herself to think, will you, before you say anything? Keep it simple. Tell Walter he’s your hero and tell Carl, tomorrow, what Walter plans to do.

She’d have to get Walter to drive her home.

And thought, Oh shit, he’ll want to stop and talk, hold my hand. It was embarrassing watching a Nazi-lover trying to be lovey.

And thought, No, he won’t stop because Joe Aubrey will be in the car. Walter must’ve brought him, he always did. She’d let Joe sit in front, listen to him rant about the Klan for fifteen minutes and she’d be home. Only once, back in the Bund days, Joe Aubrey ever made a real move on her. Came up behind her and slipped his hands around her body to cup her breasts, alone in the kitchen, the house on Kenilworth near the market, grabbed her breasts and whispered in her ear, “You can do better’n Walter. You know it?”

She said, “ ’Course I know it.”

He said, “You ever thought of movin’ to Georgia? You could work at Rich’s in Atlanta, the best department store in town, and I’d fly up and see you.”

She said, “Joe, I’ve given up my cute southern ways, acting ditsy in front of boys? I’ve learned I’m way