Chad Thumann - The Undesirables

The soldier shaded his eyes from the sun and looked to the hills Karen had pointed out. “Nothing’s happening. There must be no one there.”

“They’re there.”

“Then why haven’t they called in the artillery?”

“They’re waiting. They want to make sure the refugees can’t escape.

“We should cross now, while we have the chance.” Petr tried to climb to his knees, but Karen grabbed him and pulled him back down. Surprisingly, the dog let her. He didn’t even growl. An instant later, the sky began to whistle. Karen and Petr buried their heads in their arms. The explosions deafened them, and shock waves blew over them like a hurricane.

Karen’s ears were still ringing when she looked up. The landscape had changed, but the new craters, fresh splinters, and scorched earth only looked like the old craters, dead splinters, and scorched earth. Smoke curled upward into the sunlight. The rotten smell of gunpowder choked the air. The refugees had vanished. Their body parts were somewhere, perhaps buried in newly turned earth. But there was no obvious sign of them. The heavy artillery had erased them from the face of the earth.

“Perhaps we should try Tikhvin, after all,” Petr remarked.

Tears of relief welled in Karen’s eyes. “Yes. Thank God.”

Bobby stared at the blank page. Writing love letters was so difficult. Everything was a cliché. What hadn’t been said before, by countless authors, all far greater writers than he? Nothing. “Dear Karen” was as far as he’d gotten. The rest of the page remained blank.

Suddenly his unfinished letter was snatched away, and Bobby looked up to see Jack Wright with the piece of paper in his hand.

“What are you wasting your time on this for?” Jack asked, holding the paper out of reach. “We got business tonight.”

In Palm Beach, Jack and Bobby had just survived flight school together. They’d both just made lieutenant and graduated at the top of their cadet class. Bobby had always been a quick study, and the flight lessons came as easily as anything else he put his mind to. As for Jack, at first Bobby thought he was just naturally gifted. He was also a few years older than Bobby. But Bobby began to realize that Jack’s ability was more than raw talent. It was skill. Somehow, somewhere, Jack had already learned to fly. The first time Jack climbed into his training aircraft’s cockpit, he’d already known far more about airplanes than the other cadets and was even able to give his instructor a few tips.

Bobby eyed Jack warily. The older boy was taller, so it was no use trying to grab back the letter. “What are you talking about? What business?”

Jack didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the Quonset hut door and propped it open with his foot. A warm, humid breeze carried into the barracks, bringing with it the sweet scent of the ocean. “See that?” Jack asked, pointing at the huge and bright full moon. “You know what that is?”

“It’s the moon.”

“No, it’s not. It’s an opportunity.”

“What do you mean—”

Jack put his finger to his lips, shushing Bobby. “Listen.”

Another warm breeze rustled through the Quonset hut, and Bobby detected another sound. Music.

Jack saw Bobby strain to hear the notes, and he broke into a smile. “A big band’s playing at the Everglades Club.”

The Everglades Club was the most exclusive seaside resort in Palm Beach, a winter playground for the New York and Philadelphia social set. “We’re not allowed at the Everglades Club,” Bobby said.

“Yes, we are. We’re officers now.”

Jack was right. Technically, the Everglades Club was members only. But after Pearl Harbor, a patriotic fervor gripped the nation to which not even the wealthy were immune. Overnight they’d become fascinated with their boys in uniform, and especially the local boys at Morrison Army Air Field. Common soldiers were still deemed unfit for polite conversation, but officers weren’t common soldiers. Officers were mostly college educated, after all, and were gentlemen. So every Saturday night the Everglades Club opened its doors to these dashing defenders of freedom, hosting so-called at-homes for the flight commanders and newly promoted aviators. And every Saturday night young men met young women and danced to big-band rhythms until the Everglades Club closed its Spanish revival doors and everyone was forced to go home, nurse hangovers, and dream of the following Saturday.

Neither Bobby nor Jack had ever been, of course, because until now they had been mere cadets. But as of the previous day, they were full-blown lieutenants.

Bobby should have known that Jack would immediately want to take advantage of their new status. “Why do you like rich girls so much, anyway?” he asked.

Jack’s smile broadened. “What’s not to like? They’re girls. And they’re rich.”

Bobby decided not to tell Jack about his own disappointing experiences with the rich girls of Barnard College. Instead, he just said, “You should just go along without me.”

Jack wasn’t having it. “I wish it was that easy. But I need you.”

“How come?”

“If you wanna catch babes, you need candy. And believe me, nothing’s sweeter to a babe than a guy like you. Look at yourself. You’re a kid Jimmy Stewart.”

Bobby blushed. He knew he was being swindled. But he also knew that no one, not even him, was immune to flattery like Jack’s. Better just to give in now than drag this out. “Fine. I’ll get dressed.”

“Don’t forget to wear your wings. The girls love a pilot.”

The five-mile journey to the Everglades Club was a beautiful drive through West Palm Beach. As they crossed the channel bridge, Bobby stared out the open-topped jeep at the big, round reflection of the moon in the water below. “What’s the moon got to do with it, anyway?” he asked.

“You’ll see,” Jack responded.

The at-home event of the Everglades Club was like nothing even Bobby had ever seen. It was a bigger, louder, classier high school prom, for starters. The clean white walls of the Grand Ballroom glistened with silver-framed photographs of members having fun on the beach, on tennis courts, and on golf courses. Crystal chandeliers cast warm, sparkling light over hundreds of champagne bottles; scores of exotic flower arrangements; and a dozen brass trumpets, trombones, and saxophones. Cigar and cigarette smoke twisted in a sultry dance toward the high arched ceiling. Below, couples young and old bounced back and forth in energetic fox-trots. Everyone was smiling, everyone was happy, and even Bobby had to admit that the women looked delicious.

Their chiffon, silk, and rayon evening gowns were folded into pleated petals that swept the ballroom floor. The girls’ bodies were like the stems of inverted flowers. And what bodies they were! Halter tops formed plunging necklines and revealed bare backs that left little to the imagination. Ribbons, sashes, and belts cinched narrow waists, emphasizing the curve of hip and thigh. Cream, rose, and white cloth contrasted with Palm Beach tans. Blonde, auburn, brunette, and raven hair, carefully rolled back in curling waves, revealed even more sensuous skin on necks and shoulders, the visual feast of flesh broken only by the glitter of choker necklaces and flashing diamond earrings.

Jack had already cornered two of the prettiest specimens, confidently leaning forward with his arm propped against the wall behind them, effectively pinning the girls like beautiful butterflies in a framed display. Their names were Mollie and Ellen—the former, a perky auburn beauty, and the latter, a sultry brunette who reminded Bobby of Karen. The two girls were cousins, twenty and nineteen, respectively, and were down for the weekend from college, chaperoned by what they described as their “wild aunt.” By their own admission, they were having the time of their lives.

Jack was right about the wings. Neither Mollie nor Ellen could keep her eyes off the chrome pins that marked the boys as pilots. Ellen even reached out to run her fingers over Bobby’s silver wings, and he felt a thrill when she withdrew her hand and accidentally brushed her fingers against his neck.

“Why’d you join up?” she asked innocently.

Bobby was tongue-tied. What was happening? Had he had too much champagne? No, that wasn’t it, he suddenly realized with shame. It was because he couldn’t tell her the truth. Telling the truth would mean telling her about Karen. “Just, you know, felt it was my duty and all that.”

“My brother joined the naval reserve,” Mollie bragged.

“He’ll be good, too,” Ellen added. “He was the club sailing champion last summer.”

Jack laughed. “I don’t think the navy uses sailboats anymore.”

Ellen reddened with embarrassment. “I know. I just mean he’s a natural on the water, that’s all.”

“I’m sure he is,” Bobby reassured her.

“He just hopes there’ll still be fighting left for him when he graduates from college,” asserted Mollie. “He figures we’ll whip the Japs inside of six months.”

“Sure,” Jack agreed. “The Japs can’t beat us in a stand-up fight. But the Huns, they’re a different story. We’ll lick ’em eventually, but it’ll take a little longer.”

Bobby picked up on Jack’s braggadocio. “But we’ll be sure to leave a few for your brother.”

“How about you?” Mollie asked Jack with a flirtatious smile. “You joined up to fight the Germans?”

Jack suddenly looked serious, almost brooding. “No. I joined up to fly. Fighting’s just a bonus.”

“What’s so great about flying?” Mollie asked.

“Everything,” Jack insisted. And he left it at that.

A few hours later, Bobby found himself in the back of the jeep, his arms wrapped around Ellen’s lithe body, feeling her stomach spasm as she laughed deliriously. Jack was behind the wheel, Mollie in his lap, and the ocean flowed beneath them all. The jeep cut into the surf like a speedboat, parting the water into two rooster tails of spray that glowed in the moonlight. Jack spun the wheel left, then right, and as the warm water splashed over him, Bobby realized that his friend was intentionally trying to soak the girls.