For two nights, we’re staying at the H?tel Normandy, which the Red Cross has turned into a women officers’ club. I have my own wonderful room with a real bed, a bath, HOT water, and steam heat. You don’t realize how much you miss the amenities of modern life until you don’t have them. We’ve been living on the road like GIs and looking like GIs as a result—even Viv! It’s nice to feel like a girl again, even if just for a little while.
Yesterday when we arrived, we borrowed a Red Cross jeep to tour the city. We drove around the place de la Concorde and down the Champs-élysées and loved every minute. Despite the fact that it’s still recovering from the Nazi occupation, Paris is breathtaking in all the ways that people describe. French flags fly everywhere, and the stores have beautiful red, white, and blue displays in their windows. The people are so happy, and so lovely to Americans. Parisian women are incredibly stylish; their hairdos are very high, as are their wedged shoes, and they wear their purses on long straps.
We spent today relaxing, having tea in the Tuileries Garden and exploring the city like true tourists. I haven’t had anywhere to spend my money on the road, so I splurged on French perfume and a new dress. Tonight, we’re going to a nightclub that’s popular among the Americans here. Since we arrived in the city, we’ve already run into lots of our officer and GI friends from the road. We’ve also reunited with the other Clubmobile girls and shared our stories. It’s been a nice hiatus from our workdays in the field.
No more news about Danny from anyone’s sources. Maybe you’ve heard from the Barkers?
I didn’t know what to write next. I still thought of Danny daily; the grief of his absence had been a part of my life for over a year. But I couldn’t deny that I missed and worried about Peter too, even if ours was just a war-time friendship. And what Viv had said had proved to be so true: being in the midst of this war was a world all its own.
I was so tired at the end of most days, I didn’t even have time to grasp the devastation, the tales of horror coming from the front, the weight of what all this meant. Sometimes I imagined myself as a grandmother, looking back on this time, studying old photos and thinking about it all with the gravity that it deserved. And then I would start to wonder if I would ever become a grandmother and who would be by my side if I did.
“Fiona! Fiona!” Frankie knocked loudly on my hotel room door. “Our ride to the club is here. Are you ready?”
“Yes, one minute.”
I got up from the bed, smoothed out my new dress, and stood in front of the mirror. The dress was a silvery gray wrapped number with a draping scoop neckline and a flowy skirt. That afternoon, Viv and I had decided we were completely sick of the only dresses we had brought with us from home, so after asking a lovely Frenchwoman who spoke English, we discovered a boutique with reasonably priced dresses in Paris’s Latin Quarter. It was more dramatic than my usual taste, but the boutique owner convinced me I was meant to have it.
I took a quick glance at myself in the mirror and swiped on some deep-red lipstick. I had twisted my hair up in front with a pretty new silvery purple dragonfly comb I had purchased, but the rest was down, and I had done my best to roll it so that it fell in waves.
I grabbed the black shawl I had borrowed from Viv and opened the door to see Frankie standing there smiling. She looked adorable, her dark curls bouncing, wearing a black dress that she had borrowed from ChiChi of the Dixie Queen, who was the same petite size.
“Oh, Fiona, you look absolutely stunning,” Frankie said, giving me a hug just because.
“Thank you, and so do you,” I said, taking another look and smoothing out the dress, a bit self-consciously. “You really think it’s okay?”
“It’s better than okay, it’s gorgeous. Come on, you know it is,” she said, grabbing my hand. “Let’s go. Viv, Blanche, and Martha are waiting downstairs.”
We walked into the hotel lobby, and I spotted Viv standing with Harry Westwood. He had obviously received her letter. They were standing next to the hotel entrance, leaning on a settee, and I was once again struck by how they looked like Hollywood come to life. Viv was wearing her new emerald-green V-neck dress with a narrow waist and flattering beaded peplum detail that tied in the back. Her auburn waves were styled in victory curls under a new black beret with a peacock feather in it. Harry Westwood was in his RAF dress uniform that emphasized his long, lean frame. Other guests in the lobby did a double take, and a few whispered to each other as they passed by.
Blanche and Martha were sitting at the bar opposite them, looking refreshed and beautiful themselves as they sipped red wine.
“Is Dots meeting us there?” Blanche asked, and I nodded. Dottie had spent the afternoon exploring the city with Joe and was meeting us at the club.
“Ladies.” Harry swooped over when we arrived and kissed Frankie and I each on both cheeks. “Our chariots await.”
“Wait, what chariots?” I said. “I thought we were getting picked up by a Red Cross truck?”
“Oh no, I made other plans,” he said, grabbing Viv’s hand as he led us all outside. There were two horse-drawn taxicabs.
“They have wool blankets in the back to keep you warm,” Harry said. “It’s a lovely way to see Paris. Viv and I are going to take the long way to the club; we will see you all there.”
He had taken off his jacket and put it around Viv’s shoulders. I watched her as she looked up at him, and her expression was one of unguarded joy. Viv, always a cynic about love, was falling for the dashing Englishman.
“Have fun, lovebirds.” Blanche waved to them as they pulled away from the hotel.
The driver held our hands as we climbed into the carriage and settled in under a pile of wool blankets.
“Speaking of lovebirds,” I said, looking at Blanche.
“Yeah, yeah,” Blanche said, giving me an exaggerated scowl. “The worst-kept secret in France.”
“So, you figured it out?” Martha said, giggling.
“Yeah, Blanche, and I think most of the GIs knew too; I heard them talking about it,” Frankie said, biting her lip.
“Viv told me,” I said. “But honestly? It wasn’t a shock. And Viv, Dottie, and I all agreed, Captain Guy proved himself on the road; he’s a good man. How’d you leave it with him?”
“I left it like nearly everyone does over here, I guess,” Blanche said with sigh. “We’ll do our best to keep in touch, meet up in Paris or London or somewhere if we can ever take a leave. It stinks we’re in the most romantic city in the world and he’s not here, but that’s life in the ETO.”
“We’ll find dance partners in no time, Blanche,” Martha said. “Let’s have a fun night. We deserve it after working nonstop for so long. I deserve it.”
“You didn’t even tell Fi about Arthur,” Frankie said to Martha. “Speaking of secrets.”
“Listen to this,” Martha said, sitting up and slapping my knee, an angry scowl on her sweet face. She was wearing a new red flared shirtwaist dress, and her cheeks were rosy from the cold. “Blanche and I were sitting at a café this afternoon, and these soldiers at the next table started talking to us. Turns out one of them is from Topeka. So, of course, I ask if he knows Arthur Reed the undertaker.”
“Yes, and did he know him?”
“He said, ‘Yeah, yeah, I know him,’” Martha said, getting more animated. “And then he adds, ‘My older sister plays bridge with his wife.’”
“What!?” I said, holding my hand to my mouth. “Oh no . . .”
“Oh yes,” she said. “I was careful to make sure it was the same Arthur. But seriously, how many undertakers named Arthur could there be in Topeka anyway? It was him.”
“I’m really sorry,” I said.
“Aw thanks,” she said. “I thought I would be totally heartbroken, and I am a little, but mostly I’m just furious. For me and his wife. What a wolf.”
“And as I’ve said all along to her, you can do much better than an undertaker from Topeka,” Blanche said with a nod, putting her arm around Martha.
“Yeah, you did,” Martha said, leaning into her.
“I’m just going to miss teasing you about him, though,” Frankie said, and Martha kicked her.
“Martha, you are beautiful and smart, and the best damn truck driver I’ve ever met,” I said. “Did you really want to end up with a guy that deals with dead bodies for a living?”
“Honestly,” Blanche said, eyebrows raised.
Martha started to laugh. “All right, girls, you made your point. Now I’m really ready for some dancing.”
We pulled up to the club in the carriage, and we could hear the sounds of the swing band inside. Despite the chill in the air, people had spilled out onto the streets—Allied soldiers, Frenchwomen, and Red Cross personnel, all socializing, in no hurry to go inside. We made our way through the crowd into the club, ducking through a small black wooden door that revealed a much larger space than I’d expected. There was an elevated stage with a dance floor in front and tables and chairs all around the perimeter, reminiscent of the Paramount in London.
Dottie came running up to me as soon as we walked in.