"Now, you know what you got to do, Sergeant?"
"I got it down perfect, Mr. Petrocelli."
"Good," Al said.
He glanced out at the stage.
Hope was nearing the end of his routine.
Al turned back to the soldier, a twenty-dollar bill appearing magically in his hand.
"She'll be going on any minute," he said. "Now, you get down there in the front near the stage.
And don't forget. Speak up loud and clear."
"Yes, Mr. Petrocelli," the soldier said, the twenty disappearing into his pocket.
"There'll be another after the show if everything goes right."
"For another twenty, Mr. Petrocelli," the soldier said, "you don't have to worry. They'll hear me clear to Alaska."
Al nodded worriedly and turned toward the stage as the soldier went out and around the wings.
Hope was just beginning Jennie's introduction.
"And now, men," he said into the microphone, "for the high spot of the evening- " He paused for a moment, holding up his hands to still the starting applause. "The reason we're all here. Even the entire officer's club." He waited until the laughter died away. "Girl-watching!" "Now, men," he continued, "when I first told the War Department who was coming here tonight, they said,
'Oh, no, Mr. Hope. We just haven't enough seat belts for that many chairs.'
But I reassured them.
I told them you soldiers knew how to handle any situation." There was laughter again but this time, there was an expectancy in its sound.
Hope held up his hands. "And so, fellers, I give you- "
The lights suddenly dimmed and a baby spot picked up Jennie's head as she peeked out past the curtain.
"Fasten your seat belts, men!" Hope shouted. "Jennie Denton!"
And the stage went to black except for the spotlight on Jennie. A roar burst from the audience as she cautiously and tentatively, in the manner in which she had thoroughly rehearsed, walked out on the stage, covered completely by the full mink coat.
The noise washed over her and she felt its vibrations in the wooden floor beneath her feet as she came to a stop in front of the microphone.
She stood there quietly, looking at them, her blond page-boy haircut catching and reflecting the gleaming light.
The soldiers whistled and screamed and stomped.
After a few minutes had passed, during which the noise showed no signs of abatement, she leaned toward the microphone.
"If you men will give me just a minute," she said in a low voice, letting her coat slip from one shoulder. "I'll take my coat off."
If possible, the noise grew even louder as she slowly and deliberately took off the coat. She let it fall to the stage behind her and stood there, revealed in a white, diamond-sequined, skin-tight evening gown.
She leaned toward the microphone again and one shoulder strap slipped from her shoulder.
Quickly she caught at it. "This is most embarrassing. I've never been with so many men before." They roared enthusiastically. "Now I don't know what to do," she said in a soft voice.
"Don't do nothin', baby," came a stentorian roar from down front, near the stage, "Jus' stand there!"
Again, pandemonium broke loose as she smiled and peered in the direction of the voice.
She waited until the sound died down slightly.
"I have a little song I'd like to sing for you," she said.
"Would you like that?"
"Yes!" The sound came back from a thousand throats.
"O.K.," she said and moved closer to the microphone, clutching again at her falling strap. "Now, if you'll just pretend you're at home, listening to the radio, if you'll close your eyes- "
"Close our eyes?" the stentorian voice roared again. "Baby, we may be in the Army but we're not crazy!"
She smiled helplessly at the roar of laughter as the music slowly came up.
Slowly the spot narrowed to just her face as silence came down on the audience.
The music was the studio arranger at his best. An old torch song but done in beguine rhythm with the piano, the winds and the violins playing the melody against the rhythm of the drums and the big bass.
She came in right on cue, her eyes half closed against the spotlight, her lower lip shining.
"I wanna be loved by you," she sang huskily. "And nobody else but you. "I wanna be loved by you. "A-low-oh-ohne."
The roar that came rolling out from the audience all but drowned out her voice and for a moment she was frightened by all the repressed sexuality she heard in it.
13.
Maurice Bonner walked into the Hollywood Brown Derby, the thick blue-paper-bound script under his arm.
The headwaiter bowed.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Bonner. Mr. Pierce is already here."
They walked down to a booth in the rear of the restaurant.
Dan looked up from a copy of the Hollywood Reporter. He put down the paper next to his drink.
"Hello, Maurice."