The Predators (26 page)

“Maybe we could draft unskilled workers to help us,” I said. Then I had the right idea. Buddy. He was a hustler and he could get the new workers and teach them at the same time. The only problem might be the colonel. He’d had Buddy shipped out the minute he thought there might be trouble.

*   *   *

It was thirteen hundred hours before I got the call that the colonel would see me. He was smiling and his face was flushed when I walked into his office. At least I knew he had drunk his lunch. “What’s on your mind, Sergeant?” he asked after I saluted him.

“I got word that they’re shipping a large amount of jeeps for us to repair and I have a list of men that I would like to bring here to do the job, sir.” I handed him the paper.

He hardly glanced at the paper. “Well, Sergeant, if we need them, we need them. No need to worry. I’ll have the company clerk order the requisitions.” Then he stopped as he read down to the bottom of the page, where I had written Buddy’s name. He was silent for a moment as he lit a cigarette. Suddenly, I was his buddy, Jerry. “Jerry,” he asked, “do you think it might stir up a little problem? After all, we have only shipped Buddy to Norway three months ago. They might need him there.”

I looked straight ahead as I spoke to the colonel. “We need him here more than they do in Norway, sir,” I said. “And I’ll keep him under wraps so there’ll be no flap about him. And sir, don’t forget how very loyal he is to you personally.”

He looked at me for a moment. “But he’ll understand that he is under your orders.”

“We’ll have no problem about that, sir,” I said.

“Okay, Jerry,” he said. “I’m depending on you. This is really an important assignment for us and I don’t want anything to go wrong with it.”

“It will be fine, Colonel,” I said. By now I knew that he was in on the scam and they were all in the same business.

“Dismissed, Sergeant,” he said suddenly, back to being official.

“Thank you, Colonel.” I saluted and left.

11

She brought me to a small restaurant around the corner from the apartment house. There were only ten tables that seated four persons each. The floor was wooden and it creaked under the weight of my army boots. The kitchen was at the rear and open to the entire restaurant. I quickly learned that it was a Papa and Mama operation and that Papa was the chef and Mama was the waitress. The settings were simple: white tablecloths and napkins and stainless steel cutlery. But the menu was not simple. Roast chicken basted with olive oil and garlic; beef tenderloin, bleu, marinated in Burgundy wine; and pigeon roasted on the open fire and then stuffed with chopped browned mushrooms and raisins. Fresh baguettes with butter. Wine or beer refrigerated.

Mama and Papa were very sweet. They knew Giselle very well. She introduced me to them as her friend and I soon learned that they were cousins of her father.

She ordered pigeon and I ordered beef tenderloin. It didn’t take long to arrive at the table. I was starved and it was delicious. After I had finished, Giselle told me that the beef tenderloin was really
cheval.
But it was the war, she explained. Most of the cattle were shipped to Germany. I could not taste the difference. Anyway, it was better than the Jewish beef stew I remembered from home. Dessert was flan, and we had small espressos after our dessert. The biggest surprise was the check. It came to twenty dollars in American money.

We walked to the apartment. She wanted to change her dress before she went to work. She put on a plain cotton dress. “Why?” I asked. “The dress you have on is beautiful.”

She laughed. “That was silk and it was Chanel. One does not go to work in clothes like that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too expensive. I wear them only on special occasions,” she said. “I can afford but one nice dress and one nice suit.”

“I can afford to give you some nice clothes,” I said. “After all, you are so kind to me and you have opened your life to me.”

“I liked you before I met you.” She smiled. “Paul told me about you.”

“Nobody had to tell me that you are beautiful.” I laughed. “I found that out on my own.” I looked at my wristwatch. It was nine-thirty. “I’ll go back to the club with you.”

“You don’t have to,” she answered. “The driver will be here any moment.”

“I’d still like to go with you. I’d like to walk if it’s okay with you. This has been the nicest evening I have had since I came here and I don’t want it to end.”

She looked up at me and then came close to me. “I like you very much.”

I put my arms around her and kissed her. Her mouth was sweet and warm. She kissed me again. Then I stopped and caught my breath. “We’re running late,” I said. “I don’t want to have Paul angry at me for taking you to dinner and being late.”

“Paul will not be angry. He is a romantic,” she said. “He has already told me that he would not be surprised that we would fall in love.”

I laughed. “He’s right. I think I’m already falling.” I took her by the arm. “Let’s get going,” I said. “I’m taking you to the club.”

12

We went into the club by the stage door. I didn’t know how Paul knew we would come in this way, but he was right at the door as we came in. He was smiling. “Monsieur, would you join me for a drink?”

I looked at him, then at her. “I wasn’t planning to stay. I was going back to finish my unpacking.”

“That’s not important,” he said, and looked at Giselle. “Jerry and I will be at my table while you do the first show; then you both can go home because I am letting you off for the second show.” She looked at me, then at him, and went up the staircase to the dressing rooms.

Paul took my arm and led me to his table. M. Gray Suit was sitting waiting for us. He was holding a cognac snifter between the palms of both hands warming the liquor. He spoke quickly. “Sergeant.”

He was a general, that was for sure. “Yes, sir,” I answered just as succinctly. I kept my hand from saluting him.

“Have you requisitioned your new personnel?” he asked.

“I have, sir,” I said.

“Did you have any problem with your colonel?”

“No, sir,” I answered. “He sent in the request to headquarters immediately.”

“How soon do you think the new soldiers will be here?”

“I don’t know, sir,” I answered. “I hope soon so that we can begin work.”

Gray suit shook his head. “I hope they are faster than the French to follow orders. If the personnel don’t arrive here quickly, the war will be over before we can get into business.”

“Really, sir?” I said.

Paul spoke to the gray suit in French, then turned to me. “They have just learned this afternoon that the war will possibly be over by May. That gives us really only two months to ship our forty cars. If that can be done, we will all be satisfied.”

“Forty cars is easy if I get the help,” I said.

“You will also be rich.” Paul smiled.

Gray suit rose from the table. He held out his hand and I took it. His grip was firm and we shook in French style. “Thank you, sir,” I said. “I will do my best for all of us.”

Gray suit nodded and left the club. I noticed that two men followed him out. I turned to Paul. “Bodyguards?”

Paul nodded. “All important men in France now have to have bodyguards because we are not sure who will be in charge of the government when this is all over.”

“I thought de Gaulle would take over,” I said.

“There are very important politicians who do not believe an army general should be either the president or the premier of France,” he explained to me. “And our general is a Gaullist.”

“Then he will be okay,” I said.

“We will not know until the war is over and meanwhile we must pick the fruit as soon as it is ripe.”

“I didn’t know that you were a philosopher,” I said.

“I am not a philosopher, I am a pragmatist.” He smiled. “I believe that the name of the game is money. If you have money you will go the way you want and nobody will bother you.”

“Is that what the French believe?” I asked.

He laughed. “I cannot speak for the French. I am Corsican. Now have a cognac and enjoy yourself.” He got up and left the table. “I have something to take care of, but I will be back to see Giselle.”

I had three cognacs while I was waiting for Giselle to come on stage. She was beautiful and I applauded like crazy when she finished. Paul slipped into a chair at the table. “She is lovely, isn’t she?” he said.

I nodded. “More than that,” I said. “She is unbelievable. And it’s not the cognac I drank speaking.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Jerry, I will have my chauffeur drive you and Giselle home.”

13

It was after midnight by the time we got to the apartment. “I will make some coffee,” she said.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I’m not drunk.”

She laughed. “I know but I need to talk to you so that you will be alive when you have finished your work and the war is over.”

I looked at her. Now I was sober. “You know something that I do not?”

“You must remember that they are Corsicans,” she said.

“Even the general?” I asked.

“Especially the general. He is an important Corsican in France. He is in the French army because he believes that de Gaulle will support him in allowing Corsica to secede from France and become a separate country.”

“I guess I don’t understand French politics. What if de Gaulle doesn’t support him?” I said.

“Another underground war. The Corsicans will try to get away from France any way that they can. Now that you are working with the Corsicans to give them cars you are going to be in trouble at the end of it. If the French do not throw you into jail, the Corsicans will kill you because you know about what they have done.”

“Jesus!” I said. I looked at her. “Why are you telling me about this? You might be in danger.”

She laughed. “I’m a stripper, not a Mata Hari. And because I’m not a part of their plan.”

“But you have told me everything about them.”

She looked at me. “I am a fool. I am just like my sister. She fell in love with a German and I am falling in love with an American.”

I reached for her hand. She came very close to me. “I know that you are not in love with me,” she whispered. “But I don’t care. I am in love with you and that is all that is important to me.”

“I don’t understand you,” I said.

“I am French,” she said softly. “There is nothing you have to understand. We love together as long as we are here.”

I kissed her mouth. Her lips were soft and trembling. “Will you love me sometime?” she asked.

“I love you now,” I said.

She was beautiful. But not in the way she was beautiful on stage. There she seemed to be larger than life, bigger breasts, fuller belly, heavy hips and ass, and longer, slimmer legs. But here in the bedroom she felt smaller. Real. A young girl. Her eyes were luminous and blue. Her face was young and trusting. Her breasts seemed smaller, and surprisingly, her whole body seemed smaller. And because she was a dancer, her beautiful pussy was shaven, with only a small thin line of light auburn hair around her cunt.

As she stood naked in front of me, she smiled softly. “French girls are not as big as American girls. Are you surprised?”

“No,” I said as I touched her soft and supple skin. “Only that you look different on stage.”

“I am the same girl,” she said. “Only on stage the costumes are padded and built up so when we take off our clothes, they only see what they believed before.”

“I guess I’m innocent. I think you are even more beautiful here next to me than you are on stage.”

She pressed my face between her breasts, then moved me slowly down across her belly, and then finally she buried me in her pussy. I felt her clit grow hard in my mouth and then suddenly she screamed. “I can’t hold it! I can’t hold it!” She held my face tightly in her hands between her legs so that her hot pee poured over my face.

She held me tightly until her hips stopped bucking. Then she looked down at me. “Are you angry?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “But, I want a towel and the right to give you the same golden shower that you gave me.”

“I love you,” she said, and delicately lapped the pee off of my face. “You have the right to do anything you want.”

“Good,” I said. “Then, now can we fuck?”

14

It was strange. I had never really lived with a girl before. Even when I was with Kitty, we were in heat. Either one or the other of us was tearing our clothes off. But we never lived together. I had my apartment. She lived with her father. We were together, but not really together. We had hungers. For sex. For money. But it was not until now that I understood that my hunger was different than her hunger. She was greedy. For sex, money, power. I was growing up and dreaming about all that life has to offer. That was why it was so easy for her to move on to Harry. I was just a step on her road.

I wondered why I couldn’t understand then. Unfortunately, I didn’t see what Fat Rita or Buddy saw. And even if they had told me about her then I wouldn’t have believed it.

Giselle was like no one I had ever known. She loved. She didn’t seek money or power. The only thing that mattered to her was the love she gave and the love she needed. Sex was our expression. Despite the difficult world we lived in.

*   *   *

We had finished the first of the two cars that Paul wanted to be painted black when the new batch of jeeps began trickling in. I began to sweat every day I saw a new one arrive. The cars began piling up and I was worried that we wouldn’t have enough room to store them. I checked with headquarters. The colonel sent back orders telling me not to worry. New personnel would show up in another week.

It was the middle of the week. Giselle had gone to work and I was sitting in the apartment listening to the Voice of America near midnight. There was a knock at the door. It was a strange knock. And I hadn’t heard it in a long time. One knock, one knock, and then two quick knocks followed by one more. I didn’t have to open the door to know who was there. “Buddy!” I smiled.

There he was. Tall, and skinnier than he had been in France. We hugged, and as I looked over his shoulder there was a blue-eyed blonde girl standing behind him.