Authors: Evan Hunter
Dear Will,I haven’t heard from you as yet, but I thought I’d write anyway, just to see how you were getting along. It is now two o’clock in the morning, and I just got home from a dance at the U.S.O. The dance ended at twelve-thirty, but some of us girls went over to Wabash for hot dogs afterwards, and so I just got here. It is very quiet and still here in the house, you could hear a mouse squeak. (Not that we have any.)I had a dream about you the other night, it was a very strange dream, I don’t even know if I should tell it to you. Louise says I shouldn’t, but I’ll take a chance. She thinks I’m crazy writing to you, anyway, even though my boyfriend Freddie knows all about us. (I mean, about my writing to you and all. I have never told him about how we met, do you think I should? I will do whatever you advise. He’s a very jealous person.) Anyway, about the dream.It took place in Michael Mallory’s house, but it wasn’t on New Year’s Eve, it was Christmas morning instead. And it seemed I was living there or something because I woke up in the bedroom upstairs, and I was in my nightgown, and I came down the steps into the living room wearing only my nightgown. There was a big Christmas tree in the center of the room, all lit up with lights, and there were a lot of Christmas presents all around the tree, and all of the presents were for me. They all had these little cards on them saying “To Margie.”So far it’s a funny dream to be having in the middle of the summer, don’t you think, when the temperature here in Chicago was ninety-four degrees yesterday!Well, naturally, I started opening all the presents (this is the part Louise says I shouldn’t tell you) and in each one of the presents there was
YOU!?!
Even the tiniest present, when I opened it there was
YOU!?!
inside. You were wearing your uniform and a flying helmet and goggles and a white scarf and you had grease marks on your cheeks and around your eyes when you lifted up the goggles. You also had a mustache. (You haven’t grown a mustache, have you?) And each time I opened another present I was very happy to see that it was you, and I kissed you each time (I mean each time I took off the wrapping paper and there was another you). I got your grease all over the front of my nightgown. It was this pink nightgown I have, it’s hardly anything at all. Finally the whole room was all full of these Will Tylers, some of them life-size, some of them smaller, some bigger, I was absolutely surrounded! Then you said, this was the first time you said anything in the dream, you said “Margie, you have my grease all over you,” and I said, “Yes, my nightie got dirty,” and I woke up.That’s some funny dream, don’t you think? What do you think of it?Well, here I am in the same pink nightgown I had on in the dream (but no grease on it) and I feel just miserable in this heat. I hate Chicago in the summer, don’t you? As a matter of fact, I also hate it in the winter. I sometimes wish I could just leave this damn city and go someplace where nobody knows me. You fellows are lucky, though you don’t realize it. You get a chance to travel all over the country and even the world with Uncle Sam paying for it. Maybe I will join the Wacs, do you think that’s a good idea? Though brown isn’t my color. Maybe the Waves.The dance tonight was very depressing, I don’t know why. I am a very moody person, Will, I guess you don’t know that, but it’s true. Sometimes, when Freddie calls me long distance from Ohio, I feel as if I have nothing to say to him because I’m in one of my moods. He’s a very nice fellow and he wants to be an engineer when the war is over, which is why the V-12 program is so good for him. It is paying for his college education, and he will also be an officer when he gets into the Navy. He says the Navy is the best place to be because you always know where you’re going to be sleeping that night, not like the Army, and also because you get hot meals. I think that’s very sensible. I sometimes wonder what it would be like married to an engineer. I don’t even know what it is engineers do. Do you plan to continue flying when you get out of the service? I guess all the airlines will be hiring you boys who have flying experience.Did you get my picture? If so, what did you think of it? I know it’s not a very good picture, but I am interested in your opinion. It’s so damn hot here, you have no idea. I probably will go to the beach again tomorrow, and then tomorrow night it’s into my little bed early because Monday morning I have to go back to work. I certainly hate to go back after such a nice vacation.Well, I seem to be running out of words, so until I hear from you, I guess I’ll sign off. Let me know what you think about my crazy dream, as I’m very interested in your opinion. Also about the picture I sent to you.Affectionately,Margie
Dear Will,First of all, I hardly know the girl. As I told you, we met at a U.S.O. party, and she casually said (with a lot of coy arching of the eyebrows) that you and she were (little nudge of the elbow) very close (Get it, dearie?) and what a shame it was that she didn’t have your address. So I gave her your address. So a week later, I had just come back from the beach with Iris (the weather here has been so beastly, you could die) and the phone rings and it’s Margaret Penner. Margaret
who?
I said. Margaret Penner. Okay, hello,Margaret Penner, how are you? (Aside to I: Who the hell is Margaret Penner?) Margaret Penner explains who Margaret Penner is. She is the girl who gave the U.S.O. party at her house, remember? and she used to know my brother Will, remember? So I said Oh
yes,
Margaret Penner! Whereupon she told me she had sent you a letter at Santa Maria but now she wasn’t sure you would get it because I had mentioned something about your perhaps going overseas soon, or into the pilot pool, or whatever, and did I think it would be all right if she sent you a second letter? So I said I certainly didn’t think you’d mind, and it was very sweet of her and all that, our dear beloved boys in the service of this mighty nation being very greedy for mail. Goodbye to Margaret Penner.Until tonight.Tonight, I washed my hair and I was in my pajamas listening to Eddie Cantor and the telephone rings again. It is (guess who?) Margaret Penner again, and she’s in tears. Apparently my dear brother Will wrote her some kind of filthy letter describing in detail all the things he would like to do to her, and Margaret Penner wanted to know from me whether I thought she looked like
that
kind of girl, the kind of girl you could write
that
kind of letter to. I assured her she looked every bit as sweet as Moll Flanders, and that you probably had written your letter in a drunken frenzy, the strain on fighter pilots being intolerable, and that you were probably sorry as could be afterwards.I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Will, I think the Air Force has made you a little dotty. I don’t mind straightening out your romances (like hell I don’t) or handling nutty girls on the telephone right when Parkyakarkus is coming on, but I’m really disappointed that you could write a letter like that to
anybody,
really, Will! I might as well tell you this now while you’re still in the States, because I guess once you’re overseas I’ll have to be very careful of what I say, otherwise some nasty Nazi will shoot you down in flames and I’ll be sorry the rest of my life. I think it was a lousy miserable and not very comical thing to do, and you should be ashamed of yourself. There.Besides, aren’t there any girls out there in California?Linda