Winter of the World (70 page)

‘We all have different tastes.’

They started to walk back towards their parents’ apartment. ‘Well, what is your type, then?’ Woody asked Chuck.

‘There’s something I should probably explain to you, before you plan any more double dates.’

‘Okay, what?’

Chuck stopped, forcing Woody to do the same. ‘You have to swear never to tell Papa and Mama.’

‘I swear.’ Woody studied his brother in the yellow light of the street lamps. ‘What’s the big secret?’

‘I don’t like girls.’

‘A pain in the ass, I agree, but what are you going to do?’

‘I mean, I don’t like to hug and kiss them.’

‘What? Don’t be stupid.’

‘We’re all made differently, Woody.’

‘Yeah, but you’d have to be some kind of pansy.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, I’m some kind of pansy.’

‘You’re such a kidder.’

‘I’m not kidding, Woody, I’m dead serious.’

‘You’re
queer
?’

‘That’s exactly what I am. I didn’t choose to be. When we were kids, and we started jerking off, you used to think about bouncy tits and hairy cunts. I never told you that I
used to think about big stiff cocks.’

‘Chuck, this is disgusting!’

‘No, it’s not. It’s the way some guys are made. More guys than you think – especially in the navy.’

‘There are pansies in the navy?’

Chuck nodded vigorously. ‘A lot.’

‘Well . . . how do you know?’

‘We usually recognize one another. Like Jews always know who’s Jewish. For example, the waiter in the Chinese restaurant.’

‘He was one?’

‘Didn’t you hear him say he liked my jacket?’

‘Yes, but I didn’t think anything of it.’

‘There you are.’

‘He was attracted to you?’

‘I guess.’

‘Why?’

‘Same reason Diana liked me, probably. Hell, I’m better-looking than you.’

‘This is weird.’

‘Come on, let’s go home.’

They continued on their way. Woody was still reeling. ‘You mean there are Chinese pansies?’

Chuck laughed. ‘Of course!’

‘I don’t know, you never think of Chinese guys being that way.’

‘Remember, not a word to anyone, especially the parents. God knows what Papa would say.’

After a while, Woody put his arm around Chuck’s shoulders. ‘Well, what the hell,’ he said. ‘At least you’re not a Republican.’

(iii)

Greg Peshkov sailed with Sumner Welles and President Roosevelt on a heavy cruiser, the
Augusta
, to Placentia Bay, off the coast of Newfoundland. Also in the convoy
were the battleship
Arkansas
, the cruiser
Tuscaloosa
, and seventeen destroyers.

They anchored in two long lines, with a broad sea passage down the middle. At nine o’clock in the morning of Saturday 9 August, in bright sunshine, the crews of all twenty vessels mustered
at the rails in their dress whites as the British battleship
Prince of Wales
arrived, escorted by three destroyers, and steamed majestically down the middle, bearing Prime Minister
Churchill.

It was the most impressive show of power Greg had ever seen, and he was delighted to be part of it.

He was also worried. He hoped the Germans did not know about this rendezvous. If they found out, one U-boat could kill the two leaders of what remained of Western civilization – and Greg
Peshkov.

Before leaving Washington, Greg had met with the detective, Tom Cranmer, again. Cranmer had produced an address, a house in a low-rent neighbourhood on the far side of Union Station.
‘She’s a waitress at the University Women’s Club near the Ritz-Carlton, which is why you saw her in that neighbourhood twice,’ he had said as he pocketed the balance of his
fee. ‘I guess acting didn’t work out for her – but she still goes by Jacky Jakes.’

Greg had written her a letter.

He had added his phone number and mailed the note the day he left for Newfoundland.

The President was keen that the conference should result in a joint statement. Greg’s boss, Sumner Welles, wrote a draft, but Roosevelt refused to use it, saying it was better to let
Churchill produce the first draft.

Greg immediately saw that Roosevelt was a smart negotiator. Whoever produced the first draft would need, in all fairness, to put in some of what the other side wanted alongside his own demands.
His statement of the other side’s wishes then became an irreducible minimum, while all of his own demands were still up for negotiation. So the drafter always started at a disadvantage. Greg
vowed to remember never to write the first draft.

On Saturday, the President and the Prime Minister enjoyed a convivial lunch on board the
Augusta
. On Sunday, they attended a church service on the deck of the
Prince of Wales
, with
the Stars and Stripes and the Union Jack draping the altar red, white and blue. On Monday morning, by which time they were firm friends, they got down to brass tacks.

Churchill produced a five-point plan that delighted Sumner Welles and Gus Dewar by calling for an effective international organization to assure the security of all states – in other
words, a strengthened League of Nations. But they were disappointed to find that that was too much for Roosevelt. He was in favour, but he feared the isolationists, people who still believed
America did not need to get involved with the troubles of the rest of the world. He was extraordinarily sensitive to public opinion, and made ceaseless efforts not to provoke opposition.

Welles and Dewar did not give up, nor did the British. They got together to seek a compromise acceptable to both leaders. Greg took notes for Welles. The group came up with a clause that called
for disarmament ‘pending the establishment of a wider and more permanent system of general security’.

They put it to the two great men, who accepted it.

Welles and Dewar were jubilant.

Greg could not see why. ‘It seems so little,’ he said. ‘All that effort – the leaders of two great countries brought together across thousands of miles, dozens of
staffers, twenty-four ships, three days of talks – and all for a few words that don’t quite say what we want.’

‘We move by inches, not miles,’ said Gus Dewar with a smile. ‘That’s politics.’

(iv)

Woody and Joanne had been dating for five weeks.

Woody wanted to go out with her every night, but he held back. Nevertheless, he had seen her on four of the last seven days. Sunday they had gone to the beach; Wednesday they had dinner; Friday
they saw a movie; and today, Saturday, they were spending the whole day together.

He never tired of talking to her. She was funny and intelligent and sharp-tongued. He loved the way she was so definite about everything. They jawed for hours about the things they liked and
hated.

The news from Europe was bad. The Germans were still thrashing the Red Army. East of Smolensk they had wiped out the Russian 16th and 20th Armies, taking 300,000 prisoners, leaving few Soviet
forces between the Germans and Moscow. But bad news from afar could not dampen Woody’s elation.

Joanne probably was not as crazy about him as he was about her. But she was fond of him, he could tell. They always kissed goodnight, and she seemed to enjoy it, though she did not show the kind
of passion he knew she was capable of. Perhaps it was because they always had to kiss in public places, such as the cinema, or a doorway on the street near her building. When they were in her
apartment there was always at least one of her two flatmates in the living room, and she had not yet invited him to her bedroom.

Chuck’s leave had ended weeks ago, and he was back in Hawaii. Woody still did not know what to think about Chuck’s confession. Sometimes he felt as shocked as if the world had turned
upside-down; other times he asked himself what difference it made to anything. But he kept his promise not to tell anyone, not even Joanne.

Then Woody’s father went off with the President, and his mother went to Buffalo to spend a few days with her parents. So Woody had the Washington apartment – all nine rooms –
to himself for a few days. He decided he would look out for an opportunity to invite Joanne Rouzrokh there, in the hope of getting a real kiss.

They had lunch together and went to an exhibition called ‘Negro Art’, which had been attacked by conservative writers who said there was no such thing as Negro art – despite
the unmistakable genius of such people as the painter Jacob Lawrence and the sculptor Elizabeth Catlett.

As they left the exhibition Woody said: ‘Would you like to have cocktails while we decide where to go for dinner?’

‘No, thanks,’ she said in her usual decisive manner. ‘I’d really like a cup of tea.’

‘Tea?’ He was not sure where you could get good tea in Washington. Then he had a brainwave. ‘My mother has English tea,’ he said. ‘We could go to the
apartment.’

‘Okay.’

The building was a few blocks away on 22nd Street NW, near L Street. They breathed easier as they stepped out of the summer heat into the air-conditioned lobby. A porter took them up in the
elevator.

As they entered the apartment Joanne said: ‘I see your Papa around Washington all the time, but I haven’t talked to your Mama for years. I must congratulate her on her
bestseller.’

‘She’s not here right now,’ Woody said. ‘Come into the kitchen.’

He filled the kettle from the tap and put it on the heat. Then he put his arms around Joanne and said: ‘Alone at last.’

‘Where are your parents?’

‘Out of town, both of them.’

‘And Chuck is in Hawaii.’

‘Yes.’

She moved away from him. ‘Woody, how could you do this to me?’

‘Do what? I’m making you tea!’

‘You’ve got me up here on false pretences! I thought your parents were at home.’

‘I never said that.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me they were away!’

‘You didn’t ask!’ he said indignantly, though there was a grain of truth in her complaint. He would not have lied to her, but he had been hoping he would not have to tell her
in advance that the apartment was empty.

‘You got me up here to make a pass! You think I’m a cheap broad.’

‘I do not! It’s just that we’re never really private. I was hoping for a kiss, that’s all.’

‘Don’t try to kid me.’

Now she really was being unjust. Yes, he hoped to go to bed with her one day, but no, he had not expected to do so today. ‘We’ll go,’ he said. ‘We’ll get tea
somewhere else. The Ritz-Carlton is right down the street, all the British stay there, they must have tea.’

‘Oh, don’t be stupid, we don’t need to leave. I’m not afraid of you, I can fight you off. I’m just mad at you. I don’t want a man who goes out with me because
he thinks I’m easy.’

‘Easy?’ he said, his voice rising. ‘Hell! I’ve waited six years for you to condescend to go out with me. Even now, all I’m asking for is a kiss. If you’re
easy, I’d hate to be in love with a girl who’s difficult!’

To his astonishment, she started to laugh.

‘Now what?’ he said irritably.

‘I’m sorry, you’re right,’ she said. ‘If you wanted a girl who was easy, you would have given up on me long ago.’

‘Exactly!’

‘After I kissed you like that when I was drunk, I thought you must have a low opinion of me. I assumed you were chasing me for a cheap thrill. I’ve even been worrying about that in
the last few weeks. I misjudged you. I’m sorry.’

He was bewildered by her rapid changes of mood, but he figured this latest phase was an improvement. ‘I was crazy about you even before that kiss,’ he said. ‘I guess you
didn’t notice.’

‘I hardly noticed
you
.’

‘I’m pretty tall.’

‘It’s your only attractive feature, physically.’

He smiled. ‘I won’t get swollen-headed talking to you, will I?’

‘Not if I can help it.’

The kettle boiled. He put tea in a china pot and poured water on top.

Joanne looked thoughtful. ‘You said something else a minute ago.’

‘What?’

‘You said: “I’d hate to be in love with a girl who’s difficult.” Did you mean it?’

‘Did I mean what?’

‘The part about being in love.’

‘Oh! I didn’t intend to say that.’ He threw caution to the wind. ‘But hell, yes, if you want to know the truth, I’m in love with you. I think I’ve loved you
for years. I adore you. I want—’

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

This time it was the real thing, her mouth moving urgently against his, the tip of her tongue touching his lips, her body pressing against his. It was like 1935, except that she did not taste of
whisky. This was the girl he loved, the real Joanne, he thought ecstatically: a woman of strong passions. And she was in his arms and kissing him for all she was worth.

She pushed her hands up inside his summer sports shirt and rubbed his chest, pressing her fingers into his ribs, grazing his nipples with her palms, grasping his shoulders, as if she wanted to
sink her hands deep into his flesh. He realized that she, too, had a store of frustrated desire that was now overflowing like a busted dam, out of control. He did the same to her, stroking her
sides and grasping her breasts, with a feeling of happy liberation, like a child let out of school for an unexpected holiday.

When he pressed his eager hand between her thighs she pulled away.

But what she said surprised him. ‘Have you got any birth control?’

‘No! I’m sorry—’

‘It’s okay. In fact, it’s good. It proves you really didn’t plan to seduce me.’