As I may have mentioned before, my father had a fondness for how Damon Runyon wrote in the present tense. A number of dad's stories emulated the approach. This is one.
Colonel Steele, our new commander is somewhat retiring--more aptly, reclusive. He does not tend towards ceremonial appearances before the troops. Nor is he as rigid as his name suggests. He prefers to delegate command appearances and parades to his deputies, all of whom clamor for the exposure.
This is a rare quality. He never gets to see if the men shine their shoes and police their brass buckles. I do not think he cares about these vital military matters.
He holds a bundle, though he is not very forthcoming with his pesos. The family car is an old Chevy clunker, which is hardly loaded. It does not even have a radio or a heater.
Of course, when a guy has as many bob as he, this is considered fashionable.
He lives in one of those low numbers on Fifth Avenue, in lower New York City. I once have some business with him at this address. The uniformed doorman scowls at me with disfavor when I enter the lobby.
He has one of those noble countenances that the servile beholden to the elite adopt when the serve. His expression alters when I give him the "password", Roger Steele, IV. He bows with a touch of the obsequious and escorts me to the elevator.
It is rumored that the Colonel is very restive in his command position. There is the inevitable bucking of the deputies for his position should he retire. There are hints of domestic tremors in his household.
Colonel Donner, another military man of merit, is a close competitor. He is an attorney in his civilian morphology, who specializes in divorce matters. He will accept the command spot if it is empty; but his heart aspires to becoming a General in the National Guard. I mention him, not out of favoritism, but because he is central to the story.
In the summer of 19??, we are ordered to fourteen days of active duty--a requirement imposed every year for reserve units. We are sent to Fort Devens, Massachusetts for the training period.
Colonel Donner arrives literally seconds after I park my car. He brings his wife, and another doll I do not recognize, though I guess she may be Mrs. Steele, the wife of our Chief. I apologize for calling her a "doll". The description fits Mrs. Donner who I meet many times before and who has an impressive vocabulary of curse words.
The fat that they ride in the same car together is a surprise to me. Colonel Donner makes it in the social stratosphere but his wife, Mildred, never gets past the headwaiter in a posh restaurant, in my opinion.
Victoria, that is the name of the Chief's wife, is an elegantly clothed and coiffed "dame". I use the appellation in its gentler, older meaning. She is poised, quiet and polite and she offers me her hand in such a manner that I do not know whether she means for me to shake it or to kiss it.
"Shhh," says Mrs. Donner, in elaborate mimicry. "It's a surprise for Colonel Steele. The bum never takes her anywhere, so we take her away from her knitting."
I am very shocked at this irreverence. Moreover, I do not see knitting as an avocation for this lady.
Victoria does not change expression. She simply extends her hand. She is cool, in manner, and apparently, physically also. I do not understand why she wears gloves in the first place, as it is summer, though I do note they are color coordinated.
Since she does not remove the glove wrapping when she extends her hand, I guess she does not expect a kiss in the first place.
I never get to see if Colonel Steele is surprised. The surprise is mine as I am summoned to his office.
"Major," he says without preamble, "I require your assistance for a mission outside the military, of course there is a military adjunct. My duties are such that I can ill afford absence from my desk. My wife comes to camp quite unexpectedly today. I would consider it a favor if you would see to it that she is shown the true hospitality of the post in my absence, for which I am everlasting grateful.
I take this to mean he owes me one.
"Sir," I reply, "I am a poor host, especially with other men's wives. May I inquire why you choose me for this exercise?"
"Major, I am informed that you are the officer in charge of unit celebrations. I hear of the big bash you run in the St. Moritz Hotel on the thirty-third floor overlooking Central Park. The wives of many of the officers are greatly pleased, as their husbands seldom wine and dine them, where the tab may be a little steep. I hear the party is in good taste and my wife is very fond of good taste, which I learn from her credit card bills."
So I find myself at dinner with at the Officers Club with Colonel Donner, his wife, Mildred and Victoria, who in her married state is Mrs. Steele.
I order a Martini, actually a Gibson, as I prefer onions to olives. Victoria does not say anything but I see an expression in her eyes that she tries something similar. So I say to her, "onions or olives?"
"Olives," she replies sotto voce as if she does not want anyone to hear. She smiles and inhales the drink with patrician elegance.
Mildred tells one of her dirty jokes and I hold onto my chair lest I fall off. I am used to Flatbush Avenue or Eastern Parkway jokes, but I hold my breath as Mildred expounds. I hear this joke before and I shut my eyes before the punch line.
"Take me, " she says, "if I have as many sticking out of me as I have had stuck in, I look like a porcupine."
I look at Victoria, for surely the dissertation is disagreeable to her sensitivities. She is, however, unperturbed, and casually inspecting the wine list.
"I think a little Merlot will be sufficient unto the cause," she says, and adds, "Mildred, you should tell that joke to my husband."
I think it instructive how disparate personalities become convivial in a short car ride from New York City to the campsite. Also, I do not think Colonel Steele appreciates this joke at all, if he does hear it. Nor do I think many things are stuck into Mrs. Donner except under duress or provocation.
We do the bottle of Merlot, which is hardly sufficient nourishment for grown people. A second is provided, then the inevitable brandy, at which point Colonel Steele arrives. He is distressed at the number of empties he notes on the table.
"Come, Victoria," he says, "I will see you home."
She rises with regal elegance and accompanies him. I have the feeling she does not want not have a scene in front of the people from Brooklyn. She leaves a glass of VSOP brandy, which is very old, very pale, very expensive and very wasteful.
I hear very little after this. I wonder if I get a good grade from Colonel Steele for services rendered. I know Victoria is very pleased with the chance to imbibe a few. My guess is that underneath that Bar Harbor veneer, she belts many a glass in the quietude of her sewing room.
It is no surprise to me that Colonel Steele retires.
Colonel Donner resigns also. I hear the particulars when I run into Mildred and Victoria at the Russian Tea Room, after a concert at Carnegie Hall. They are seriously involved with imbibing Manhattans. I share a glass or two and Mildred fills in the gaps in the story.
"My husband hands him the divorce papers," she explains, "though not at camp, as this is impolite. Victoria collects a bundle as does my husband, the lawyer. Victoria leaves Colonel Steele a sufficiency and she makes not claim against the Chevy clunker, which he dearly loves.
"Indeed," says Mildred, "I find a real companion when I run into Victoria at Colette's Makeover Salon that day when she tells me of her domestic unhappiness.
I do not have opinions on these matters, though as far as Mildred is concerned the makeover does nothing for her morphology. Now, Victoria? That's a story for another day.
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