Amerikan Eagle

“In our nation’s capitol, President Huey Long completed discussions this week with the German ambassador over future relations between the American republic and the Third Reich. Neither man had anything to say for reporters, but word around the capitol is that a new era of peace and understanding lays ahead for American democracy and the Third Reich.”

There was a quick jump in the newsreel to a bald man in a suit, hurrying past photographers in a polished corridor. “Also in Washington, Treasury Secretary Henry Morgenthau was again unsuccessful in his attempts to expand the number of Jewish refugees allowed into this country by Congress.”

A shout from a male in the audience: “Leave the kikes where they belong!” and a couple of others laughed; Sam sat still, embarrassed at the outburst.

Another jump to a number of gray-suited men with matching gray faces, standing in front of some government office.

“From our friends in the north, an unexpected trade delegation from the embattled Soviet Union has paid a surprise visit to Montreal, refusing to even go to that nation’s capital of Ottawa. What areas of discussion were made with the Canadian government remain a secret, but some observers believe the Reds are looking for assistance from their neighbors across the North Pole.”

One more trumpet tone and a few more cheers and whistles as the the Hollywood sign came up on the screen, and then a swimming pool, and some sort of talent contest involving young lovelies in bathing suits standing under palm trees. It was hard to hear what the narrator was saying over the wolf whistles. Sarah nibbled his ear. “Like what you see, sport?”

“Like who I’m with,” he said. “How’s that?”

She whispered, “Glad to hear it. Here’s a taste of what’s yours.”

He looked down, felt a warm tingle expand from the base of his neck. Sarah had daringly pulled her skirt up past her thighs, showing the top of her stockings. She gave a soft laugh and pushed the skirt back. Sam whispered, “Never get tired of tasting that, sweetheart.”

That earned him another kiss. He bit her ear and she sighed. He whispered, “Remember the times back up in the balcony when we were dating, learning to French?”

One more kiss and she warned, laughing. “You keep it up and I’ll drag you back up there, Inspector.”

He squeezed her leg. “No room. I already checked. We’ll have to save it for later.”

“Deal,” she whispered back, fingers flickering over the front of his trousers. “Now be a good boy and watch the movie.”

He sat back in his seat, feeling warm and almost happy, despite all that had gone on this day. The feature film started, a cowboy musical called Girl Crazy, with Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney. The thought nagged at him as the credits unrolled up on the screen that it seemed unseemly, with the world at war and in chaos, with empires bloodletting for survival, that what got everybody’s interest here in the States were Hollywood starlets.

It was, he thought, like living in an apartment building. When the screaming from the neighbors started, when the bottles were being tossed and the punches thrown, you just turned up the radio and pretended everything would be all right.

* * *

When the movie let out, they joined the other patrons spilling out onto the sidewalk. Standing by the entrance, waving, was Donna Fitzgerald. Sam gave her a wide smile and saw a skinny man standing next to her, Donna’s hand firmly clasped in his. Sam thought, Welcome home, Larry. Welcome home from the camps.

Somebody else called out, “Sam! Hey, Sam!” Standing by the theater door was Harold Hanson, accompanied by his wife. Hanson waved Sam over, and Sarah’s hand tightened on his arm. “Oh, God, his wife… I forget, what’s that shrew’s name?”

“Doris,” Sam murmured. “Come on, we’ll make it quick.”