The Chelsea Girls(9)

When Maxine and Hazel arrived back in Naples a week later, Colonel Peterson was in a good mood, Lina’s propaganda broadcast having pleased his superiors immensely. Once they’d wrapped up the session, he shook both their hands. “Well done, ladies.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” said Maxine. “Now. Can you tell us any news about the boys? You know, from last week?”

The colonel hesitated a beat before explaining that the Italian one was on his way back home, accompanied by two soldiers who would inquire into the validity of the German’s story. The German, he said, was being held in a jail two blocks away so the Americans could interview him further. If he truly was the son of a high-ranking officer, as he claimed, he could be valuable.

“What if Maxine offered to help interview him, since she knows German?” said Hazel.

Maxine jumped in. “Right, I’d be happy to help.”

“Sure, sure. We’ll let you know.”

A dismissal, if ever Hazel heard one. Normally, she’d back off, cowed by his authority, but she couldn’t acquiesce this time. What if Paul had a sister back in Germany, one who wondered what had happened to him or if he was safe? A sister who would never get an answer, not if he was chewed up by the maddening bureaucracy of the war. It didn’t help that every night, the image of a blond boy flicking his hair out of his eyes emerged like a ghost in Hazel’s dreams. Sometimes it turned out to be her brother, sometimes Paul.

“We made a strong connection with the boy,” said Hazel. “We would really like to assist.”

“I can see that. You’ve made yourselves clear.” The colonel reached out and shook their hands. “In the meantime, thank you. Lina was a big hit and we appreciate your service.”

“I’m sorry, do you mean that you don’t need Lina anymore?” Hazel exchanged looks with Maxine.

“Hitler’s dead, there’s no point, the German soldiers know it’s over.” The colonel popped a pipe into his mouth with one hand and lit a match with the other, waving the flame over the tobacco before inhaling deeply. The smoke ghosted up over his face, obscuring his features for a moment.

Without the broadcasts, there’d be no excuse to return to headquarters. Hazel racked her brain. “Well, what about the American soldiers? What if we do something for them?”

“Like what?” The colonel took another long drag on his pipe.

“What about we profile a soldier each week, talk about where he comes from, that kind of thing?” She sensed Maxine nodding beside her, encouraging her. “I’ll write it, and Maxine can read it as herself, not Lina, to cheer our boys up and do our part to support the war effort.”

The colonel looked over at Maxine. “I guess we could try it. What the hell. Go ahead, write something up and come back next week. If I like it, you can broadcast it.”

Maxine squeezed her arm as they exited the building. “Quick thinking, Hazel.”

“I hope I can pull it off,” said Hazel, settling on a bench to wait for their ride back.

“What do you mean? You flew through those write-ups for Lina.”

“That was just rewriting. Here I have to come up with something from scratch. I’m an actress, not a writer.”

“You kidding? You’re our secret weapon. Besides, I know tons of writers and they all feel the same way you do, that they’re not up to snuff. Goes along with the territory.”

“How do you know tons of writers?”

“From when I was in New York, living at the Chelsea Hotel.”

“That’s the one on Twenty-Third, right?”

“Yes, exactly. It’s full of artists and people like us, a Shangri-La for new bohemians. You can’t turn a corner without running into a poet or a playwright or a novelist, the place is simply bursting with wordsmiths.” She counted on her fingers. “Thomas Wolfe, Edgar Lee Masters. Trust me, you’re just as good as they are.”

Maxine was being generous, but Hazel appreciated the support. The idea of a hotel filled with creative types was certainly appealing. “How long did you stay there?”

“A couple of years. There’s an actress named Lavinia Smarts, who brought me into the fold. She’s like the den mother of the place.”

“I’ve heard of her, she’s an amazing talent.”

“Sure is.”

Hazel sighed. “I just wish there was something more we could do to help Paul. The colonel didn’t seem very interested in us getting involved.”

“Well, since our ride back to camp is nowhere in sight, how about we take a quick walk?” Maxine gave her a long look. “He said the jail was only a couple of blocks away.”

They asked the guard out front for directions, and hustled over as fast as they could.

An Italian soldier stood at the entrance of a massive three-story building dotted with small, barred windows. Maxine explained in a mixture of mime, English, and a few words of Italian that they wanted to see the tedesco—the German. The Italian soldier didn’t speak much English but, by making the universal sign for a bottle of beer, made his point clear. Maxine promised to bring some alcohol back the next week, although Hazel wasn’t sure how she’d pull that off.

As they walked away, Maxine glanced back, then gripped Hazel’s arm hard. “Look.”