Louise's Dilemma by Sarah R Shaber Page B

beau. She was thirty-two years old and face-to-face with spinsterhood. Over six feet tall with a booming jolly laugh, she just didn’t seem to attract men interested in romance. It was their loss in my opinion.
    Betty poked her fork around the food on her plate. ‘I don’t think this was a good choice,’ she said about the macaroni and cheese. ‘I am sick of cheese. Who said it was a good substitute for beef? I would so love a steak again.’ She set her fork down. ‘At least I’ll look wonderful in my wedding dress. I’ve set two aside at Woody’s. When the weather clears, Joan, would you come help me decide? And help me pick out my trousseau? I can’t afford much, and it will have to last me the rest of the war. You have such lovely clothes.’
    ‘I’d be happy to,’ Joan said. She’d be a sport and go, even if her teeth were clenched with envy.
    Betty started and grabbed my arm. ‘Oh my God!’ she said, softly.
    ‘What is it?’ I asked.
    ‘John Wayne!’
    ‘Where?’ Joan asked. ‘Are you sure?’
    Betty nodded at a table behind us, and Joan and I swiveled in our chairs.
    The actor sat with John Ford, the famous director who headed OSS’s Field Photographic Unit. Ford had directed Wayne in
Stagecoach
. Wayne was so handsome, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Female heads swiveled all around him, but he and Ford seemed oblivious, deep in conversation.
    ‘God, he is luscious!’ Joan said.
    ‘He’s tall enough even for you,’ Betty said. ‘He must be six foot four!’
    ‘Six-six, I’ll bet,’ Joan said.
    ‘Joan, you could get General Donovan to introduce you!’
    ‘He’s married,’ Joan said.
    ‘Not any more,’ Betty said. ‘He’s separated from his wife. I read it in
Photoplay
. He does have four children, but you could hire a nanny when they visit.’
    ‘You’re being ridiculous!’
    ‘Is he joining Ford’s unit? He must be,’ I said. ‘Why else would he be here?’
    ‘Imagine having John Wayne wandering the halls,’ Betty said. ‘I wouldn’t have any trouble getting to work in the morning, no matter how cold it was.’
    ‘He’d be in the field most of the time,’ I said.
    ‘Hush,’ Joan said, rolling her eyes. ‘I happen to know he won’t be joining us.’
    ‘Tell all,’ I said. ‘Why not?’
    Joan leaned in and whispered to us. We could just barely hear her over the noise of the crowded cafeteria.
    ‘There aren’t any officer slots left in Ford’s unit. And the government doesn’t want Wayne enlisting as a private. They don’t think that pictures of him peeling potatoes, or God forbid bleeding on a stretcher somewhere, would be good for the country’s morale.’
    ‘So what is he going to do?’ I asked.
    ‘Stay on the USO circuit,’ Joan answered.
    ‘The press will be all over him,’ I said.
    Joan shrugged.
    Two strapping Army officers appeared behind us, glaring. They needed our seats, and we’d been ogling the Duke long enough.
    ‘Time to go,’ Joan said. But I caught her taking one last long look at the man who was tall enough for her.
    ‘So,’ Joe said, ‘what do you think?’
    ‘I love it,’ I said. And I did. The houseboats I remembered from the Cape Fear River were more like floating wooden shanties. This one was a modern motorboat. Powered by an Evinrude engine, the driver could stand on the deck and steer it with a wheel mounted on the cabin. If he had any gas, of course! The name
Miriam
was painted in silver on the hull.
    The
Miriam
had a metal hull painted bright white trimmed in aqua, round portholes and a front porch that would seat four, with a rooftop sun deck reachable by a ladder, though it was hard to believe that it would ever be warm enough to sunbathe again.
    The chill wind off the Potomac rattled the rigging of the sailboat moored nearby. Ice coated the piers and handrails of the dock and froze boats in their moorings. The bright sun seemed to give off no heat at all, just reflecting off the water and ice so brilliantly