Chapter 21: Washington’s Birthday

It was strange wearing clothes after days of nudity. Billie and I wore something called a French Maid uniform. No underwear, of course. Fishnet stockings and high heels---at least four inches of heel. Garter belt but no panties. No bra. A black dress with a white apron. A frilly little hat—we had trouble securing our hats due to short haircuts until a head band secured the hat to our heads.

“No photos,” our host said. “I value my privacy.”

The evening was conducted in Russian. Ruth translated for us. I pretended that I didn’t understand Russian. It wasn’t fully an act. I was conversational and knew Russian military terms. I could read some Russian. Ruth and her partner wore evening gowns. Most of the guests were dressed in formal attire—with two exceptions, a man and a woman called Lee and Marina. The man’s suit was cheap and shabby. The woman’s dress was clean but over the past two months I had learned something about American fashion. My own dress ended half-way up my thigh—and Billie’s matched. At the part, we addressed as Bee and Jay.

Bee and Jay were required to remain silent. “Nod only—no speaking.”

Some of the guests tried to talk. Ruth intervened and explained that we were forbidden to speak—not that we could understand Russian, she said. Ruth insisted that Bee and Jay only understood English. Ruth’s words reminded me that I didn’t know what other languages Billie spoke. I’d have to ask her later.

If there was later.

Lee greatly resembled Larry and Mike. Mike was present at this party—but not Larry. Strange. Side chat took place in French, German, Spanish and Italian. There was a joke in Germany—someone who spoke two languages was bilingual, but if they spoke only one language, they were American. Billie and I carried trays of appetizers or drinks as we circulated, then we served as waitresses during the dinner.

At the end of the dinner Billie and I helped the kitchen staff clean up. We worked in silence. The dinner party broke up and the guests departed—including Ruth. We had been abandoned.

“Paul will pick you up in an hour,” George announced. “First, shed your clothes. I want you to meet someone.”

George and a short man addressed as only “sir” waited for us in the parlor—or was it a living room? The short man gaped at us and spoke rapid-fire Italian to George. They discussed our immature bodies and the short man said that he couldn’t use us. There was enough trouble without drawing attention for underage whores and white slavery charges. That short man said the wheels were in motion to take the pressure off him, but it would be summer before anything could happen.

Minutes later, Paul rang the doorbell. Billie and I were escorted—still naked—through the Dallas winter chill to Paul’s car. In the back was Athena. She had us sit in the back on either side of her.

“What did you learn?” Athena asked.

“Someone was talking to a ‘Lee’ about murdering Edwin Walker,” I said. “Then there was a short man speaking about taking the pressure off him this summer.”

“Was it this man?” Athena showed me a photo on some sort of box. I fought the temptation to obsess over the photo box. After Billie and I confirmed that it was, Athena told us that it was Carlos Marcello, the head of the New Orleans Mob. “Dallas is Marcello territory. Joe Fish is Chicago Mob along with a man you identified as ‘Jack.’ Right now, they tolerate each other. ‘Jack’ has been brown nosing the Dallas city police and county sheriff. Both Chicago and New Orleans are avoiding drawing attention to each other.

“Tell me more about ‘Lee.’ You said that someone was trying to talk him into killing Edwin Walker. What do you think of Walker?”

“I made a point of suppressing any personal opinion on my seniors,” I said. “That way I wouldn’t be hindered by bias. Like, dislike—did my orders make sense under the circumstances? I learned that with General Patton. I had an Italian colonel who was going to surrender a key city without fighting. Patton started on a tirade about the fact that I was filthy and my uniform was torn. I thanked him for promoting allied unity by his demand to take the colonel to Montgomery and have the British take credit for a surrender. It showed considerable humility to hand Montgomery credit for the victory.”