flyers. It’s called the Eagle Squadron.”
“But why should you fight for England?”
“Because England’s fighting for us,” he said. “Only we don’t know it yet.”
Noelle shook her head. “I don’t believe that. Hitler is a Boche clown.”
“Maybe. But he’s a clown who knows what the Germans want: to rule the world.”
Noelle listened, fascinated, as Larry discussed Hitler’s military strategy, the sudden
withdrawal from the League of Nations, the mutual defense pact with Japan and Italy, not
because of what he was saying but because she enjoyed watching his face as he talked. His
dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke, blazing with an overpowering, irresistible
vitality.
Noelle had never met anyone like him. He was—that rarity of rarities—a spendthrift
with himself. He was open and warm and alive, sharing himself, enjoying life, making
sure that everyone around him enjoyed it. He was like a magnet pulling into his orbit
everyone who approached.
They arrived at the party, which was being given in a small flat on the rue Chemin
Vert. The apartment was filled with a group of laughing, shouting people, most of them
young. Larry introduced Noelle to the hostess, a predatory, sexy-looking redhead, and then
was swallowed by the crowd. Noelle caught glimpses of him during the evening,
surrounded by eager young girls, each trying to capture his attention. And yet there was no
ego about him, Noelle thought. It was as though he were totally unaware of how attractive
he was. Someone found a drink for Noelle and someone else offered to bring her a plate of
food from the buffet, but she was suddenly not hungry. She wanted to be with the
American, wanted him away from the girls who crowded around him. Men were coming
up to her and trying to start conversations, but Noelle’s mind was elsewhere. From the
moment they had walked in, the American had completely ignored her, had acted as
though she did not exist. Why not? Noelle thought. Why should he bother with her when
he could have any girl at the party? Two men were trying to engage her in conversation,
but she could not concentrate. The room had suddenly become unbearably hot. She looked
around for a means of escape.
A voice said in her ear, “Let’s go,” and a few moments later she and the American
were out on the street, in the cool night air. The city was dark and quiet against the
invisible Germans in the sky, and the cars glided through the streets like silent fish in a
black sea.
They could not find a taxi, so they walked, had dinner in a little bistro on the place
des Victoires and Noelle found that she was starved. She studied the American sitting
across from her, and she wondered what it was that had happened to her. It was as though
he had touched some wellspring deep within her that she had never even known existed.
She had never felt happiness like this before. They talked about everything. She told him
about her background, and he told her that he came from South Boston and was Boston
Irish. His mother had been born in Kerry County.