Myrer, Anton - Once an Eagle by Myrer Anton

Author:Myrer, Anton [Myrer, Anton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-02-20T05:00:00+00:00

9

In the club on Dewey Boulevard the orchestra was playing “Thanks for the Memory.” The rooms were decorated with flags and bits of bunting; there were battle streamers, crossed sabers, and piles of cannonballs made of papiermâché, and couples drifted through the discs of blue and scarlet and amber light in sharp, gaudy patterns. There were infantrymen from the Army of the Continental Congress in blue-and-buff coats and tricorns, there were volunteers from the War of 1812 in gray tunic and busby—an impersonation affected by slight modifications on the West Point uniform; there were doughboys and Confederate cavalrymen—there was even a Fire Zouave of 1861, in red pantaloons and fez, and sporting a scimitar. Several participants were decked out in curious combinations of turn-of-the-century Spanish uniforms, the product of ransacking Manila shops or the homes of Filipino acquaintances. There was an Arab, a Moro, a Prussian Oberst with a monocle and Kaiser Wilhelms—there was even the inevitable wag sweating profusely in a helmet of cardboard and chain-mail skirt made of hemp and painted silver, but Emily Massengale couldn’t tell who he was because everyone was wearing a mask. Colonel Semmes, who had set the theme of the ball—“The Soldier in History”—had insisted that everyone come masked and remain that way until midnight.

The women had more latitude, though most of them tried to conform to the theme, and there were several Molly Pitchers and Molly Starks in crinolines and bustles and gathered bonnets; but there were also southern belles, buckskin lasses and medieval ladies in horned hats and long velour trains, gathered up now for dancing. A Salvation Army girl in a drab Mother Hubbard smock had a placard around her neck that read “Doughnut & Choc. 75¢.” There was also a camp follower in the full and original sense of the term—Emily Massengale, sitting in the row of chairs near the verandah, suspected it was Kay Harting—fitted out in a yellow silk dress slit above both knees, ostrich plumes, a giddily plunging bodice and two beauty marks, one above the other.

“Look at him!” Susan Gantrell, sitting beside her, cried. She was dutifully wearing her mask but nothing could disguise the Georgia accent or the quick, birdlike inclination of her head. “Genghis Khan … This is such fun, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Emily said absently. The mask bothered her if she shifted her gaze quickly so she kept her eyes front and let the dancers slide across her field of vision.

“Oh look, look at that!”

“What?”

“The tall one—the tall one in the gorgeous uniform!…” And there, gliding into Emily’s line of sight, was a man in the dazzling uniform of a Napoleonic marshal, the short sea green tunic with gold epaulets and red facings, tight white breeches, ermine-trimmed hussar’s jacket worn off the shoulder. “Where ever did he get it?”

That would be telling, Emily thought. Courtney—it was he—was dancing with a stout little woman dressed as a Chinese empress, all brocade. Millicent Lange, that would be, with a costume picked up from the Tientsin tour.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.