My Pi License said, James St James. I had been following a client around LA for the best part of the day. So far he hadn’t lead me to his partner. By now I was tired and hungry, and it was getting late. I did manage to call her once early in the morning, But, I hadn’t had a chance to call Brenda and update her in hours. Every place we stopped, there were no phones where I could get to them, or they were out of order. I knew Brenda worried about me. I glanced at my watch, “Shit it was almost two am.” The hell with it, I’d probably never get paid anyway.
Brenda St.James
I had been at the bar, doing paperwork when Jim called to say he had to meet a client. That had been hours ago, It was now past time for to close the bar. The entire day I watched the phones. It was not like Jim to not keep in contact. He always called. Or at least let me know what was happening.
The phone sat silent. It hadn’t rung all day. I glance at again, willing it to ring. "Where was the hell he?" Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I turned off the radio, I usually like Frank Sinatra, and Danny Kaye, but not today. Pacing around the bar. I Jumped at every little noise. At some point, in the afternoon, I wandered into the bunk room. Laying down down the bed Jim had spent many nights on when he couldn’t come home because it was dangerous. I fell asleep.
My body may have slept, but my mind was far from sleeping. The last ten years came back to me.
1937, in LA. I was a fresh-faced high school student, with the whole world in front of me. Then I met James. He didn’t look like much, definitely not the star of the football team. But there was something about him. Even now, I can't place it. He smiled, and he seemed at ease with himself, Not like most of the other boys I knew who were either scared of girls, and could barely talk to us, or overconfident, and thought they were God’s Gift to us. They were not.
Then there was Jim, Jim was different. He treated me like a person. Not a girl.
He was funny, but not stupid funny. He didn’t have to try to be funny, or cute, he was.
The trolley ride. One afternoon after being out playing pool. He simply leaned over and kissed me. I was startled at first, but he didn’t seem to notice, It was a quick simple little kiss. Then he kissed me again. This time I was ready. And returned the kiss. Twenty minutes later we had missed our stop and had to ride the return route to get to our stop. We didn’t mind in the least.
After that, we were even more inseparable. Holding hands whenever possible. Jim’s father was a cop. Therefore one of the few who had managed to keep his job, though the depression. although with a severe pay cut.
Whenever we went to movies, the newsreels at the beginning of the movie showed the latest news from Europe and around the world, It was not good. I noticed a change in the way people looked at foreigners, anyone who wasn’t an obvious American was suspect. I could never figure out of what. But there was a different tone.
Jim and I were in a pool hall playing pool. Actually, Jim was playing I was watching him beat the pants off me. I didn't mind in the least. He was a natural, His eye-hand coordination seemed remarkable. Even then. Then Edward Lane came in.
Edward was known to be trouble. He was a dropout that, turned mean. He didn’t like anyone or anything, and he made no secret of it. His reputation for fighting was growing. And he never traveled alone. He always had at least two thugs with him. Also high school dropouts, who were in trouble all the time.
Jim was just finishing up a round of pool and cleaning the table one ball right after another with no misses. I was watching. I hadn’t had a chance to play since I missed my first ball, Jim took over and cleared the table. I noticed Edward come in the front door, and watch Jim.
Jim knocked the last ball in the last pocket and stood up straight, and I came over and kissed him.
“And that my dear is how it's done,” he explained cheerfully. And we started to get ready to leave.
“So you think you're pretty good? Eh” Came the voice from behind us as we approached the door. We stopped and turned around. Edward and his cronies had taken up several chairs along the back wall. Edward got up and walked up to Jim. They stood face to face for a minute. Neither saying anything.
“I’m not bad, I usually win,” Jim said evenly. I could tell he was controlling his temper. I’d never seen him angry before.”But I don’t how good I am or not seriously. It's only a game.” He finished.
“Think you can beat me?” Edward dared.
“I don’t know…”
“Let's find out. With that one of his cronies handed him a pool cue.
As he racked the balls,” Winner gets her.” he sneered.
“She’s My girlfriend, Not a Damned pack of cigarettes, to be won or lost.”
He let Edward break the balls.
It was a good break. The balls scattered all over the table.
Edward called solids. He made the first several balls, quick easy shots he pushed the balls neatly into their pocket. Then he missed the 5th ball, The angle was a little off. And it hit the bumper and bounced into another ball.
Now it was Jim’s turn. I watched carefully as he walked around the table.
He took up where Lane had left off. Each ball going neatly into the pocket he called for it. Then he started in on the striped balls. Again Jim took his time. Edward had tried to distract him several times with rude comments about me. He couldn’t see the look on Jim’s face when he made the comments, but I did, and I knew he was working very hard not to take the pool cue and wrap it around his head.
I was proud of Jim for not losing his temper, and focusing on the game. He never missed a ball. Twenty minutes later Jim had cleared the table. He called the last ball, the eight ball, and it went rolling gently into the pocket he called.
“I win,” Jim informed Edward. As he handed me the pool cue, to put away.
Edward just sneered and stepped aside for us to leave.
“This isn’t over, Not by a long shot,” was the last thing we heard as the door closed behind us and we found the next trolley uptown. He dropped me off at the bar my father owned, and I stayed and worked there for several hours until closing time. Technically I was too young to work in a bar, but because of the depression, and being unable to find the help he could trust, He had no choice but for me to help, in order to barely keep it going. People looked the other way, and let a lot of things slide.
Over the next few months, Jim and I spent more and more time together.
That summer we were both graduating High school. And we had decided that we would get married as soon as Jim had he PI license. Jim’s father was a cop, and one of the few good cops around, and had almost reached retirement age.
Jim told me about what he’d found out about Edward Lane. His dad had pulled his file and showed him. It seemed that Edward Lane was well known to the local police. Since he had dropped out of School, he had taken to stealing, and probably worst, It was rumored and suspected that he was dealing drugs, although they could never make the charges stick. Assault and Battery, he likes to beat up on helpless kids, and even old folks who couldn’t defend themselves, He rarely was without at least two cronies with him. Who were more than eager to help him beat up anyone he didn’t like.
So with this in mind, Jim and I started being more careful. It was clear that he’d taken a shine to me. And would probably try to get me alone at some point.
Within the next couple of weeks Edward showed up at various places, and times. Every time he showed up there were exchanges, and threats, and lewd comments about me. So far he hadn’t gotten physical, but we knew it was coming.
He started getting more brazen. Instead of waiting until Jim and I were alone, or in the open, with no one around, like on an empty street, or the like. He started showing up in the middle of our dinner date and generally crashing the restaurant. Usually with the result that we’re all asked to leave, and invited not to come back. He had followed me home at last once, always staying just far enough back, to be legal, but close enough to shout at me, and harass me. Several times he ran into my father. Who warned him off with a shotgun. But he kept coming back. We started keeping all the doors locked all the time. I was scared of what he’d do next.
Jim showed up one night. Knocking on the back door, I let him. In the kitchen over drinks, he showed me what he’d found that afternoon. A Smith & Wesson revolver. It was old. He guesses it was from WWI, era, it was a .38 special, and the barrel was stamped Victory Model and had a lanyard screwed to the bottom of the grip. He knew as a minor it was illegal for him to have it. We discussed turning it over to his father. It was pretty much decided. But the harassment by Lane had become worse, and more frequent. So he decided to hang on to it for a while.
Several weeks later, in the summer of 1938, Jim was 17. We both had graduated high school and were going to a matinee movie. Jim had scrounged a holster that the revolver fits in and was carrying it almost all the time. That day he had it. We were a couple blocks away from the downtown theater. Jim spotted Lane, and his three cronies, We ducked behind a truck, but not before they saw us. From there we spent the next minutes ducking in and out of traffic trying to keep a distance between us and them and make it to the theatre. Meanwhile, they got closer.
“Hey Brenda, why not date a real man?” he taunted from a safe distance.
All the time approaching us.
“He more man than you’ll ever be!!” I shouted back. Scared of what was about to happen. By now they had crowed up to the wall of the theatre. With a crowd gathering around he seemed to relish having an audience.
“I’m going to kill you St.James and keep Brenda here for myself” He threatened, loudly, Like he wanted the whole world to know. he was way past caring what happened.
I was right beside Jim when Edward Lane pushed him and backed us into the wall right beside the entrance doors of the theatre. Lane had a pistol straight at Jim’s head. I saw them staring each other down. We could smell the booze on his breath, and feel the hate. I was terrified that James would get hurt. I never saw Jim get his gun out. The crack of Jim’s revolver going off cut through the tension like a knife. As the sound of the gun echoed through the city streets bouncing off building and windows, Edward Lane's face changed from menace, to shock, and pain, in several seconds. He dropped the gun, and stumbled back to the curb, as the second and third shot rang out. Before the echoes had faded into the either, Edward Lane lay dead against a parked car, with blood slowly oozing from his chest. The brown fedora hat, he’d been wearing hand fell off his head, and slid down his shoulders, into his lap, getting blood on the brim.
The quiet from the shooting was deafening. The two thugs that were behind him suddenly broke and ran, pushing people out of their way. Almost knocking at least one person down in their haste to get out of there.
The crowd was in shock. Most have never seen a shooting in real life, and the brutality of and finality of it left them dumbfounded. Those closest to us, still several feet away from where amazed at how loud the gun was, and didn’t understand the ringing in their ears. I grabbed Jim and hugged him.
“I’m sorry baby, But I had to do it.” was all he could say.
The rest of the day was a blur. Once the police came and people started talking all at once, and it was confusing and almost as terrifying as the shooting.
Finally, the led detective came. Detective Robert Clay. He took over and got the officers organized and taking orderly statements, and took us inside the theatre. The manager let us use his office to talk.
Try as I might, it seemed to blur again. I remembered talking to the detective, and his listening. And taking notes. I just don’t remember exactly what we said.
The next few weeks happened quickly. I know I finally met his dad and liked him. He understood what had happened, and how what Jim had done was self-defense.
The newspapers had a field day with us. I remember being on the cover of the paper several times, along with Jim. The hours spent down at the station. There had been some question of the legality of Jim even having a gun in the first place, but Detective Clay, persuaded the DA not to push the issue, as the results would have been far worse if he hadn’t, he called it extenuating circumstances.
I just remembered being relieved when it was finally over. Because Jim and I were under eighteen, at the time of the shooting the case was sealed, and not part of our official records.
Several months after the shooting and the town had forgotten about us.In some ways that were almost as scary as the shooting. We were young, barely 18, and little money and Jim didn’t have a solid career. I kept working at my dad’s bar, which helped support us. Once The economy started picking up by the end of the 1930’s we were doing a little better. All the time we kept hearing about the wars in England. And getting more concerned that something was going to happen here.
Two days came to me Crystal clear, December 7, 1940. The day I married James St.James. I recalled how handsome and elegant he looked. The love on his face when we said our vows, still stayed in my mind after all these years. The rest of the day was a blur, but I knew it was a good day.
We set up housekeeping in an old house that my father had been renting until the depression took hold and after a string of tenants that had moved on to find work and sat empty the last couple of years. Jim had gotten himself set up in the PI business with the help of his dad and his connections at the state level. Even with the help, it took the better part of the year to get everything ready. It was December 8, 1941, when he planned to officially open his business for clients. The Big day was circled on the Calendar.
Meanwhile, I took over running the bar from my father. The depression had not been any kind to him the long hours at the bar trying to keep it open and a number of health issues had forced him to pretty much give up the day to day running of the bar.
Just as the bar was starting to make money again, and Jim was getting set to open up for clients, All hell broke loose.
December 7, 1941. I remembered listening to the radio in absolute shock as the new came across that Japan had Bombed Pearl Harbor. The whole country seemed to be in a daze, that shock that a country could and would do something like quickly turned to anger. The next day, when the President declared war on Japan, and her allies, still resonated in my mind. The next day Jim volunteered for the Marines. I didn't try to stop him. I knew in my heart as much as I didn’t want him to go, he had to.
That was the last time I saw James St. James until after the war.
The rest of the war seemed like a rush of emergencies, one right after the other. Problems that had to be sorted out, and shortages dealt with.I managed to barely keep the bar open. The newspapers, and radio, and newsreels before the movies kept everyone updated on the progress I did get several letters from Jim, right after he graduated marine boot camp. But he couldn’t tell her much about what he was doing or going. He said most of the time he didn’t know he was going next. Then the letters stopped.
The weeks and months turned into years. For almost two years I went through life in a daze. The reality of what was happening just seemed to elude me. Yes, I knew there was the war going on. I knew women were doing jobs that men had been doing for years, But it seemed so distant, so abstract. Until one day. A soldier stopped at the bar. He asked for Me by name. He seemed so solemn and sad. I knew instantly something was wrong.
“Mam, it is my sad duty to inform you that as of Tuesday, May 15, in a northern part of Germany. Your husband, Lieutenant James St.James of the US marines, was officially reported, Missing In Action. At this time we have no definite knowledge of his condition or whereabouts. It was the sad duty of his Commanding Officer, Colonel Walter Jackson, to report that he has not been in contact with your husband for at least the last forty-eight hours. As his condition and whereabouts are currently unknown, and there is no foreseeable hope of finding him in the near future, He has reported him Missing In Action.”
I just froze,”What do you mean, you don’t know where he is?” I shouted. “You're supposed to know where everyone is..” My voice trailed off into crying. I hadn’t even cried when James had shot a man years ago.
But today I cried. Cried like a baby.
I woke with a start. Slowly I woke up. It had been a dream.
Then it came back to me. Yes, it had been a dream. But it also really happened. I still had the telegrams they gave me, declaring Jim, Missing In Action. Rummaging through an old box in the closet I found both telegrams. The first one, and the second one a year later, also delivered by an Officer Dressed in in Class A Dress Blues. That one said because Jim had not been found, or any information on his whereabout for the period of one year since the initial report, by Col. Walter Jackson, he was officially declared dead. I was a widow. That year had passed quickly. The war effort consumed everyone, from bond sales, and Victory Gardens, and rations. As the war ran on the effects on the people at home supplied. Stories of battles filtered back, as soldiers returned, and newsreels continued to bring the war to us in Bold Balck & White, and even bolder headlines. Pictures of Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin, at their various summits. I remembered at some point not caring. My James wasn’t coming back. I remembered that there was a very small part of me that said if I couldn’t have Jim back, I didn’t want to live. I never told anyone about that. It seemed so selfish, to be angry at the war for taking my husband. Oh, I knew I was far from the only woman who lost a husband, or a son, or even a father to the war. But it was personal to me, he was MY husband, whom I loved, and missed. And now wasn’t coming back. I went through my life in a daze, a sort of sleepwalk, hoping at any minute, I’d wake up, and Jim would be there beside me.
I found a luke warm pot of coffee and had a half a cup, before dumping it down the sink. It was undrinkable. Dumping the pot out I rinsed it and made a new pot. The memories of the war had crowded their way from my dream to my mind. I didn’t want to remember what had happened after Jim had been declared dead. But it came back to me, anyways. Several weeks after the last telegram, Lewis Randall came into the bar. He became a regular. Most days he’d come in for an hour or so in the later afternoon. He never seemed to drink much, just sat and talked, and played the jukebox, and was generally pleasant company. After several weeks of coming in almost every day, he asked me for a date. A part of me said NO !!
It was too soon after losing Jim. But I needed the distraction from the bar and life in general. So I said yes. At first, we went to dinner a couple of times, and a movie or two. All the time he seemed like a gentleman. Over the next few weeks, he wormed his way into my life, helping at the bar, and generally helping. I welcomed the help at first. He started becoming overprotective of me. If I so much as talked to another man in the bar, he got jealous. This had gone on for several months. Finally, I told him he had to stop coming around, and I wouldn’t see him anymore. That just set him off. I had never seen anger like this before, except in Edward Lane, right before Jim had shot him. He started a fight with several of the guys in the bar that night. Before it was over, he was dead. One of the guys he started the fight with, punched him, and he fell. Landing against the bar, and cracking his head open. Killing him instantly. Fortunately, Robert Clay was on duty that evening and caught the case. He came to the bar. He’d been here before, before the war. He took statements, and talked to everyone who was here that night, and decided that it had been an accident, and at the worst self-defense, because Lewis Randall, had started the fight, leaving them no choice but to fight back. So I was alone again.
All of this crossed my mind as I sat and drank a new cup of coffee in the dark. I glanced at the phone again. “Where the Hell was he?”
I let my mind wander off the remaining days of the war. I started being more careful about who I let in. I Didn’t want to lose anyone else. I’d already lost Jim, and now, Lewis, granted he wasn’t much of a catch, but all the same, I didn’t want anyone else to come and go. I busied myself with the war effort, to forget how much I hurt. And deny how lonely I was.
VE day came and went. Yes, the war was over. But my war wasn’t. I still had to live without my James. Once in awhile, I’d go out to the garage, behind my dad's house. There sat Jim’s old Ford Coupe. I’d get in and close my eyes. For a minute; Jim would be there with me, we’d be driving off to the hills out of LA, and spend an evening looking over the city lights, and talking about our future. Then I sneeze from the dust in the car and realize I was sitting in an old car, in a broken down garage. By myself. I usually ended up crying.
And so it went. I lived my life an in a sort of daze, on autopilot. I did what I needed to do, without any enthusiasm, or care one way or another. I was glad the war was over But seeing all the young men return only made me sadder, and miss Jim all that much more.
July 4th of 1945 was something special for the country. We had just won the Second World War, and our boys were coming home. All except Jim.
Dad and I were out in the backyard barbecuing some hamburgers and hot dogs, a couple of neighbor kids were over playing, and generally munching anything they could find to eat. We didn't mind, it was nice to have some company, even if it was just kids. It helped take my mind of Jim.
The doorbell rang. I handed dad the burger flipper, and wiped my hands on my apron, and went through the house to the front door.
I glanced through the window in the door, Then I stopped dead.
Slowly opening the door. “It couldn’t be. He’s dead.” Screamed in my mind.
I opened the front door. There on the porch stood James St.James. I stood there for several seconds in shock, my brain trying to align what I saw with what I thought was the truth. “Jimmm!!!!” I finally managed to get out. That was all I could say. “You're, dead..”
“Takes more than a little World War, to kill me.” He joked and pulled me into his arms. I wrapped my arms around him, Holding him tight, we stood on the porch for what seemed like forever. The next thing I remembered hearing was my dad coming through the house.
“Brenda.?” he started to ask. I turned my head slightly to see in the house. My dad stopped dead in his tracks halfway in the living room.The sight of us standing on the porch in a massive hug almost gave him a heart attack.
Finely we dragged Jim, and his duffle bags in, and sat down to talk. My dad had to sit and rest. I remembered the rest of the day. Questions, upon questions.
Suddenly I was alive, it was like I’d just been reborn. I loved life again.
The next few days and weeks flew by quickly. It took some time for Jim to get himself set back up. I insisted that he stay here at my place, with my dad, and I. We discovered that We were still technically married because I had never filed for a divorce or any kind or papers dissolving my marriage to Jim. We decided to have a second marriage to celebrate his returning. It was planned for late summer. Jim set about getting his PI license reinstated. Meanwhile, he started working at the bar with me and generally rebuilding our life.