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Part 3 of 3

by Laurie S.

Synopsis
World War II intrudes into the life of young Michael O’Connor. Mike, now Marion Summers, faces possible public exposure as a female impersonator performing as a showgirl in USO style shows in the China-Burma-India Theater. Also, Michael/Marion must come to grips with the effect of living and working as a woman full-time.

15

Five days later, after stops at air bases in Yunnan, Kunming and Chanyi, we flew back over the Hump toward northeast India.

It was exhausting, a whirlwind travel schedule that left one wondering where the hell we were.

I couldn't really say much about China other than the geography and climate and people were completely different from India.

For one thing, I saw some of the strangest shaped mountains. The undulating humps seemed to rise out of nowhere. One of the airmen told me the Chinese said they were the backs of prehistoric dragons frozen in time.

The personnel we played for were not large in number. It was just that the military brass figured these guys must have felt so isolated. They did a wonderful job trying to feed starving people. Transport after transport flew in every day. Sad to say, it wasn't enough.

Moreover, hundreds of planes and countless men were lost in getting over the Hump. The only person who had climbed higher than our flyboys was Buck Rogers.

The Chinese people needed food. They needed military help too. When Japan invaded and took over Burma, they cut off a major supply route into China—the Burma Road. Air transport was the only way to move supplies to China.

In America, we seemed to take our life of plenty for granted. I wouldn't anymore. I'd seen too much abject poverty and withering starvation.

The band and singer-dancers opened with Hooray for Hollywood. As the applause died down, the emcee Hal Patterson took the stage.

"Good evening, it's wonderful to be here in Assam province in India playing to such an enthusiastic crowd. I want to tell you … we're thankful to be here. We just got off a plane this afternoon from China. Yes, we jumped the Hump—the majestic Himalayan Mountains. Our government wants to extend thanks to you flyboys and the maintenance crews that deliver people, food, supplies, equipment, and military weapons to our allies, the Chinese. I've seen your courage and compassion up close, first hand. You're to be congratulated. Our entertainment troupe appreciates what you do."

There was heart-felt applause.

"We've got a great show lined up for you this evening. You've already met our terrific band, and the Trooper-Dooper singers and dancers. We've got a talented singer named Vic Carson, a ventriloquist Herb Langley, and the most beautiful lady in all of India—a great dancer and singer, the blonde bombshell Marion Summers."

Hoots and hollers and catcalls arose from the crowd.

"I understand she'll be doing a special strip-tease performance this evening, not just for you American flyboys and airfield personnel. I hear that there's this Jap reconnaissance pilot, Photo Joe, who's on a secret mission. He's taking air photos from 25,000 feet. He'll be spreading the news to all the poor Nip drips slogging it out in their muddy foxholes."

That got a rise out of the crowd.

"No Japanese geisha girl can compare to the beauty of American gals like Marion Summers. And certainly not Tokyo Rose or Hanoi Hannah."

The fighting men cheered rabidly.

The volume ratcheted up a notch higher when I sashayed onto the stage wearing a low-cut white peasant blouse, a black pencil skirt, silk stockings and black stiletto heels.

"Good evening, everybody," I called out to the crowd as I waved my hands about. I worked my walk, swaying my hips as the drummer provided oomph to my bump and grind.

"My, my," Hal said, "I think I just felt the earth move … or something in my pants."

There were a few laughs.

"I'm happy to be here, in front of so many handsome American men." I blew kisses to the airmen.

The crowd cheered. There were hoots and hollers.

"By the way, Hal, where is 'here' exactly?"

"Dumbastapur."

I slapped Hal in the face. "Hal, how dare you insult me?"

"Marion, I meant no offense. The name of the place is Dumbastapur."

"Oh, I must apologize. I thought you swore at me. Ah, poor Hal." My expression revealed sorrow and compassion. I placed my hand on his red cheek. "If I kiss it, do you think it will help lessen the pain?"

"Maybe."

I kissed Hal on the cheek. "All better?" We shared a gentle caress and a hug.

"Yes, thank you."

"Dumbastapur, that's a strange name."

"Yes, very unusual. How do you think it got its name?"

"Hmm. Some dumb ass gave annas to the poor?"

The crowd laughed.

"Good attempt," Hal said. "I was told that about six months ago, in the skies above this very patch of ground, Japanese airplanes appeared. While the bombs were being dropped on the airfield, some of the office staff stood around transfixed by the sight. An officer yelled, 'Take cover you dumb bastards!' Hence the name Dumbastapur."

The audience whistled and cheered.

"That's amazing."

"Amazing? How?" Hal did a double take.

"That the dumb bastards lived to tell the tale."

The crowd laughed.

"It's what you call Japanese precision bombing," Hal explained sarcastically.

Raucous roars followed.

"Marion, don't you find India to be quite different from America."

"There are similarities and differences."

"I mean the geography, the people, the wildlife—why just this morning, I was talking to a nurse. When she goes to her basha each evening, she sees a snake or a leech or a rat."

"Yes, men can be terrible bastards."

There were some sick laughs.

"Women can be hard on men, too," Hal said.

"How so?"

"Take my ex-wife, Faith, please. She's expecting 100 a month in alimony. Let's see, 100 rupees works out to $35 American? She complains, but I tell her 100 rupees goes a long way in India. Before you label me a cheapskate, consider this. I was married twice. I'm paying two wives 100 each. Then there are my three ex-mistresses."

The soldiers snickered.

Hal continued. "Why, at this rate, pretty soon I'm going to have to move to a place where there is no currency."

"How will you ever make ends meet?"

"That's every man's problem in a nutshell, how to get this pointed end," Hal thrust his crotch forward, "to meet a lady's receptive end."

There were nods of agreement in the audience and some chuckles.

"Hal, is there anything you miss about home?"

"I miss watching sporting events."

"Which sports?"

"Baseball, football, horse racing—I like to bet."

"Is our next show in Lhasa?" I asked.

"No, why would we go to Lhasa?"

"You said you like Tibet."

"No, you misunderstood me, I said t'bet—wager," Hal deadpanned.

"Isn't Tibet where the mythical land of Shangri-La is supposed to be?"

"Oh, like in the movie Lost Horizon?"

"Yes, where people live in paradise for several hundred years?"

"That's the story," Hal said. "But remember, as soon as that European lady left the valley of Shangri-La, her body turned to dust."

"How old are you, Hal?"

"Some of my colleagues claim I'm old enough to remember when Mount Everest was just a seashell on the bottom of the Indian Ocean."

I looked at Hal like I didn't have a clue where he was going. "The highest mountain was once the bottom of the ocean? That must've been one magical seashell."

"When the Indian subcontinent collided with the Eurasian supercontinent, the Himalayan Mountains were thrust up."

I twisted my face in dumb-blonde horror. "Thrust up. All you men have a one track mind—sex."

"That's not true," Hal insisted.

"Why not ask that flyboy in the front row then?"

I looked toward a handsome pilot in the middle of the first row. Hal followed my gaze, and then pointed to the guy.

I nodded. "Yes him. What do you think is on his mind?"

Hal grinned broadly. "Him a layin'… you?"

Bedlam.

"From what I heard in the mess hall, all the flyboys talk about is humping: hump this, hump that, rise above the hump. They're hump obsessed. Well, get over the hump."

"No, no, when they talk about getting over the hump," Hal said, "they're talking about … him a layin' … mountin' … You know, you might be onto something there."

The raunchy crowd applauded.

"Hal, I'm glad you're man enough to admit it."

Hal undressed me with his eyes. "Yes, you're right. When I look at you, there are these mighty hills and beautiful valleys," Hal used his forefingers to draw an outline of a curvaceous woman's body, "that broaden out to a fertile plain. Your topography is out of this world."

"Topography? Why you sound like that geologist, Dr. Schist, I met this morning on the plane. He was very rude and insulting."

"What did he say?"

"Well, he was describing him a layin' mountin' topography." I paused to consider the possibilities. "Is topography the scientific name for the missionary position?"

The crowd roared.

"No. Topography is the lay of the land—which you may very well be."

The men screamed approval.

"Out of the blue Dr. Schist starts talking about cleavage. He refers to it as a crack between two flat planes." I unbuttoned my top and thrust out my breasts. "Does this look flat to you?"

Some of the men were crying 'cause they were laughing so hard.

I waved to the crowd, blew kisses, and backed my way off stage.

16

Flying in the skies somewhere above the Assam region, I chatted with Hal Patterson.

We were working on a few jokes we might be able to add to the act. Hal was a creative and charming ladies man. Yes, he really did have two ex-wives.

Hal told me he had a surprise for me. He pulled out a copy of Yank the Army Weekly.

As usual, there were some tempting cheesecake photos of some luscious Hollywood starlets. This edition featured Yank Pin-up Girls Ingrid Bergman, Lucille Ball, Carole Gallagher, Gene Tierney, Lina Romay, Sheila Ryan, and Martha Holliday. It was what most of the guys turned to first.

Hal pointed to an article about an entertainment troupe doing the same kind of musical comedy show we were doing. It was called Hump Happy.

A photo showed three soldiers in wigs, makeup and dresses. Apparently they did a song and dance number as the Andrews Sisters. I was struck by the similarity between our shows, but then realized it was inevitable given the soaring popularity of the Andrews Sisters and the natural tie-in with the Buck Privates movie. Also, in Hump Happy, the big finale was a strip tease by one of the female impersonators. But the major difference was the stripper in drag wouldn't fool anybody. The Hump Happy show was all done for laughs.

I started to wonder why I was living as a lady full-time. I was getting laughs interacting with Hal and Herb. Comedy came naturally to me. Hell, I could substitute a comedy strip-tease for my hot and horny burlesque dance. At the end of the show, I could pull off my tits and wig, and probably get a standing ovation. Maybe even a greater ovation than I was getting now. Then I wouldn't have to live full-time as a gal.

Since Hal knew of my dual-identity, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to ask him.

I asked, "Hal, have you seen the Hump Happy show?"

"No."

"I wish I could see what their show is like. I'd like to see how we stack up."

"Believe me, they're not stacked like you," Hal said as he peeked down at my bosom.

I laughed. "The article describes Hump Happy as 'a fast-moving, two-act musical comedy that has given soldiers here their first ration of belly laughs since they left the States two years ago.'"

"They may provide some laughs, but I guarantee The Follies Berserk puts on a better show."

"How can you be sure?"

"For a number of reasons. First, we have real entertainers, people who have made their living in show business. For example, we have more musicians, more dancers, a singer, a ventriloquist—we have a bigger and better cast." Hal paused to see if he was convincing me. "Second, the soldiers and airmen know they won't see any real females in the Hump Happy show. And, you know very well, the enlisted men desperately want to see a real girl—not a guy in drag."

I almost interrupted Hal at this point, but he carried on before I could speak.

"And third, but most importantly, we have a real honest to goodness star—beautiful blonde bombshell Marion Summers."

Wow! Hal thinks I'm a star. "Thanks, Hal. I don't know what to say."

"Marion, you're a natural talent. Why the first time you came on stage, we did some repartee completely unscripted. I steered you a little in the direction I wanted, but you knew exactly where to go with my cues. We got tremendous laughs. You were a big hit the first time out."

I thought back to my debut with Hal. It did go well. "But Hal, these guys do a show in drag. They get laughs. So do our Trooper Duper Dancers." I left the bit about me being in drag unsaid.

"They were just a bunch of guys in a unit who got together to entertain their friends. Some Brigadier General saw them perform. Next thing you know, he decides to send them around to other air force bases to provide a few laughs for entertainment starved airmen and mechanics."

"Do you think I'm believable in my role as a stripper?" I whispered.

"Your strip-tease act is as good as any I've ever seen. You could compete with Gypsy Rose Lee. You're absolutely gorgeous. Right now, sitting beside you, I'm just hoping to get lucky. You could win the Miss America contest—if it wasn't for a small technicality."

I laughed. Hal was a real ladies man. He sure could charm the panties off anyone.

I hugged him vigorously. Then I kissed him on both cheeks. That would teach him to be less effusive in his praise.

***

Dum Dum was a British Airdrome outside of Calcutta. The Americans shared it with the British.

I decided to visit the medical clinic.

The leeches had left little holes in my ankles. The wounds weren't healing as quickly as I thought they should.

The Doc suggested Epsom salts.

While my feet soaked in a vat filled with water and the soothing Epsom salts, I was struck by the conditions the doctors and nurses worked under.

There weren't permanent buildings at Dum Dum. It was a tent situation, although the floors were wooden. There was a mesh mosquito netting in all of the tents to keep the damn flies out. Mosquitoes were an ever present problem. They spread malaria.

"How did the leeches find you?" Doc Al Stratton asked.

"I was up at Dinjan. We went for a walk through a jungle area near the Brahmaputra River. I'm not sure I'd make the same choice if given the chance to do it again."

"Lots of dangerous critters in the jungle, I guess you should be thankful it was only leeches."

"Yes, plus one of my friends had a cigarette lighter handy."

"You're right, if you had pulled the leeches off, you'd have bled much more."

"Still, there was some bleeding."

"Leeches release an anti-coagulant. You know, at one time leeches used to be used for medicinal purposes. Bleeding was a common practice. Medical practitioners thought if you got rid of the bad blood, the poisons would be released from your body. A similar theory for the Epsom salts—they will draw out toxins from your slow to heal lesions and reduce any swelling."

"Well, I think my feet are shriveling already."

The Doc looked at my ankle. "The scars from the hole marks will fade in time."

"We can't have blemishes ruin my beauty. I'm in show business, don't you know?"

"What do you do?"

"I dance, I sing, I interact with the comedian. I'm kind of a Jack—I mean Jill of all trades."

"Oh, you're doing the Special Services show here this evening."

"Yes, The Follies Berserk."

"Well, I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Bring a camera, if you have one. I'll pose with you after the show."

"Sure thing, I will." The Doc paused to reflect for a moment. "Your visit is a ray of sunshine in an otherwise dull day."

"The heartbreak of leech scarring isn't as serious as battle wounds, huh?"

"No, you're right, although here at Dum Dum we haven't had too many wounded soldiers and airmen lately. We get a lot of tropical disease cases like typhoid fever, dengue, malaria, and dysentery. Then there are cobras and other poisonous snakes that can cause problems too."

"I've seen my share of cobras. Everybody checks their basha every evening before getting into bed." Fortunately I could call on Phil and Tom to help get rid of the snakes.

"While you're here, should I give you a full check up? You know, check your heart, get you to say ah for me?"

"Sure, I'll say anything you want me to, Doc." Did I mention Doc was a tall, handsome specimen of manhood? If he wanted to check my heart, he'd find it beating madly.

What the hell am I thinking? He'll discover that underneath my pink sundress and my padded brassier, I'm a flat-chested man! I'm a female impersonator—a fraud.

A nurse came up to the Doc. "Harrington is asking for you. He's in pain. The morphine must be wearing off."

"Okay, I'll be right there." The Doc looked from the nurse back to me. "I have to tend to another patient. Just keep your feet in the Epsom salts for another five minutes. It should be fine. And be sure to wear clean socks, but I think you do that already."

I breathed a sigh of relief when the Doc moved away. It had been a narrow escape.

Quickly I dried off my feet. I could continue the soaking back at my tent.

I needed to get away quickly.

While I asked for a bag of Epsom salts from another nurse, I asked her to say thanks to the Doc for me. I told her I had to go rehearse for the show.

Thankful that the gods were smiling upon me, I made my way back to my tent.

I thought about how I was starting to believe I was a real girl. Since I had been living that role full-time for many months, it had become second nature.

At first I just tried to look the part, getting the makeup right, the hair, the nails, the dress, the undergarments and the high heels. And then I concentrated on acting the part. But a person is a person. A lady's roles are learned. The way a lady speaks, her manners, her walk, her way of dressing, and behavior. Beyond that, if you treat a person the way you liked to be treated, then that was what you received back. For some reason beauty is prized in our society. I was treated well by everyone. It was why I enjoyed becoming a beautiful woman.

If I take off the dress, brassier, panties, court shoes, wig and makeup, will I revert immediately to being a man? If I put on the army khakis, will everyone think I'm a guy or will I look like a girl in a man's uniform?

I was tempted to do the experiment—try it out. The only thing was I didn't have a soldier's uniform handy. Maybe I can ask Tom? No, his won't fit.

Besides, it was a silly thought. Of course, people would assume I'm a man. I was a man for the first 20 years of my life.

Or am I filled with doubt for a reason? Why had Major Harrison and Lieutenant Mitchell thought I could become a sexy exotic dancer? Had I really looked like a girl even then?

While soaking in Epsom salts back at my tent, I had a chance to take a close look at myself in the mirror.

I looked like a girl. Actually I looked exactly like the beautiful blonde bombshell I was supposed to be. With just a wig, minimal makeup, padding and girl's clothing, I could fool everyone all of the time. Oh, except for that one guy up in Panagarh.

Am I happier being a girl? Or a guy?

Of course, it was an unfair question. We were at war. I was in India. It was a desperate time. Every U.S. serviceman would prefer to be home right now, rather than in a foreign land.

Yet, when I performed, I got such a great reaction from the audience. I received standing ovations almost every time. They cheered me; they adored me; they loved me.

Never had I gotten such an enthusiastic response as a male. Even when I performed on Broadway—I wasn't the star. I was a singer-dancer in the chorus. At the end of the show, when we did our bows, the chorus got polite applause.

But living as a woman in India wasn't a realistic test. I was protected. Tom and Phil always had my flank. I wasn't given the freedom to have relationships. There was no romance for me because I was not a real woman.

In my interactions with Tom and Phil, they treated me like a lady. We had a great relationship.

A slip-up like with the Doc happened rarely.

Besides, like Pinocchio, a puppet wanting to be human, it was impossible to turn a man into a woman. I couldn't grow breasts. I couldn't change my penis and testicles into a vagina.

In the bedroom, the ultimate test, I'd fail.

17

At the Ramgarh Training Centre, the troupe set up for another evening of entertainment. The stage was erected. Canvas partitions were put in place. The musicians set up their chairs. The footlights were positioned.

As the hours passed by, I got this knot in my stomach.

There was this hard to define feeling of discomfort. I didn't know why.

When I did a sewing repair on the back zipper of my costume, I was nervous.

Stage fright? I dismissed that notion.

Ramgarh was to be the site of my two hundredth performance as a female impersonator. It seemed like years ago that I had debuted triumphantly in Chakulia. Why should I be nervous? If anything, I should feel happy and proud to reach such an impressive personal milestone.

The afternoon seemed to drag on forever. To pass the time, I read a few chapters of a Somerset Maugham book The Razor's Edge, but the nagging unease stayed with me.

When the late afternoon sun had a chance to heat rainwater in the barrels, the shower became a highlight of my day. It was gloriously refreshing—a true sensual pleasure.

While I was putting on the makeup and donning my costume, the sense of foreboding returned. It was puzzling.

At long last, it was show time. The conductor cued the band. On came the singer-dancers. "Hooray for Hollywood…"

When I entered with Hal Patterson, there were enormous cheers. Our emcee greeted the crowd.

I looked out to the smiling faces, a crowd of 800 or so, and suddenly I knew why I had a knot in my stomach.

There in the front row, I saw the face of Johnny Flynn. He looked into my eyes. I looked into his. There was that spark of recognition. Immediately his face said he knew it was me, Mike O'Connor.

While I traded barbs with Hal, it was like I was sleepwalking through the whole routine. And every time I looked to the front row where I saw Flynn's distinctive cowlick, there was that "I can't believe what I'm seeing" expression on his innocent face.

I felt embarrassed and very worried. I saw Flynn talking to Dombrowski and Lee, I wondered if he was telling them that Marion Summers, the blonde bombshell, was really our old chum Mike O'Connor?

I tried to butter up Hal. We did a bit about Hal's ex-wives. Before I knew it, Hal was making a pass at me. I put him in his place.

Taking the cue from Hal, the band began playing In the Mood. Of all the people furiously waving their hands to volunteer, wouldn't you know it? Hal selected Johnny Flynn to be my dance partner.

I smiled at Flynn the way I greeted all my new partners for the show. Inside I was praying he didn't know.

We began with the basic Jitterbug steps.

"Miss Summers," Johnny said as he swung me to my right and then the left, "I believe I've met your brother."

I smiled at him and carried on dancing. As we did a cuddle, Johnny said, "I went through basic training with Mike O'Connor."

We did an over and under maneuver. We reversed it. Then Flynn drew me to him. "I used to play cards with Mike. I was his partner."

I was euchred. Flynn knew. I kept smiling.

"One of the nicest guys I ever met." Now the pace really picked up. Flynn and I were high stepping it. "Although I never danced with him … before."

There's no use pretending. "Please speak to me after the show."

Flynn smiled at me. "No wonder you couldn't tell me why you were reassigned."

We continued dancing.

"Please don't tell anyone, Johnny," I pleaded.

While we Jitterbugged, I tried to read Flynn's expression. Card players called it a poker face. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Some more swing moves, then, whenever I tried to look him in the face, Johnny mugged to the audience as if he was the cat's meow, the luckiest man in Ramgarh, and they weren't.

We cuddled. Flynn spun me out and then kept twirling me round and round, my skirt flying up showing off my gartered silk stockings, into a cuddle in the reverse position. I spun out, we did a series of kicks, then back to the basic step.

Big finish. We did a bridging maneuver. Flynn flipped me over his hip and then he pulled me toward him. We fell in a heap on the floor with me on top, my face inches away from his.

The conductor cut the huge In the Mood horn crescendo with a flourish. The crowd erupted with a roaring raucous ovation.

I kissed Flynn politely on the lips. There was more thunderous applause. Flynn laughed.

I rose and tried to help Flynn to his feet, but he sprung up easily. With my hand in his, we bowed to the right, bowed to the left, then bowed to the center.

This one felt really special.

"Please meet me after the show," I said again to Flynn.

I retreated from the stage, blowing kisses to the crowd. Flynn stepped toward his place in the front row. When he slipped back to the ground level, all his friends were slapping him on the back, congratulating him, yelling and cheering.

***

After the show, I was in front of the stage, posing for photos with the soldiers of my old company.

Except they didn't know gorgeous blonde bombshell Marion Summers was really Private Michael O'Connor—all except for Johnny Flynn.

The sun was setting rapidly. It would be dark very soon.

After about twenty minutes, the line of soldiers petered out. Phil and Tom did their best to keep the interaction with each soldier short and amiable. I was feeling a little anxious.

Where's Johnny? Surely he heard me ask him to meet after the show?

Maybe he was already talking to reporters for Hump Express, Yank the Army Weekly, and CBI Roundup about the sexy showgirl who was really an enlisted man named Mike O'Connor?

Our crew had finished dismantling the stage; the canvas partitions were tucked away in the truck; the musicians packed away the instruments and folding chairs; the footlights had disappeared. It was time to go.

As Tom and Phil led me away from the stage back to our sleeping quarters, I heard a voice in the distance calling to me.

"Miss Summers."

I turned around. It was Johnny. He was moving quickly, running to catch up to me. "Tom and Phil, thanks for your assistance. I need to talk to this soldier."

They looked at me with quizzical expressions.

"I know Johnny. I went through basic training with him."

The coin dropped. Phil and Tom took a good look at Johnny as he slowed his approach, as if they were trying to memorize Johnny's face in case they ever needed to track him down.

"Don't worry. I'll be okay," I assured them.

Tom and Phil turned and began walking down the gravel path to their bashas, the sleeping quarters or huts.

"What took you so long.?"

"I had to get rid of Dombrowski and Lee."

"Oh." I looked at Johnny for a moment, wondering what he was thinking.

"Don't worry. I didn't tell them."

"Thanks." I didn't know where to begin. "I guess this is a bit of a shock to you."

"Yes." Johnny's eyes gave me the once over. "You look very beautiful."

"Thank you." I stepped closer to Johnny. "Oh, why not?" With open arms, I gave him an awkward hug.

Johnny embraced me, squeezing me tightly. "You sure aren't the Mike I remember."

"Shhh, don't say it too loud," I whispered.

"I think everyone's gone," Johnny said in the darkness.

"You never know."

"So this is your big secret."

"Yes."

"The army finally got something right. You were born to play this part. You're drop dead gorgeous."

"Thanks. Coming from a gentleman like you, it means a lot." In a quiet voice, I told Johnny about the meeting on the Hoyt with the officers. I explained to him the reason why I was in drag, why I was selected, and why I had to keep it a secret.

"You dance very well. Especially the strip-tease. I started to wonder if Michael wasn't really Michelle, that you were really a woman posing as a man during basic training. But, then I remembered that we took showers together at Fort Dix."

"And yes, I had a dick."

"Yeah, I would've noticed if you didn't. Then again, I don't remember you having such great legs. But, as you did your strip-tease, I started wondering 'Where does he put it?' I kept looking at your G-string and I had my doubts, let me tell you."

"It's a secret, just a small one." I laughed.

"And those big tits? They have to be phony."

"Just padding." I grabbed a hold of his hand and brought it up to my bosom. "Go ahead, squeeze."

Johnny's fingers moved about like a doctor's stethoscope searching for a heartbeat. "Rubber?"

"Sponge. So you enjoyed the show?"

"I loved it, especially dancing with you."

"That was great. For the audience participation portion, we advise the units to fill the front rows with guys who can dance. Hal, our emcee who selects the dancer, has a knack for it. I don't know how he chooses great dancers practically every time."

"I never thought I'd get the chance." Johnny smiled. His cowlick seemed to almost spring to attention.

"I'm glad you did."

"By the way, I was really surprised when you kissed me."

"What else was I supposed to do? I landed on top of you and there we were—face to face."

Johnny kissed me. At first, I resisted a little. Oh, what the hell. I returned the kiss fervently. I smothered him with pent up passion. The kisses—they were sloppy and they were wet. I mixed in a little tongue. Aren't I a devil? It's okay; this is my old friend Johnny. He knows the real me—and he accepts me as I am, red sequined evening gown, high heels, makeup, blonde wig, and all.

For an hour, we reminisced about basic training, the voyage over, and Cape Town. I tossed in my secret shopping trip for a dress, my first appearance in drag walking down the gangplank from the Hoyt to a waiting Jeep, and the dive bomber attack.

Then Flynn told me about his experiences in India. From Calcutta, Flynn and the other boys in my squad had traveled 200 miles northwest by train to Ramgarh. Given Military Police duty, Flynn's first assignment was to guard Italian prisoners of war. Ramgarh had been a British POW camp, prior to being converted to retraining Chinese troops.

The remnants of the Chinese forces, compelled to withdraw from Burma by the invading Japanese, first needed to be restored to health. Fighting in the jungles of Burma had left them with dysentery, malaria, typhoid and malnutrition. Once healthy, the Chinese were trained in jungle fighting tactics and the use of modern military equipment. Flynn's current duty was protecting the training equipment, such as trucks, tanks and cannons, from being damaged by bored Chinese troops while they waited month after month to seek revenge against the Nips. Such was the life of an MP.

We compared notes on how to deal with the heat, the monsoons, the mosquitoes, the monotony, the rats, the snakes, and the god-awful chow.

Johnny still led sing-alongs with his harmonica accompaniment. Johnny had advanced to bridge from gin rummy and euchre. Dombrowski, Lee, and Arthurs were his good pals.

As we talked, I realized that his life was what could've been for me had I not volunteered for "entertainment opportunities."

18

As the war progressed, the company soon found itself bound for Ledo near the India-Burma border. The fighting intensified as the Allies sensed the Japanese were losing their grip on Burma.

However, the Japanese still had a large military presence in Burma and were likely aware of the road work due to their air reconnaissance. Myitkyina, the largest Burmese town close to the border, was still held by the Japanese, even though Merrill's Marauders had pounded the Japanese bunkers.

Nevertheless, we headed out from what we regarded as a secure military outpost near Ledo. The destination was a small U.S. army camp an hour away near the Nampong Hellgate on the Indian side of the border. They were doing road construction and bridge work. Our traveling company had never entertained troops or workers at this location.

The dusty Ledo Road went up and down a mountain, had a lot of narrow bridges and wound through thick jungle. It was an almost impossible road to construct due to monsoons washing it away, landslides, avalanches, sinkholes, and malaria carrying mosquitoes. Workers called it heartbreak road or something else unprintable.

The Ledo Road turned out to be dangerous because the Japanese had other plans for us.

As we came down a small hill and around a bend, mortar fire from a nearby position in the jungle almost blew our Jeep off the road.

Phil wheeled the Jeep around as machine guns opened up on the trucks and Jeeps ahead of us.

I heard a woman scream out in terror. Then I realized it was me.

I saw a mortar shell explode—a direct hit on the transport immediately up the road. It veered to the side and plowed into the trees.

Tom rose up and jumped into the back seat. "Get down!" he yelled as he landed on top of me, trying to protect me from the mortar and machine gun fire.

The rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun ripped into the Jeep. Poor Tom's body spasmed a few times as he caught a few slugs in the back. Phil tried to keep his head down as the Jeep roared away from the attack, up the road, and headed back to Ledo.

Oh God! "Tom, are you hit?" Tom's bleeding badly.

Tom could only groan as I sat him up in the seat beside me.

I yelled to Phil, "We have to get Tom to a hospital. He's hurt really bad."

"I'll radio ahead," Phil said. "We've got to warn headquarters the road isn't safe."

"I wonder if anybody else made it out alive."

It was quite a dilemma. On the one hand, we have to run away from a fight. It's an ambush. The damn Nips caught us by surprise. What can Phil and I do against superior firepower? It's best to try to get Tom to safety. Perhaps if we can get him to a hospital in time, he'll live.

On the other hand, if we head back into the fight, maybe we can save some of our colleagues.

With what? Pistols versus machine guns and mortars?

We roared down the road as fast as we could.

Tom probably felt every bump much more than Phil or me, but time was of the essence.

Phil handed me the first aid kit from the front compartment. I took out a gauze bandage and hurriedly tried to stem the flow of blood by pressing down on the wound. As far as I could tell, Tom had three bullet wounds, one to the upper part of his left arm, another to the shoulder, and another to the back part of his collar bone. No vital organs had been hit, but substantial blood loss made survival an iffy proposition.

It was the longest hour car ride I've ever taken.

When we arrived at the 69th General Hospital, we rushed Tom into the emergency area.

Being type O, I offered to give my blood for transfusion to Tom. After all, he took three bullets trying to protect me.

A doctor examined him quickly. We established that I was a suitable donor for Tom.

The doctor quickly removed the two bullets embedded in Tom's shoulder. The other bullet must have passed clean through his upper arm.

After stitching up the wounds, the doctor inserted a tube into Tom's right arm and one into mine. Soon my blood flowed into Tom's body, restoring some of the lost blood.

However, there was no assurance that he'd make it. We could only wait.

A Holy Joe was summoned to read last rites, just in case. I told the chaplain Tom was a Baptist.

While Tom lay on the bed with the chaplain by his side, I felt weak and helpless. The situation had escalated beyond my control. I might lose my precious Tom.

Although I was not a devoutly religious person, I was a Christian. I put my hands together and prayed to God. All I asked was that Tom survive, that he regained his health.

Since I was in India, I took the time to appeal to Krishna, Mohammed and Buddha too.

The moments of solitude seemed to put me in a different state. Either I almost fell asleep—or I came close to fainting.

I tried to fight the fatigue as Phil and I tried to keep up an around the clock vigil for our friend. Coffee and then more coffee was consumed trying to stay awake.

Later on, reports came back to headquarters that the entire entertainment troupe, 20 men, excluding us, had been killed. They were all slaughtered by a barrage of grenades, mortar, and machine gun fire. Our musicians, dancers, comedian, ventriloquist, and stage hands were no match for the experienced Japanese soldiers.

"Those damn Nip cowards," Phil said. "Most of those guys were unarmed."

As I sat beside Tom's cot, I held his hand. It felt cold. I didn't know if Tom was aware of me. He was on morphine, which helped alleviate the pain.

Swathed in bandages, Tom was breathing in and out, in and out. There was a regular rhythm to it. Perhaps there was realistic hope.

Some new fangled intravenous drip apparatus was attached to Tom's arm. It fed glucose into him providing energy for the body to repair itself.

I didn't know if Tom even knew I was beside him, but it didn't matter to me. I just wanted to hold onto him—not let him go.

If my touch helped him even a smidgen in making it, I wanted to do everything I could.

If not for the bravery of Tom, that might've been me lying in that cot. Or worse, I might be dead.

How did the ambush happen? I replayed the events in my mind. The mortar explosion, Phil wheeling the Jeep around, machine gun fire and mortar shells hitting the trucks ahead of us, Tom jumping on top of me, and Phil speeding us away as a machine gun fired at us.

There wasn't much more we could've done.

Why did we survive? I thought back to what happened in the morning. Due to a last minute trip to the bathroom, we brought up the rear of our entertainment convoy. As we were eating road dust all along the route, we decided to hang back even farther. Otherwise all of us would have been killed.

Fortunately, Tom survived through the night.

During the course of the next day, he slept right through it.

When Phil took over for me, I lay down in a spare cot in the hospital.

In the morning, when Tom opened his eyes, I almost jumped for joy. He didn't say much, mumbling something about feeling wet.

We got the bedding changed. It wasn't the first time we had to do it. Or the last.

Tom went back to sleep.

About two days after Tom arrived at the hospital, the doctor told us Tom likely would survive, barring complications like infection or blood clots.

In order to hang around the medical tent while Tom recuperated, I persuaded the doctor to let me don a nurse's uniform. I could, at least, bring the patients their meals and change wet bedding.

While I hadn't undergone any medical training, the smiling face of a beautiful woman could lift the morale of an ailing soldier. Bringing laughter and gaiety was something I could do. I'd had lots of practice.

Over the next few days, I saw soldiers who were in extreme pain; men missing an arm or a leg; soldiers blinded by shrapnel; and men whose wounds were so serious they would not recover.

I wept for all of them—my fellow entertainers especially.

19

When Phil and I were recalled to Calcutta, I had to say goodbye to Tom.

Putting on a brave face, Tom got up from his bed. It took all of his strength. When he finally stood tall, we hugged. His weak fragile frame seemed to meld into my body contours as he drew strength from our embrace. I thought about all that he had done for me, how he had protected me and how he had suffered for it.

I kissed him full on the lips.

I shouldn't have done that. I felt ashamed. I crossed the line.

But instead of seeming at all repulsed, Tom returned my kiss, smothering me with more kisses.

"You don't know how often I've thought of kissing you. I'll miss you, Marion. You are a beautiful person in the truest sense. It was my pleasure to know you."

"Thanks, Tom. I owe you my life." I sighed like a schoolgirl.

"No you don't. I couldn't have made it without the transfusion. Call it even."

Playfully I mussed up his hair one last time. "You can jump into my foxhole whenever you feel the urge. Take care of yourself."

Tom handed me a slip of paper. He'd written down the names of his parents and their address. "If you're ever in Tennessee or better yet, Memphis, or want to contact me, you can reach me through my parents."

"Thanks, I will."

Phil said his goodbye to Tom as well.

Then we went outside to the Jeep. Phil opened the door for me, as was his custom. When I was seated, he closed the door. Moments later, we began the journey to Calcutta.

As we drove down the dusty rural road, I thought back to the men I served with.

There was a song Vic Carson used to sing by Sammy Fain and Irving Kahal. When Vic sang it, I thought of home, my family, and friends. Now it kept running around in my head as I saw the faces of my former colleagues: Hal, Herb, Vic, Jack, Sal, Ray, Richard, the rest of the musicians, the dancers, the stage hands, and I thought of what I had lost.

"I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day through."

It was Vic's voice bidding adieu.

"In that small cafe;
The park across the way;
The children's carousel;
The chestnut trees;
The wishin' well."

Herb was swell, Junior, the dancers, the band were grand.

"I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day;
In every thing that's light and gay.
I'll always think of you that way."

"I'll find you
In the morning sun
And when the night is new.
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you."

I'll be seeing you, Hal.

After an uneventful plane ride from Ledo to Dum Dum, I slept in a double-layered tent at Dum Dum.

The next day, Phil drove me to headquarters in Calcutta for a debriefing.

I walked into Major Harrison's office, overlooking the River Hooghly, with a smile on my face despite my heavy heart. I saluted him just as I did the first time we met.

"Marion Summers reporting for duty, sir." Or should I have said Private Michael O'Connor reporting for duty?

Major Harrison saluted me. "At ease, Miss Summers."

That was my first salute as Marion Summers. For goodness sake, I'm wearing a cool blue-green form-fitting silk cheongsam with white chrysanthemum patterns—a gift from Johnny Flynn—not army khakis or dungarees.

I brought down my right hand, spread my feet shoulder width apart and joined my hands behind my back.

"Actually Miss Summers, why don't you have a seat? This may take awhile. I'd like you to be comfortable." The Major came around his mahogany desk, pulled up a chair for me, and helped seat me.

I felt a cooling breeze on my arms and legs from the whirling ceiling fan above.

The last time I saw the Major had been six months ago on the Liberty ship S.S. John W. Hoyt, but somehow the Major looked much older, as if the passage of time had speeded up. Maybe his uniform looked a little more worn too.

"Where's Lieutenant Mitchell these days?" I asked.

"Unfortunately Lieutenant Mitchell was killed in action a few months ago."

I winced. "I'm sorry."

Major Harrison heaved a sigh. "He was a good man."

"It's so sad. Twenty people in our entertainment troupe were killed. I know what it's like to lose colleagues, people you regard as friends. In some cases, they become like family to you."

"War is senseless. Someday the human race will figure that out."

The Major asked for details of the attack on the traveling entertainers. I told him as much as I could, especially how mortars, grenades and machine guns caught us completely by surprise. Also, I explained how our Jeep escaped and my life was saved by the action of a brave friend.

"I'll see to it that MP Tom Preston receives a Distinguished Service Cross for his bravery in addition to a Purple Heart."

I thanked Major Harrison.

I looked out his office window toward the busy port. A small fishing boat was heading down the river.

A moment of sadness—I thought of Hal, Vic, Herb, and the rest of our entertainment troupe—the guys who didn't make it.

"I must say, if I didn't know better, I'd never guess that you aren't what you appear to be—a gorgeous young lady. You carry off the illusion so well, with grace and beauty."

"Thank you, Major." There was a question I had been dying to ask him. "I'm curious, that day aboard the Hoyt, the first time we met, what made you think I could become a female impersonator?"

"There are some people who just have an air of sensuality about them. It's hard to define—an aura, an energy. You've got a look of innocence too. When the lieutenant and I interviewed you, we could sense a feminine quality about you. Right now, up close, I doubt that you're aware of it, you ooze sex appeal."

That surprised me. At the moment, I wasn't trying to be seductive. "Thank you, Major. I think seeing things from the female perspective has changed me—maybe for the better."

"Was there ever a time when you had doubts about your masquerade?"

"At the start, yes. But, after my second performance, Pamela Starr was gone. I was completely on my own. It was sink or swim. Certainly Tom Preston and Phil Dempster helped me greatly, but when I performed in front of the soldiers, they were so enthusiastic. I thoroughly enjoyed dancing for them, even if it was a sexy strip-tease act."

"Actually, I have a confession to make. About a week after you began your dance act here in India, Lieutenant Mitchell and I went to see you perform."

"Why didn't you come talk to me afterwards?"

"We thought about it, but didn't want to risk exposing you by an inadvertent slip-up."

"So, what did you think?" I asked coyly.

"You were amazing! I've never seen so many excited guys, even in a burlesque club. Lust filled their hearts and minds. Every man wanted to take you to bed and, you know…"

"Have their way with me?"

He nodded. "Yes." Then he blushed. "In fact, the Lieutenant and I just marveled at how you won over the audience. We were the only ones in the whole crowd who knew the truth. And we were wishing the illusion was real. You are a beautiful lady … and funny. I howled when you joked with the emcee. You really put him in his place."

"Thank you Major Harrison, you've made my day."

The Major paused for a moment before continuing. "All that remains now is to decide what to do with you."

"Please Major Harrison, I don't see how I can go into combat duty."

"I agree." Major Harrison rose from his chair and began pacing across the exquisite hand-woven carpet. "I'll request that another entertainment company be assembled. We'll see if Special Services wants to do it again, given that all of the entertainers, except for you, were killed. There doesn't seem to be as much of a need since USO performers are coming over more and more."

"What shall I do in the meantime?"

"What have you been doing for the last two weeks?"

"I've been pretending to be a nurse at a military hospital, as I tried to care for Tom."

"Successfully?"

"Yes, Tom is getting better and nobody is the wiser."

"It would be hard for me to assign you to a hospital without compromising your secret, but I do have an idea. Until we get a response from Special Services, I could certainly use a secretary or communications clerk to help around the Calcutta office."

"I'd be happy to do so, Major."

20

What duties did I perform for Major Harrison? I became Harrison's secretary and receptionist. Mostly I organized his files which were a mess when I arrived, answered the telephone, handled communications via the teletype machine, plus I typed memos and letters.

About three weeks into my work with Major Harrison, we were visited by a young Corporal Evans. He handed me a note. Brigadier General Cook requested that I meet him at the Dum Dum headquarters at 09:30 the next day. Also, Corporal Evans provided me with directions to the office.

The note mystified me. Why would a brigadier general request a meeting with me?

Phil Dempster, who was now a member of Major Harrison's staff, drove me over to the Dum Dum office, located near the landing strip.

I had to wait a few minutes in the outer office as the Brigadier General was apparently tied up with an important phone call. Every time a plane landed or took off, the droning noise of the engines penetrated the thin walls of the temporary building.

When the assistant led me into the inner office, I was finally greeted by the man himself.

"Ah, Miss Summers, I'm delighted to meet you," Brigadier General Cook said.

We shook hands. He had massive hands and a firm grip. He was tall, about 6' 1" and perhaps 210 pounds. He looked to be about 45 years old and in good shape. Except for normal looking ears, he reminded me of movie star Clark Gable.

"Glad to meet you, Brigadier General Cook." I wasn't sure what to do or say next.

"Please, sit down." The brigadier general helped seat me at a comfortable padded chair in front of his desk. "I remember your performance here at Dum Dum a few months ago. Miss Summers, you are a great dancer, you're a very funny comedienne, and you're very charismatic—I've never seen any performer connect so magically with an audience," the Brigadier General said as he sat down behind his massive mahogany desk.

"Thank you, Brigadier General Cook, you're most kind.'

"There's no need to be formal here. Please call me Bill. All my friends do."

The Brigadier General's cap, which lay on his desk, had one star. "Is Bill short for William?"

"Yes Miss Summers, William Michael Cook is my full handle."

"Please call me Marion." Michael is my name too.

The Brigadier General seemed to relax. He looked at a file on his desk. "Are you enjoying your work with Major Harrison? Does the WAC uniform suit you?"

"Yes. I'm thankful for the work, Major Harrison is a good man to work for, and I feel comfortable in the uniform." I was starting to come out of my depression.

"How does it compare to performing on stage?"

"Oh, I love the stage. It's my passion."

"Before you were in The Follies Berserk, had you ever danced or sang or stripped?"

"I danced and sang, but I had never performed a strip-tease in my life."

The Brigadier General, Bill, smiled. "Is there a negative connotation to being a stripper?"

"Some people assume a stripper is a person of loose moral values." I adjusted my skirt as I re-crossed my legs.

"Yet you were the most popular performer I've seen in these parts. In The Follies Berserk, you did everything. Did you find it difficult?"

"At first I had trouble accepting my role, but after awhile, I enjoyed it immensely."

"Yes, your predecessor, Pamela Starr, predicted that."

I should've known. "Bill, you're the one who provided Pamela with air transportation back to the States?"

The brigadier general nodded. "She said you were a beautiful blonde bombshell—truer words were never spoken."

Am I blushing? "Thank you."

"I suppose you were wondering why a Brigadier General might request a meeting with you."

"Yes, it came from out of the blue."

"Marion, I'd like to ask a favor of you. If you can help me out now, perhaps I can pull some strings and help you in the future."

I was non-committal. "That depends on the favor."

"I am supposed to attend an important gala tonight. It's a formal affair. There'll be representatives of the government and military of India, Britain, China, and, of course, the United States."

"And you need a date?"

"Yes, you made quite an impression on me when I saw you perform. I couldn't help but think that the most beautiful woman in India should be at the dinner tonight. Plus I know you're witty and will be delightful company. It's a social occasion—some British pomp and ceremony. After the speeches about cooperation, there'll be a dance. I know it's sudden notice, but I just arrived back in Calcutta two days ago from China. I can help you find a suitable gown and jewelry—whatever you need."

"I'm flattered—I don't know what to say?"

"Please say yes."

"Bill, I have a friend outside who I am close to. Phil is my bodyguard. He's assigned to protect me."

"He can come too, although he'll have to stay in the background."

What kind of person is Bill? Is he a pervert? Does he know I'm a guy?

"I can assure you, Marion, I will behave like a proper gentleman tonight." The brigadier general's expression suddenly brightened. "I have an idea. Why don't we bring your bodyguard in for a moment? What's his name?"

"Phil Dempster."

Bill got up from his desk and walked to the door. After opening the door, he called out, "Phil Dempster, could you please come into my office?"

A minute later, Phil, Bill, and I sat around Bill's desk. The brigadier general described the purpose of the evening's activities and discussed possible arrangements for the international gala.

"Tonight's affair will require formal attire," Brigadier General Cook said. "Private Dempster, do you have a dress uniform?"

"No sir."

"How long have you been here in India?"

"A year and three months, sir."

"You've been protecting Miss Marion Summers and, prior to her, Miss Pamela Starr for that year and three months?"

"I was assigned to protect Miss Starr about two weeks after I arrived in India, sir."

"Are you a Private First Class?"

"Yes sir."

"Would you like to be a corporal?"

"Yes sir."

"Well, if you are to be at the formal dinner, I will promote you to corporal right now. You can pick up your corporal's dress uniform and regular uni at the military depot in Calcutta."

"Thank you, sir."

"You can be very persuasive, Bill," I said.

"I try my best." Bill smiled. "Then my Jeep will pick you up at 17:00 this evening?"

"Yes."

***

The remainder of the morning we spent traveling to the Calcutta depot to pick up the new uniforms for Phil. In the afternoon, we looked at various evening gowns at some of the posh ladies stores that catered to an English speaking clientele.

Later that evening, on the front lawns of Government House, a red-coated pipe band played The British Grenadiers. I had heard the catchy tune played more than once during my time in India. The words just ran around in my head.

"Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules,
Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these,
Of all the world's great heroes, there's none that can compare,
With a tow, row, row, row, row, row to the British Grenadiers…"

Dressed in an elegant black evening gown, I accompanied the handsome brigadier general in his spiffy dress uniform. Bill Cook grasped me by the hand as he led me up the grand staircase of the palatial Government House. I love a man in uniform.

British and Indian soldiers stood on guard at every archway and pillar of the sprawling three-storey edifice, built of brick covered over with white plaster. From a mast above the magnificent central dome, flew the familiar red, white and blue Union Jack.

A swirl of activity lay within the entranceway. Military men in uniforms replete with impressive medals, civilians in tuxedos, western women in evening gowns, and Indian women in colorful silk saris chatted within the marvelous Marble Hall. My eyes were drawn skyward by its two-storey high columns.

We climbed a sweeping staircase to the floor above.

At the doorway to the Banquet Hall, a uniformed British soldier led us to our seats at the head table.

The smiling faces of beautifully dressed ladies beamed their approval at my choice of evening gown. My sponge stuffed bra strained the fabric of my low cut beaded black gown. My bosom looked very womanly. The slits up the sides of the dress showed off my long shapely legs to mesmerizing effect. With three inch high heels on, I was just a few inches shorter than my escort, Brigadier General William Cook. I was confident that my long blonde hair and understated makeup completed the feminine illusion perfectly.

We were introduced to the various persons of importance at the head table, including the Governor-General or Viceroy of India, Archibald Percival Wavell, King George VI's representative in India. His wife, Eugenie, greeted us cordially. Also, the host of the gala, the Lieutenant-Governor (pronounced left-tenant) of Bengal, Richard Casey, and his wife Ethel, were most gracious.

When the orchestra began playing God Save the King, the 500 guests stood up and immediately stopped chatting. The chests of the British soldiers seemed to burst with pride in their great country's majestic anthem. Then a chaplain said grace.

The seven course meal was the best I'd ever had—or maybe it just seemed that way because of all the Spam and "bully beef" I'd been eating. The meal included: French onion soup, rolls and butter, a garden salad with French dressing, caviar, smoked salmon, sweet potatoes, roast chicken with gravy, broccoli and cauliflower au gratin, and a sumptuous cheese cake for dessert. French wine and bubbly champagne flowed freely. I could get accustomed to such formal occasions easily.

Brigadier General Cook's life, unfortunately, had been touched by the war. While he was gallivanting across southwestern China, his wife and children were supposed to fly over the Hump and join him in Kunming. Due to high winds and freezing ice on the wings of the C-46 Commando transport, the plane never made it. The bodies of his wife and two children were located a month later on the western slopes of the Himalaya Mountains. That's why Bill needed me to be his date.

I told Bill about the ambush of my entertainment troupe, although I didn't go into graphic detail. Bill was very sympathetic.

After dinner, we had to listen to speeches. Bengal's Lieutenant-Governor spoke of the need for the people to pull together in the face of a common enemy. The Deputy Mayor of Calcutta, Hamoodur Rahman, urged that the medical care be improved in view of a possible smallpox epidemic hitting the Calcutta area. Also, the Bengal famine, couldn't be ignored. Rice was badly needed. General Chiang, the leader of the Chinese forces that were now regrouping in India, thanked the American and British forces for both medical and military help. Viceroy Wavell, who had flown in from the capital of New Delhi, spoke with pride about the war effort. He talked about his experiences fighting the Italians in North Africa. He stressed the need for continued cooperation among the British, Chinese, and American forces to combat the Japanese.

When Brigadier General Cook stood at the podium, he praised the British for their cooperation in providing resources to help the American military effort in the China-Burma-India Theater. He reaffirmed America's stand on keeping command of its troops. He pointed to a disaster at Dieppe, in France, where Canadians complained that their troops had been sacrificed needlessly by the British high command. An assault on the German-occupied port was easily repelled by German forces. The Americans insisted that their soldiers be under the command of American generals. Then, if there were any blunders, at least Americans could be held accountable.

Brigadier General Cook's words appeared to ruffle the feathers of the British hosts. British control was a sensitive topic. Within India, a popular movement for Indian independence was gaining momentum. American insistence on control of American forces reinforced the Indian belief that they should have control of their own affairs.

When the speeches wrapped up, the guests were invited into the Ball Room. During this time, some of the patrons proceeded outside to the verandahs at the back to have a smoke or for fresh air. I excused myself to go to the powder room.

I spotted Phil by the doorway.

"Did you enjoy the dinner?" I asked.

"It was great—best I've had in quite awhile." Phil held a glass of sparkling wine in his hand. "Don't worry. It's my first and only glass."

"Oh, I wasn't thinking about you being on duty. I was thinking about the exquisite taste of the Laurent-Perrier Champagne."

"Yes." Phil looked contemplative. "That was quite a speech by the Brigadier General."

"He doesn't lack confidence, does he?"

"No, not at all." Phil seemed torn for a moment. "Could you save a dance for me later?"

I smiled. "Certainly, it would be my pleasure."

When I checked my makeup in the ladies room, I needed to touch up the lipstick. Otherwise I was pleased by my appearance. I loved the fabulous beaded black evening gown. My new silver earrings glinted in the bright light of the powder room. From my purse I extracted my Evening in Paris perfume and put a drop on each wrist. Sometimes less is more.

Back in the great hall, I rejoined Brigadier General Cook. He introduced me to some of the American officers and the U.S. Consul in Calcutta, Clayton Lane.

Soon after, the orchestra leader waved his baton and the musicians played the first of their big band swing songs, Are You Lonesome Tonight by Lou Handman and Roy Turk.

Bill asked me to dance and I readily accepted. He led me onto the already crowded dance floor. Placing his right hand on my shoulder blade and his other hand in mine, we began swaying back and forth to the music.

"I suppose you might be wondering why I asked you to be my date for tonight." The brigadier general spun me around.

"Whatever the reason, I'm glad you did. I've enjoyed it."

"You are the most beautiful lady in Calcutta. I feel like I am the envy of every man here." The brigadier general smiled.

"Thank you for the compliment."

Bill admired my beaded black evening gown for a moment. "Did you enjoy your shopping adventure this afternoon?"

"Any time you want to send me on another buying spree, just go with your impulse." I giggled.

"It's not the clothes that make the woman. It's your inner beauty that shines through."

"You're so sweet." I squeezed Bill's hand tightly.

Bill pulled me a little closer and whispered into my ear. "I have a confession to make."

Oh, oh. I hope he doesn't say something he'll regret later. "Bill, I…"

"Don't worry," Bill said with a laugh. "I'm not going to declare my undying love for you. No, I haven't fallen in love with you, yet, although that must happen frequently."

"It used to happen every day when I performed," I laughed, hoping that he wouldn't think I was arrogant.

"About sixteen months ago, I saw a bunch of air force guys perform up at a base in Assam. They called themselves Hump Happy. They did a bunch of songs, told jokes, and some of the guys performed in drag. I liked their impromptu show so much I ordered Special Services to formally create a musical revue to entertain the troops. So we gave all of the Hump Happy actors, dancers and musicians time off from their normal duties. Then I asked Special Services to recruit more talented performers to keep our forces happy."

Bill spun me into a cuddle, he spun me out, and then drew me back close to him.

Then it hit me. I pulled back from Bill for a moment. "So you're the one responsible for creating The Follies Berserk?"

"Yes," Bill said as he pulled me closer and whispered into my ear, "although I wanted a real stripper to be the star. However, Washington wouldn't approve any real women being allowed close to the front lines."

"So you asked Special Services to recruit male dancers who might look like pretty girls?" Bill Cook is the man responsible for me becoming as a female impersonator—for me living as a woman.

"That's right. Marion, I know that even though you look like an amazingly sexy woman, you're real name is Michael O'Connor."

So he's the one. "I don't know whether to hit you or kiss you."

"Please don't create a scene. Obviously I'd prefer that you kiss me." Bill's hand wandered from my back down to my rear end. He squeezed it suggestively. "You are a beautiful lady. If I didn't know better, I never would've guessed."

The kiss on the lips was meant to be a just a simple thank you kiss, although we held it for a few seconds.

We pulled apart. Don't get the wrong idea. "While I'm thankful to you, Bill, I am already committed to someone else."

Bill looked at me sheepishly. "I just got carried away. I shouldn't have had so much champagne."

I pulled Bill closer and whispered into his right ear. "Why did you ask a man to become a stripper? Why did you want me to live full time as a woman?"

"I was thinking strictly of the morale of the fighting men. Look around for a moment. See all the people watching us?"

The men and the ladies all around us quickly looked away. "I think that our kiss drew their full attention," I whispered.

"Everybody thinks you're a gorgeous woman. You know all the men in the armed forces in India miss being home in America. They miss their wives or girlfriends—or future girlfriends." Bill smiled at me. "You were an answer to their prayers. In The Follies Berserk, you were their dream girl."

"That's over."

"It doesn't have to be. If you'd like to join the Hump Happy troupe, I can arrange it."

Bill was a charming man. I could see why he was a leader of men.

"I hope you won't be too disappointed if I decline. My heart just wouldn't be in it."

21

The war was over. I returned to America. I was very happy and I was filled with confidence.

The reunion with my parents was wonderful. They looked terrific. Mom was still busy working at the Bedford Falls Savings and Loan. Dad was still working at the plastics factory, except they were making dashboards for cars now instead of cowlings for war planes.

It was great to touch base with all my old friends from high school, although one of my good friends, Jim Calhoun, didn't come back from the war. He was shot down over Germany.

When I discussed what I did in the war, I told everyone I was a singer-dancer in a revue show. We traveled to all kinds of military bases in Assam province in north-east India and even into China, flying over the Himalayan Mountains. They were so high that nobody had ever climbed Mt. Everest. I left out the part about being a female impersonator.

If someone asked about life in India, I'd regale them with tales about buying goods from the hawkers in the streets of Calcutta, a friend smoking water buffalo shit from a hookdah, seeing the Black Hole of Calcutta, and dancing the night away at the Winter Garden ballroom. As for the dangerous wildlife in India, I told them about audacious birds that would swoop down and steal the food from your plate. I'd lift up my pants, roll down my socks and show them the leech scars between the peach fuzz.

While telling war stories, I embellished the tale of the dive bomber attack on our Jeep in Calcutta the first day. I'd explain how Dumbastapur got its name. For some reason I never told anyone about the ambush of our entertainment troupe on the Ledo Road. Maybe I just didn't want to stir up bad memories.

I owed a debt of gratitude to Major Harrison, first for selecting me to perform as a female impersonator, and second, for giving me a job at headquarters. Similarly Brigadier General Cook treated me exceedingly well. When the war ended, he arranged for me to be flown back home.

My father, now a foreman, said he could get me a good steady job at the plastics factory. My Mom said that nice manager Mr. Bailey would hire me at the Savings and Loan. I thanked my folks but told them I had other hopes and dreams to follow.

I returned to New York, hoping to find fame and fortune. I was confident that the experience in India entertaining for the troops would give me an extra edge.

My confidence was short-lived.

I had difficulty finding a job. For awhile, I joined the 52-20 club. The G.I. Bill entitled all returning servicemen to $20 for 52 weeks in unemployment compensation. Also, to save money, I shopped at the local five-and-dime.

Somehow Mike O'Connor wasn't destined for stardom on the Broadway stage. My first five auditions were unsuccessful. Not one to whip a dead horse, I changed the music, the dance steps, the costumes—nothing worked. No matter how many times I auditioned, I never landed another role as a dancer-singer. I resigned myself to working as a waiter at a greasy spoon on Lexington near East 30th Street. I was making barely enough to pay the rent and put food on the table.

Increasingly I felt uncomfortable in male clothing. I always had to tighten my belt to the last notch or my size 30 pants would've fallen down to my ankles. My shirts seemed to be missing something—a fullness at the chest where my customary 34-D brassier should've been. Plus I was shorter. I missed the height provided by high heels and the effect it had on my posture and my walk. Whenever I looked at myself in the mirror, it felt like I should've been fixing my makeup or brushing my hair.

I longed for my time back in India, wearing dresses, high heels, and a blonde wig, entertaining the troops, or being Major Harrison's secretary. I loved all the male attention Marion Summers drew.

Eventually I realized that my experience living as a girl had changed me. Michael O'Connor was a fraud—he really should've been a girl.

When I went to one of the local burlesque houses, I watched enviously as the exotic dancers peeled off their clothes in front of desperately lonely men. I could tease the guys as well as any of the sexy strippers, although I didn't have the tasty teats and the essential female reproductive organ.

I fell into a state of unrelenting unhappiness, every bit as deep as the Great Depression.

That is, until I resumed my Marion Summers identity.

Wearing a blonde wig, buckskin dress, boots with spurs, a cowgirl hat, guns, and a holster, I arrived at the Imperial Theater on West 45th Street early in the morning.

There were hundreds of actors, singers, and dancers auditioning for the road company production of Annie Get Your Gun.

The producer and director sat ten rows back from the stage.

I was paired with a young actor/singer named George McRae. He was auditioning for the role of Frank Butler. I just had a feeling he could carry a tune. I was singing the part of Annie Oakley. The music and lyrics of Irving Berlin were quite memorable. It was about a battle between the sexes.

I began singing,
"Anything you can do,
I can do better.
I can do anything
Better than you."

George countered,
"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can,
Yes, I can!"

George began,
"Anything you can be
I can be greater.
Sooner or later,
I'm greater than you."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're NOT!"

"Yes, I am.
Yes, I am!"

The music ended. I curtseyed, and George bowed.

Unlike my previous tryouts, the director and producer started asking me questions about my background. I described my singing, dancing, comedy, and strip-tease routines in the jungles of India performing in front of soldiers and airmen. They liked the fact I had the courage to travel overseas and entertain the troops. They wanted someone who was unconventional and a risk taker.

Then the producer and director interviewed George McRae.

My very first time I tried out for a role in my Marion Summers persona landed me the leading lady role in Annie Get Your Gun. Yes, I was Annie Oakley. I had spunk. I could sing like an enthusiastic cowgirl. I could gracefully partner a handsome cowboy in a square dance. Why I even looked like I could handle a gun and rifle.

Happy days are here again.

22

Okay, I wasn't on the Broadway stage yet because Ethel Merman already had the part. I was happy to be Annie Oakley for the road company. We'd travel to places like Boston, Baltimore, Montreal, Toronto, Buffalo, Cleveland, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, Minneapolis, Los Angeles and San Francisco.

Road trips? I was quite accustomed to them.

From that point on, I never looked back. I was Marion Summers, beautiful blonde bombshell and stage star.

Occasionally, after a show, an ex-soldier would come see me at the stage door entrance. He'd ask if I was the Marion Summers who entertained the troops in India. I'd tell him yes, and we'd reminisce. When he asked if I'd like to go out for a drink, I'd point to my fake diamond ring and tell him I was betrothed.

There was only one thing my life lacked. One could guess it easily. Love, romance, lust, sex—call it what you will.

When the Annie Get Your Gun road show passed through Buffalo, I took the opportunity to travel to Watkins Glen, New York. I went in search of Frank Stewart. Although I found Frank's old house, Frank no longer lived there. His father had died during the war—his mother shortly thereafter. Some said because of heartbreak. Frank had moved away, but he never left a forwarding address.

With a heavy heart, I returned to Shea's Buffalo Theatre. Might I find Frank/Pamela in New York City trying to pursue his/her dreams of stardom on the Broadway stage?

After the Saturday night performance, I was inundated by autograph seekers at the stage door. The Buffalo Evening News had played up the local angle. I was a gal from Bedford Falls, which wasn't actually that close to Buffalo, but it was in New York State.

Patiently I smiled for the crowd. I signed autograph after autograph. It was always a joy to meet and chat with the fans. They were always so complimentary. The young children loved my sharp shooting. I didn't have the heart to tell them it was all done through stage trickery.

As the line was dwindling, I looked up to see a tall, young handsome man.

I leapt into his arms. "Tom!" He staggered back under the weight of my enthusiastic assault. We hugged. I tried to squeeze the air out of him; then I felt guilty that his war wounds might still be tender to the touch. And then we kissed ... hungrily ... joyfully ... lovingly ... I'm in heaven ... Did I ever tell you Tom really was a great kisser? Well, he was.

We went back to my hotel. I invited him in for a nightcap. Not only was Tom a great kisser, he was a passionate lover. A man of great intensity—yet he was gentle and considerate. Tom exceeded my dreams of sexual fulfillment. Yes, I must confess, there were many nights in India where I had imagined what it would be like to make love to Tom. And, here in Buffalo, at long last, we made love into the wee hours of morning.

From that moment on, Tom was committed to me, and I to him.

Tom carried through with his plans of going to university and becoming a teacher. I helped support him while he attended Columbia University.

Eventually we settled in Forest Hills N.Y. so that I could pursue acting and Tom could teach high school.

In 1952, when ex-G.I. George Jorgenson underwent the first sex change operation and became Christine Jorgenson, I wasn't far behind her.

Neither was Pamela Starr. She appeared in many Hollywood films and no one, to my knowledge, ever discovered her big secret.

However, the sex change operation wasn't a guarantee that one lived happily ever after. Unfortunately my father never accepted me as his daughter, although my mom continued to love me and support me in whatever I chose to do.

My career as a performer continued with great success. Annie Get Your Gun led to other musicals. Marion Summers became a recognized leading lady—someone who was a bankable Broadway star. I even tried my hand at a few Hollywood films, but the stage was where I belonged.

Occasionally, when I think back to my experiences in India, I am very grateful. Unlike Pinocchio and his dream to be human, my dream came true.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: How I Helped Win the War—In Skirts was inspired by a newspaper story entitled Woman's Work that appeared in the San Diego Union-Tribune on April 4, 2005. Ken Scar wrote the story about Tommy Thompson, a World War II veteran. Yes, the U.S. Army wanted Tommy Thompson to perform as a female dancer and live full-time as a woman while in the CBI Theater.
http://legacy.signonsandiego.com/uniontrib/20050404/news_mz1...

Yank the Army Weekly has an article about the Hump Happy revue.
http://cbi-theater-2.home.comcast.net/~cbi-theater-2/yankcbi...

Here is a list of the story's featured songs with Youtube addresses:

I'll Be Seeing You – Billie Holliday from The Notebook
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5x_Nlx6Mrck&feature=related

The British Grenadiers – from Barry Lyndon
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7wEUlpaYjY&feature=related

Are You Lonesome Tonight – Elvis Presley
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Wcb8y88QHo

Annie Get Your Gun
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JY7Hh5PzELo

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