Page 5 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

San Diego

Thursday, October 21, 1943

Prescott stepped off the trolley at the streetcar terminal on Park Boulevard. He tipped his hat lower over his brow. Miss Oliver hadn’t seen his scars yet. Perhaps she’d change her mind.

A brunette approached with a USO armband around the sleeve of her wine-colored suit, and her smile grew with each step. “Mr. Duke, thank you for coming. I’m Maggie Oliver.”

“Thank you for inviting me to be in your show.”

Pretty blue eyes studied him, and her smile deepened and softened, as if searching behind the scars without ignoring them.

Something about her touched memories. “Pardon me, but have we met?”

“Not formally, but I danced in Hollywood Harmonies of 1938, Hollywood Harmonies of 1939, and Hollywood Harmonies of 1940.”

Prescott chuckled. “And you still asked me to be in your show.”

“That’s why I asked you. Oh, here’s Petty Officer Sebastian.” She waved to a tall blond sailor in dress blues. “He’s our ticket to get in. And this.” She handed Prescott a USO armband.

“Thank you, Miss—”

“Please call me Maggie. As my assistant says, ‘Save a lot of syllables.’”

“Then call me Prescott.” With the clumsy remainder of his hand, he wrestled the armband over the sleeve of his suit.

After Maggie introduced him to Petty Officer Sebastian, the yeoman showed a pass to the guards and led them through the gate.

“Welcome to Balboa Park.” Maggie pointed to a stately white building. “That’s the Natural History Museum.”

“Now it’s a ward for the naval hospital,” the sailor said in a Southern accent. “Nine hundred sixty beds.”

Dozens of men in light blue robes milled about the plaza, walking in pairs, rolling in wheelchairs, lounging on a strip of grass.

Over six months Prescott had spent in an Army hospital. “Will the patients attend our show?”

“Only the convalescent ones, sir.” Sebastian led them along an arcaded walkway with ornate Spanish-style carvings. “That building across the way holds another five hundred patients. Three thousand beds in the main naval hospital and another three thousand in this here Balboa Park annex.”

Six thousand patients. Prescott frowned, pulling at the scar tissue on his left cheek. “Those who are confined to bed—can we do something for them?”

“Please, sir.” Sebastian turned a bright smile to him. “Visiting stars often tour the wards.”

“I’m here for two months. If I can help in any way . . .”

“Yes, sir. I’ll see to it.”

The shade of the arcade ended, and they entered a sunshine-filled plaza.

Maggie smiled at a rectangular pool and a long, airy building constructed of arched wooden beams. “The Lily Pond and the Botanical Building. My favorite part of the park. I always thought the Lily Pond would be a dramatic setting for a good cry.”

Only show people would look at the pond in such a way, and Prescott smiled.

“The Lily Pond is now used for rehabilitation.” Sebastian gestured toward the dozen men swimming in the waters.

“Are you from San Diego?” Prescott asked Maggie.

“Iowa, actually. But my mother is a San Diego girl, and we took the train to California every few years to visit my grandparents. And I visited often after I came to Hollywood.” Joy radiated from her voice. “Come along. I can’t wait to show you the Old Globe Theatre.”

“You mentioned a Shakespeare play.” An unusual choice for a USO show.