But the lovely, nubile young girls kept coming after him, and the more Toby refused, the more they wanted him. And Toby was so hungry for a woman that he was in constant physical pain. His groin ached so much that sometimes it was difficult for him to work. He started to masturbate again. Each time he did, he thought of all the beautiful girls waiting to go to bed with him, and he cursed and raged against fate.
Because Toby could not have it, sex was on his mind all the time. Whenever he returned home after a tour, Millie was waiting for him, eager and loving and ready. And the moment Toby saw her, all his sexual desire drained away. She was the enemy, and Toby despised her for what she was doing to him. He forced himself to go to bed with her, but it was Al Caruso he was satisfying. Whenever Toby took Millie, it was with a savage brutality that forced gasps of pain from her. He pretended that he thought they were sounds of pleasure, and he pounded into her harder and harder, until finally he came in an explosion of fury that poured his venomous semen into her. He was not making love.
He was making hate.
In June, 1950, the North Koreans moved across the 38th Parallel and attacked the South Koreans, and President Truman ordered United States troops in. No matter what the rest of the world thought about it, to Toby the Korean War was the best thing that ever happened.
In early December, there was an announcement in Daily Variety that Bob Hope was getting ready to make a Christmas tour to entertain the troops in Seoul. Thirty seconds after he read it, Toby was on the telephone, talking to Clifton Lawrence.
“You’ve got to get me on it, Cliff.”
“What for? You’re almost thirty years old. Believe me, dear boy, those tours are no fun. I—”
“I don’t give a damn whether they’re fun or not,” Toby shouted into the phone. “Those soldiers are out there risking their lives. The least I can do is give them a few laughs.”
It was a side of Toby Temple that Clifton had not seen before. He was touched and pleased.
“Okay. If you feel that strongly about it, I’ll see what I can do,” Clifton promised.
An hour later he called Toby back. “I talked to Bob. He’d be happy to have you. But if you should change your mind—”
“No chance,” Toby said, hanging up.
Clifton Lawrence sat there a long time, thinking about Toby. He was very proud of him. Toby was a wonderful human being, and Clifton Lawrence was delighted to be his agent, delighted to be the man helping to shape his growing career.
Toby played Taegu and Pusan and Chonju, and he found solace in the laughter of the soldiers. Millie faded into the background of his mind.
Then Christmas was over. Instead of returning home, Toby went to Guam. The boys there loved him. He went to Tokyo and entertained the wounded in the army hospital. But finally, it was time to return home.
In April, when Toby came back from a ten-week tour in the Midwest, Millie was waiting at the airport for him. Her first words were, “Darling—I’m going to have a baby!”
He stared at her, stunned. She mistook his expression for happiness.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she exclaimed. “Now, when you’re away, I’ll have the baby to keep me company. I hope it’s a boy so that you can take him to baseball games and…”
Toby did not hear the rest of the stupidities she was mouthing. It was as though her words were being filtered from far away. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Toby had believed that someday, somehow, there would be an escape for him. They had been married two years, and it seemed like an eternity. Now this. Millie would never let him go.
Never.
The baby was due around Christmastime. Toby had made arrangements to go to Guam with a troupe of entertainers, but he had no idea whether Al Caruso would approve of his being away while Millie was having the baby. There was only one way to find out. Toby called Las Vegas.
Caruso’s cheerful, familiar voice came on the line immediately and said, “Hi, kid. Good to hear your voice.”
“It’s good to hear yours, Al.”
“I hear you’re gonna be a father. You must be real excited.”
“Excited isn’t the word for it,” Toby said truthfully. He let his voice take on a note of careful concern. “That’s the reason I’m calling you, Al. The baby’s going to be born around Christmas, and—” He had to be very careful. “I don’t know what to do. I want to be here with Millie when the kid’s born, but they asked me to go back to Korea and Guam to entertain the troops.”
There was a long pause. “That’s a tough spot.”
“I don’t want to let our boys down, but I don’t want to let Millie down, either.”
“Yeah.” There was another pause. Then, “I’ll tell you what I think, kid. We’re all good Americans, right? Those kids are out there fighting for us, right?”
Toby felt his body suddenly relax. “Sure. But I hate to—”
“Millie’ll be okay,” Caruso said. “Women have been havin’ babies a hell of a long time. You go to Korea.”
Six weeks later, on Christmas Eve, as Toby walked off a stage to thunderous applause at the army post in Pusan, he was handed a cable, informing him that Millie had died while giving birth to a stillborn son.
Toby was free.
14
August 14, 1952, was Josephine Czinski’s thirteenth birthday. She was invited to a party by Mary Lou Kenyon, who had been born on the same day. Josephine’s mother had forbidden her to go. “Those are wicked people,” Mrs. Czinski admonished her. “You’ll be better off stayin’ home and studyin’ your Bible.”