Borders in Paradise

By James White

In Borders in Paradise, James White takes us first to depression-era Southern California, where we are quickly plunged into a setting of palm trees and wealth versus the trials and tribulations of a displaced Texas family. Next, it’s on to the blistering heat of Arizona’s southern border. White has researched both areas and the era well, especially the history of the U.S. Border Patrol and the pre-WWII U.S. Army. And he has brought us a cast of original and believably flawed characters.
(Toni Morgan, author of 'Patrimony,' 'Two-Hearted Crossing' and many other books)

James White has written a story that sets the stage to capture the myth and glamour of the American West in the years leading up to World War II. Then, with sleight of hand, he lifts the curtain and shows the unvarnished truth behind his characters’ motives and actions. In Borders in Paradise, the reader is treated to memorable scenes that appear to secure us in the nostalgia of a bygone era, yet time and again sets us loose in real life, which is often messy, unpleasant and even violent. Under the surface, the glitz of Hollywood, the grit of the U.S. Border Patrol, and the grind of the U.S. Army on the verge of war are revealed to be more alike than we might imagine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adelaide Books Publishers
• Release date: Mar 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781950437306

James White

Dr. James White is Professor of Plant Biology at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, New Jersey, USA. Dr. White obtained the B.S. and M.S. degrees in Botany and Plant Pathology/Mycology from Auburn University, Alabama, and the Ph.D. in Botany from the University of Texas, Austin in 1987. Dr. White specializes in symbiosis research, particularly endophytic microbes. He is the author of more than 400 articles, and author and editor of reference books on the biology, taxonomy, and phylogeny of microbial endophytes, including Biotechnology of Acremonium Endophytes of Grasses (1994), Microbial Endophytes (2000), The Clavicipitalean Fungi (2004), The Fungal Community: Its Organization and Role in the Ecosystem (2005; 2016), Defensive Mutualism in Microbial Symbiosis (2009) and Seed Endophytes: Biology and Biotechnology (2019). He and students in his lab are exploring diversity of endophytic and biostimulant microbes and the various impacts that they have on host plants.

Book preview

BORDERS IN PARADISE

BORDERS IN PARADISE

A novel by

James White

Adelaide Books

New York/Lisbon

2018

BORDERS IN PARADISE

A memoir

By James White

Copyright © by James White

Cover design © 2018 Adelaide Books

Published by Adelaide Books, New York / Lisbon

adelaidebooks.org

Editor-in-Chief

Stevan V. Nikolic

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any

manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in

the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For any information, please address Adelaide Books

at [e-mail]

or write to:

Adelaide Books

244 Fifth Ave. Suite D27

New York, NY, 10001

ISBN-13: 978-1-950437-30-6

ISBN-10: 1-950437-30-2

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events,

locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination

or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or

dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

To Becky

forgiving editor, resourceful publicist,

loving wife and best friend

CONTENTS

PART 1, HOLLYWOOD

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

PART 2, DOUGLAS

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

PART 3, FORT SILL

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

PART 4, HOLLYWOOD

Chapter A

Chapter B

About the Author

Acknowledgements

PART 1, HOLLYWOOD

Chapter 1

Mama walked through the front door, took one look around the living room and dropped her suitcase. Don’t you kids know enough to tidy up and sweep the floor once in a blue moon?

All three of us gasped and jumped up from our places.

Mama! we said. Welcome home!

Mama always went by the nickname Brown, sometimes Brownie. It stuck when she was a kid growin’ up in Brownwood Texas, long before any of us were around. I thought it was because of her brown hair, or maybe something to do with Brownwood. I’m the eldest, a grand old twenty-two. Baby brother Charles is twenty, and Anita is in the middle, age twenty-one. We all have our own nicknames, of course. I’m Juno, instead of John, Charles is Chassy and Anita is Neet. I suppose if any of us have kids they’ll get nicknames too.

Mama scanned the front room, cluttered with clothes, magazines and newspapers. A worn-out occasional chair was hidden under Neet’s laundry and across from it, a fabric sofa sat under two weeks’ worth of the Los Angeles Times. Chassy and I found the sofa at a thrift store for practically nothin’. It folds out into a bed which is not particularly comfortable. We used to share it. Nowadays, I have it to myself. Even though the house wasn’t looking its best, we love it. It’s just a one bedroom, one bath bungalow in West Hollywood, a far cry from the tony neighborhoods of Melrose and Sunset, but it’s a quiet, decent place with friendly neighbors. What the house lacks in space it makes up in charm. It comes with a front porch and yard, built-in cupboards, dependable electricity and water, indoor bathroom, gas stove and an icebox. All for twenty dollars a month, plus deposit. Not that we can afford it, but we manage somehow.

It's the fall of 1939, October, and Mama had just returned from her so-called Texas vacation, visiting Grandma, Uncle Stan and the rest of the Gaines family. She told us when she left she wasn't going to stay but a month, maybe two, but after she'd been gone for four months we wondered if she'd ever come back.

I carried Mama's suitcase to her bedroom. Neet followed me, picking things off the floor. Mama's bedroom has a metal frame bed and a chest of drawers. Neet has a little room of her own that we built out of an alcove between the bathroom and the kitchen. She gets some privacy with a door Chassy found in a vacant lot.

I've kept everything good and clean in here, Neet said from the bedroom.

Mama moved Neet's clothes off the chair and sat down with a pronounced sigh, loud enough for all of us to hear.

Now, Mama, it's not as bad as all that, I told her when I came back to the front room. Neet has been working hard to keep up appearances. You just caught us at a bad moment.

Mama took off her hat, displaying more gray hairs than when she left. I guess I should 'a reminded you to use a broom now and again. My hip has been bothering me for days. Sometimes it hurt so's I have to fight back an urge to cry. She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes inside dark stockings. She was tired, but that streak of orneriness all us Gaineses are famous for was alive and well.

Chassy came in from the kitchen and handed her a glass of water. The glass looked like it was filled with sludge. Welcome home, Mama. Sadly, the LA water hasn't gotten any better. We're getting used to it, though.

Mama took the glass and attempted a gracious smile that quickly faded. Her frown, even when Chassy tried to be courteous, let on she was more than just tired. I had such a peaceful time at the cabin by that lovely river, she said, holding the glass at arm's length.

Five years ago, after I graduated from high school, my little brother Chassy and I ran away from that den of thieves and malcontents in Texas to start a new life in California. Mama and Neet followed us out here two years later, and since then we've been living together in this small house in Hollywood, California. Up until recently, anyways.

Mama came out to California mainly to keep an eye on Neet and us boys. I know her heart never left the ranch in Brownwood. It's my fault for her being out here. I was the one who hated Texas. Who hated the dust storms, the family jealousies and the stubborn ignorance. But it was my stubborn ignorance that made me think Mama, Neet and Chassy felt the same way.

I wanted a fresh start, but instead, I turned into the breadwinner for a displaced family that wished they never came. Chassy is doin' fine, I guess. But that's on account of who he is. Tall, blond and handsome, he'd probably be doin' fine in Texas too. And getting into the same amount of trouble.

Mama took a cautious sip when most of the sediment had settled out at the bottom of the glass. Then my peacefulness dissolved into an uncomfortable seat on a dismal Greyhound bus. I spent endless hours on bumpy roads with the harsh desert sun in my eyes.

That must have been terrible, Mama. I studied her tired, weather-beaten face looking for clues. Why don't you take a little nap or would you like something to eat first?

Mama gave me a hard look back. She was in no mood to be patronized and put away.

Chassy moved today's copy of the Times from the side table so Mama could set down her glass. On a positive note, Neet's taking a class at LA City College.

Mama held the glass up to the light and shook her head. A white film circled the rim. She set the glass down and dismissed it with a wave of her hand. Taking a class? What on earth? What sort of a class, Anita?

Mama looked at me and half-whispered. Are you paying for it?

I shook my head no.

Always the performer, Neet appeared at the door, did a quick twirl and a dramatic bow. Pantomime.

Mama watched her with a puzzled look on her face. Pantomime? I don't even know what that is.

Oh, Mama. It's a way to communicate without speaking; like charades, only more dramatic like. Neet arched an eyebrow. "And I'm paying for it with my sewing money, so you don't need to fret."

Chassy picked up the paper. It's real popular right now, especially in the movies. That guy, Charlie Chaplin? He's famous for doing it.

Mama sat quietly for a minute. I always knew you had a flair for the arts. She sighed. Hard to keep up with you, girl.

She's also itchin’ to move back to Texas, I added.

Neet made a face and told me to shush.

I'm not surprised, Mama stood and picked up her shoes. Wherever I go, Anita always takes the reverse tack.

I give Neet credit. She made quick work of getting accustomed to the ways of Los Angeles, but from her perspective the city was a different adjustment from what Chassy and I had to deal with. She would tell us about encountering certain men who approached her on the street and in the shops. Introductions, even casual ones, were nonexistent. I don't know how many people she's met, but none of them have remained close.

Neet told me she wanted to go back home because Los Angeles didn't believe in proper manners. I reminded her she's forgetting about the nastiness we left behind in Texas.

Just don't get involved, I told her when she whined about the homeless and destitute people struggling along the crowded sidewalks downtown.

But shouldn't we do something for them? They look so miserable and hungry. 'Cept for a few Mexicans, we never saw bums in Brownwood. Right there, in the middle of the day? I feel sorry that I can't give them something, an apple even.

There are lots of opportunities to improve yourself if you're willing to work hard. I told her. Those who don't usually go back to where they came.

Sometimes for good reason, Neet replied.

We came from a long family history of frugality. Working and saving was how I was able to come up with the money to put down first and last plus deposit on this house. And I thought we were getting along. That is, until my sister got cold feet, my mother got lonesome and my brother got led astray by a pretty girl.

When Mama stood up, Neet headed toward the kitchen. I'll fix us some soup, Campbell's chicken noodle, your favorite.

I held back saying anything more about a nap.

The kitchen's kinda small but the gas stove and icebox work fine. It also has some built-in cabinets and shelves. We'd squeezed a small dining table in there with four chairs.

While we sat at the dining table in front of bowls of soup, Saltines and cold cuts, Mama talked about Texas. Again.

If you go back, maybe you can help Uncle Stan figure out what those doodle-bug holes are all about. Mama waited for Neet to answer, but Neet had her mouth full of soup and Saltines.

Chassy came in from the front room. We read your letter about the bubbles comin’ up where the land was flooded. It does that every year. I think it's natural gas. Could be somethin', could be nothin'.

That's what Stan said. Mama got up and looked in the ice box. But I told him he should take samples and have them analyzed, at least. She pulled out a plate of cheese covered with a furry growth of green mold. Y'all even know you have moldy food in here?

Chassy rolled his eyes and chuckled. Neet's in that box more than we are.

Am not.

Oh hush, Mama scowled at Chassy. I'm still angry at you.

I had written to Mama about Chassy moving out. I thought it was a bad idea to leave before Mama came back, and I told him so, but he wouldn't listen.

Why should I wait? he said. I'm old enough to make up my own mind.

It was no secret that his girlfriend, Patsy, was egging him on. She even told me she thought Chassy ought to have a place of his own.

What on earth you mad about? Chassy gave Mama one of his 'poor innocent me' looks. You haven't been home long enough to get mad at me.

Mama brushed a lock of hair from her face and slid her chair back from the table. You know what for. How dare you move out of the house, leave your brother and sister and not even tell me.

Chassy slid back from the table himself, to get out of arm's reach, I suppose. He glanced at me with a not-so-innocent look. But Mama, everybody benefits with me out of the house. I pay my own way with what I make at Ralph's Groceries and we all get our own room plus a little privacy for a change.

I grunted, thinking about my 'private' front room with the lumpy sofa bed and Neet's closet.

Are we that incompatible that we have to spend money on privacy? Mama picked up her knife and fork, slow and easy like. Does Patsy have anything to do with this?

Patsy has nothing to do with me moving, Chassy snapped back. Don't bring her in on this.

Weapons drawn, Mama stepped to the sink. Well, I can't imagine any other reason compelling enough for you to abandon your own family.

That quieted things down. Neet and I played with our food, trying to think of something diplomatic to say before the quiet turned into a storm.

Chassy broke the silence. "Mama, I decided to move into the fraternity house. I won't deny that Patsy thinks it's a good idea but it was my idea, not hers."

Mama shook her head. Regardless whose idea it is, it's a bad one. I expect you to move back at the end of the semester.

Chassy stood up and eyed his escape route, but Mama wasn't through with him yet.

You see? Now you're leaving instead of staying and finding a resolution. I know how much easier it is to run away than to face your problems. Your father was famous for that.

Chassy moved away from the table, shaking his head. I don't have any ̶

Mama slammed her fist on the counter. Put your dirty dishes in the sink. She dropped her utensils with a splash in a bowl of dirty dishwater. It's right here, in case you haven't been there b'fore.

Chassy did as he was told, and took Neet's empty bowl, just for good measure. I don't have any problems, he said. You and John have it in for me, and me living here isn't going to change anything. Now if you'll excuse me, I have things to attend to.

After he left, Mama dropped back in her seat. Now there's a fine howdy-do. I leave home for a little vacation and my children start flying the coop. I wonder who's next?

When Mama left the kitchen, Neet winked at me and I knew what she was thinking. She wasn't far behind.

* * *

When Charles came back from the bathroom down the hall, Patsy was sitting on his fraternity room bed, reading. A closer look showed it was a letter from Mama written while she was in Texas. Shouting and loud music came through the wall from a neighboring room. Charles had broken the fraternity house rules and snuck Patsy into his room so he couldn't complain about the noise.

Do you think those doodley-bug holes mean there's oil on your poor old Texas property? Patsy said when Charles looked over her shoulder.

Charles stiffened when he heard her say 'doodley-bug.'

Where'd you find that letter? Charles refrained from snatching it out of Patsy's hands. He was sure he had stashed it at the bottom of his suitcase.

Patsy pointed to the night stand. Oh, it was on the table and I decided to read it. Those little holes sound so interesting, don't you think?

I don't remember leaving a letter on the table. And I'd appreciate it if you'd ask my permission before reading my family letters. Those doodley-bug holes, as you call them, don't amount to anything.

Well, I think it's exciting. And I don't see what's wrong about reading your mother's letter. We're nearly engaged, don't forget. I'm almost like family. She held up the letter. Really, Charlie, you shouldn't let her boss you around like she does. What if it turns out your family is sitting on an oil well? You need to stand up for your rights before they push you aside.

Charles sat next to Patsy and took the letter out of her hands. Simmer down, honey. You're getting all worked up about a few gas bubbles that come up every spring. We've known about them since I was a kid. Nothing to get excited about. He folded the letter and put it on the table. What's more important is you and me.

He put his arm around her waist and drew up next to her.

Patsy cooed and held his hand in check on her tummy. No funny business, buster. She giggled and lifted her head. Her neck beckoned. The scent of Guerlain wafted across the bed.

Charles nuzzled Patsy's cheek and kissed the nape of her neck. Right now I'm thinking how nice it is that we have a place special, just for us.

Charles' room reminded him of the apartment he and John had rented when they first came to Los Angeles. Everything was so exciting back then. Between John's job and Charles' school they barely saw each other weekdays. But on Sundays they never got enough of the amusement parks at Venice Beach, Ocean Park and Long Beach. The two of them would tackle the most daring rides and flirt with any pretty girl who looked their way. They would come home Sunday evening and barely have time to eat before they fell exhausted to sleep.

He tugged his hand out of Patsy's grip, slid it under her blouse and cupped her breast over her stiff, pointy-tipped brassiere.

Patsy pretended to push him away.

We don't have much time, Charles chuckled, pushing back. Mama said I have to move back after the semester ends.

She said that? Patsy raised her eyebrows. I declare, Charles, she treats you just like a little child. She freed herself, stood up and glared at Charles, hands on hips.

Charles shook his head. She was just kidding, honey.

Patsy's eyes flared. I don't think so, and you're foolish to think otherwise.

She wore her brunette hair pinned up, like Rita Hayworth. Her expensive, angora cardigan, buttoned at the top, was stretched tight. She crossed the room and back, pacing the floor while twisting Charles' promise ring on her finger.

After three circuits, she stopped in front of Charles, eyes wide with excitement. She snapped her fingers and whispered out loud. I got it. What if we get married?

Charles' jaw dropped. Married? Get married?

Pasty leaned over Charles' shoulder and whispered into his ear. "It's not like we haven't been planning to get married for months now. Maybe this would be the right time.