CHAPTER 9

DINNER DATE

 

When LuAnn rapped on the door and announced Seth had arrived, I was still fighting with my hair.

“Aw, nuts!” I said, tossing my hairbrush on the bed.

“Calm down, sweetie pie,” LuAnn drawled. “What time’d he say he’d be here . . . 1700 hours?” She glanced at her wristwatch. “You’re all right. He’s fifteen minutes early.”

I’d never had a date show up on time, let alone early. “Cool your tool, sweetheart,” Bill would say in that laidback way of his. “I’m here, aren’t I?” The guys I dated after Bill seemed to run half an hour behind and couldn’t understand my ire when they finally showed their faces.

Falling asleep while drying my hair hadn’t helped either. LuAnn’s contraption had lived up to her warning. By the time I woke up and realized the dryer had shut off, I’d lost half an hour.

Stomping my foot on the wooden floor, I yanked out the bobby pins that refused to hold my tresses in a French twist.

“Look at me!” I choked. “I’m still in my slip, I just snagged my only pair of pantyhose on the floor, and—”

“You’ll be fine,” LuAnn said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Why don’t you put on your dress while I tell Romeo you’ll be a few minutes?”

Good idea. Dress first, then the hair. Maybe LuAnn could help me get it to stay up. I slipped the black satin over my head and pulled the sequined straps over my shoulders, hooking them together at the nape of my neck. I tugged at the back zipper then adjusted the sequined bow just above my waist. I eyed myself in the full length mirror. The dress wasn’t as snug as the last time I’d worn it, when Bill proposed—and I turned him down—but at least it didn’t hang off me. The V-neckline revealed just enough to hopefully whet Seth’s appetite.

“Do you think this is too short?” I asked LuAnn when she returned.

Her Afro bounced as she shook her head. “Just a couple of inches above your knees. You got great legs, honey. Show ’em off.” She folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “But a couple minor details.”

I smoothed the slim-line pencil skirt over my hips. “Panty lines showing?”

“That, too.”

“What should I do?”

“Take ’em off. That’s what pantyhose are for.”

Off came the black lace bikini undies. Too scratchy anyway.

“What else?” I asked, shifting my weight from one hip to the other while I pulled the hose over my thighs.

“Does that dress have a lining?”

“Yes, why?”

“You don’t need the slip.”

“Good point.” I tugged the half-slip from under the dress and tossed it on the bed.

“The bra’s gotta go, too,” she said.

I bristled. “I’m not one of those braless hippies. I’m wearing the bra.”

“Suit yourself. But with that open back, you need one of those backless numbers.”

I twisted around, surveying my reflection. Sure enough, the top of the bra stretched across my back, the base line of a triangle of black lace and sequined satin.

“What’ll I do?”

“How tight’s the bodice? Tight enough so the girls don’t bounce?”

I tugged at the seams under my arms, slipping my thumbs between the dress and my skin to see how snug the top fit.

“I just won’t fast dance,” I said, dropping the bra on the bed.

“Now for your hair,” she said, snatching the hairbrush from the bed. “Sit down. I was the best beautician south of the Mason-Dixon line before I became the best supply clerk in Southeast Asia.”

“It won’t stay up,” I said, lowering myself to the bed. “It’s too long and thick. I should have trimmed it a month ago.”

“I don’t know what you’re worried about,” she said, sweeping the bristles expertly through my mane. “Most gals would kill to have silky hair like this.”

“But it won’t hold a curl. Never did. Not even before the humidity made it impossible to dry, let alone style. I’ve been thinking about cutting it short, like the Beatles.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, fastening a side section behind my ear with a bobby pin. “But tonight, Juliet, you’re wearing it down. Shut your eyes.”

A cool mist drifted on my cheeks as she waved a can of unscented hair spray over my head. Then she plucked a gardenia from the vase and secured it behind my ear on the swept-back side with a couple of bobby pins.

“Earrings?” she asked.

“Just what I’m wearing.”

“Back in a minute,” she said, scooting out the door.

“Here,” she said, handing me a pair of diamond-studded danglies when she came back. “These’ll go with your dress a lot better than those gold hoops.”

I waved my hands in refusal. “I can’t. What if I lose them?”

“You won’t,” she said. “Besides, they’re not real.”

I slipped the silver wire loops through the pierced holes in my lobes. “They’re perfect.”

“This too,” she said, handing me a matching bracelet.

“Thank you, LuAnn.” I fastened the silver clasp on my left wrist. “I’ll get these back to you tonight.”

“Keep ’em,” she said, plucking a loose thread from the front of my dress. “I never wear ’em. They were a gift from someone I’d rather forget.”

“You sure?”

“As sure as I am that if Captain Martin isn’t already in love with you, he will be by the time the night’s over.”

I glanced at the vase of gardenias. “You keep the gardenias.”

Her eyebrows arched. “You sure?”

I nodded.

“Thanks, Lieutenant.” She cocked her head. “Sounds like a Jeep just pulled up. Get your shoes on. I’ll pack up your stuff.”

While LuAnn gathered my things and stuffed them into my overnight bag, I slipped on my black patent leather heels and buckled the ankle straps. Then I surveyed my reflection in the mirror.

LuAnn whistled. “You’re gonna vamp him tonight, for sure.”

“How can I ever thank you enough?”

“Just don’t break his heart,” she said, handing me my bag. “He’s a real special guy around here.”

I gave her a hug. “I won’t.”

Seth was pacing the broken sidewalk, hands shoved in his pressed trouser pockets, his back to me, when I stepped out of the hooch. I stood on the top step, enjoying the way I felt when I looked at him. If I thought him handsome in his loose, wrinkled, sweaty jungle fatigues, the sight of him in his crisp short-sleeved shirt, pressed uniform trousers, and black leather dress Oxfords sent my heart to my throat.

Wolf whistles and cat calls sounded from across the street. “Hey, Babe, I’m available.” Seth turned to face me. His jaw dropped. What I saw in his eyes that moment told me everything I needed to know.

“Let’s get going,” I said, tossing him my overnight bag. “I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten all day.”

Heads turned as Seth escorted me across the Tan Son Nhut general’s mess hall. Although “mess” hardly described the place. Crisp white linen tablecloths draped the tables. Wall sconces decorated the wood paneled walls, which reflected a soft sheen in the low light. Music played softly in the background while diners mingled, chatting over hors d’oeurves and shrimp cocktail. It was more like a classy restaurant in the middle of Manhattan than a military mess in the middle of a war zone. We followed the waiter to a corner table with a vase of gardenias. I glanced around. No other table had flowers.

“What’ll you have to drink?” Seth asked me when we were seated in the molded captain’s chairs.

“Water. If it doesn’t taste like sulfur.”

“They bring in bottled water.”

“Water, then. Lots of ice.”

“Water for the lady—lots of ice, please—and a lemonade for me,” he told the uniformed waiter.

“You’re not drinking?” I asked him after the waiter left.

“Don’t drink. Even if I did, I couldn’t. I’m flying tonight. Remember?”

I frowned. “I thought you were off until tomorrow night.”

“I am. But we’re flying back to Pleiku tonight after dinner.”

My cheeks grew warm. “I knew that. It’s just that for a moment I forgot where we were.”

He reached across the table and grasped my hand. His palm felt like sandpaper—rough and dry. He leaned toward me, his eyes peering into mine.

“Your eyes. They’re violet tonight. Don’t you have your contacts in?”

I glanced away. “I’m wearing a spare pair. They’re clear.”

A tender smile tugged at his lips. He knew why I chose the clear contacts. “Let’s order,” he said, releasing my hand. “I’m hungry.”

We ordered filet mignon—medium for me and rare for Seth—and baked potatoes with sour cream. Oh, heaven, I hadn’t had real food like this since I’d left the States. I felt like a country bumpkin visiting the big city for the first time. I was ready to plunge my fork into my salad when Seth reached across the table and grabbed my hand, bowed his head, and said a blessing. Somehow I wasn’t surprised.

“How did you come to be so religious?” I asked him as I poured house dressing on my salad.

“I’m not religious,” he said.

I lifted my water glass and took a sip. “What do you call it when you bow your head and say grace in a restaurant?”

“Obedient.”

I didn’t feel like getting into another discussion about religion—I was still trying to make sense of everything Sarah told me. So I asked him about his family, a safe topic.

“Dad’s a college professor at Penn State. Mom teaches elementary school in State College. No brothers and sisters. No aunts and uncles.”

“Being an only child is lonely,” I said, dabbing sour cream on my potato.

“Your parents still in Johnstown, where you grew up?”

I swallowed. Maybe this wasn’t such a safe subject after all. “You could say that.”

He watched me as I cut my steak. “Is it too tough?”

“Being an orphan? Sometimes.”

“I meant the steak. You’re not slicing, you’re sawing. So hard the table’s shaking.”

This wasn’t the table conversation I had planned. “The steak’s fine,” I said, blinking back the tears and trying to swallow the lump in my throat that choked me every time I thought of my parents. Seth reached across the table and pushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“Tell me about it.”

I took a breath. “I’d always wanted to be a nurse. Ever since I was a little girl. I’d go around the house saying, ‘I’m going to be a nois with a pois.’ I couldn’t say my r’s. Then my father died from cancer in my senior year in high school. He’d been laid off from the steel mill for several years before that, so whatever money they’d saved for nursing school was gone by then. His life insurance paid just enough to bury him.”

He nodded, encouraging me to continue.

“It was Mickie’s idea—to enlist in the Army and let Uncle Sam pay for nursing school. But my mother refused to sign for me. I was furious. She wanted me to work as a nurse’s aide in the local hospital. ‘Just think of the money you’ll save if you live at home,’ she said. She’d cook for me and do my laundry.”

“But that would have smothered your independent spirit.”

I nodded. “We were too much alike. I accused her of manipulating me, of controlling me, of destroying my dreams, my life. I gave her so much grief that she gave in. ‘You’ll end up in Vietnam,’ she said. I told her they only send the ones who volunteer. I was safe. Three years later she was dead, and I was on a plane to Vietnam.”

“Regret is a terrible thing to live with.”

“I don’t regret that I was sent here. I’ve learned a lot. I’m tougher than I thought I was. Whatever they throw at me, I can handle.”

He nodded. “War will either make you or break you.”

“What I regret is how I treated her. I never had a chance to tell her I was sorry, to make it up to her.”

He rubbed my cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m sure she understood, Kimosabe. She was young once, too.”

“I hope . . . .” I stopped myself just in time.

“Hope what, Evangeline?”

“Nothing. What’s for dessert?”

He blinked then picked up the dessert menu. “Chocolate, strawberry, or pineapple sundae.”

“What’s there to choose? Chocolate, of course.”

After we finished our sundaes—served in real parfait glasses—he took me to the Officers’ Club, which was just as classy as the officers’ mess. But noisier. Way noisier, with rock and roll blaring from the speakers instead of soft dinner music.

“What’ll you have?” he asked me after escorting me to a table. My skin tingled where his hand rested against my bare back, where his lips brushed against my ear.

“Cola. Lots of ice.”

My soul thrilled as I watched him shoulder his way through the crowd to the bar to order our sodas.

“Well, lookee who’s here!” A mean voice punctured the moment. I looked up into Bubba’s sneering face.

“Come on, sweetie. Let’s dance.”

“No thanks.”

He grabbed my arm. “Come on, honey. The good captain won’t mind.”

I pulled my arm away. He bent over, his beer breath reeking in my face.

“Hot temper? I like a woman with spunk. Bet you’re hot in bed, too.”

I slapped him. Hard. He raised his hand as if to strike me back, then stopped. He glanced at the bar, then spat on the floor beside my shoe.

I glared at him. “Did you get a promotion, Sergeant? Or did you beg, borrow, or steal that lieutenant’s shirt?”

Hatred glowed from his narrowed eyes.

“Just as I thought,” I said. “Get out of here, Wilcott. Don’t even bother to wipe your slime off the floor.”