Jack was surprised to find that he was interested too. It had been a long time since he had made love. He had not been entirely celibate since running out on Polly four years before, but he’d not been very active either. He still thought of Polly every day. He wanted her every day and no girl he had met since had remotely matched up to her. Certainly not this tawdry, brassy, blousey woman waggling her tongue at him across the table. She was everything that Polly had not been and vice versa. Yet there was something in Mitti’s eyes, something behind the silver eyeshadow, the thick liner, the great caked mascaraed lashes, that Jack recognized. Perhaps it was honesty, or a sense of humour; it might well have been loneliness. Jack found himself returning Mitti’s stare.
“This dump’s getting kinda crowded,” said Dipstick, a white moustache of beer froth on his upper lip. “How about we all go drink champagne at the American?”
The Hotel American was a favourite venue for one-night stands among the more discerning members of the Allied Armed Forces in the area. It was not sleazy, being rather well appointed and expensive, but neither did it object to partying. Its two suites boasted whirlpool baths in which three could sit comfortably and four even more so. This was a time when the almighty dollar was so strong that other currencies cowered before it; even the not unmuscular German Mark doffed its cap respectfully in the face of the purchasing power of the US buck. Americans overseas were far better off than they were at home and suites at the Hotel American were well within the budgets of discerning US officers.
Helga said she was happy to drink champagne any time, Rod was of course enthusiastic about the idea, and Brad and Karl could hardly believe their luck. Mitti just shrugged. She shrugged directly at Jack, a shrug that suggested that she would like the idea a whole lot better if he was in on it. All eyes turned to Jack. Nobody considered Schultz. Even the young officers ignored him; he was just that kind of invisible person.
Jack sucked at his beer and laughed. “So you guys are planning a party?” he said.
“Didn’t you hear?” Dipstick replied. “Life’s a party.”
It was decision time. Jack wondered what he wanted. What he wanted, of course, was Polly but he couldn’t have her, so perhaps he wanted Mitti. He was drunk and she was getting more attractive by the minute. Maybe he should go along with it. Have a few laughs. He was so hard on himself most of the time; perhaps it would be fun. He looked at Mitti and her eyes were welcoming.
“Well hey, no rush,” said Dipstick. “We’ll just all sit here getting old while you think about it.”
Jack pulled himself together. He was dreaming. Orgies were not for him. It was a strange thing, but Polly, or at least the memory of Polly, had come to act as a sort of censor on Jack’s life. He often found himself wondering what she would make of the things he said and the things he did. Of one thing he was sure: she would not think much of his cavorting at the Hotel American with drunken girls. It was almost as if having betrayed her utterly he was trying to make it up by not betraying her memory.
“No thanks. I’m going to get something to eat,” Jack said, rising from the table.
“Hey, come on, Jack,” Dipstick protested. “You can’t break up the party.”
“You don’t need me, Dip,” Jack laughed, and as he did so he caught Mitti’s eye and the disappointment there. He could not help but smile at her and that was enough. Mitti got up too.
“I’m coming with you,” she said boldly.
“Nein, Mitti,” Helga said.
“Yeah, nein,” Dipstick added.
Helga and Dipstick could both see the ratio of the sexes changing from six:two to five:one and neither of them liked it.
“C’mon, Jack. You and Mitti have gotta stay.”
“Mitti can do what she likes, Dipstick, but if you think I want to see your white hairy ass in a spa bath you’ve been in the army too long,” Jack said, putting on his coat.
“I don’t think I’ll bother either, guys,” said Schultz. “I have an early appointment at the chiropodist tomorrow and I’d hate to be all bleary for it. Thanks, anyway.”
Dipstick ignored Schultz.
“Who said anything about a spa bath, Jack?” he protested. “We’re just going to get some booze.”
“Yeah, sure, Dip. Absolutely,” Jack replied and, nodding his farewell to the table, he turned and headed for the door, but not before casting a questioning glance at Mitti. There followed a brief exchange between Mitti and Helga in German, the gist of which was Mitti asking Helga if Helga minded being left. Helga was not particularly delighted about it, but she was a grown-up girl and it was a well-established rule that in such pickup situations it was every woman for herself. Helga told Mitti that if she wanted to go with Jack then she should do it, but she was to be sure to phone her in the morning and give her a full report.
“You too,” Mitti replied in English, “but not too early.”
Jack was waiting at the door. Mitti grabbed her jacket and the two of them left. Outside Mitti put her arm through Jack’s and they walked together through the snowy streets. She was shivering, her little ra-ra dress and wetlook leather jacket being little protection from the cold. Jack put his arm around her. Most places were shut, but after a while they found a small Moroccan restaurant in a basement called the Kasbah. The only other clientele were North Africans, economic immigrants, the subject of much resentment in the town.
That night, however, everything was smiles between the nervous black men and their unexpected guests, and Jack and Mitti sat down to couscous, lamb stew and beer.
“So you really did want to eat,” Mitti enquired.
“Sure, what else?”
They both knew what else. Mitti did not reply, but glanced coyly down at her food and then up again at Jack, which was reply enough. She did in fact have lovely eyes and without her ridiculous jacket she seemed much less hard and aggressive; even the huge hair appeared to be getting softer and less assertive.
They finished their meal and went to a small hotel where they made love. Even as they began, Jack wished that he had not. He liked Mitti; she was a nice girl and very pretty underneath the make-up, but the truth was that she was not his type. It was partly the smell. There was no part of Mitti’s person that was not scented and treated with anti-perspirant. She could have fucked for a year and not broken into a sweat. Every inch of her both reeked and tasted of chemicals, her scratchy, brittle hair, her sour-tasting neck, the soapy gloss on her lips, the all-over body spray on her breasts, even her crotch had been deodorized, her natural sexual scent bludgeoned into submission by some cloud of musky napalm. Merely undressing Mitti had given Jack a headache and a blocked-up nose. It was like trying to have sex on the cosmetic counter at Macy’s. His throat hurt and he felt sick for a day afterwards, like he had swallowed a bottle of aftershave.
Jack was a gentleman and he did his best, but they both knew that his heart wasn’t in it.