"What two big things?"
"Look at my shoulders," Joe said. "A year ago, I was a buck sergeant."
"Being an officer is important to you, isn’t it?"
"I’m not sure I’ll be able to hack it," he said.
"Why not?"
He shrugged. "I’m just not sure, is all."
As if with a mind of its own, her hand touched his again, and was again instantly withdrawn.
"What was the other thing?" she asked, idly curious.
"You," he said.
Her eyes moved to his, and then away.
My God, he means that And I’m blushing!
"I wish you hadn’t said that," she said.
"Why?"
"It makes me uncomfortable."
"Sorry."
"Stop saying you’re sorry!"
The waiter appeared with a silver ice bucket on a stand. There was a towel-wrapped bottle in the cooler.
"We didn’t order any wine," Joe said.
The waiter disappeared without a word.
"What’s that all about?" Barbara asked.
Joe shrugged.
The waiter reappeared, this time carrying a silver ice bucket, tongs, two glasses, and a soda-water siphon.
"What’s all this?" Barbara demanded.
"I wasn’t aware before, Sir, that you’re Pacific and Far Eastern," the waiter said, almost in a whisper. "The cooler contains Scotch, Sir. From the PandFE cellar. You won’t mind mixing your own? And please keep the towel in place. Because of the other guests."
And he disappeared again.
"Do you understand what he said?" Barbara asked.
Joe shook his head, then took the bottle from the cooler. He unwrapped the towel, then closed it again.
"Scotch," he said. "Something called Old Grouse."
"Let me see," Barbara said, and he handed her the towel-wrapped bottle.
"It’s Scotch, all right," she said. "Good Scotch."
"Where did it come from?" Joe asked.
"You ever hear the expression ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’?"
He took the bottle from her, and made a drink for her. It was, to judge by the color, far stronger than Barbara would have preferred, but she didn’t want to make a fuss.
After the first couple of sips, I’ll dilute it with more soda.
She waited until he had fixed his own drink, then touched her glass to his.
"Congratulations on your promotion," she said.
"To you and me," he said.
She met his eyes for a moment, then echoed him.
"To you and me," she said.
The waiter took his sweet time coming back for their order. She had just about finished her second drink by the time he did. She had really only wanted one, and that to be sociable. The second drink was as dark as the first, but it didn’t seem to taste as strong.
She indulged him and gave up the idea of having just a salad, telling herself that she would make it up to him somehow. She ordered a shrimp cocktail, a New York strip, and asparagus.
"And for a wine, may I suggest a very nice Cabernet Sauvignon? It’s Mr. and Mrs. Pickering’s favorite, I might add."
"Well, if it’s good enough for them . . ."
"I think you’ll like it, Sir. It’s made right here in California."
I will have just one sip of the wine. The last thing I can afford to do is get tight.
She looked down at her glass and saw that he had refilled it.
I don’t need that. I just won’t drink it.
"What’s a New York strip?" Joe asked. "I don’t think I’ve ever had one."
The admission took Barbara by surprise.
He really doesn‘t know, which is not surprising. Since the day before yesterday he was a Marine sergeant, aprewar Marine sergeant, someone my father would claim was in the Marines because he couldn‘t find a job, and because the Marines offered three square meals a day and a place to sleep. Regular Marine enlisted men have few of what my father would call the social graces. And no social graces came to Joe miraculously when he put on that officer’s uniform. Ordinarily, God forgive me, I am uncomfortable around the enlisted men. Why is it different with this man?
"You know a T-bone?" she asked, and he nodded. "The big piece. They cut the bone out of T-bone. The little piece is a filet mignon, and the big piece is a New York strip."
"I came in the Corps when I was seventeen," Joe said, and she took his meaning: that she had a social background and he didn’t; and that was why he didn’t know what a New York strip was. New York strip was not common fare for Marine enlisted men.
My God, is he reading my mind?
She felt a wave of compassion for him as her mind’s eye filled with a picture of Joe Howard at seventeen, looking like the kids she saw in the Marine Recruit Depot here. Frightened little boys in uniform.
That’s all he is now. The only difference is that he’s twenty-four or twenty-five and wearing an officer’s uniform. But he’s still alone and more than a little frightened.
She finished her drink before the meal was served. And she had three glasses of the Cabernet Sauvignon with the steak. The steak was delicious. While they ate, a band started to play. When they were finished eating, he asked her to dance.
She could smell his after-shave when they were close, and she remembered the firm muscles of his chest and arms.
What I’m going to do now, when we finish dancing, is go back to the table and have a cup of coffee, and then I’m going to tell him I have an early day tomorrow and have to go home.
He spun her about, and her eyes moved across the people at the tables around the dance floor.
And fell on Lieutenant Hazel Gower, NC, USN, who was staring at her. She was with another nurse, the skinny little old bitch who had sent her to the Venereal Diseases Ward after Barbara told her she didn’t want to work in Obstetrics.
"Let’s quit," Barbara said to Joe. "I’m a little dizzy."
When they returned to the table, the wine was gone, and so was the Scotch in the wine cooler. These had been replaced by a tray of cheese and two brandy snifters.
I don’t want that, either. But it’s his party and I don’t want to appear bitchy.
"Did you order that?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"If you don’t want it, don’t drink it," he said.
"It would be a shame to waste it," she said.
A short time later, Joe said, "I don’t think I’ve ever had a better time in my life. I hate for it to end."
"It has to. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow."
"Sure. I understand. I didn’t mean . . ."
Her hand reached for his again, and touched it, and this time she did not immediately withdraw it.
"I’ve had a fine time, too. Really. I’m glad we came here."
His hand closed on hers, and they held hands for a moment, and then he pulled his away.
"I’ll get the check," he said, and started looking for the waiter. It took him some time to find him. After the waiter noticed Joe waving and started moving toward their table, she caught Joe glancing at her, and then averting his eyes.
"Will there be something else, Sir? A pastry, perhaps?"
"You want a piece of cake?" Joe asked, and she shook her head. "Just the check, please."