For a moment, all the assembled men were slack jawed. “Whoa!” muttered Billy.
With a satisfied smile, the man led her down the steps while the matron rushed over with the admiral in tow. The man looked important, enjoying the attention from everyone, and the girl was clearly an armpiece, dutifully offering obligatory saccharine smiles at each introduction. Almost a full head length above her companion, she surveyed the crowd, bored and uninterested.
Amused, Annie broke the silence. “You guys never seen a trophy wife before?”
Billy answered, “That is an accoutrement, and if she is his wife, she’s number four or five.”
“That’s what you red-blooded American men are fighting for!” Mike boomed, too loud as usual. “Me, I’ve got my honey right here!” He pulled Annie close to him, almost causing her to lose her balance. Wilson watched her give him a look to calm down, which he playfully ignored.
“Think she’s a pro?” Wilson offered to anyone.
“If she is, she’s not from around these parts,” Mike answered. Annie turned to her husband and raised an eyebrow.
“And how would you, know?” she asked him with a half playful, half withering look.
“Hey, I was once a sailor on liberty in Saint Thomas, and I don’t remember her — or anyone that looked like her. Not that I was looking! And I’m not looking now! Actually, I’m not sure I was ever here! Ah, what were we talking about?” Mike guffawed at his own infectious humor.
Annie, feigning disgust, nodded slowly at her husband as he pulled her to him once again. Mike ignored the Navy’s rules about public displays of affection in uniform that pertained to his wife, not to him.
A microphone appeared and the matron took it, gushing over the assembled Coral Sea officers, especially the admiral, with whom she appeared to be smitten. At the appropriate time, Admiral Meyerkopf took the microphone and graciously thanked the Navy League and the people of Saint Thomas for their warm hospitality. Professional and confident — and well prepared — he didn’t leave anyone out as he thanked the locals by name and impressed upon them the importance of this port visit to the Navy. The civilian guests beamed.
Once the perfunctory remarks concluded, the steel drum resumed the island beat and everyone was ready for another round of drinks. In the dimming twilight, Wilson walked to the railing and viewed the 100,000-ton ship at anchor. Resplendent in “dress ship” lighting that cascaded from the mast to the bow and stern, with row upon row of gray aircraft parked on her deck, she dominated the entry to the harbor. A ferry had just left, chugging across the gentle waves with another load of sailors ready for a night in town. They had five hours until midnight when Cinderella Liberty would expire for many of them. Plenty of time, he surmised for them to find fun — or trouble. As Wilson pondered the good ship Coral Maru from a mile away, he imagined himself abeam, hook down, through the 90, picking up the ball, easing the power as he slid across the imaginary wake, on centerline, on glideslope…
“Hey.”
Wilson turned with a start. The tall brunette stood right next to him waiting for a response.
CHAPTER 2
“Hey,” Wilson replied. She looked directly at him. Her soft smile suggested she was his friend and wanted to talk.
“Come here often?” she asked with a coy turn of her head. Wilson tried to place the accent.
“Couple of times a career. How about you?”
“First time. Love it,” she drawled. Texas? Mississippi?
“What brings you here?” Wilson asked and turned to face her. Billy was right. Whoa!
She motioned toward her companion who was engaged in conversation with a group of men on the other side of the pool. “Him. Sugah Daddy. His name is Marvin, and I met him three days ago.”
Wilson was intrigued. “Three days, and here you are on his arm in Saint Thomas?”
“Uh-huh. Anything wrong with that?” She was locked on Wilson, playing with him just by standing next to him. Having been made the center of attention, Wilson sensed he was at a disadvantage. He wanted to continue the conversation, though, so he played along.
“Where did you meet him?”
“At work — Ruby Redds, in North Richland Hills. I dance there.”
“Do you?”
“Yes! Have you been there, Mister Hero?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, you do look familiar. Maybe I’ve seen you in Austin, or Houston.”
“Don’t think so, but tell me, why are you here with…?”
“Marvin… he needed a girl on his arm, so I said fine. He flew me down on his private plane to stay in a deluxe suite at this here resort and sun myself all day by the pool. And all I have to do is walk in with him and walk out with him. That’s it.”
Wilson gave her a look, skeptical.
“It’s not what you think. You spectators can look all day long, but no touchin’ and that goes for my rich friend over there. He stays on his side of the room, and he gets nothing, and if he comes over to me, he’ll be singing soprano in the shower.” She giggled, then added, “He don’t care anyway, he just wants you guys to think he’s gettin’ it. Look at him, talking to those important men about investment banking… or about frackin’.” She gave Wilson a devilish smile.
“What’s your name?” Wilson asked.
She smiled. “Mysty, with two ‘Ys.’”
Wilson smiled back. “No, your real name.”
She looked out to sea and hesitated, but was still very much in charge of the conversation.
“Mary Martha. And you, Officer Wilson?” she answered, after a look at his nametag.
“Jim. Nice to meet you, Mary Martha. Mary is my wife’s name.”
Mary Martha cocked her head. “I don’t see a ring on your finger, Mister Husband.” She turned away in mock disapproval.
Wilson felt his hand. She was right. He had left his ring in the stateroom. He pointed to the carrier across the water. “It’s on the ship.”
“Um, hummm,” she sniffed. “Just forgot. I get it. You told me you’re married, but I see no ring. Guess you’re holding out for somethin’ better to come along tonight. I understand.” Then she changed the subject.
“Where’d you get that Navy Cross?”
Wilson snapped his head and looked at her in amazement. She had correctly identified the Navy Cross ribbon on his chest, something that no civilian had ever done — with any of his ribbons. Maybe Mary Martha wasn’t a brainless bimbo after all.
“Iran… a few years ago. But how did you know it was the Navy Cross?”
“My cousin got one. He was a Marine. Long ago, when I was in high school. Two thousand four, I believe. He died.”
“Iraq?”
“Yeah, a place called Fallu’jah. My aunt got this blue and white medal — and a flag. He’s buried at Arlington — Virginia, not Texas.” As she gazed out to sea, her voice took on a wistful tone. “I never forgot that medal, almost as high as the Medal of Honor, I’m told. The Marine who gave it to her got down on one knee. He was hot.” She once again locked eyes with Wilson and twisted her hair. “Girls are suckas for guys in uniform.”