Deftly, expertly, outraged by the idea of this malingering sonofabitch in 107, Greg applied the needle.
“They found her in the radar shack, huh?”
“Yes.”
“You see her there?”
“No. How the hell would I get to see her?”
“I thought maybe you did.”
“Say, what the hell’s the matter? Were you in love with that broad or something?”
“Me?” Greg asked. “Hell, no. I’m just inquisitive.”
“Well, go ask questions someplace else, will you? I’m gonna report you to the doc, you don’t watch out.”
“Oh, can it, pal!” Greg snapped. “You ain’t reporting nobody to nobody.”
“No, huh?”
“No! Don’t you like talking about that dead nurse?”
“No, I don’t I don’t like talking about anybody who’s dead.”
“That’s ’cause you’re a sickly type yourself.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m a sickly type. And I’m sick of your crap, too, if you want to know something!”
“Now, what the hell are you getting excited about? Just because I happen to mention Miss Cole, and just because you had a sweet tooth for her last time you were—”
“Shut up! I didn’t have a sweet tooth for nobody!”
That one had really got a rise, all right. He had damn near jumped out of the bed at that one. Greg’s eyes narrowed. Carefully he pressed his advantage.
“You got to admit she was a nice-looking doll,” he said sweetly.
“I never even saw her.”
“But you were on her ward, pal. Don’t you remember?”
“I don’t remember anything about Claire Cole.”
“Oh, you know her first name?”
“Of course I know her first name! What the hell’s so unusual about that? Everybody on the Sykes knows her name. Damnit, she was killed on our ship!”
“Sure, I know that.”
“O.K. O.K., if you know it, knock off. You’re giving me a headache.”
“Aw, now ain’t that too bad? I didn’t think talking about Miss Cole would give you a headache. Aw, now I’m real sorry, mate.”
“It’s not talking about her that’s giving me a headache. It’s just talking.”
“She was a nice girl. Shame that Schaefer bastard killed her, ain’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You think he was getting some of that?”
“I don’t know.”
“It ain’t impossible, you know. She was a hot number, Miss Cole. The way I get it, she was spreading it around everywhere. She was—”
“What do I care what Claire was—” He stopped short.
The room was suddenly silent. Greg watched and waited.
“—what Claire Cole was doing in her spare time? It’s none of my business.”
“No,” Greg said, “of course not.”
“So lay off.”
“Sure. I just hate to see anybody knocking off the goose that laid, you follow? Hell, she might have enlarged her sphere of operations. Might have let some of us poor slobs in on it, hey chum? Wouldn’t you have liked a little of that, chum?”
“I don’t even know what she looked like!”
“A nice-looking piece like Miss Cole? How could you have missed her?”
“I don’t know what she looked like,” he insisted.
“Mmm,” Greg said, “then you sure missed something. She was a looker, mate, something to write home to Mother about.”
“So why the hell don’t you write home?”
Greg watched. Something was happening. The bastard was beginning to clam up. Something had clammed him up, and Greg was sure he wouldn’t get another rise out of him, not today he wouldn’t He tried anyway.
“Schaefer ever tell you what she was like?”
“No.”
“No kiss-and-tell stuff, huh?”
“I never asked.”
“I’d think you’d be interested.”
“Schaefer’s business was Schaefer’s business.”
“Sure. Even though you were sweet on her, huh?”
“You said it pal, not me.”
“Yeah, but we both know it’s the truth, don’t we?”
“I only know what I read in the base newspaper.”
“Did you read about how they found her? The bruises on her throat, skirt hiked all the way up? Did you read that mate?”
“Yes, I read it.”
“Must have been interesting.”
“Very.”
Greg rose. “I’ll be seeing you, mate.” He paused at the door. “A damn shame Schaefer knocked off your sweetie, ain’t it?”
“Blow it out your ass,” he replied, and then he rolled over and pulled the blanket to his neck.
She had avoided his room because she was unsure of her own feelings, and she wanted time to think. There was something very charming about him, something very young and appealing, even though she knew he was undoubtedly older than she was. But there was this — this almost pristine frankness of youth about him, and she enjoyed his frankness, and she also enjoyed his... well, yes, his adoration.
He was very different from Chuck, different in a sure, brash way, but at the same time the brashness wasn’t annoying. Somehow, it wasn’t annoying because she felt he wasn’t being fresh just for the sake of being a wise guy; he was being fresh because he spoke his mind, and you could hardly classify that as freshness at all.
He was, too, a little frightening. Oh, not really frightening, but very masculine, she supposed that’s what it was, yes, masculine. You could almost smell maleness on him, you could see it in his eyes, see it in the almost cruel — and yet boyish — curve of his mouth. And this maleness frightened her, but it also aroused her until she had difficulty remembering that Chuck was also a male, and that Chuck had also aroused her. Why the devil didn’t he call or write or something?
This is all happening to me too late, that’s the trouble, she thought. I’m a novice at the game, and all because I began playing it when most other girls were already expert at it
And there was, of course, the bar to think of. Not that the title of ensign itself meant anything. No, that didn’t really matter a damn, did it? It was what the bar stood for, the idea of nursing, the ideal of nursing, and she didn’t want all that to get washed out to sea simply because an enlisted man was giving her a rush. And yet... they could wear civvies, and who would know? And what harm was there, actually, in seeing a movie together, or having dinner together, both in civvies? How could anyone possibly know, and what harm was there? No harm, really, unless you were caught.
But how could you get caught?
Oh, lots of ways. They could run into an officer she knew, perhaps, an officer who knew her escort, too, and who knew he was an enlisted man. But the chances of that were remote, especially if they went to a movie, say, outside of Norfolk. They could even get up to Richmond and back, for a movie, or dinner, or whatever, and really there’d be no trouble at all, not if they were careful, and they’d certainly have to be careful.
You simply had to figure whether or not it was worth it. If Chuck would only write or let me know he’s still alive... Well, he probably doesn’t care one way or the other. The good Lieutenant’s simply having himself a gay old time, and yet he seemed sincere, and oh, Chuck, why don’t you hurry up back, can’t you see I’m trying to decide something, and how can I really decide when you’re somewhere in New Jersey, and he’s here, right here, with those eyes of his and that cruel mouth, and those strong hands? Chuck, Chuck, can’t you call? Don’t you want to call me?