She stayed away from Room 107 because she didn’t want the decision forced upon her. And so she was surprised, and so she felt trapped, when she ran into him in the hospital corridor one night, wearing the faded robe and slippers of the ambulatory patient. She ran into him rounding a corner and he caught her in his arms, and then backed her around the corner again, into a little dead-end passageway at the end of which was a gear locker and nothing else.
“Where’ve you been?” he whispered.
“Around the hospital. My... my hours have changed.”
“Don’t lie to me, Jean. If you don’t want to have anything to do with me, say so. But please don’t lie to me.”
“I’m sorry. I was trying to make up my mind. That’s why I–I’ve been avoiding you.”
“Have you made it up yet?”
“No.”
“When, Jean? I’ll be out of here in a few days. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Honey...”
“Please, don’t rush me. Let me think. Can’t you see that I...”
His hands were on her shoulders now, biting into the fabric of her uniform.
“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Jean, Jean...”
He pulled her close, and she tilted her face involuntarily, and his lips came down on hers, strangely tender for such a cruel mouth. He was gentle and she was swallowed up in the tenderness of his kiss. She moved closer to him, and his arms tightened around her, and she returned the kiss, enjoying the tight circle of his arms, enjoying the strange gentleness of his mouth. She broke the kiss then, and his lips trailed over her jaw. She buried her head in his shoulder, still clinging to him, feeling a little weak now, a little dizzy from his kiss, and the tightness of his arms, the closeness of his body.
“You will, Jean?”
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
“You want to?”
“I want to.” She was still weak. She clung to him desperately, urging her senses to return.
“Friday,” he said. “I’ll be out by then. Well go to a movie in Newport News. All right?”
“Yes.” She pulled away from him. “You must let me go now. Someone might come.”
“Eight o’clock, Jean,” he said. “In civvies. You know the movie house there, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Eight o’clock Friday night. Jean, I—”
“Don’t. Don’t say it.”
“All right. Later.”
“Yes, later. Now please go.”
He kissed her again, briefly, and then he whirled and went off down the corridor. She watched him until he was out of sight, and then she leaned against the wall limply and thought, Friday night, Friday night.
On Thursday afternoon they sat together in the sixth-floor solarium. The glass was in place now, against the onslaught of winter, glass that stretched from floor to ceiling, substituting for the screens that were up in summer. They sat together, the three men, and they looked through the glass and out over the base.
Guibert was the first to rise.
“I’m going down to take a nap. O.K., Greg?”
Greg nodded, saying nothing.
“One thing about a rare disease,” Guibert said, “everybody treats you like a walking test tube. Hell, the whole future of mankind may depend on what they find out about me.”
“You’re priceless,” Greg said. “Go on downstairs and ask one of the nurses to lock you up in the vault. We wouldn’t want to lose you.”
“Greg’s a card, all right,” Guibert said. “Well, I’m going down.” He paused. “Tennis, anyone?”
No one answered. Guibert shrugged and walked away.
He watched Guibert walk past Greg and then out into the corridor. In a little while, he heard the whine of the elevator, and then the doors rasping open and slamming shut, and then the whine again. He turned to Greg.
“You must be happy,” he said.
“Yeah? Why?” Greg answered.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“We’re gonna miss you, pal. It ain’t often we get a professional goof-off like you around here.”
He smiled. He could afford the luxury of a smile now. Now even Greg couldn’t get under his skin. Everything was all set with Jean now. Tomorrow night, after that — hell, it would be simple.
“What’re you grinning about?” Greg asked.
“Oh, nothing.”
“I didn’t think you’d be so happy about leaving. I notice you been real palsy-walsy with Miss Dvorak,” Greg paused. “You ain’t stepped out of line with her, have you?”
“Me?” he asked, feigning incredulity. “Hell, Greg, I know my place. Miss Dvorak’s an officer.”
“So was Claire Cole,” Greg snapped.
“Well, I didn’t know Claire Cole. But even if I did, I’d have respected those j.g. stripes.”
“You knew her well enough to figure that, huh?”
“What?”
“That she was a j.g.?”
“Everybody on the Sykes knew that.”
“Sure. Including Schaefer.”
“Including Schaefer.”
“He seemed like a nice kid, Schaefer. Not the kind you figure to be messing around with a broad. Not the kind who kills.”
“No?”
“No.” Greg paused. “You look more like the kind who kills to me.”
“What do you mean by that?” He was sitting upright in his chair now, staring across at Greg. Greg’s eyes had narrowed, and he looked into those eyes and realized he had responded too nervously. He would have to be careful.
“Yeah,” Greg said slowly, as if an idea were forming in his mind. “Yeah, you look just like the kind who would kill.”
“What the hell do you know about killers?” he asked calmly, watching Greg very carefully now, not liking the crafty look on the pharmacist’s mate’s face.
“Nothing. Only what I can smell. You smell like a killer to me. Yeah, you know that? You smell like a killer. You must be a real bastard in a fist fight.”
“I can handle myself.”
“Yeah, and better with women, I suppose.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Must be easy to slam a dame around, huh?”
“I never hit a woman in my life.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Who hit Claire Cole?”
“Schaefer did.”
“Yeah? Is that what it said in the base newspaper?”
“Yes, that’s what it said.”
“But we know different, huh?”
He was alert now, every sense alert. He stared at Greg and wondered if the pharmacist’s mate were bluffing, how could he know, how could he possibly...
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Claire and me used to talk together a lot,” Greg said, the crafty look gleaming brightly in his eyes now.
“Yeah? Wh... what about?”
“Lots of things. Life. Liberty.” Greg paused. “Men.”
“What would she want to talk to you for, you crud?”
“I’m sympathetic. She told me all about Schaefer.”
“Yeah?” He felt relieved. Greg knew nothing.
“And you!” Greg said suddenly.
“Me?” He snorted. “Hah, that’s a laugh.”
“How you were crazy about her,” Greg said, his eyes narrowed, standing now, moving closer to the chair, his back to the huge glass area around the solarium.
“You’re nuts.”
“Real crazy about her. How you and her had a real ball here at the hospital, right under Schaefer’s nose.”
“Get out of here, will you? You’re dreaming. You never talked to her.”
“I did. Oh, yes, mate, I did.”
Was Greg telling the truth? He couldn’t be sure. Jesus, had Claire talked to him? But what was all this garbage about Schaefer? No, no, he was bluffing.