“Now?” I asked.
“I have my own room, and we’ve been on a four-month journey getting to know each other,” he said gently. “We’ve had a nice dinner in Montreal and a romantic drive. So, to me, it seems like now is a good moment.”
I started to cry.
He sat up in shock. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He took my hand and raised it to his lips.
“I can’t do this,” I said.
“Are you a virgin?” he asked.
I couldn’t help but laugh ruefully at his assumption even though I had spent my youth avoiding sex and aspiring to be mistaken for one.
“I won’t hurt you. I want to make you feel amazing,” he said.
“It’s Norwalk,” I cried. “During my year-end performance review, he ordered me not to date you. He threatened to kick me out of the college if I did.”
“I’ve graduated. We waited. How can he kick you out? We can be together if we choose. It’s not his decision!”
“That is exactly what I said. He said, ‘Don’t fucking try me.’ Just like that. I’m scared. I haven’t told anyone.”
“When were you planning to tell me?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Never. Later. I wanted to disobey him.”
“So why are you crying?”
“If they kick me out, I lose everything”
Eddie exploded. “Fuck! Norwalk can’t tell you who to love outside of the college.”
“I gave up my chance at pilot to stay. If we date, he’ll find a way to kick me out.”
“I failed my French test to be here this summer.” Eddie took a deep breath and spoke more calmly. “Kate, I love you. I want to be with you.”
“How could this ever work? What if I get kicked out? What then?” I wailed.
“You know how I feel about you, Kate. Trust that.”
“I can’t,” I said.
“Please don’t do this.” He leaned over and nuzzled my neck. My body was on fire to be with him. I pulled back. He slid his fingers through my hair along the base of my skull and gently took a handful. He pulled me to him and kissed me hard and let me go. “Okay. I guess we’d better get you home.”
As he drove, I tried to hold back the panic. I placed my hand high on his inner thigh and he intertwined his fingers with mine and said nothing.
At my dorm, he got out and opened my car door for me. I slid out, leaned against his car, and held on. He took my face in his hands and kissed me so tenderly that I felt faint.
“Well. See you around, Kate Armstrong,” he said, smiling half-heartedly. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I can’t do this,” I said. My legs wobbled under me.
“It’s already done.”
He took my elbow and led me to the doors of the dorm. I forced myself to walk down the hall without looking back, but when I heard his car start, I bolted into my room, pressed my face against the window, and peered out, hoping to catch a glimpse of him driving away.
He was already gone.
23
DISHONOURABLE INTENTIONS
Second year. After a listless summer of French immersion and a few weeks at home doing nothing much, I was back at the college. I was startled awake at 05:30 hours. “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen. Three minutes and thirty-one seconds of annoying pounding followed by blissful silence as the new recruits headed out for their morning run. I rolled over.
I had a first-floor corner room all to myself, next to the fire escape door and as far away as possible from the recruit hallway. My room had two bay windows. One looked out over the parade square; the other looked over the fire escape stairs at the red brick wall of the Old Gym across the alley. Second-year privileges allowed me to use the fire escape, which meant I could avoid the foyer next to the orderly room almost entirely. I was allowed my own bedding, so I had shipped my goose feather duvet set — a pastel green and pink flower print cover with matching pillowcases — and two feather pillows from home. My military uniforms and gear needed to be regulation for inspections: properly measured, organized, and sorted in my closet and drawers and on my shelves. But with no roommate, the extra space could be filled with my personal clothing and effects. Second-year walking-out dress for trips to town was the No. 6 uniform, a navy-blue college-crested blazer and grey flannels.
We’d lost four of our original twenty recruits in A Flight at the end of last year. Two guys had failed and two others had quit. Of the thirty-two first women who had started last fall, we’d lost eight: one for medical reasons and one for voluntary release; Mary Tyler had failed for fitness reasons, and five more had failed academically. All four women of the Frigate were back.
In my clearing-in package was the 1981 yearbook. I held off unpacking my things and excitedly flipped the book open to look at Eddie’s photo. I’d seen him only twice from a distance all summer and had heard he was windsurfing a lot. I touched his photo and felt a familiar twinge of sadness. I read his graduation write-up.
One line stopped my heart cold: “He’s going to catch up with Spears even if it means a quick visit to Crazy Linda’s place.” Crazy Linda was a woman from town rumoured to be available for sex with cadets. I had never paid much attention to the story. I flipped over to Mike Spears’ write-up and read, “Spears let the ‘Big Guy’ take over, and he began to rack up the numbers, much to Byrne’s dismay.”
Eddie had said back in March that he wasn’t really part of the bet. The yearbook was assembled in May, before he knew we weren’t going to date. Maybe Norwalk did me a favour after all? I slammed the book shut. A wave of relief washed through me — I could admit it now. I loved the idea of him but had never really believed that we could make it work. He’s a fighter pilot and I’m a cadet for the next three years. Fighter pilots had a bad reputation as cheaters. “Now I don’t have to find out the hard way,” I said aloud.
I was in the midst of setting up my new tuner and cassette player, with stand-alone speakers, when there was a knock on my door. I hollered, “Come in!”
The new cadet squadron training officer, Kevin Blackwood, stood at my bedroom door dressed in full No. 4 uniform of blues, pillbox, red sash, and gaiters.
“Yes?” I said coolly.
He beamed. “Hello, Kate,” he said with a bow, taking off his pillbox and sweeping it nearly to the ground. “Welcome back, my lady.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
He made another less formal bow. “As you wish.”
I was flummoxed. He brushed a lock of hair off his brow and grinned smugly, his hat pressed to his chest.
“How may I help you, Mr. Blackwood?” I asked. He closed the door and stepped forward. I backed away until my legs brushed against the bed frame.
He moved forward again. I leaned away. “No need to be so formal. Call me Woodsie. I’ve come directly from my afternoon duties with the recruits of A Flight to attend to another matter of utmost import,” he said. “I’ve given our situation a considerable amount of thought over the summer. I have a proposal to make.”
“I’m sorry? What situation?”
“Kate, I am attracted to you. No need to play coy.” He reached his right hand toward me with his fingers spread, as if trying to catch a butterfly, and squeezed my shoulder. I scurried out from under his touch and slammed back against my closet door. “I want you to be my girlfriend. I want us to be a couple this year.”
“What? No, thank you.”
“Why? Don’t you want to think about it?”
“You’re two years senior to me and the CSTO. You know we’re not allowed to date. Right?”
“We-eeell, yes,” he said, “but you were willing to work it out for Eddie Byrne.”
“What? I liked Eddie and I was ordered not to date him. So I didn’t exactly work it out, did I?”
“Okay, well that’s good. I was checking,” he said.
“What are you talking about? Is this a game?” I asked.
“No, I’m not trying to trick you. I want to date yo
u,” he whined. “I’ve thought about it all summer.”
“I didn’t come to RMC to be your girlfriend.” I took a deep breath. “I’m not attracted to you. Please leave my room.”
His face darkened. I was prepared to scream at the top of my lungs if he touched me again. “I’m warning you,” he growled, “if you don’t date me, I’ll make you very unhappy this year.”
“Can you hear yourself?” I asked, emboldened by his threat. “I would never date you, even if I could.” I walked over, pulled open my door, and with a flourish invited him out onto the green carpet of the hallway.
Richie and Meg came by my room on the way to dinner. We clanged down the metal fire escape stairs and walked casually across the square. I told them what had happened with Blackwood.
“Are you fucking kidding?” Richie asked. “That guy is a nut job.”
“He kinda scared me,” I said.
Richie grabbed Meg’s arm protectively. “Seriously, if that guy even looks at you sideways, I want to know. I’m keeping my eye on Blackballs.”
“Our knight,” Meg said.
24
DON’T GET CAUGHT
The dining hall echoed with yelling directed at the new recruits, the Class of 1985. The newest crop of cadets seemed frantic in their urgency to prove themselves; they hurried, scampered, and shouted on command with enthusiasm, seemingly eager to earn favour. It was strange to see what had been our third years running the racket on the new candidates. A Flight marched past us looking scared and confused.
“Did we look that frightened?” I asked.
“Maybe. But you didn’t look that hot,” said Bristow, elbowing Fitzroy to look up. “I’ll take the blond one.”
“I prefer the tiny one with dark hair. She’s sassy,” said Fitzroy. I followed their gaze. There were only three women in the group.
“Holy shit, you guys. They’re not commodities,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Kate. You’re still cute,” said Richie.
“That’s not what I am talking about.”
“We’re guys. Guys look at girls,” said Fitzroy dismissively.
“Fine,” I said, looking at them now myself. I was surprised to feel a pang of jealousy and self-doubt about my attractiveness compared to the new women, an ugly feeling. I promised myself I’d offer the new women the friendship and support of senior cadets that was not available to us last year.
A letter arrived in wing mail from a classmate in Five Squadron. He wrote an eloquent condolence advising me that an old boyfriend of mine, Shawn, had been killed in an accident on the West Coast and had repeatedly called my name from his hospital bed in the intensive care unit before dying. Shawn and I had worked together as staff at the Air Cadet Gliding Program in 1979, the year after I earned my glider pilot licence. He’d been a crush during the summer after grade eleven, when Gary had dumped me for refusing to have sex. I was gutted by the news. I rushed downstairs and called his mom.
“Mrs. Baker, I hope you won’t consider me insensitive for calling so long after Shawn’s accident. I’ve only just received the news and want to offer my condolences. I’m devastated that he’s gone,” I said, holding back from sobbing.
“Kate, what are you talking about, dear? What accident?”
I was confused. How could she not know? “His hang-gliding accident three weeks ago?”
She was quiet for a moment. “I think someone has played a very mean trick on you. Shawn’s right here. Would you like to speak to him?”
Shawn came on the line. “Kate, what’s going on?”
“Oh, thank God,” I exclaimed and told him about the letter.
“That bastard. He told me he’d get even!”
“What could make anyone be so cruel?”
Shawn told me that they’d been training on the same base over the summer. He had asked the cadet about me. The cadet replied with a description of various ways he would like to fuck me.
“So I beat the shit out of him,” Shawn said. “It was worth the ten days of extra duty officer.”
The next morning, I cornered my letter-writing classmate at breakfast. I got right up in his face.
“How could you do that?” I asked. “That was evil.”
“He deserved it. I have no use for him.”
“Why bring me into it? I haven’t done anything to you.”
“Will you fuck me?”
“What? No!”
“Then I have no use for you either,” he said and walked away. That was the end of it.
I spun around in disgust and crashed right into Blackwood. He smirked at me, stepped aside, and bowed low as I passed.
As second years, we worked every spare moment on building the recruit obstacle course. As the end of recruit term drew near, we fudged study hours to make more time. One night I got back to my room just before lights out. I closed my door and drapes and stripped off my filthy clothes. That’s when I spotted a note on the floor that had been slid under my door. Jeff Dillon, my section commander, wanted to see me immediately upon my return. I threw on my housecoat and went next door to his room.
Jeff stood in front of his sink; he wore a housecoat, too. The intimacy embarrassed me. “Close the door. It seems you’re facing a breach parade,” he said bluntly.
Breach parade meant being charged for a misdemeanour. There was a code of conduct in the Cadet Wing Instructions and a whole chapter assigned to breaches of conduct. If found guilty — of whatever I was being accused of doing — I’d be confined to quarters and stripped of all privileges, pretty much like being grounded or under house arrest, for however many days on charge.
“What did I do?” I was baffled.
“You’re being charged with an insecure bayonet. Mr. Blackwood found the key to your gash drawer, opened it, and found your bayonet. In his world, this means someone could break into your room and steal your weapon.”
“He was searching through my personal stuff while I was out of my room?” I felt a wave of disgust.
Jeff gave me a blank look and doubled over in laughter. “You should see your face right now.”
“You’re kidding, right? This is a joke?” I laughed nervously.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. I’m just shocked at the lengths some people will go to make other people miserable. Blackwood definitely seemed pleased with himself when he came by earlier to tell me.”
“But I hid my key,” I said. Do I tell him about Blackwood’s threat to me?
“Not well enough. The breach parade is on Sunday afternoon. You’ll need a peer to act as an escort for you. Blackwood will present his case against you to CSL Toller and you’ll have the chance to give your side of the story. I’ll be there, as your CSC and support at — let’s call it what it is — kangaroo court.”
“Have you ever been charged?”
“Nope. And I can tell you Blackwood is purposely making trouble,” he said. “I bet I can find every gash drawer key in our section within minutes — if anyone bothered to hide them at all.”
After a silence, I said, “Blackwood told me on my first day back that he wants to date me. When I refused, he said he would punish me.”
Jeff grimaced. “He’s the type to play dirty. I wouldn’t say anything if I was you. He could make you look crazy. Do you want me to step in?”
“No, I can handle it,” I answered resignedly.
“Okay. Well, for now, keep this between us.”
“At least now you know. I promised myself not to screw up this year,” I said. “I plan to stick to it.”
The college motto drilled values into us: Truth, duty, valour. The fourth was tacit, but everyone knew it: Don’t get caught.
I went directly back to my room and tossed all my underwear into my laundry bag.
The next morning on the way to class, I told Holbrook what had happened. “So, will you do it?”
“Is it like being your best man?”
“Something like that,” I said.
He agreed enthusiastic
ally.
“You don’t have to look so fucking delighted.”
“Look, the easiest way to keep my eye on Blackballs is to be in the room when he’s pulling his shit,” Richie said. “Besides, I think it will be fun to see a breach parade.”
I elbowed him in the ribs.
Sunday afternoon, Richie and I stood before Cadet Squadron Leader Toller, who was seated at a desk in the gunroom, flanked by CSC Dillon and CSTO Blackwood.
“Miss Armstrong, you are called before me today to answer to the charge of having an insecure weapon. This process is internal to the college. Any findings here will remain on your file for the duration of your time at RMC and be expunged upon graduation. Do you understand?” he asked smoothly.
“Yes, Mr. Toller.”
“Further, upon hearing both sides of the situation, it is at my discretion to make a determination of the appropriate correction under the circumstances. I will ask Mr. Blackwood to give his account. You may speak when invited to share any mitigating circumstances. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Toller.”
Toller read aloud the several columns on the page in front of him, making a show of consulting the conduct sheet: “An Act to the Prejudice of Good Order and Discipline in that Second Year Armstrong, on 24 September 1981, at approximately 08:50 hours, left the key to her security drawer, which contains her bayonet, insecure.
“These charges are being brought against you by Mr. Blackwood,” Toller concluded. There was a pause. I tried to breathe deeply and evenly. Richie stood beside me like a stone statue.
“Mr. Blackwood, proceed with your findings.”
Blackwood nodded and snapped to attention. “Certainly, Mr. Toller. I was conducting a routine squadron walk-through of rooms when I discovered the key to Second Year Armstrong’s lock-up drawer, where I found her FN breechblock, unloaded magazines, and a bayonet secured inside. The key to her rifle was not found. In my view, the disposition of her room, being adjacent to the first-floor fire escape stairs, greatly increases the risk of the bayonet being stolen. I step back in deference to your decision on appropriate action.”
The Stone Frigate Page 15