Making It Work

by Kathleen Glassburn

  She sat down on a gold brocade chair.

  Holding court.

  Sheila nibbled at a cookie, occasionally taking a sip from her goblet, looking around the spacious living room with its white French provincial furniture and view of the beach. She sighed. I’d sure like to live here.

  Jim sat awkwardly on a fancy tufted sofa. He’d hate it.

  An hour later, walking back to the Van Dorn Apartments, she didn’t say anything about her wish but did mention that, “Tania likes you a lot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can tell. She thinks you’re really cute. Can’t keep her eyes off you, in fact.” Even when she had been speaking directly to Sheila, Tania blatantly stared at Jim, who never seemed to make eye contact.

  She’d spoken of several familiar movie stars, including John Wayne and “this cute younger guy”—Clint Eastwood. And said, “The love of my life did these guys’ stunts.”

  “You’re nuts.” Jim responded to Sheila’s comment, but she could tell by the way he squared his shoulders that he really did appreciate the attention, even if it was from a faded glamour queen.

  That night in the Murphy bed, he confided, “She did come on to me once.”

  “Who?” Sheila had started to doze off.

  “Tania.”

  Suddenly awake, she said, “Tania? That old lady? When did this happen?”

  “I was home from the ship and you hadn’t gotten back from work.”

  “Yes?” She might be old, but Tania was still attractive in a sagging-sort-of way, and she certainly was world-wise Sheila could tell—from all the name dropping.

  “I was walking back to the apartment after emptying some trash. She asked if I’d like to come in for a beer. I thought, Why not? It was awfully hot.”

  “Then what?”

  “She started telling me about some young guy, the stunt man at the studio, years ago, who she’d been married to. He was killed in a motorcycle accident. Something about spilled gasoline and a fire.”

  “Why didn’t you say something about her before?”

  “I don’t know. Slipped my mind, I guess.”

  Sheila felt him tense.

  “She showed me his picture and said how much I reminded her of him. She started to rub my arm.”

  “And?”

  “I left right away. Didn’t even finish my beer.”

  “I never would’ve gone over to the Villa if you’d told me this.” Obviously it was Jim she wanted to visit, not me.

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

  Surprised at his apology, Sheila figured Jim must be feeling guilty—that he in some way had betrayed her.

  “If anything like that ever happens again, please tell me right away.”

  “I will … You, too.”

  She tried to nod off, head resting on his shoulder, wanting to ask, How many other women have come on to you? She didn’t. Usually, she felt safe, like a little kid snuggled up to her dependable St. Bernard. Not on this night. For hours, her head rose and fell with his even breathing.

  That fall, before the Matthews left to go to Vietnam, Sheila and Jim spent almost every Saturday night with the Rollys. A retired businessman and his wife had moved in downstairs, and their age difference assured that the Gallaghers now became the Rollys’ new best friends. Brenda cooked at these get-togethers, so they seldom went anywhere, instead sitting in front of the television or playing Spades or other games. Brenda watched the news incessantly, soaking up anything about the Kennedys. Even though the assassination had happened a couple of years before, she still talked about it and the Bay of Pigs as if both had just occurred. She also passed along gossipy items.

  “I heard that Jackie wanted to take Caroline and John John away from New York City,” she said one night after Ted had beat them at Monopoly.

  “Did she ask your opinion?” He rolled his eyes, obviously feeling more cocky than ever.

  “All you’re interested in is the bad things going on,” Brenda said. “I think it makes you happy to talk about hardships and catastrophes.”

  He snorted.

  Sheila looked at Jim, wondering, Is this the start of an argument? She never caught his eye, so they stayed a while longer.

  Brenda didn’t interrupt when Ted said, “Can you believe all these demonstrations? Bunch of traitors.”

  It bothered Sheila to hear this kind of talk, but she wasn’t sure why.

  Then, he said with a sneer, “Even the Pope’s gotten into it!”

  “It was a Papal Mass for Peace.” Sheila unexpectedly felt protective of Paul VI.

  “Same thing … Yankee Stadium was jam packed.”

  “Sheila’s Catholic, you know,” Jim jumped in. “You can’t compare this to the street demonstrations.”

  Sheila wanted to give him a big hug, an unfamiliar feeling when they were with the Rollys.

  “Aw … okay … sorry,” Ted said dismissively.

  Soon after this, Jim said, “We’re going to walk back to the apartment.”

  On a Saturday afternoon, they piled into Ted’s beat-up white Ford sedan, the backseat littered with toys and candy wrappers. Another navy couple had invited them to their house for dinner. Chuck and Leeza Palmer lived on base. As they drove through the navy housing, Sheila decided that it looked pleasant enough. Each one-story house had a yard with a swing set and sandbox. Boys ran around shooting toy guns at each other. Girls played hopscotch on the sidewalks.

  Chuck was about five foot eleven with a build almost as good as Jim’s. Leeza had been born in Mexico. She had long black hair, a cute, shapely figure, and a big, toothy smile.

  Ted made a fuss over her in the same way as he had done with Sheila when they first met, saying to Chuck, “You didn’t tell me she was such an exotic beauty.”

  Leeza brushed him off like a bothersome fly. “I don’t know what you mean.” She held her head high and turned rapidly away. “Let’s go get some snacks.” The rest of the evening she ignored Ted, talking to Brenda about the kids and including Sheila in their conversation.

  When Sheila looked around the house’s inside, which was a lot nicer than the Rollys’ dark, gloomy apartment, she noticed an absence of Oriental items in spite of Chuck’s many cruises. Colorful Mexican decorations filled the rooms.

  When Leeza was in the kitchen, Sheila whispered to Brenda, “Why don’t you live on base?”

  “We want to be off by ourselves,” Brenda said, in a voice that Sheila feared Leeza, who had come back in the room, might hear. “Keep the boys away from outside influences. Do our own thing.”

  If she heard Brenda, Leeza didn’t say anything, rather concentrating on the platter of bite-sized, spicy “tacos,” she passed around. These were new to Sheila and Jim. They agreed on the delicious flavor. Grilled Chorizo sausage with “refried” beans on the side made up the dinner’s main course. Leeza also had potato salad with large black olives mixed in. Not a fan of them, Sheila guessed Leeza’s family must make it this way.

  The Palmers had a couple of little guys about the same ages as Teddy and Jerry. They played well together—running around, shouting, laughing—until right before dark, when Teddy threw a ball and broke a window.

  Ted said, “I’m fit to be tied!” Despite protests, he forced several wrinkled bills into Chuck’s hand, then made Teddy spend the rest of the evening between Brenda and himself on the living room sofa. What had been a fun day got spoiled by this—mostly because of Ted’s attitude.

  Driving back to Jim and Sheila’s apartment, the boys cuddled up to the young couple in the backseat. Sheila had Jerry, the littlest one, whose damp head smelled like grass and sweat, but she enjoyed his sleepy closeness. Teddy jabbered to Jim about his favorite cartoons until Ted ordered him to, “Leave Mr. Gallagher alone. He’s tired from all the socializing.”

  Not to
mention all the beer. With this and the cigarettes, Sheila thought that Ted’s car reeked like a tavern.

  “Sometimes we get together with guys and their families on base, excepting you can see how wild it makes the boys.” Brenda grimaced. “They don’t need that kind of stimulation.”

  “We don’t want them to pick up bad habits.” Ted backed her up.

  It seemed to Sheila that Teddy hadn’t done anything unusual. It was an accident. He never got to play with kids other than Jerry. This seemed strange, but she didn’t comment. After all, What do I know?

  The Rollys, being Southern Baptists, went to church every Sunday and most Wednesday nights. Brenda’s father, deceased for several years, had been a preacher in East Texas.

  She told them, “Daddy never went to seminary or anything like that, didn’t even finish high school. He felt a call to spread the gospel of Jesus, and traveled around the countryside bringing people to the Lord at revivals.”

  Sheila had never been to any kind of church besides Roman Catholic.

  They knew this, but the Rollys repeatedly asked the Gallaghers to come to a service.

  Sheila would tell Jim she didn’t want to attend. Often, she went to noon mass at nearby St. Anthony’s, lighting candles for Jim’s safety and for Tommy’s problems. The Church, with all its rules, sometimes seemed as oppressive as her father, yet she couldn’t imagine not going at all. And how she missed singing solos. Sitting quietly for that hour, she felt like God reached out and held her, made her safe, like everything would be all right when Jim wasn’t there to hold her in his arms.

  Once, in the middle of November, three weeks before the ship’s departure, Jim persuaded her to attend church with the Rollys. “I don’t think it’d hurt to go, just once,” he said.

  Baffled, she said, “You don’t even like church.”

  “I don’t like your kind of church.”

  Feeling defensive, she said, “It’s the only church I know.”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt you to try something else.”

  Not wanting to argue, she said, “I guess it’d be okay … once.”

  On this Sunday, Ted picked them up at 8:30 a.m. He and Jim wore their blue uniforms. Brenda and Sheila wore hose and dresses that barely covered their knees. Teddy and Jerry, in little suits, looked like miniature businessmen.

  Throwing his arm around her shoulders as they walked to the Rollys’ car, Jim whispered that Sheila’s recently purchased green dress, “Makes your red hair look extra shiny.”

  As soon as they entered the church’s reception hall, Sheila felt an overwhelming urge to turn around and rush out, even though their apartment was a couple of miles away and her high heels were already starting to hurt. God seemed to speak in her ear, “You don’t belong here!” She had been taught that it was a sin to go to another kind of church. This seemed silly, but she couldn’t get it out of her mind.

  People kept asking the Rollys to introduce their friends. In every Catholic Church Sheila had ever been to, people were left to themselves, to quietly observe the ritual. This Baptist service was plain and loud. The choir was garbed in simple blue robes, and there were no embroidered vestments for the preacher who wore a black suit, kind of like Teddy and Jerry’s. Communion came around on plates with small glasses of purple liquid and tiny pieces of what looked to be Wonder Bread. The liquid didn’t taste like wine. Sheila later learned it was grape juice.

  Ted said, “This is a special day. We only share in the Lord’s supper once a month.”

  Toward the service’s end, after announcements, the preacher, Brother Owen, demanded that all visitors stand and meet the congregation. Sheila hadn’t liked it when The Peace became part of mass, and now she was expected to say something to this group of strangers.

  Jim pulled her up next to him, while Ted did all the talking, saying the Gallaghers were “Yankees, but decent folks,” which got a big laugh, and that Jim was on his ship, and that they would “mosey on back” for another gathering, and that Sheila, who “sang like a lark,” maybe could be cajoled into joining the choir.

  She forced a smile, and despite liking their old-time music, “I’ll Fly Away,” was one that she hummed for days afterward, she thought, Never again!

  At the completion of Ted’s little speech, Jim drawled, “Thanks for the hospitality. See ya’ll soon.”

  Sheila cringed, Has he picked up Ted’s accent?

  Another couple from Texas came to the Rollys’ Thanksgiving celebration. Herb Toffler, also a lifer, his balding head a campground of brown splotches, lived in a nearby apartment. He had met his girl at home on leave. Sadie, married with a son back in Texas, wore a huge cowboy hat, tight shorts, and boots. Heavy black eyeliner made her look like she was still made up for Halloween.

  She did pitch right in with the cooking, mixing up cornbread stuffing, and stirring chopped green chilies in it, mashing potatoes in a way that seemed normal to Sheila, but then adding sliced hardboiled eggs to the gravy, and bananas with mini marshmallows and brown sugar to the canned yams. Watching this, Sheila fought back a gag, deciding to stick with turkey and potatoes. Jim filled his plate with everything several times.

  After pumpkin and pecan pies, Ted said, “I’m going to find something you’ll tolerate to drink, little lady.” He leered at Sheila like the dried-up jack-o-lantern on the duplex’s front porch. Concoctions were mixed from bottles in his cupboard. A rum and Coke, a gin and tonic, a vodka martini. He said, “This one won’t taste like alcohol.”

  It still tastes awful. Sheila wrinkled her freckled nose. Brenda and Sadie enjoyed peach daiquiris, but these also tasted terrible.

  After more efforts which she tokenly sipped, Ted gave her a gimlet. She managed to drink it all the way down. A short while later, the recurring smell of lime, and the swirling image of those sliced hard boiled eggs swimming around in gravy, like big yellow eyes, sent her to the bathroom, where she lost her meal.

  When she staggered back to where the others sprawled (the kids had long since gone to bed) Sadie said, “What you need is a cold shower to sober you up, Sweetie.”

  Suddenly, Sheila found herself stark naked in icy water. Amidst spews and sputters, her mind focused. She pushed out of the shower, maintaining her balance despite getting twisted in the plastic curtain. She fumbled to put on her clothes, with Sadie grabbing at her and repeating, “Now wait there, Honey.”

  Sheila swerved out to the living room, where she put a dripping-wet head in Jim’s lap, immediately falling asleep for a few lousy hours.

  Next morning, Herb said, “Had a little too much fun last night,” after which he and Sadie made a quick exit.

  Brenda and Sheila cleaned up the Thanksgiving mess while Ted and Jim took the little boys to a nearby park in order to escape the clutter and disgusting food smells.

  Sheila couldn’t keep her head from whirling, along with an intermittent tightening in her throat. At least I don’t have anything to throw up. She rubbed her aching eyes.

  “Drink this,” Brenda ordered, handing her a glass of tomato juice. “It always helps.”

  Sheila swallowed a bit of the thick red liquid, then a bit more. It did make her feel better.

  “Sadie won’t last long.” Brenda stacked rinsed glasses on a drying rack.

  “What do you mean?” Sheila paused in her dish wiping.

  “She’ll be back to Texas before the ship docks in Honolulu.”

  “Was she planning to stay here?”

  “That’s what Herb thinks—that she’ll be waiting here when he returns. He pulled me aside and asked if I would take care of her while he’s gone, said how this is hard on her, being far away from her kid.

  “I can’t believe she left him to begin with.”

  “I’d never be able to leave mine, even at their worst. Maybe it was really bad with her husband. I do feel sorry for Herb. A decade in, and all his
girls leave him high and dry.” She reached up to put an Oriental bowl on top of the refrigerator, her arm looking skinnier than ever. “Sorry about that crap last night.”

  “Huh?”

  “Shoot! The way she pushed you into the shower. Bound and determined to fix you up. Check you out is more like it.”

  “Why would she want to do that?”

  “Because you’re so pretty. Watch out if she comes around wanting to stay with you.”

  That night, cuddling in the Murphy bed, still feeling sick to her stomach, Sheila told Jim, “I’m never going to drink again.”

  He laughed. “Beginner.”

  “No. I don’t want to be like my mother.”

  The ship was to leave soon, and Sheila asked him, “Can it just be you and me for these last few days?” She was tired of Ted and hoped she’d seen the last of Herb and Sadie. Of the people (besides Jane and her kids) that she’d met since coming to California, Chuck and Leeza were the most appealing.

  Jim didn’t like them that much. He called Chuck a “tight ass” because he was so conscientious on the ship, always getting his yeoman’s work done as fast and meticulously as possible, never going out for beers with the other guys.

  “Fine by me,” Jim agreed. “I’ll get plenty of Rolly and Toffler over the next year.”

  “We can have some dinners out and movies and the Pike.” This was said so wistfully that she felt like tears would come next.

  “It’s going to be okay, little doll. The time will go by fast.”

  Sheila had decided to save as much as possible … surprise him when he got home. That was something she could concentrate on … that and playing her music. There was a lot she could do on her own without going to school.

  He’ll finally be able to buy a car.

  CHAPTER 7

  Alone Time

  TOO SOON, THE DAY ARRIVED WHEN THE USS MATTHEWS AKA 49 DEPLOYED. IT was noon on Thursday, December 9, and hot as could be. The week before, the aircraft carrier Enterprise had launched air strikes over Vietnam.