Moss felt Billie’s nails digging into his bare arm. Noble. Little Billie was making her declaration of love and defending him to Agnes. He should be saying all the things Billie was saying. She was stealing his thunder. This time there was no controlling the laughter that bubbled out of him. He put his arm around Billie’s shoulder and drew her to him. That little movement, that little declaration of his own, was all Agnes needed. She bit back her smile, lowering her head to cloak her face in the semidarkness.
Billie sat on the edge of her bed watching Moss dress. She needed reassurance; she wanted to hear the words that would tell her he loved her, but she couldn’t ask. What would happen once Moss left the house? Would he come back? If he asked her to leave with him now, this minute, she would. Please, God, let him come back. She was silent as she watched him button his white tunic with slow, unhurried hands.
Moss was avoiding Billie’s eyes. Her naked love for him was almost more than he could handle. All his life he’d known that when someone loved you that way it demanded something in return. With Seth, the demand had been responsibility and obligation. He refused to imagine what Billie would demand - in return. Closer to the truth, it was what Agnes would demand that made him cringe. He knew he had to look at Billie, knew he must take her in his arms. Poor little thing, she looked so frightened. What did she fear most—Agnes’s anger or that he wouldn’t return her love? Billie had nothing to fear from Agnes. Things had gone exactly the way she’d planned from the moment she’d doused Billie with punch. That left only himself. Love? Not yet.
He gathered Billie into his arms. She felt so good, all warm and soft. He felt himself stiffening. Billie smiled up at him and then laid her head against his chest. How right she felt, how good. She fit just right in the crook of his arm. Think. He had to think. But not here. He had to get out of here. He kissed Billie lightly on the lips, on the tip of her nose, on her closed eyes, and again on her lips. “I’ll call you tomorrow, between eleven and noon. The admiral is playing golf then and I’ll have the office all to myself. We’ll talk. Good night, Billie.”
“Good night, Moss,” Billie said, choking back a sob. She looked so abandoned and lost and afraid.
“Don’t worry, Billie. Things’ll work out.” He hated to see a woman cry. They got all red-eyed and sniffly and then they had to blow their nose. His sister was forever crying and blowing. Jesus, the things a guy had to tolerate. “Don’t cry.” The depths of his caring stunned him. Yes, he did care about Billie. “Stay here. I’ll let myself out. Call you tomorrow.”
Billie nearly collapsed on the bed once she’d heard the door close. She clenched her hands in her lap and waited for her mother. Billie’s heart thumped madly all the while she waited. She wasn’t sorry for what she’d done. She’d never be sorry. He’d faced Agnes. He’d said he’d call tomorrow. He would call tomorrow. Her eyes went to the rumpled bed and the wrinkled sheets. Emotionally drained, she fell back against the pillows and her eyes burned with tears when the scent of Moss’s after-shave caressed her cheek.
It had been wonderful, everything she thought it would be. She pleased him, she knew she did; he’d told her. She smiled when she remembered his gentleness, his wildness. She flushed when she thought of her own abandon. How could something so wonderful between two people be wrong? Moss didn’t think it was wrong or he wouldn’t have made love to her. How she hated now the phrase the kids used. “Doing it.” It sounded like two dogs in heat. Moss and she hadn’t “done it.” They’d made love. Inexperienced as she was, she knew the difference.
Where was her mother? Why hadn’t she come into the room to express her disappointment and disgust? To shout, to chastise and issue dire warnings and threats. When the little enamel clock with the painted fleur-de-lis read one o’clock, Billie turned off the lamp and lay back against the pillow Moss had lain on.
Moss drove slowly, savoring the warm summer breezes that blew in through the car window. It had been damn close to a perfect evening. Caught. Caught like two kids behind the barn. He laughed, a rich sound that began in his middle and bellowed out his throat. Damn near perfect. But his thoughts didn’t take him beyond the following day. There would be no more nights like tonight. Agnes had allowed him to sample the merchandise and it was to be his one and only. From here on in, he either made arrangements to buy the goods—and this meant marriage—or else removed himself from the situation entirely.
Moss whipped out his ID and idled past the guard at the gatehouse. He had some deep thinking to do. He parked the car, went to his quarters, and changed. Dressed in fatigues, he made his way back to the admiral’s office. Now was a good time to take apart the maritime compass on the admiral’s desk and put it in working order, as he’d promised. The admiral liked to avail himself of Moss’s expertise with anything mechanical, and there was always a radio or clock or something on the car awaiting his attention.
He worked slowly and methodically, and was surprised to find that the sun was rising as he finished. He replaced the antique compass on the admiral’s desk and devilishly propped up a sign that read KILROY WAS HERE, complete with the caricature of the little bald guy with a bulbous nose peeping over the fence. The sign struck him as funny and he wondered briefly about the origin of the popular slogan, but instead of laughing he felt like crying. Sitting at an admiral’s desk fixing little contraptions wasn’t Moss’s idea of fighting a war. There was an aching at his center to be airborne, skidding off the flat deck of a carrier and rushing off to face his destiny. There had to be some way of getting out of this stinking assignment. But he couldn’t go against his father. Seth was an old man and Moss was the apple of his eye, the old man’s chance for immortality, as Pap liked to put it. Seth loved him and in return for that love, Moss owed it to Pap to go-along. Seth was set on creating a dynasty, a Coleman dynasty, and his fierce pride demanded that Moss produce future generations of Colemans to inherit the fabulous wealth he’d created out of nothing but shrewd business dealings and a lot of luck. But maybe, just maybe, there was a way to appease Pap and still get what he wanted. To fly. To test his mettle. To pit himself against an enemy and win. Moss wanted it so badly he could taste it, and he worried that it would all be over before he could get in. Wearily, Moss stepped out into the dawn, heading back to the barracks he shared with other officers for a much needed shower. Reveille was just sounding as he stepped out from the steamy spray and tied a towel around his middle.
“Okay, you wing-tailed bastards, let’s get the lead out and move,” Thad Kingsley shouted to the men lying sprawled in their bunks. “Let’s all look alive like Coleman here. We’re looking at navy, men. Real navy. Move it!”
“Knock it off,” Moss growled irritably. “I’m not in the mood this morning.”
“Get him! Big night last night. High school graduation. Ah, youth! Did you get to keep her out all night? Tell us about it!”
Moss endured the heckling of his friends until Jack Taylor ripped away his towel, hooting and catcalling. “Looks like our man had himself a big night.”
Moss was on him like a shot. The men flinched at the sound of his fist hitting Taylor’s jaw.
“Jesus!” Taylor complained. “What’s gotten into you, Coleman? Can’t you take a little ribbing?” He rubbed his swelling jaw. “You can hand it out, so why can’t you take it? So who cares if you struck out? You can’t win ’em all.”
“It’s none of your business if I struck out or not,” Moss said. “Just stay out of my life, okay? And you better get some ice on that jaw.” He headed for the latrine.
Thad Kingsley shrugged. “So the guy’s in love. Leave him alone, Taylor. He’s got something eating him, and if and when he’s ready to tell us, he will.”
Thad thought about the little fresh-faced blonde Moss had met at the USO several weeks before and frowned. He hadn’t been serious when he’d said Moss was in love, but now he wondered. Could it be that a pretty little thing as sweet and naive as Billie Ames could break through that tough Texan veneer when
other, more sophisticated women had failed? Kingsley felt a surge of envy that Coleman always managed to find pie in the sky, and at the same time he almost pitied Billie.
Billie heard the sounds of Agnes preparing breakfast in the kitchen and smelled the inviting aroma of brewing coffee. Just before six o’clock that morning she’d heard their roomers leave for work. Now Agnes and Billie were alone in the house. Now she had to go out and face her mother.
Bravado at seven-thirty in the morning was not something Billie could muster and her hand shook as she poured the coffee. She steeled herself and waited for Agnes to open the conversation. When Agnes nibbled her toast and sipped her coffee, Billie could feel her stomach tighten. She could see Agnes’s reasoning. Billie was the guilty one, the offender; therefore, she should be the first to speak. Billie took a deep breath. “Mother, about last night. I know you’re disappointed in me. I understand why you would be. I’m not asking your forgiveness; I’m asking you to understand. I love Moss. And none of it was his fault. It was me, Mother. I instigated—”
“Somehow, Billie, that doesn’t make me feel one whit better,” Agnes said sternly. “It’s difficult for me to believe you could be so wanton.”
“Mother, I didn’t feel wanton last night and I don’t this morning,” Billie said firmly. “When two people love each other they want to be together. They want to make love.” And then they marry each other, Billie said to herself.
“I see,” Agnes said coolly. “Have you given any thought to the fact that you may be pregnant? It’s been known to happen, you know. What if you’re pregnant and Moss is shipped out? He wants to go. He’s not interested in spending the duration in the Philadelphia Navy Yard.”
“I’ll talk to him. Let’s not blow this all out of proportion.”
“Billie, my concern is you. Nice girls do not go to bed before they’re married. I don’t want you to be like Cissy. Oh, yes, I’ve heard the rumors,” Agnes answered Billie’s surprise. “How that girl’s mother holds her head up is beyond me!”
Agnes occupied herself with her coffee cup, carefully hiding her smugness. Everything was going as planned. She had to remind herself to be careful, to say just the right thing at just the right time. She sipped the hot brew, not wanting to admit to herself that Billie’s statement had rocked her severely. Strength was not a trait she associated with her lovely daughter. When Moss Coleman entered their lives she’d seen that strength grow and bloom. She mustn’t let Billie think she was being manipulated. Agnes sighed, wishing for those easier days when Billie was a little girl and had been so amenable and willing to see her mother’s way and adhere to her mother’s ideals. Everyone knew that Billie Ames was a talented, lovely girl. Why else would Mrs. Fox have entertained the notion of a match between Billie and Neal? It was because Agnes had been farsighted, grooming and training Billie for a better life than this one. Carefully now, Billie had to think she was following her own lead. “Billie, you’re so young. Moss is older, more sophisticated. You are certainly no match for him. I imagine he’s had many women and he’s the type to have many, many more. I don’t want to see you hurt. Worse, I don’t want you used and left behind. That kind of thing can become a habit. Look at Cissy. It’s not what I want for you, Billie. It would be best if you didn’t see Moss anymore, forget last night, and go on from there.”
“No! I love Moss and he loves me. He’s going to ask me to marry him and I will. And if he doesn’t ask me, I’ll wait for him, forever if necessary. I love him!” Tears were bright in Billie’s eyes and Agnes felt pity for her daughter. Still, she mustn’t allow it to interfere. Billie tossed her napkin onto the table and fled from the room.
Agnes finished her coffee and set the cup in the sink. She marched through the living room to Billie’s room and closed the door behind her. “I detest such behavior, Billie. If you want to be grown-up and do the things adults do, then behave like one. I want you to take my place at the Red Cross today. You have to be there by nine and expect to work through lunch. Take a shower and get there as soon as you can. I’ll call ahead and tell them you’re taking my place. I’m much too upset to go myself,” she added, knowing Billie’s sense of guilt wouldn’t let her refuse. She was right. Again.
The minute Billie had left the house, Agnes called the Navy Yard and asked to be put through to Lieutenant Moss Coleman in Admiral McCarter’s office. While she waited, she let her eyes wander to the desk calendar near the phone. She counted the days since she knew Billie’d had her last period. The Moss Colemans of this world didn’t believe in things like protection. Agnes would bet next month’s ration stamps on that. She swallowed hard, not liking to think of the gamble she was taking. That it was Billie who might be pregnant and therefore Billie who would be taking the risk didn’t enter Agnes’s mind.
“Admiral Noel McCarter’s office. Lieutenant Coleman speaking.”
“Lieutenant, this is Agnes Ames. I’d like to talk with you when you get off duty. What time shall I meet you outside the gates?”
Hers was a no-nonsense tone. She meant business. Moss grinned. She was one hour and fifteen minutes late. He’d expected the call before eight. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be off duty at three this afternoon. Good-bye, Mrs. Ames.”
Beef. Oil. Something called electronics. A spread. Acres and acres of land. Money. Respectable money. Power. Prestige. All the things Agnes ever hoped and dreamed for could be Billie’s. Billie would share.
Agnes settled herself at the kitchen table and penned off two notes to her roomers. She apologized for such short notice, but she could no longer rent the rooms. She sealed the envelopes and slipped them under the bedroom doors. She felt absolutely wonderful.
The Philadelphia Navy Yard was not one of Agnes’s favorite places. As she waited for Moss she watched the activity taking place around her. She was still a young woman by some standards and she had to admit that there was something about a uniform that enhanced a man. For a few brief moments she wished again for youth with its highs and lows. She hastily amended the thought to include “providing I knew what I know now.”
The Studebaker was hot and airless and smelled of the brake fluid the idiot at the garage had spilled on the floor mat. She checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror. She wanted to be in command and to be in command one must look one’s best.
Moss Coleman walked through the gates at three-forty. Forty minutes late. He didn’t apologize or make excuses when he opened the car door and sat down. “Ma’am,” he said, smiling a greeting.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” Agnes said coolly as she slid the car into gear and away from the gate.
Moss was amused at the situation. If Pap knew, he’d be wetting his pants. Squared off against a woman. At the same time he was finding himself annoyed that she wasn’t jittery or just plain mad. She shouldn’t be so controlled. He had stolen away her daughter’s virginity! She was more controlled than Pap was at times. Agnes Ames was a bitch. Well, Pap was a bastard. He supposed he was a bastard, too, junior grade and working toward first class. Agnes knew he’d make it. He could feel it and almost smell her triumph. That was okay, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
“You look fit this afternoon, Lieutenant. This heat is oppressive, don’t you think? I’m hoping it will rain so my Victory garden will grow.”
“I feel fit, ma’am.” He stopped just short of returning the compliment and adding that he thought she looked victorious.
“Did you speak with Billie today?” Agnes asked bluntly.
“She called me from the Red Cross. She said you weren’t feeling well so she took your place. My mother always uses a vinegar rag when she has a headache.”
“Spare me your little home-grown homilies, Lieutenant, and let’s get down to business.” She pulled into the A&P parking lot. “I’m not in the mood for coffee and neither are you, so we’ll dispense with that idea.”
She was reading his mind; shades of Pap. Her coming declaration neither surprised nor offended him. In fact, Pa
p couldn’t have done it better. The lady had what Seth would call spunk.
“I don’t think there’s any doubt in either of our minds that you will do right by my daughter.” Moss knew his shrug irritated Agnes.
“It’s quite possible—more than likely, in fact—that Billie will be pregnant,” Agnes said flatly. “In your impetuosity last night, I doubt either of you gave any thought to the possible consequences or took any precautions to prevent them. In any case, any doctor could tell you it was the wrong time of month.”
Wrong for Billie. Right for Agnes. What was it for him? Less than twenty-four hours and already she had Billie pregnant. There was a lot to be said for seizing opportunity when it knocked. “What is it you want from me, Mrs. Ames? Spell it out so this okey-dokey cowpoke can understand.” Moss enjoyed the pink flush that stained Agnes’s cheeks. All semblance of his drawl was gone; so was his humor. This was business now. Billie was a commodity. He wished he could hate this old buzzard but if he did, he’d have to hate himself.
“It’s not what I want from you, Moss; it’s what Billie is going to need. In case you aren’t aware of it, Billie loves you, is deeply in love with you. You will notice I am not questioning your feelings—at this point they are immaterial. I want and expect you to marry my daughter to protect her reputation and your own as well.”
Protect his reputation? What was she getting at? Besides wanting him to marry Billie, that is. It surprised him that Agnes could speak so glibly and forwardly about sex and pregnancy instead of alluding to it through euphemisms. Something was wrong here. Agnes was looking like the cat who swallowed the canary and he had a feeling those were his tail feathers tickling her chin.
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