"My name's Jake," he told her.
"Nell Douglas," she said, and stuck out her hand. Jake THE I n T RUD E RS shook it. Cool and firm. And then he looked around and realized the Aussies had drifted and he and Nell were alone.
"So what do you do for the Yanks?" "I'm a pilot." "Oh, God! Not another one. I've sworn off pilots for at least three months." She smiled again. He liked the way her eyes smiled when she did.
"Better tell me about it. Nothing like a sympathetic listener to ease a broken heart." "You don't look like the sympathetic type." "Don't be fooled by appearances. I'm sensitive, sympathetic, charming, warm, witty, wonderful." He shrugged.
"Well, part of that's true, anyway. I'm warm." Now her whole face lit up. Her bracelets tinkled.
"How long have you been flying with Qantas?" "Five years. My father has a station in Queensland. One day I said to myself, Nell old girl, if you stay here very much longer one of these jackeroos will drag you to the altar and you'll never see any more of the world than you've seen already, which wasn't very much, I ran tell you. So I applied to Qantas. And here I am, flying around the globe with my little stew bag and makeup kit, serving whiskey to Japanese businessmen, slapping pilots, giving lonely soldiers the hots, and wondering if I'm ever going back to Queensland." "What's a jackeroo?" "You Yanks call them cowboys." This could be something nice, Jake thought, looking at the marvelous, open, tanned female face and feeling himself warmed by her glow. There are a lot of pebbles on the beach and some of them are nuggets, like this one.
"So a station's a ranch?" "Yes. Sheep and cattle. "I was raised on a farm myself Dad ran a few steers, but mainly he raised corn." "Ever going back?" Nell asked.
"I dunno. Never say never. I might." She told him about the station in Queensland, about living so far from anything that the world outside seemed a fantasy, a shimmering legend amid the heat and dust and thunderstorms. As she talked he glanced past the lanterns into the darkness beyond, at that place where the mown grass and the velvet blackness met. The night was out there as usual, but here, at least, there was light.
An hour or so later someone turned on the radio and several of the women wanted to dance.
To Jake's surprise Flap "Go Ugly Early" Le Beau proved good at dancing, slow or fast, so good that he did only what his partner could do. You had to watch him with three or four of the sheilas before you realized that he sensed their skill level almost instantaneously and asked of them only what they had to give. Nell pointed that out to Jake, who saw it then. She danced a fast number with Flap-she was very good-as the Aussies and Brits, watched appreciatively. They applauded when the number ended.
Nell rejoined Jake and led him out onto the floor for the next slow number. "I don't dance very well," he told her.
"That's not the point," she said, and settled in against him to the beat of the languid music.
It was then that Jake Grafton realized he was in over his head. The supple body of the woman against his chest, the caress of her hair on his cheek, the faint scent of a cologne he didn't recognize, the touch of her hands against his-all this was having a profound effect and he wasn't ready.
"Relax," she whispered.
He couldn't.
The memory of his morning in bed with Callie four months ago came flooding back. He could see the sun coming through the windows, feel the clean sheets and the sensuous touc 1 of her s in.
"You're stiff as a board." "Not quite.
"Oops. Didn't mean it quite that way, love." "I'm not a very good dancer." She moved away a foot or so and looked searchingly into his face. "You're not a very good liar either." "I'm working on it." She led him by the hand through the crowd and out of the pavilion into the darkness. "Why is it all the good ones come with complications?" "At our age virgins are hard to find," Jake told her.
"I quit looking for virgins years and years ago. I just want a man who isn't too scarred UP." She led him to a wall and hopped up on it.
"Okay, love.
Tell 01' Nell all about it. Jake Grafton grinned. "How is it that a fine woman like you isn't married?" "You want the truth?" "If you feel like it." "Well, the truth is that I didn't want the ones who proposed and the ones I wanted didn't propose. Propose marriage, that is. They had a lot of things in mind but a trek to the altar wasn't on the list." "That's sounds like truth." "It is that, ducky." The music floating across the lawn was muted but clearly audible. And she was right there, sitting on the wall. Instinctively he moved closer and she put an arm around his shoulder. Their heads came together.
Before very long they were kissing. She had good, firm lips, a lot like Callie's. Of course Callie was.
His heart was thudding like a drum when they finally parted for air. After a few deep breaths, he said, "Mere's another woman." "Amazing." "I'm not married or anything like that. And I haven't asked her to marry me, but I wanted to." "Uh-huh." "I think she gave up on me. Hasn't written in a couple months." "You like your women dumb, then?" she asked softly, and put her lips back on his.
Somehow she was off the wall and they were entwined in each other's arms, their bodies pressed together. when their lips parted this time, a ragged breath escaped her.
"Whew and double whew. You Yanks!
Sex-starved maniacs, that's what you are." eased away from him. "Well, that was my good deed today. I've given another rejected, love-starved pilot hope for a brighter future. Now I think it's time for this sheila to trek off to her lonely little bed. Must fly tomorrow, you know." "Going to be back in Singapore day after tomorrow?" "Yes." "What hotel? Maybe I can stop by and take you to dinner." "The Intercontinental." ,eaI'll walk inside with you." "No, just stay where you are, mate. I've had quite enough tonight. One more good look at you in the light and I might drag you off to my lonely little bed for a night of sport.
Can't have that, can we, not with you pining your heart out for that other silly girl." With that she was gone. Across the lawn and into the crowd.
Jake Grafton leaned on the wall and lit a cigarette. His hands were trembling slightly.
He didn't know quite what to think, so he didn't think anything. Just inhaled the cut-grass smell and looked into the darkness and let his heart rate subside to its normal plodding pace.
At least half an hour passed before Jake went back into the pavilion. Three half-potted Aussies were huddled around the piano watching Flap dance with the three stews who were still there. Le Beau had them in a line and was teaching them new steps to the wailing of a Japanese music machine.
Everyone else had left, including the Real McCoy. Tomorrow was a working day for most of them.
Jake decided one more beer for the road wouldn't hurt, so he picked a bottle out of the icy water of the tub and joined the piano crowd.
"Hey, mate." "How you guys doing tonight?" "Great." "Sure nice of you fellows to invite us to your wing ding.
Makes a good break after forty-five days at sea." "Don't know how you blokes manage."...Prayer," Jake told them, and they laughed.
The biggest of them was a brawny man three or four inches taller than Jake and at least forty pounds heavier.
Most of his bulk was in his chest, shoulders and armand He hadn't said anything yet, but now he gestured to Flap. "Wish your bleedin' nigger mate would pick his bird and let us at the other two." Jake Grafton carefully set his beer on the piano. This was getting to be a habit. The last time they had sent him to the Marines.
Wonder where they'Us send me this time?
He stepped in front of the big Aussie, who still had one giant mitt wrapped around a bottle of beer.
"What did you say?" "I said, I wish your bleedin' nigger mate would.
As Jake drew back his right fist for a roundhouse punch he jabbed the Aussie in the nose with his left. This set the man momentarily off balance, so when the right arrived on his chin with all Jake's weight behind it, it connected solidly with a meaty thunk that rocked Jake clear to the shoulder.
The Aussie went backward onto the floor like he was pole
axed. And he stayed there.
"Nice punch, mate, but you-- said the one to the left, but his words stopped when Jake's fist arrived. The man took it solidly on the side of the head and sent a right at Jake that connected and shook him badly.
Stars swam before Grafton's eyes. He waded in swinging furiously. Some of his punches missed, some hit. That was the lesson he had teamed as a boy on the grade school playground-keep swinging and going forward. Most boys don't really like to fight, so when you keep swinging they will fall back, and ultimately quit. Of course, these soldiers weren't boys and worse, they like to fight.
Ms attack worked for several seconds, then the third Aussie, who was now behind him, grabbed him and spun him Before Jake could get set he took a shot on the bone that put him down.
Dazed, he struggled to rise. When he got to his feet it was too late. All three of the Aussies were asleep on the floor and Flap Le Beau was standing there calmly scrutinizing him.
"What was that all about?" Jake swayed and caught himself by grabbing the piano.
"They insulted Elvis." Flap sighed. "I guess we've worn out our welcome." He took Jake's arm and got him started for the door. "Ladies," he said, addressing the three stews gaping at them, "it's been a real treat. The pleasure of your company was sweeter than you will ever know." He beamed benignly at them and steered Jake out into the night.
The base was quiet. No taid at the main gate. They waved at the sentry and kept walking.
Jake's right hand throbbed and so did his head. The hand was the important thing, though. He rubbed it as he walked.
"What really happened back there?" Flap asked.
"The big stud called you a nigger." "You hit him for that?" "Yeah. The asshole deserved it." Flap Le Beau threw back his head and laughed. "Damn, Jake, you are really something else." "He was peeved because you were monopolizing the women." Flap thought this was hilarious. He roared with laughter.
"Want to tell me what's so damn funny?" "You are. You nitwit! All of them are bigots. Even the women. I wasn't getting anywhere with them. Not a one of those women would have gone to bed with me, not even if I was the richest nigger in America and had a cock eighteen inches long. They'll go back to Australia and tell all about their big adventure, talking to and dancing with an American nigger. "Oh, Matilda, you won't believe this, but I even let him touch me."" Jake didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.
After a bit Flap asked, "Think you broke your hand?" "Dunno. Don't think so. Maybe stoved it.
Man, I got that big guy with a perfect shot.
Had everything behind it and drove it right through his chin." "He never moved after you hit him. Bet it's the first time anybody ever knocked him out." "Thanks for coming to the rescue, Kemo Sabe." "Any time, Tonto. Any time. But you could have broken your hand hitting that guy that hard." "Had to. He outweighed me by forty pounds. If I had just given him a you-piss-me-off social punch he would have killed me." "You're a violent man, Jake." "I had a lot of trouble with potty training." The next morning he realized the dimensions of the quandary he faced. Nell Douglas was a fine woman, passionate, level-headed, intelligent, thoughtful... And Callie McKenzie was one fine woman, also passionate and level-headed, intelligent, educated, well spoken... He was in love with one and could easily fall in love with the other. But the woman he loved hadn't written in two months and had made it clear that he wasn't measuring up.
The woman he could love wasn't being quite so picky. No doubt when he knew her better she would get more pickywomen were like that. But she wasn't being picky nowl And if you couldn't take the heat there was always celibacy to fall back on.
Alas, celibacy didn't seem very attractive to Jake Grafton.
Not when you are in your twenties, in perfect health, when the sight, smell and touch of a woman makes the blood pound in your temples and your knees turn to jelly.
He sat in his chair in his stateroom savoring the memories of last night. Of how her lips had felt against his, how her hot, wet tongue had speared between his teeth and stroked his tongue, how her breasts had heaved against his chest, how her thighs had pressed against his while her hands stroked his back.
Gawd Almighty!
He liked the way she talked, too. That flat Australian twang was sexy as hell. Just made shivers run up your spine when you recalled how the words sounded as she said them.
"dis.. I might drag you off to my lonely little bed for a night of sport." Well, lady, I wish.
I don't know what I wish! Damnation.
He was writhing on the horns of this dilemma when the door opened and the Real McCoy staggered through.
He flopped into his bunk and groaned. "Wake me up next week.
I am spent. Wrung out like a sponge. That woman turned me every way but loose. There are hot women and there are hot women. That one was thermonuclear." "Tough night, huh?" "She was after me every hour! I didn't sleep a wink. Every hour! I'm so sore I can hardly walk." "Lucky you escaped her evil clutches." "Never in my born days, Jake, did I even contemplate that there might be women like that walking the surface of the earth. Australia is merely the greatest nation on the planet, that's all.
That they breed women like that down there is the best-kept secret of our time." Jake nodded thoughtfully and flexed his right fist.
It was sore and a little swollen.
"I'm getting out of the Nav, arranging to have my subscription to the Wall Street Journal sent to me Down Under, and I am going south. May the cold, blue light of Polaris never again meet my weary gaze. It's the Southern Cross for me, Laddie Buck. I'm going to Australia to see if I can fuck myself to death before I'm forty." With that pronouncement the Real McCoy turned on his side and curled his pillow under his head.
Jake looked at his watch. The first gentle snore came seventy-seven seconds later.
were the women bigots? Well, Flap should know.
If he said those three stews were prejudiced, they probably were.
But what about Neff?
And what about you, Jake? Are you?
Aaugh! To waste a morning in port fretting about crap like this.
He pulled a tablet around and started a letter to his parents.
The liberty boat for the enlisted men was an LCI'-LANDING craft infantry-a flat-bottomed rectangular-shaped boat with a bow door that flopped down to let troops run through the surf onto the beach. Jake often rode it from the beach to the ship. This evening, however, he was dressed in a sports coat and a tie and didn't want to get soaked with salt spray, so he headed for the officers' brow near Elevator Two. The captain's gig and admiral's barge had been lowered into the water from their cradles in the rear of the hangar bay. In ten minutes he was descending the ladder onto the float, then he stepped into the gig.
Jake knew the boat officer, a jaygee from a fighter squadron, so he asked if he could stand beside the coxswain on the little midships bridge.
Permission was granted with a grin and a nod. The rest of the officers went below into either the fore or aft cabin.
With the stupendous bulk of the carrier looming like a cliff above them, the sailors threw the lines aboard and the coxswain put the boat in motion. It stood out from the ship and swung in a wide circle until it was on course for fleet landing The water was cahn this evening, with merely a long, low swell stirring the oily surface. The red of the western sky stained the water between the ships, gave it the look of diluted blood.
The roadstead was full of ships: freighters, coasters, tankers, all riding on their anchors.
Lighters circled around a few of the ships, but only a few. Most of them sat motionless like massive steel statues in a huge park lake.
But there were people visible on most of the ships. As the gig threaded its way through the anchorage Jake could see them sitting under awnings on the fantails, sometimes cooking on barbecue grills, talking and smoking on afterdecks crowded with ship's gear. Most of the sailors were men, but on one Russian ship he saw three women, hefty specimens in dresses that reached be
low their knees.
"Pretty evening," the jaygee said to Jake, who agreed.
Yes, another gorgeous evening, the close of another good day to be alive. It was easy to forget the point of it all sometimes, easy to lose sight of the fact that the name of the game was to stay alive, to savor life, to live it day to day at the pace that God intended.
One of Jake Grafton's talents was to imagine himself fiving other fives. He hadn't been doing much of that lately, but riding the gig through the anchorage, looking at the ships, he could visualize sitting on one of those fantails, smoking and chatting and watching the sun sink closer and closer to the sea's rim. To go to sea and work the ship and spend quiet evenings in port in the company of frand-it could be very good. I could live that way, he reflected.
Stephen Coonts - Jake Grafton 6 - Intruders Page 26