"Where are you, at the hospital?"
"At the Daleville Inn," Lowell said.
"I thought you moved out of there."
"I'm sorry to have to get you out of bed," Lowell said, avoiding the question. "Five minutes," Franldin said, and hung up.
Lowell hung up the telephone and exhaled audibly. Then he stood up and started to pick up his clothing. He caught a glance of himself in the minor over a chest of drawers. "Christ!" he said at the reflection of a naked man stooping over picking up clothing like a Neanderthal man grabbing for roots. Then he saw the tooth marks and nail scratches on his body.
"Jesus!" he said.
He went to the door, which he had carefully locked after the departure of Jane Cassidy, and unlocked it. At least he had had enough sense to send her home, rather than have her take him back to the post. He went into the bathroom and ran the water. It was like ice, and it ran a long time before it got hot. He took a towel with him into the tub, and he did not pull the curtain shut while he scrubbed at elusive remnants of Jane's lipstick.
Lowell had come to a conclusion about Jane Cassidy: in bed she had been wild, demanding, because she had never in her life had a good screw. He believed her when she said that she had never strayed before. She had married the first love of her life, and he hadn't known any more about screwing than she had.
Lowell had been no better. He had married the first love of his life, too, and he and Ilse hadn't known much more-than which part fitted where. He believed now that he was a good lover because any number of women had told him so. He believed that he was good because he was experienced. But that experience had come after Ilse. If she hadn't been killed, would Ilse have become unsatisfied because he would have remained no more experienced than she? What he knew now he had learned in several hundred beds. When he had been with Ilse their sex life, while satisfying, was almost touchingly innocent. He had learned the clever little tricks afterward.
He felt sorry for Jane Cassidy. He believed she was what she said she was, and therefore it followed she was now wallowing in regret, self-disgust, and shame. He was a little ashamed himself that he had participated in her first infidelity.
And God only knew what trouble it was going to cause when they went back to work.
He came up with two cliche ds
"A Stiff Prick Has No Conscience" and
"If It Wasn't Me, It Would Have Been Somebody Else."
Neither provided any solace at all.
When he came out of the shower, Bill Franldin was sitting in one of the armchairs in the bedroom.
"I trust the Major had a pleasant evening," he said, dryly.
"Very nice, thank you."
"Anyone I would know?" Franklin asked.
"I don't think so, Mr. Franidin," Lowell said.
"I like the perfume," Franldin said, sniffing. "
"Essence de Rut'?"
Lowell laughed.
"And how did you do, Bill?"
"I had to remain chaste, unfortunately," Franidin said. "There are two kinds of local quail, the white kind, who want nothing to do with a darky, and the dark kind, who ain't exactly my cup of tea."
"I've seen some good-looking black girls," Lowell said.
"I tried a couple," Franklin said. "They too come in two kinds: those who want me to get washed in the blood of the lamb whatever the hell that means and those who want me to blow up the post in the interests of racial equality."
Lowell dressed quickly, and they left the suite and went to Lowell's car
Franklin got behind the wheel.
"Since we're already up, so to speak," he asked, dryly, "would you mind if we went out to Hanchey to get my car now?" "Sure," Lowell said.
There was no conversation as they drove through the post from the Daleville gate to Hanchey Field. But when they pulled in beside Franldin's car, a red MG, Franklin said, "There's something I have to tell you, Major." "Major?" Lowell said. "That sounds serious."
"How about delicate?"
"What's on your mind, Bill?"
"When I got to Melody's house," Franidin said, uncomfortably, "she and that frog captain were already inside. Half an hour later, he came out and told me that it was all right, he didn't need a ride back to the post, he would catch a cab."
"That sonofabitch!" Lowell exploded. "I'll have his ass for that."
"That presumes Melody would let him do something he shouldn't have."
"She was drunk, Bill." "Well," Franidin said, "I figured I'd better tell you." Then he quickly opened the door, got out, and slammed it shut.
Lowell rolled the window down.
"Thanks, Bill," he said.
If Franklin, already inside the MG, heard him, there was no reply. BOQ No. I (Bldg. T-J 703) Fort Rucker, Alabama 0845 Hours, 1 January
19S9
Major Craig W. Lowell woke. The skin on the back of his neck was crawling, and his heart was thumping alarmingly. He was instantly wide awake, but forced himself to lie immobile, his eyes shut. He collected his thoughts. He was in his room in the BOQ, he told himself. There was somebody in the room. The fucking pistol is in the things box, and the things box is on the desk, far out of reach. Do sneak thieves carry guns, or razors?
He groaned and feigned tossing in his sleep, then rolled over. The way he was lying, he faced the closet door. He forced himself to breathe slowly and naturally, and he counted to one hundred slowly. That would, he hoped, convince the sneak thief that he was really asleep.
Then he opened his eyes.
Captain Jean-Philippe Jannier, still in his comic French dress uniform, was sitting in the one upholstered chair in the room, his feet stretched out, examining the centerfold in Playboy magazine.
He looked over the magazine at Lowell and saw that Lowell's eyes were open.
"Good morning," he said, in French. "I hope that I didn't waken you?"
"You just came in to read the magazine, right?" Lowell said, in French. He was furious, and wondered how much of the fury was because of this bastard's fucking around with Greer's widow, and how much because he felt like a fool that the sneak thief had turned out to be a frog reading Playboy.
"It was necessary that I speak with you, Major Lowell," Jannier said.
"Was it?"
"I did something last night that I wanted to tell you about, before you heard it from your black warrant officer."
"Bill Franldin, mon Capitaine," Lowell said icily, "is a close friend, not "my black warrant officer." He was also, it seems germane to note, a close friend of Ed Greer." "I know," Jannier said, sadly, shrugging his shoulders.
Lowell sat up in bed, then swung his feet onto the floor. He couldn't find his slippers, so he strode naked and barefoot across the sticky linoleum to his closet, from which he took a silk dressing robe. The robe was old-fashioned, the striped silk sewn in squares. The belt had tasseled ends. The dressing robe had been bought at Sulka's in Paris in April of 1940 by Lowell's father.
"You have talked to Franidin since last night?" Jannier said.
"Yes, I have," Lowell said.
"I'm sorry," Jannier said. "I wanted to tell you first, before you saw him." "Tell me what?" Lowell asked. "What happened last night." "I know what happened last night," Lowell said. "You know what Franklin... that is his name, Franklin? thinks happened last night."
"You tell me, then, what happened," Lowell said.
"That is why I am here, my friend," Jannier said, with a Gallic shrug of his shoulders. It was with the greatest difficulty that Lowell kept his mouth shut. There was a terrible urge to tell this frog sonofabitch that, whatever other failings of character he had, he had not stooped to being this man's friend.
"I'm waiting," Lowell said. "In the car," Jannier said, "as we started to Ozark... that is right, "Ozark'?"
"That's right, Ozark," Lowell snapped.
"Melody started to cry. She broke down."
So you "comforted" her, did you, you charming frog sonofabitch? "I saw it as my duty to comfort her," Jannier sa
id.
"How kind of you," Lowell said, sarcastically.
Jannier flashed him an angry glance, which immediately softened. He shrugged.
"I understand what Franidin thought," Jannier said. "What others would think. But I thought that you would understand."
"That I would understand what?"
"That nothing that should not have happened between Melody and I happened," Jannier said. "That I stayed with her until I could stop her from crying, that I spoke with her, of many things, and that I held her in my arms, as a father, as a brother, until she went to sleep."
"And why do you think I would believe that?" Lowell asked.
I'll be damned if I don't think he's telling the truth.
"Because you and I are much alike," Jannier said. "And not only because we are, in that delightful American phrase, "formidable swordsmen;' but because primarily it is not necessary for men like its to take advantage of a woman when she is weak. We prefer the chase."
What the hell is that supposed to be, flattery?
"You seem to have learned a good deal about me in the few days since we met," Lowell said.
"I learned about you before I came here, when I was still in Paris. My uncle, the Baron de Pildet, was most insistent that while I was here I make an effort to know you. That you and Hanrahan are friends was a pleasant coincidence, permitting me to meet you first as a soldier."
"What the hell does all that mean?"
"You don't recognize the name, Baron St. Etienne de Pildet?" "No," Lowell said.
"He would be crushed," Jannier laughed. "He is the general manager of the Banque de Commerce de l'Afrique du Nord."
"I'm awed," Lowell said.
In European banking, "general manager" was essentially the same thing as "president" in America.
"He said that when you and I were finished with "playing at soldiers," we would probably be doing business together."
"Why would he think that?"
"Because, among other positions, he sits on the board of Haymann Freres, in which I understand you own the controlling interest."
"My firm does," Lowell corrected him idly. "Is that why you think it important that I don't think you've sneaked into Melody Greer's pants?"
"It is important to me as a man," Jannier said. "If you like, as an officer and a gentleman."
"Shit," Lowell said. Jannier looked at him angrily. Lowell held up his hand. "Oh, I believe you, Jannier," he said. "Relax."
Jannier's relief was evident.
"Thank you," he said.
"As one "formidable swordsman' to another," Lowell chuckled.
"It is the truth," Janmer said. "Why should one deny it? It happens.
Some men are born to be great pianists. Others are like us."
"The money may have something to do with it," Lowell said.
"Of course it does," Jannier said. "A handsome poor man is a handsome poor man. But an ugly rich man is a rich man."
Lowell chuckled. He liked this guy.
"I am about to have a small hair of the dog," Lowell said. "Will you join me?"
"Hair of the dog?" "I had too much to drink last night," Lowell said.
"A drink? Yes, please."
Lowell went to the window and, with a grunt, jerked it open. He had a six-pack of small cans of Bloody Mary mix on the outside windowsill, chilling in the cold outside air.
"Primitive, but effective," Jannier said, admiringly. "Let me ask that question."
"What question?"
"Is it necessary for people like us to live like this?"
He means more than "in the Spartan accommodations of the BOQ." He is really asking how far an officer is expected to go to conceal the shameful fact that he doesn't need to earn a living.
"No," Lowell said. "I decided that question yesterday. I have a suite in the Daleville Inn. I'm going to move back there today."
"Is there another vacant?" Jannier asked.
"I don't now," Lowell said. And then, impulsively, he went on: "The suite I have has two bedrooms, a sitting room, one other little room, sort of an office, I guess, or a big closet, two bathrooms and a kitchen. If two people lived in it, it would be less ostentatious."
The reply at first was raised eyebrows, a Gallic shrug of the shoulders, and finally an ingratiating smile.
"You do believe me, then," Jannier said. "I am very grateful. I accept, of course, your kindness."
Lowell opened two cans of Bloody Mary mix, poured them into glasses, and added a stiff shot of Beefeater gin. He handed one to Jannier, who raised his glass.
"To our new home," the Frenchman said, drolly.
Lowell noticed that Jannier had not asked what his share of the suite was going to cost. He told him. Jannier shrugged acceptance.
"Can we eat there?" he asked.
"We can, but the food is no better than at the club," Lowell said.
"Then I shall be obliged to cook," Jannier said. "Splendid," Lowell said, chuckling. He was liking Janmer more and more, and the prospect of sharing the suite with him was pleasant. Among other things, having Jannier in the suite would reduce the temptation to have Jane Cassidy come to call.
"Now that I'm up," Lowell said, "bursting with energy to face the New Year and its many challenges, I'm tempted to throw this stuff in the car and go out there now, before the general's reception. How does that sound?" "Marvelous," Jannier said.
"I wouldn't worry about last night anymore, Jean-Philippe;" Lowell said. "As I said, Franklin is a friend of mine. I'll explain the situation to him." "Thank you," Jannier said. "I would hate to have Melody embarrassed in any way."
"Just stay away from her," Lowell said.
"That may not be possible," Jannier said, draining his Bloody Mary.
"I beg your pardon?" Lowell said, his voice cold.
"She's an extraordinary woman, Melody," Jannier said. "Truly unusual.
I was taken with her in Algiers, and even more taken with her last night. I have never felt this way about a woman before."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Lowell asked sharply.
"I was thinking about that while I waited for you to wake up," Jannier said, innocently, obviously sincere. "Wondering if I am finally in love. I have never been in love, so I have no criteria to make a judgment."
"You had better hope it was the liquor," I Lowell said. "I thought about that," Jannier said, and met his eyes. "I don't think it was.
There have been many women, and much alcohol, but never before for me a feeling for a woman like this."
(Three) Quarters No. I Fort Rucker, Alabama 1330 Hours, 1 January
19S9
The white-frame, ranch-style house sat on a small hill overlooking the senior officers' housing area. It was the largest quarters on the post, but the house was neither large nor elegant. Getting the dependent quarters appropriation through the Congress had not been easy, not even in a year when the Congress had voted to provide for its one hundred senators a second restaurant and a second gymnasium at a cost of some $17 million.
There were four bedrooms; two full and two half bathrooms; a dining room; and a living room. There was a two-car carport. Off the kitchen was a screened patio where the general could take the afternoon sun, or charcoal a steak, out of view of his neighbors. The most visible differences between Quarters No. 1 and the quarters on Colonel's Row at the foot of the small hill, was that Quarters No. 1 sat alone on abdut an acre of land. The other houses, which looked not unlike a lower-middleclass housing development, had much smaller lots and one-car carports.
The street in front of Quarters No. 1 was crowded with cars, and two MPs did their best to make order out of the chaos. It was caused by the general's decision to revive the tradition that on New Year's Day the commanding general and his lady received the officers of the garrison and their ladies.
It was understood that the general expected to see only field-grade officers, that is to say majors and above. It would have been physically impossible to have all the o
fficers on the post wind their way up the general's driveway, shake his hand in the foyer, take a cup of punch from a bowl in the dining room, sip it in the living room, and then leave. On another day, the general would receive the captains at his quarters. And on two other days, he would receive the lieutenants and the warrant officers. Not in Quarters No. 1, because it wasn't large enough for all of them at once, but in the officers' open mess.
W E B Griffin - BoW 04 - The Colonels Page 17