by Lyn Cote
Having Bowie near gave her strength. She glanced up at him and found him smiling at her. She tried to smile back. Facing a war, even in a support role, had hit her as though she were starting basic all over again. The universe had once again been turned upside down.
Haskell motioned for them to gather around. “It’ll be morning in a couple hours. Just bunk down anywhere here in this area.” He motioned to the concrete floor of the hangar. “After morning mess, we’ll be processed in and then head out to get our camp set up. While you’re here, you’ll keep your chemical warfare gear with you at all times. If you hear a siren, put it on immediately.” He gave them all a stiff glare. “No exceptions, got it?”
Only solemn silence answered him.
“And everyone will be briefed on how to get along with Arabs,” the sergeant continued. “Not only will you be meeting Saudi citizens while you’re here, but other Muslims are here as part of the coalition. Oh, Gallagher, women get a special training session after the men’s. The Saudis evidently don’t like the idea of women in uniform.” He gave a wisecrack grin.
Carly just nodded. She was so tired, even the floor looked inviting. And if the Arabs weren’t thrilled to have her, she knew how they felt. She wasn’t thrilled to be there.
CHAPTER TEN
Saudi Arabia, December 15, 1990
Outside the desert-camouflaged tent she shared with several other women in the battalion, Carly waved to Bowie and he hurried toward her. They’d survived their first cool, foggy week in Saudi. She’d never been so homesick in her life, not even during basic. Every day she’d felt like running away but had nowhere to run. Only Bowie and the good humor of her other platoon members had made it bearable.
That day, she and Bowie were embarking on another venture, a few hours spent in Riyadh. This filled her with a sharp sense of anticipation—and danger. Did she really want to go where she must hide her face?
“I can’t believe we got a whole day off.” Bowie greeted her with a big smile. He wore the same desert camouflage they all wore, which was a dappled mix of beige, tan, white, and gray. “And just in time for Christmas shopping.”
Carly saw in his large blue eyes that he wanted to kiss her in the worst way. They’d been so busy they hadn’t had a moment alone all week. They were officially off duty now. And frankly, touching Bowie would provide a needed boost to her nerves for the mission into the risky unknown. After glancing around to make sure no one was paying them any attention, Carly herded Bowie back to where the tent flap was fastened. Then, in its partial cover, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him briefly but thoroughly on the mouth. Touching his lips slipped a knot free inside her, and she let him take over the kiss.
“Hey, hey!” Joe called out, jogging toward them. “None of that! The Sheiks of Araby will have your head.”
Stepping away hurriedly, Carly blushed and she noticed that Bowie was red, too. “Where did you two come from?” she demanded.
Joe hustled up to them with Sam bringing up the rear. “We’re Bowie’s backup,” Joe said. “If he can’t protect you from the locals, we will.”
His words made her stomach do a yo-yo swing. But she gave him a satirical glance. After all, it had been Joe she’d flattened. “Like I need protection,” she mock-boasted. “You should know better, Joe.”
His hands covered his heart. “Oh, she got me . . . again.” Then he laughed at his own joke. “I’m hoping you’ll help me pick out something to send to my girls back home.”
“You have girls back home?” she teased in a mystified tone. “Are they blind, deaf, and dumb?” Secretly, she was glad to have Joe and Sam’s company.
Joe punched her arm. “Hey, what about you? We saw you kissing this jerk.”
Looking wide-eyed and innocent, Carly shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just wiping a bit of dirt off his cheek.”
Both Sam and Joe hooted as the four of them began ambling toward the waiting bus. “Is that what you’ve got to wear in town?” Sam asked, pointing at the long black abayah and black veil slung over Carly’s arm.
“Yes,” she answered. “I can only say that I’m glad I was born in the USA.” She dreaded the moment she’d have to put on the humiliating garb. Why had the U.S. brass bowed to this degradation of American women soldiers? Easy: they were all men.
“Hey, Carly!” a familiar voice hailed from behind.
Carly turned and squealed with delight, “Lorelle!”
In her MP uniform, Lorelle jogged over to Carly and hugged her.
Carly hugged back, and then they were both giggling.
“Women,” Joe commented.
Lorelle turned her head. “Watch it, soldier. I can arrest you, you know.”
“Hey, you can arrest me anytime,” Sam piped up and then looked abashed.
Lorelle chuckled. “You say that now, but . . .”
Carly quickly introduced Lorelle as a lifelong friend. She caught Sam studying Lorelle’s face and hid a grin. Lorelle did look very good in her MP uniform. “We’re catching the special bus into town.”
“Hey, me, too.” Lorelle fell into step with them and Carly noticed that Sam managed to drift to Lorelle’s side. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be dragging this along.” She waved the veil and abayah.
They reached the bus. “Better put that stuff on,” the driver said, lounging beside the vehicle.
Carly grimaced, then both she and Lorelle dropped their abayahs over their heads like ponchos and pulled the drawstrings around their necks. The black clothing covered them completely, from their necks to their toes.
“And the veils,” the driver persisted. “We don’t have blinds on this vehicle, and your faces must not be seen through the windows.”
With exasperated groans, Carly and Lorelle both settled veils onto their heads and adjusted them so they could see through the small rectangular spaces left for their eyes. How did the Saudi women stand that costume in the heat of summer? Carly felt almost smothered, and the winter day was cool. “How the women here put up with this garbage I’ll never know,” Carly complained. “I think I’ll start a revolution.”
“Well, that’s why you’re wearing this gear, aren’t you?” Joe said. “They don’t want their women getting ideas.”
Carly didn’t bother to reply. Bowie helped her into the crowded bus and sat beside her in the far back. Joe and Sam sat just da> of them with Lorelle between them.
“Get ready for a bumpy ride!” the driver said as he climbed in. He started the bus and drove forward slowly, the engine laboring over the barely improved road toward the highway to the big city.
In spite of her depressing garb, Carly felt her spirits lift as they departed the military base and were out in the open. Adjusting to desert life in a militarized zone had taken its toll on her, on all of them. The guys she worked with had coped by joking more, swearing more. Somehow the others had guessed about the budding romance between Bowie and her. They had all begun giving her weird advice about men and teasing good-natured Bowie.
The bus driver merged onto the modern highway. Datsun pickups zipped around the big army bus. In the back of one, a young camel was lying in the bed, its long neck high above the cab. Carly stared at this odd mixture of a modern vehicle and an ancient beast of burden that had made up caravans for thousands of years. Another Datsun zipped past with goats crammed in the bed along with a woman. Carly gaped at the sight.
Under cover of her abayah, she took Bowie’s hand, drawing strength from his nearness, his honest affection for her. He smiled and overwhelmed her slender hand with his larger one. Suddenly it felt good to be alive.
As they approached the city, traffic increased. The road branched into many lanes of small, darting cars. Lorelle turned and asked Carly where they were going in the city.
“I hear that they have some lovely jewelry shops,” Carly answered.
“Hey,” Joe muttered, “we’re not made of money, you know.”
Carly gave him a seraphic smile
that she realized he couldn’t see and said, “Any girl who dates you deserves twenty-four-carat gold.”
“Everybody, get ready for the Saudi Sweep!” The driver took a sudden turn and skated over four lanes of traffic. The maneuver swept Carly almost onto Bowie’s lap. “Hey!” all the passengers exclaimed.
The driver laughed. “Hey, I’m just blending in. They drive like maniacs over here.”
So do you! Carly surveyed the broad boulevard before them. Riyadh certainly looked like a modern desert city: stucco buildings with arches, courtyard walls, many cars, and tall palm trees. Still the strange sight of women all dressed in the outmoded, cumbersome garb, which Carly had been forced to adopt, made her uneasy.
If all the men had been attired in the traditional white flowing robes and Arabian headdresses, it would have struck her as fair. But many men sported Western dress. It was definitely unfair and a bit intimidating. Carly moved closer to Bowie’s comfortingly large form. And as always, nearness to him ignited an inner glow. Carly smiled secretly behind her veil.
The bus driver jerked to a stop and parked. He gave out maps of the nearby shopping district of Riyadh and warned the soldiers to return by five o’clock for their ride back to base. Lorelle and Sam took over navigation and led them to a narrow street of gold and jewelry shops. They strolled down the alley to get the lay of the land.
Carly made sure that she didn’t touch Bowie. She’d been instructed that no public physical contact was to occur between males and females in Muslim areas. Smiling shopkeepers stood in the doorways of their shops, motioning them to stop in, speaking some pidgin English. Carly still felt like a freak, wearing the abayah and veil. It was like attending a sick masquerade. A glance at Lorelle’s dour eyes told her she felt the same way.
They trooped to the end of the street and then paused. The three guys looked to her for guidance. She and Lorelle compared impressions of the shops and led them back to one that had caught their interest. Carly stepped inside and everyone paraded in after her. The proprietor beamed at them, greeting them warmly in Arabic. Carly walked to the glass-covered display case. “Joe, here are some lovely gold chains. The quality looks good.”
The proprietor lifted one out and laid it on a black velvet cloth. He motioned for Carly to pick it up. She recalled the instructions about haggling being important in this culture. “How much?”
The proprietor responded and Carly did a quick mental calculation between the two currencies. “Too much.” She shook her head. Then she turned to Joe. “He wants more than I’d pay in New—”
The proprietor said something and pulled out another chain. He quoted another price, a lower one. Carly examined it and turned to Joe. “This is a good deal. It’s twenty-four carat. See the mark?”
Joe looked at the proprietor and quoted a few drachmas lower price. The man beamed. “Yes. Deal.”
“Do you like chains, Carly?” Bowie asked as the proprietor was wrapping up the purchase.
She grinned up at him and then realized with chagrin that her expression was completely hidden from him. This made her cross, but she didn’t let it tinge her voice. “They’re okay, Bowie.” She wanted to say, “Bowie, you don’t have to buy me anything.” But of course, they were . . . well, they couldn’t exactly date. But they were a couple. The thought made her blush warmly, and this time she was glad Bowie couldn’t see her face. In high school, she’d dated only a couple of times for big occasions such as homecoming and prom. She’d never had a boyfriend, just guy friends—as Bowie had been at first.
They stopped at a few more stores. Carly was beginning to feel more comfortable. Shopping in the quaint foreign shops was not much different from shopping in some areas of Greenwich Village. Along with the guys, she purchased jewelry for her female relatives and then Bowie said, “Carly, just step outside the door a minute, okay? Lorelle, you stay?”
Carly blushed again. It was obvious that Bowie wanted to buy something for her and ask for Lorelle’s approval. She stepped outside, joy bubbling inside her.
Without warning, she felt herself lifted off the ground from behind. She yelped. Shock lasted mere seconds. Then she launched herself into a rigid backward arc. Her heels kicked muscle and her assailant cursed. She jabbed her elbow back into his breastbone and he groaned, his grip loosening.
Then Bowie descended. Over her head, he slammed his fist into the Arab. The man went down like a sack of wet sand. Released, Carly sprawled onto the dusty street, her abayah tangling around her legs. She struggled to breathe, the wind partially knocked out of her.
Bowie leaned over and helped her up. Her pulse raced. Her veil had shifted and she righted it. Joe and Sam were circling the downed Arab, cursing him and taunting him. “Stop that, you two,” Carly gasped. “We need to move on. We don’t want an international incident.”
“He can’t manhandle one of our women and get away with it,” Joe objected. Then he shoved the Arab again and challenged him by taking up a boxing stance.
“Stop that!” Lorelle ordered. “You’ll have the police on us. Come on. They warned us in training that Arab men have some really weird ideas about Western women, especially American women. They all think . . . well, you can guess what they think.”
Suddenly there was the sound of boots running toward them. Two armed Arab policemen shoved their way through the crowd that had gathered around Carly and the rest of them. The first cop barked something in Arabic at them.
“We only speak English,” Lorelle said respectfully.
Bowie moved closer to Carly.
Carly felt her heart thumping. How could they explain that she was the one who’d been attacked? Were they all going to end up in a Saudi jail?
Greenwich Village, the same day
After dusk, Leigh paced the kitchen waiting for Nate to come home. She wanted to tell him her news. She dreaded telling him her news. But putting it off would only increase her stress level.
To have time alone with Nate to explain everything to him, she’d already fed Michael his supper and put him to bed. She’d read him How the Grinch Stole Christmas! three times, but he was finally asleep. He wouldn’t be awake to hear the argument she was sure would come. She rubbed her taut forehead. She could have easily lain down next to Michael and fallen asleep herself. Fatigue dragged at her spirits.
Over the past week, since Carly had been airlifted to Saudi Arabia, Leigh’s nights had been sleepless and before that, they hadn’t been that good since Kitty’s funeral. Leigh glanced up at the clock for the thousandth time. Nate had said he’d be home at 8:30. It was now 8:36 p.m. She rubbed her arms, resisting the urge to rake them with her long fingernails.
Ever since earlier that year, when Kitty had moved back to Ivy Manor, the silence from the downstairs apartment had depressed Leigh. The phrase “as silent as the grave” now haunted her. Kitty would never be coming home, and Carly was in harm’s way in a war zone thousands of miles away. Tears spilled from Leigh’s eyes. Angrily, she wiped them off her face and stiffened her spine. “Deaths don’t come in threes,” she insisted to the empty room, the universe at large. “That’s just nonsense. I won’t give in to morbid sentimentality.”
But her heart longed for Kitty, yearned for the woman who’d twenty years before known Dane so well, who had stood by Leigh through her pregnancy when her mother had practically disowned her. I love you, Kitty. I always will. I just wish I’d done better. I should have left New York and come to you as soon as Grandma Chloe called, but I was a coward. I couldn’t face losing you and so I delayed. I’m so sorry for that. Please forgive me.
She heard the door open downstairs and braced herself for Nate’s arrival. At the kitchen sink, she splashed cold water on her warm face and wiped it dry with a paper towel.
“Hi, honey,” Nate said as he strode in. He glanced at the wall clock. “Just a few minutes late. I don’t have to go in till later tomorrow so I’ll take care of getting Michael off to school in the morning.” He kissed her cheek.
His kiss warmed her as always in a way nothing else could. But she felt as if she didn’t deserve his kiss. He was going to be so angry with her. “Good,” she murmured. “I’ll put your plate in the microwave.” She moved, but his arms stopped her as they wrapped around her from behind.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I miss them both, too.”
She didn’t mistake his meaning. He missed Kitty and Carly. She drew a shaky breath, dreading the impending conflict. She forced herself to nod and proceed to the refrigerator and microwave. Within minutes, she was sitting with him at the table while he ate. She bided her time, knowing it would be poor strategy to broach anything while he was hungry and thirsty.
“You’ve got that look in your eye,” Nate said between bites.
“What look?”
“The look that comes right before you tell me something I don’t want to hear. It’s as if you’ve girded yourself for battle and we’re facing off for round one.”
She stared at him, nonplussed.
“Leigh, I know you.” He wiped his mouth and fingers with his paper napkin. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. You’re my wife of seven years and the mother of my children. When will you learn that I’m not some Joe Schmoe who doesn’t get it—who doesn’t get you?”
“Do you know what I’m going to say?” she challenged.
“I know it probably has something to do with Carly. So what is it?”
His astute surmise shook her confidence. But it gave her the opening she needed. “I’m flying to Saudi January thirteenth so I’ll be there for the deadline of January fifteenth.”
A shadow crossed his face, and then Nate stared at her. “No discussion? Just ‘I’m going’?”
“My editor wants me to do an in-depth analysis of the modern woman in the army in a combat zone.”
“You mean you convinced your editor you should do an in-depth analysis.” He shoved his half-eaten food away. “You don’t fool me, Leigh.”