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Mrs. Lieutenant: A Sharon Gold Novel

Page 9

by Phyllis Zimbler Miller


  He got off her desk and left without replying.

  Now Robert says, "MSU is certainly different than the East. I didn't know what I was getting myself into by coming out to the Midwest."

  "Like ROTC?"

  His eyes shift to his coffee cup, then back to her.

  "I chose ROTC." Her face must be betraying her thoughts because he rushes on, "And ROTC has a right to be on campus just like every other campus organization."

  "ROTC supports the war machine! Do you know how many boys your age may be getting killed right now in Vietnam as we sit here having coffee?"

  "Serving their country."

  "Getting killed for nothing."

  They stare at each other as other students brush past their table, carrying trays loaded with fried substances.

  Suddenly he leans towards her and recites:

  The time you won your town the race

  We chaired you through the market-place;

  Man and boy stood cheering by,

  And home we brought you shoulder-high.

  To-day, the road all runners come,

  Shoulder-high we bring you home,

  And set you at your threshold down,

  Townsman of a stiller town.

  Smart lad, to slip betimes away

  From fields where glory does not stay,

  And early though the laurel grows

  It withers quicker than the rose.

  Sharon flushes. "That's the beginning of 'To An Athlete Dying Young.'"

  Robert nods. "By the English poet A. E. Housman."

  An ROTC cadet reciting poetry? "What's your major?" she asks.

  "Political science. What’s yours?”

  “Journalism. I’m a junior.”

  "Senior,” Robert says about himself. “I don't think I've seen you around before. If I had, I'm sure I would have remembered."

  Sharon smiles. "It's a little hard to know all 40,000 people on campus."

  "We must not travel in the same circles. Are you a Greek?"

  "An AEPhi. I live in the house." No need to explain to him that pledging a sorority provided the only way she could live off campus after freshman year. MSU’s in loco parentis policy is that women students who did not live in sorority houses had to either be a senior or 21 to not live in the dorms.

  She checks her watch. Lance will be furious if she's late getting the story written. She’s a fast typist but not a Wonder Woman.

  She stands. "I've got a deadline."

  He stands too. “And I’ve got to get back to the field. Maybe I'll see you around," he says.

  Now Sharon follows Robert’s lead on the dance floor of the Officers Club of Ft. Knox, Kentucky. Sometimes it’s hard for her to reconstruct how that chance meeting at the ROTC protest has led her here – to being an army officer’s wife.

  Out of the corner of her eye Sharon spots Wendy and a man enter the room. He is of medium-build, on the stocky side, with a round face. They are the only two blacks in the room. Sharon stops dancing and leads Robert forward to meet them.

  "Hi, Wendy," she says.

  Wendy smiles. "Nelson, this is Sharon Gold. She's the head of the entertainment committee I'm on." Sharon and Nelson smile at each other.

  "And Robert, this is Wendy Johnson," Sharon says.

  Robert sticks out his hand to Wendy. He's making a point Sharon realizes. Then Nelson shakes Sharon's hand.

  Sharon motions in the direction of the tables. "Come sit down. We'll get some more chairs."

  The man in the Phoenix program has left the table, leaving his chair free. Robert gets one more chair and squeezes Wendy and Nelson next to Sharon.

  Wendy turns to Nelson. "Would you get me a Whiskey Sour, please?"

  “That’s my drink too,” Sharon says, then stands. "While Nelson's gone, let's go say hello to Kim and Donna."

  "I'll just wait here for Nelson."

  "No, no," Sharon says, pulling Wendy up. "Let's go say hello."

  As Sharon and Wendy come up to the other two women, Jim stands and turns to Kim. "It's time to go home," he says.

  "It is?" Kim asks. "We haven't been here that long."

  "I said it's time to go, Kim." Jim pulls her chair back from the table and motions for her to get up.

  "Good-bye," Kim says.

  "See you tomorrow," Sharon says.

  Donna motions for Sharon and Kim to take the vacated seats.

  At this moment a man standing at the far end of the table from the women holds up his beer glass. "A toast," he says. "May we all get our chance to kill those little yellow bastards!"

  **

  Sharon watches herself in the mirror as she brushes her teeth before going to bed. In the reflection she visualizes swarms of yellow jackets about to attack her.

  At first she wonders why she should think this. Then she knows.

  Yellow bastards – yellow jackets. The toast referred to the Vietcong, those "yellow" enemies.

  Robert squeezes into the tiny bathroom, sees her expression in the mirror. "What's wrong?" he asks.

  Sharon turns around to face him. "How could you stand there and drink to that awful toast?"

  Robert puts his arms around her waist. "That's Geist. He's an idiot. Nobody pays any attention to him."

  "You did."

  "Honey, listen to me. The guy is the class moron. He's a high school graduate, Officers Candidate School, a 120-day wonder. The whole class thinks he's a jerk – even our Marine.”

  She tries to wriggle out of Robert’s grip, but he keeps his arms around her.

  "Most of the guys in class are all right,” he says. “They're just like me. They want to do their two years nice and quietly, no heroics. There are some regular army types along with a bunch of warrant officers back from Vietnam – helicopter pilots."

  Like Mark Williamson?

  “What rank are warrant officers?”

  “They’re not really officers – they’re a hybrid. Enlisted men who the army wants to promote but not make officers. They can go to the Officers Mess and the Officers Club. The army decided to commission these particular pilots as officers, so they have to take a branch officers course – this time the branch is armor. They're fuck-offs. All they do is strut around telling each other how tough they are, then figure out how to get out of every detail. Then there's Geist. Really, forget him."

  "So why did you drink to the toast?"

  "Didn't you see that look we all gave each other? You have to play the game."

  She shakes her head. He slaps her rear. "Know what I mean, play the game?"

  KIM – IV – May 19

  Senate Foreign Relations Committee approves Cooper-Church amendment to cut off funds for Cambodian military operations ... May 11, 1970

  “When a woman attends a social function at night without her husband she should arrive and leave with another couple, seldom alone.” Mrs. Lieutenant booklet

  Kim lies on her back in the traditional missionary position. She shuts her eyes to block out her husband's face, cherry red from his exertions.

  Usually she likes Jim so close. She feels protected, safe, loved. Tonight having sex just reminds her of what Jim fears she wants from other men.

  There's a potential trap in almost every one of Jim's questions of her. "What did you do today?" can mean "Did you see any men today?"

  She never responds, never rises to the bait. She knows why he is obsessed about this. He told her the night he proposed, before he made her swear on the Bible that she would never, never sleep with anyone else or she would rot in hell.

  Jim rolls off her. It’s over before it’s really begun. For Jim sex is like shooting a pistol during target practice – you get off your round as quickly as possible, then tote up your points.

  "Was it good?" he asks.

  She smiles and snuggles closer. She doesn’t tell him he’s missed the target again. It’s better to say nothing since she can’t explain how to improve his performance. "So good," she says.

  Earlier, when Ji
m came home for the day, Kim took the fatigue shirt and pants he handed her and hung them over a chair. Later she would press the creases sharp in the pants so that the pants could be worn one more time before being washed. She is good at ironing – another one of her many chores at the foster homes.

  Jim had put on a pair of dark grey slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt to wear to the Officers Club. "What's for dinner?" he asked.

  They sat at the small table in the nook of the living room. Kim served the meatloaf with slices of white bread and butter and glasses of milk.

  "How was your day? Did you and Sharon do something together?"

  She hesitated for only a moment before answering. "We had hamburgers at the Officers Club. It was nice there."

  Jim looked up with his mouth full. He swallowed. "You didn't talk to any men there, did you?"

  Kim lowered her eyes. "Of course not."

  "Did any men talk to you?" He put his fork down.

  "Not to me."

  "Sharon?"

  "A man from her hometown recognized her and came up to her. They were in the same dancing class in seventh grade. He just said a few words, then left."

  "Is that all that happened?"

  "Yes."

  She clutched her hands together on her lap, hidden by the table. Please may he stop.

  Jim persisted in his interrogation. "Was Sharon glad to see him? Do you think it was a planned meeting?"

  At this Kim flushed. "Of course not. And she made it very clear immediately that she’s married."

  "What difference does that make?"

  Kim said nothing, and he picked up his fork again to finish dinner.

  Now in the dark bedroom she opens her eyes, stares at the ceiling. She wishes they could have stayed longer. Southern officers have a strong tradition in the army. So why does Jim appear uncomfortable around his fellow officers?

  On the ceiling she spots a water stain with ragged edges that suddenly turns into the acid burn in the skirt of her old brown corduroy jumper. The Kruger boy threw the acid on her jumper in high school chemistry lab, then laughed as the material sizzled and burned. She didn't cry in front of him. Only later that night she cried when her foster mother found out and whacked her for it: "Look what you've gone and done! You only have two outfits and now you've ruined one!"

  Kim forces her eyes away from the spot and the memory. Jim snores once and then flops over onto his stomach.

  At least she didn't ruin her outfit tonight by spilling beer on it or dropping the greasy onion rings someone ordered for all of them. Sharon and Donna's outfits weren't any fancier than what Kim wore. Maybe Wendy's was nicer, but then her father's a doctor. A black doctor, but a doctor all the same.

  Kim’s fingers trace circles on the sheet that covers her and Jim. The bedroom air conditioner is actually working tonight so she’s not too hot to sleep. Still she resists falling asleep, instead thinking about the last few days here at Ft. Knox.

  It’s nice having friends, friends who can share the strange world of what is expected of an officer’s wife. Yet no matter how close she may feel to these women, she probably won’t ever tell them anything about her family.

  Her family. Kim's eyes seek the photo on the nightstand. Although it’s too dark to see the faces, she can picture every line, every blemish that those faces have. Her parents were tenant farmers – probably white trash although no one ever said that in front of her and she hadn't been old enough to remember on her own.

  She did remember the chicken coop perched behind the back porch. It had been her job to pluck the eggs from their nests under the hens, her younger sister Diane holding out the basket to receive each still-warm egg. Kim had been afraid of the hens at first, afraid they'd bite her on the hand or tug on her long braids. Her father taught her how to be patient gathering the eggs, how the chickens wouldn’t hurt her, and her fear disappeared watching his calm movements.

  She and Diane had been staying at neighbors while their parents made a trip into town for supplies. The two sisters waited on the neighbors' front porch until long after the sun set. Kim tried to be patient the way her father had taught her, telling Diane over and over that their parents would come soon, imagining them finally arriving just as the hens eventually gave up their eggs.

  Their parents never returned.

  That night, still unaware of the fatal car accident hours earlier, Kim and her sister bedded down with the neighbors' children. In the morning the nightmare began.

  She squeezes her eyes shut. Don't think about that.

  Her reopened eyes catch the glint off the gold metal of Jim's second lieutenant bars lying on top of the dresser. She squeezes her eyes shut again.

  **

  The next morning Kim has the car and she isn't picking up Sharon till after lunch, so Kim decides to visit Susanna. Normally she wouldn't drop in without calling. Except since Susanna visited her unannounced this must be considered okay conduct for an officer’s wife.

  Kim’s not sure why she’s moved to visit Susanna. Maybe it’s because of Susanna’s daughter Patty. Something about Patty strikes a chord within Kim.

  Now Kim follows the route that Jim drove that first night. Once inside the housing area, she consults the map to find the right street. She parks the car in front of the house and walks towards the door.

  "Stop that!" she hears Susanna yelling through the screen door. "Patty, stop that at once." Then she hears: Whack! Whack!

  Kim hesitates. Should she go away or should she ring the doorbell? Which would be better for Patty? Kim rings the doorbell.

  Susanna answers the door after a couple of minutes. Her hair neatly combed, she has on a clean cotton skirt and blouse although her face sports a reddish flush.

  "Hello," Kim says. "I'm sorry if this is an inconvenient time to visit."

  "Come in," Susanna says. "I'm just about to make some lemonade for the children."

  Kim follows Susanna into the house. Billy Jr. waddles around a playpen in the living room gnawing on a red block. "He's teething," Susanna calls over her shoulder as she disappears into the kitchen.

  Where's Patty?

  “May I use your bathroom?" Kim calls through the open kitchen doorway.

  "Down the hall."

  Kim doesn't need a bathroom. It's an excuse to see about Patty.

  As Kim passes a closed door there’s snuffling on the other side. She pushes the door open and peeks inside. Patty sits on the uncarpeted floor between a bed and a crib. Her face lies buried in a raggedy teddy bear.

  Kim walks into the room and touches the child on her shoulder. Patty looks up.

  Kim says nothing; she doesn't want Susanna to hear. Instead Kim smiles and rubs Patty's shoulder. After a minute Patty stands up and holds the teddy bear out to Kim. Kim takes it in both hands, the way a treasure should be handled. "It's lovely," she says. Patty smiles at her.

  Kim hands the bear back to Patty and motions her to follow. Down the hall they go and into the kitchen.

  Susanna stands at the counter stirring the contents of a plastic pitcher.

  "I opened the wrong door," Kim says, "and look who I found. Now we can all have lemonade together."

  Susanna scowls. "Patty is bein' punished."

  Susanna lifts the pitcher off the counter and places it on the table. She comes over to Patty and smacks her on the face, then points out the door. "Patty, go on back to your room till I tell ya to come out."

  Kim turns her face to hide her own tears. The child's tears splatter the floor as Patty runs out of the kitchen.

  **

  As Kim pulls up to her apartment she spots two MPs standing outside her door. Oh, no, they found her! She stays seated in her car for a moment, then remembers Jim will be home soon for lunch. She must get this over with.

  She gets out of the car. Without saying a word the MPs wait for her to unlock the door and follow her in.

  The MPs sit on the couch and she takes the armchair. One MP explains how they tracked her down. They a
re here to “review” the shooting.

  Twenty minutes later, only 10 minutes before Jim’s expected home, they are still asking questions.

  "Mrs. Benton, we still don't understand why you left the scene of the shooting without waiting for the MPs."

  She twists her clenched hands. "My husband," she says.

  "Yes?" the one with the nametag of Skelly prompts.

  "I can't explain."

  "Jealous type, is he?" the other one, McCauley, asks.

  She looks away.

  "We're from the South," she says. "We do things differently back home."

  Skelly nods. "Mind if we ask your husband a couple of questions about that night?"

  "No, you can't! I mean, please don't. He'll be so furious."

  "Why is that, Mrs. Benton?" McCauley asks.

  She hesitates. "He just will."

  "I see," McCauley says.

  She has to get the men out of here before Jim gets home!

  "I was wrong not to stay. I'm sorry. I really am. And I promise to come to the MP office if you need any more information. Please, please, don't stay here waiting for my husband. He just wouldn't understand."

  McCauley stands. "We don't want to cause any trouble so we'll be going now. Just remember, never leave the scene of a shooting again."

  Please God may she never again be at the scene of a shooting.

  WENDY – II – May 21

  President Nixon tells labor leaders that incursion into Cambodia a huge success ... May 12, 1970

  “There are no courtesies, customs, or privileges that apply ONLY to Regular Army officers and their wives.” Mrs. Lieutenant booklet

  Wendy checks herself in the tiny bathroom mirror. Her lipstick isn't smeared, her hair is combed, and – she smiles – she looks about as good as she's going to get. There's nothing else she can do around the trailer to put off going. Entertainment committee meetings don't fill all the time. She can't just sit around thinking about ... things. Things such as whether Nelson will be sent to Vietnam and whether she’ll fit into the mold of an officer’s wife.

 

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