In the Company of Women

by Kate Christie

  Rolling her eyes, CJ laughed. “I bet you tell all the girls that.”

  “Not all of them,” Nell said, smiling. “Do you want company?”

  “I don’t think so. But thanks.”

  Nell walked her out to the street. Then, as they paused on the sidewalk outside the BOQ, she pulled CJ into a tight hug.

  At first CJ stood unmoving in the circle of the smaller woman’s arms. Nell’s warmth seeped into her, comforting after the earlier scare, and she noticed the scent of cinnamon and cloves, the curve of breasts against her own, the strength of the arms that held her. All at once, Brady’s words sounded in her head—how can you not see what’s right in front of you?—and she pushed away.

  “I, um…” She trailed off uncertainly. Was Nell making a pass, or was she simply reacting to the emotional evening?

  Nell tucked a strand of CJ’s hair back behind her ear and tugged on the brim of her Hobby hat. “Get outta here, soldier. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  CJ nodded and turned away. At the corner near the officers’ club, she glanced back and saw Nell standing under the street lamp outside her quarters, smoking a cigarette. CJ’s stomach rumbled uneasily at the thought of tobacco, and she walked on, the taste of Scotch and spam making her long for a glass of warm milk and a hot water bottle for her bed.

  She looked up at the sky as she walked, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of constellations. Back home the stars and moon would be tracing a similar arc across the sky, Orion and the Big Dipper and Cassiopeia wending across the northern night sky. Inside the family would be gathered about the fireplace, Rebecca and Pete listening to serials on the wireless set and reading magazines, her mother darning socks, her father whittling delicate animal faces out of pieces of pine and cedar. What if their plane had been shot down tonight? Would her family have received a telegram or a visit from a WAC officer? Would her remains have been found, or would her parents have received an empty casket, like the families of the B-29 crew killed in the crash on Mt. Franklin?

  She tried to clear her mind, but the images kept coming—her mother sewing a gold star onto the window banner where once there had been blue; her casket being carried by her father, brother and family friends out to a plot in Riverside Cemetery near her little brother, her father’s father, who died before she was born, and his mother, who passed a year after baby Henry; family and friends gathering at their house afterward for food and fellowship, precisely as they had done after Henry’s funeral.

  This, of course, was the same sequence of events she had previously imagined. Except that every other time she’d been there in her service uniform—at the church, in the cemetery, at home afterward—because always in the past it had been one of her brothers killed in the war, Alec or Joe whose star had turned from blue to gold. Not her. Not a woman soldier stationed on the home front. She was even less likely to die than Jacob DeWitt, the neighbor boy with the glasses and the non-combat rating.

  When she reached the WAC compound, she went straight to Brady’s barracks, but the Wac on duty reported that Brady wasn’t home. She backtracked to the enlisted club, but Brady wasn’t there. Where the hell was she? CJ caught herself. Just because she’d broken their date didn’t mean Brady had to stay home sulking. Charging out around base or town wouldn’t do much good. She could be anywhere.

  Disheartened, CJ found a seat at the club’s bar and ordered a beer to chase down the Scotch. It tasted good and seemed to keep the uneasiness shadowing her at bay, so she ordered another and then another. By the time Sarah and Jack found her, she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open.

  “CJ,” Sarah said, pausing beside her. “Aren’t you supposed to be flying tonight?”

  “I was. We flew into—” She covered her mouth, giggling. “Oops. Can’t tell you. Top secret!”

  She licked her lips, wondering why her tongue felt double its usual size. Too bad Brady wasn’t there. She would probably know why alcohol made your body feel all swollen and fuzzy. Not to mention dizzy. As she stood up, the floor seemed to tilt beneath her, and all at once she was back in the cockpit of the B-26, flak bursting in beautiful, deadly puffs around them.

  Sarah reached out and caught her as she lurched. “Hey now, I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

  She leaned her head against Sarah’s shoulder and felt a sob tear from her throat. Strange, she hadn’t even realized she was crying.

  Jack came around her other side and they helped her out of the club. Afterward, CJ vaguely remembered sitting in the day room drinking coffee with Sarah and Mary, her KP buddy, who spoke in low voices that were hard to track. But mostly, the rest of the evening seemed to seep past in a blur. By the time bed check rolled around she had sobered up somewhat, enough to get herself ready and into bed without incurring the wrath of the sergeant in charge of quarters. Then she lay on her cot, hands clenching the thin sheets as the ceiling spun overhead. I’ll never drink again, she vowed over and over, willing the dizziness to pass.

  Only later did she notice that not once had she vowed to give up flying.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The cold air helped at PT the next morning. CJ went through the exercises at a far lower rate of effort than usual, trying to pick Brady out of the crowd of Admin Wacs. But every time she thought she saw her, someone shifted and the Wac who might be Brady disappeared. After a while, CJ stopped trying to find her and focused on making it through PT and drill without throwing up. No wonder she had never gotten that drunk before. There was nothing redeeming about the experience, as far as she could tell. The alcohol had helped her forget the terror of the previous night’s mission temporarily, but it had left her a weeping mess in the end. Some GIs insisted on getting drunk several times a week. Were they crazy?

  A warm shower helped even more, enough that she decided she might as well try breakfast. Sarah and Reggie walked with her to the enlisted mess, their arms over her shoulders.

  “Toast,” Sarah said.

  “And coffee,” Reggie added. “Possibly a banana, if your stomach feels up to it.”

  “I am capable of feeding myself, you know.”

  Her friends laughed in a way that clearly communicated their opinion on the matter.

  At that moment, Brady approached the mess with her own gang. CJ started to smile, but the automatic pleasure she felt at the sight of Brady dimmed as she took in the grim set of her girlfriend’s mouth, her lips a tight slash of red. Had Brady somehow heard what had happened? But no, she looked angry, and it wasn’t like she would blame her for the AA unit’s mistake. Or CJ didn’t think she would anyway.

  The two groups met near the entrance, and for a split second no one moved. Then Sarah and Reggie nodded hello and headed into the building, leaving CJ alone to face the trio of Admin Wacs. Brady murmured something to Janice and Marjory, and with last hard looks at CJ, they headed inside too.

  “Hi,” she said tentatively.

  “Hi.” Brady stared at her, brow furrowed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Not here,” Brady said cryptically, glancing around as more women passed them on the way into the mess.

  In silence, CJ followed her toward the nearby parade ground, trying to figure out what could have happened since supper the night before. Other than her own brush with death, of course.

  Brady stopped suddenly and pinned her with a look.

  “I know what happened with you and Nell last night.”

  “You do?” The friendly fire incident had taken place two thousand feet above the desert many miles from the airfield. The official report probably hadn’t even been issued yet. “How?”

  Brady seemed almost to deflate, the dark smudges beneath her eyes standing out against her pale skin. “You’re not going to deny it?”

  “Why would I? I wanted to tell you last night but I couldn’t find you.”

  “That’s because I went to the movie we were supposed to see together while you were off with your little WASP friend.” She shook her h
ead. “You’re worse than a man. At least they try to cover their tracks.”

  “Hang on. I wasn’t off with anyone,” CJ started.

  But Brady was already turning away. “I’m not interested in your excuses.”

  “They’re not excuses. Come on, Brady, don’t do this.”

  At that she hesitated, glancing from CJ to the mess hall and back again.

  “Look, the reason I stopped by WASP BOQ was to have a drink because that’s what they do when they nearly get shot down. I had one drink and then I went to look for you.”

  Brady blinked rapidly. “What do you mean, you were nearly shot down?” Her arms lifted, but CJ took a step back. She didn’t want Brady to touch her. Last night it was all she’d wanted, but not now.

  “I’m sure the incident report will come across your desk.” She swallowed hard against the nausea threatening to rise again. “Did you really think I would lie to you? That I would cheat on you?”

  “No, but Gerri said she saw you with Nell on the street, and you weren’t exactly talking.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “You told me you had to work last night, CJ. What was I supposed to think?”

  “You were supposed to think something must have happened. Because to be honest, I needed a lot more than a hug from a friend last night. I needed you.”

  Brady held out her hands, supplicating now. “I didn’t know. How could I have known?”

  “You couldn’t. But you could have believed in me. You should have trusted me. God, Brady!” CJ rubbed her temples. The morning sun was giving her a headache.

  “I’m so sorry.” Brady came closer. “I’d decided the thing with Nell was all in my head, and then Gerri told me…I felt like a fool.”

  “Well, now I feel like one.” CJ closed her eyes briefly. Somehow she was wearier than she’d been since the start of basic training. “I can’t do this right now. I have to go.”

  Sarah had suggested she get to the hangar early to talk to Whimple. They needed their crew chief on their side in case the Biggs CO decided to use the previous night’s incident as an excuse to get rid of women pilots and mechanics entirely.

  “Okay.” Brady’s voice was soft, her expression earnest. “I am sorry, CJ. If I’d known what happened…”

  “I know. It’s fine.” She started to turn away but stopped when Brady caught her elbow. The touch was gentle, sweet, and it was all CJ could do not to lean into it. She was so tired.

  “It’s not fine. You’re right. I should have trusted you. Let me make it up to you, please?”

  CJ felt the sting of tears and shook her head. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Brady standing alone on the parade grounds. It wasn’t even that hard to do—she just left her there on the dusty field, and she didn’t look back, not once.

  * * *

  At mid-morning break, Toby practically strong-armed her out to one of the Beech trainers for “a little chat.”

  “Sarah told me about the state she found you in last night,” she announced as they each claimed a seat in the cockpit. “Care to share the particulars?”

  “That would require breaking a direct order.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. Or the last.”

  CJ filled her in, ending with the scene she’d had with Brady that morning. “I don’t get it, Toby. One minute she’s telling me how she knows she can trust me, and the next she’s sure I’m lying to her. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I don’t think her doubts are personal. She was willing to cheat on her fiancé to be with you, wasn’t she? Think of it this way—if she was capable of it, why wouldn’t you be?”

  “Right, and it’s more about her than it is about me, and so on and so forth.” She waved a hand and smacked her elbow on the steel-armored wall beside the copilot’s seat. “Ouch! Damn it.”

  “It is more about her. When you get involved with someone, you don’t get to pick and choose the parts you like. Besides, you know she’s partly right.”

  “What? I would never cheat on her.”

  “I don’t mean about you.” Toby gazed at her meaningfully and grabbed the trainer’s controls, pretending to fly it.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Come on, you must have seen the way Nell looks at you. And let’s not forget—she did let you fly a plane. Clearly she can’t resist you.”

  “You’re hilarious. Oh, wait, no you aren’t.”

  “I’m serious! Remember how I said I was going to need a bat to keep the girls off you?”

  “You’re full of crap.” She tilted her head. “So are you saying I shouldn’t worry about Brady being jealous?”

  “That’s up to you. But be careful with Nell. I doubt she has Brady’s best interests at heart. Or yours, for that matter.”

  Break ended and they filed back to their respective assignments. Whimple had calmed her fears that morning and set her to work on sluggish ailerons on one of the Helldivers. Replacing the worn spars in both wings and recalibrating the chord balance tabs was more than a single day’s work, but she was grateful for a task that required so much of her attention. Busy work or even no work, which happened more often in Tow Target than it had in Ferry Command, would have left her too much time to dwell on friendly fire—both of the AA and girlfriend variety.

  As it was, the night flight kept returning to her at odd moments. The reflection of sunlight off a window reminded her of the searchlights that had pierced the sky before the flak began exploding around them, while the clatter of the hammer drill sounded like gunfire. How did her brother do this day in and day out? How could he walk and talk after an actual combat mission? And how did he write letters at all, let alone ones that maintained the illusion that he didn’t face the possibility of a terrifying death each and every time his crew went into action?

  She managed to fixate on her girlfriend only at lunch, despite the fact that Brady remained a no-show. CJ kept an eye out throughout the meal, wondering what she would say if she saw her. What did the morning’s argument, if it could be called that, mean? Were they speaking, or were they taking a break? By the time she got back to work, she had already decided to skip supper. Instead of riding back with the rest of the WAC crew, she stayed late at the hangar to work on the Helldiver and grabbed a quick supper at the club on her way back to the barracks. She didn’t see Brady, which was a relief, she told herself sternly as she lay in her cot that night trying not to notice the sizable hole in her heart.

  It had been easier the first time she’d resorted to avoiding Brady because they hadn’t admitted to being in love yet. But if they loved each other, why couldn’t they figure out how to be together?

  The next day, when Brady waved at her hopefully across the mess hall at supper, CJ waved back but didn’t make any move toward her. Brady had actually believed she was capable of cheating. Then again, she couldn’t pretend she didn’t find Nell attractive. Occasionally she remembered their hug—the scent of Nell’s hair, the feel of their bodies pressed together, however briefly—and she had to admit that Toby was right. Brady’s jealousy wasn’t entirely unfounded. At some point, CJ would have to stop being a coward and tell her as much.

  On Friday morning as she poured herself a cup of coffee, CJ felt someone pause beside the battered sideboard.

  “Hi,” Brady said softly.

  As she glanced up into familiar blue eyes, CJ resisted the temptation to hurl herself into Brady’s arms. “Hi.”

  “Do you think we could talk?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.” Silence wasn’t getting them anywhere. Besides, she missed Brady. “Do you want to have supper in town tonight?”

  Brady’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “That would be nice.”

  They settled on Tony’s Place. Brady would already be downtown covering a story for the Monitor, so they agreed to meet at the restaurant. Then they lingered at the sideboard, watching each other with sideways glances as they sti
rred powdered milk and granulated sugar into their mugs.

  Finally Brady said, “I’m glad we’re going to talk.”

  “Me too.” And she was, even though the conversation wouldn’t be easy.

  Brady squeezed her shoulder and headed back to her side of the mess while CJ returned to her own table. Now she just had to make it through the work day.

  The Flight C board was nearly empty, with only a handful of missions that would require preflight and postflight checks. Looked like another day of poker and tech orders, storytelling and kitten time. Great. Now she would have more time on her hands to worry about her date with Brady.

  “How about a game of basketball?” Reggie suggested.

  Someone had rigged up a half-court between the buildings with a hoop protruding from the outer wall of the hangar so low that CJ barely had to jump to tip the ball in.

  They divided up into teams—WASPs versus Wacs, naturally—and everything was going splendidly until Holly decided to outright tackle Reggie. The rest of the players summarily kicked the pair of troublemakers out of the game, after which they sat on an old saw horse poking and tickling each other while the match went on without them.

  CJ knew that she and Brady had been like them in the beginning. It had felt like having blinders on—whenever Brady was around, her vision had seemed to home in on her to the exclusion of all else. It wasn’t like that as much anymore. Brady was always with her now, in the back of her mind. Except when she flew—flying drove everything out of her mind, even Brady. This wasn’t a problem in and of itself. The problem was that she had been sharing the miracle of flight with a woman whom she found more than passably interesting.

  Maybe it was her imagination, but her current life almost seemed to resemble some darker version of The Philadelphia Story. Unlike the characters in the film, she was discovering that right and wrong, jealousy and fidelity weren’t quite as black and white as the screenwriter had made them out to be.

  * * *

  After lunch, she surveyed the quiet hangar. The basketball game had kept her busy in the morning, but now the rest of the day yawned ahead. Maybe this would be a good time to get a head start on clean-up day activities. Nothing like honest work to keep you honest, her mother always said.