by Linda Ellen
Vivian jerked to a halt, her friend having said the one thing that could sling mud onto her pristine memory. Yes…what if he realized what I was feeling and just played me for a fool? What if everything he said truly were just “lines”? What if he thought I’m a loose woman – gracious, I practically begged him to kiss me! What if he says those things to every girl he dances with? Swiftly going over every look, every nuance, every scrap of body language between them, Vivian shook her head, silently arguing, No, he couldn’t have been faking or lying. Those eyes…I could see the truth of his words in his eyes as he spoke them…but then again, I didn’t suspect Walter was lying to me either, before I stumbled upon the truth… She closed her eyes, remembering the day she had happened upon her ex-boyfriend in the arms of another girl – another girl who had sneered at her to “Get away from my boyfriend!” Oh Father in Heaven, please, please, please, let Gene be everything he seems to be!
When she started walking again, catching up to her friend, Vivian murmured, “Me, too, honey…me, too.”
Thirty-five miles south, in a mess hall at the base, Gene reached for a piece of chocolate cake and added it to his tray. Pushing it along until he had chosen all of the items he wanted, he picked it up and carried it to a nearby table with only a few corporals at one end. They greeted him and he returned the welcome before sitting down to eat his meal.
His mind was swirling with various things, not the least of which was a certain sweet-voiced young woman who danced like an angel and kissed like a…
Whoa there! Shaking his head, he made himself focus on his job – mainly some trouble with the engine of one of the big Diamond T cargo trucks. Two of his best mechanics couldn’t seem to figure out the problem. Could it be sabotage? Bad fuel? He sure didn’t need this today, when his mind couldn’t seem to stay on task.
He sat chewing his food as well as the problem until a few minutes later when Corporal Dan Brown approached the table.
“Hey Sarge, mind if I join you?”
“Help yourself,” Gene responded with a smile and gestured with one hand toward the seat directly across the table. He liked Cpl. Brown. The two of them had been friends a long time, since they had served in the C’s together. Brown was a few years younger, and had worked with Gene in two of the forest camps. Matter of fact, Gene had even saved his life during a dangerous, but quickly contained fire, and the younger man had vowed he owed him one. When war had been declared, both of them were called up and joined at the same time – and both had been sent to Knox.
“How goes it?” Gene asked as the other man settled in to eat.
“Can’t complain. Captain Moore’s all right. Strict, but a good egg, you know?”
Gene levered a large bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth and nodded. He knew the corporal had recently been assigned to their unit captain’s office, handling typing, filing, and other duties.
“Speaking of that…” Cpl. Brown continued. “Thought you’d like to hear something I found out today…”
Gene eyed him as he reached for his cup of coffee and took a sip. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
The corporal grinned at him and took a bite of his meatloaf, teasingly making him wait while he chewed and swallowed. Gene didn’t take the bait to get antsy, but merely took another leisurely bite of his meal. Finally, Cpl. Brown, surreptitiously looked around to make sure he wasn’t being overheard, then took a drink of his ice tea and leaned a bit closer over the table. “You’ve been nominated for promotion. Overheard a bit of a conversation. Capt. Moore is needing to fill a first sergeant slot. I heard him say there were things he was checking out before the panel convenes.”
Gene’s eyes widened a bit. This was excellent news. More pay. More recognition. More responsibility. On the heels of that thought was…would the higher rank impress Vivian? He refocused on the conversation when he realized the corporal was waiting for him to respond.
“Thanks for the heads up, Brown,” he grinned.
In spite of the fact that Gene outranked him, the corporal knew he wouldn’t make him adhere to protocol. He winked at his friend and said in a low voice, “No sweat, Banks. Us old C buddies gotta stick together.” Then he shoved a large bite of mashed potatoes in his mouth and wiggled his eyebrows.
Gene chuckled and shook his head.
The corporal swallowed and took another drink of his tea, obviously with more on his mind. “Hey Sarge, it true what the fella’s are saying?”
Gene met his eyes and shrugged. “What?”
“Scuttlebutt has it that you were caught alone with a girl in one of the reading rooms at the USO in town Saturday night, makin’ whoopee, no less.”
Gene felt his face and neck heat up and cursed the malady he’d suffered all his life – that of a man actually blushing.
The corporal saw the heightened color right away. “It’s true? Boy howdy!” He tipped back his head and laughed. “The fellow that told me said she was some dish, a real looker. You latched onto a real Able Grable, huh Sarge?”
Immediately, Gene’s temper flared. He leaned forward, his sky blue eyes darkening to the hue of sapphires as they pierced the other man with the intensity of an arc welder, and pointed an index finger into the corporal’s face.
“Don’t. Call. Her. That. She’s not that kind of girl. It was a kiss, that’s all. We weren’t making whoopee.”
The corporal’s eyes shot open and he leaned back a bit. “Whoa, ease up.” He looked around quickly to see if anyone noticed their conversation. “Don’t snap your cap, Sarge. I didn’t mean nothin’, just flappin’ my gums.”
Gene clamped his lips, breathed in deeply through his nose and ground his teeth together as he forced himself to relax a bit back onto his seat. Surprised at his own reaction, he averted his eyes from the startled look in Cpl. Brown’s.
A strong wave of guilt swept over Gene as he thought about what he had done from the perspective of what others would think. How could he have taken such a chance like that? Squire her to a room at the end of the hall – alone with him? To risk ruining Viv’s reputation – and on her first night as a hostess! His father had raised him better than that. Her father would probably want to take a baseball bat to him if he finds out…
The corporal slowly resumed eating, watching his higher-ranked friend as if he were a round of live ammo.
After a minute, Gene looked up and met the other man’s eyes. “Sorry, Dan. That was out of line. I had no call to bust your chops like that.”
Cpl. Brown responded with a nod. Resorting to their pre-military friendship, he couldn’t resist venturing, “I’ve never seen you carry a torch this bad before, Gene…even the times we double-dated while we were in the C’s. She must really be something…”
The smitten sergeant allowed a small smile as he looked away again, seeing Vivian in his mind as she gazed into his eyes and boldly declared she was wondering what it would be like to kiss him. And man, oh man, the result had about knocked his socks off.
“She’s something, all right. As special as they come.”
“She got a name?” the corporal grinned.
The prettiest name in the world…
“Matter of fact, she does, Corporal,” Gene grinned back. “Vivian.”
CHAPTER 6
The week had dragged by for Sgt. Banks. One crisis after another had cropped up, almost like something or someone was pulling out all the stops to cause him no shortage of aggravation.
First, the problem with the engine in the Diamond T turned out to be the diesel fuel injectors, and the fact that someone, somehow, had substituted used (albeit cleaned up and looking new) injectors for new ones. Used injectors that were clogged and unable to allow the diesel fuel to flow correctly. Out of desperation, and after his mechanics had put in two new sets from off the shelf, Gene had examined one and found it to be faulty. Now, the questions were – how, why, and who?
On the heels of that, two privates in his unit got into a fistfight over a girl and he had to physicall
y break them up – and got punched in the mouth for his efforts – and he then had to figure out a solution, since both men seemed to be constantly at each other’s throats. If that wasn’t enough, on Wednesday he had awakened with a massive toothache, as a result of the punch, which had necessitated an hour in the dentist’s chair; not his favorite place to be. Thursday brought a torrential rainstorm that washed out carefully constructed earthen mounds on the tank practice range and several of his tanks had suffered damage that his crew had to scramble to repair.
Friday, Pvt. Deal, a.k.a. Rooster, who had won the previous Saturday night’s bet by three dances, was accidentally pushed off a loading dock and broke his leg. It was a severe break – a compound fracture. Gene and another private in the unit had a hard time getting the injured man into a jeep and over to the post hospital. The poor guy had done his best not to scream out in pain.
On Saturday morning, Gene trotted up the steps of the hospital to check on him.
Peeking around the doorjamb of the ward, Gene saw the private laying in bed, his leg trussed up in some kind of contraption with wheels and pulleys, and a cast from foot to thigh. Gene could tell from one glance at his face that he was in quite a bit of pain.
Mustering his sympathy into morale-boosting encouragement, Gene stepped into the large room and walked to the bed, then stood waiting for Deal to acknowledge his visitor. After a moment, the private turned his head and saw him, and it was obvious that he was trying to hide the true degree of discomfort he was experiencing.
“Hey Sergeant Banks!” he greeted, making as if to push himself higher in the bed.
Gene came forward quickly, one hand lifted toward the stricken man. “Hang on there, Roo! You just lay still and rest. I just came by to see how you were doing.”
“Oh, I’m all right. The doc says it could have been worse,” he paused and waited for Gene to raise his brows in question. “I coulda’ broke both legs!” he joked with his trademark silly snicker.
Gene laughed along with him, shaking his head at the happy-go-lucky private.
“Hey, listen, Sarge, I want to thank you for helping me out, taking me to the hospital and all…”
With a shrug, Gene played down the thanks. “I didn’t do much, Deal. Mainly just drove the jeep.”
The private’s expression changed and he looked his commanding officer in the eye. “No…I appreciate that…that you cared, you know? The way you kept making sure…” he wavered, and both of them looked away in embarrassment. “Aw heck, you know what I mean,” he finally mumbled.
“Yeah…” Gene murmured, then shook his head at himself as he remembered the gift he had brought the private and had kept hidden behind his back – a copy of Silver Screen Magazine with Deal’s favorite actress, Rita Hayworth on the cover in a sexy pose, wearing a flowered bathing suit and sporting a large red flower in her hair. He handed it to the private.
“Wow, thanks!” the young man exclaimed, fixing his eyes on the delightful picture. “Don’t she just knock your socks off?” he sighed. Momentarily forgetting, he moved his leg and then let out a yelp.
Gene moved forward, instinctively reaching toward the leg as if to try and help, but stopped himself just before touching it. “Hey man, watch out now,” he cautioned as Deal settled back down in the bed.
“Yeah…how could I forget this big paperweight attached to me, huh? Looks like I won’t be winnin’ any more bets with my hoofin’.”
The sergeant met the other man’s eyes again, determined to connect and encourage. “Hey – stow that. That leg is gonna heal just fine…and you’ll be out on that dance floor again, hoofing it with the best of them, and winning other bets. You hear?” He paused, waiting for the younger man to acknowledge. “You just do everything the docs and the nurses tell you. You’ll see.”
“Yes, sir,” Pvt. Deal mumbled, although he visibly seemed to perk up a bit as Gene’s words sank in and gave him hope that he might just recover.
After a moment, Deal changed the subject.
“So…what do you think is going on with the truck parts?”
Gene balked for a second. He had thought that no one but his mechanics knew about it, but then realized that a thing like that can’t stay hidden under a bushel for long. He raised his shoulders in a shrug.
“I don’t know…but mark my words – I aim to find out.”
Vivian fussed with her hair, wrestling with a stubborn curl that wanted to do its own thing. “Agghh!” she growled, lowering her arms and staring at her reflection in the mirror over Mary June’s dresser as the girls finished getting ready for the dance.
“Aw, come here. Lemme see what I can do,” Mary June mumbled, turning her friend so that she could get at the offending curl. With a few squirts from a bottle, she brushed out the lock and then fixed it back with a hair comb. “There. Now, leave that in until we get to the dance, and then take it out. If you leave it in all evening, it’ll probably fly out when your soldier twirls you around,” she added with a giggle.
“If he’s there…” Vivian sighed. Her emotions had been to the moon and back, and all around the maypole all week. Of course he couldn’t call her on the telephone, as he didn’t have her, or rather her family’s number, and he didn’t know her father’s name, so he couldn’t ask the operator to find it. But…seven days is a long time to stew, dream, and wonder. Now, she was just a bundle of nerves.
“Of course he’ll be there…unless he couldn’t get leave…” Mary June commented, grinning at her friend when Vivian’s eyes rounded. “Oh! I didn’t even think of that!”
Mary June laughed and hugged her friend. “Don’t worry about it. Just go, dance, try to have a good time, and if he’s there, he’s there. Okay?”
“Easy for you to say,” Vivian mumbled, but flashed her friend a grateful smile and leaned in for a quick hug.
Spying the clock on the nightstand, she squealed, “Eeek! We’d better hurry!”
Now cheerful, the girls gathered their purses and sweaters for the chilly trip home on the bus later, and left the room. Mary June’s older brother sat lounging in a chair listening to a prize fight on the radio and glanced up when the girls came into the living room. He’d agreed to take them in his car.
“’Bout time. I got things to do and places to be. Let’s go,” he playfully griped as he stood and opened the door for them to precede him. Mary June gently elbowed him in the ribs as she passed. This was a game they played all the time – he griped about driving her somewhere, but in truth he was a very protective big brother and took his responsibility seriously. The three chuckled as they trooped out to the car.
The band began their third song, Glenn Miller’s String of Pearls, and Vivian brushed her hair back from her face with one hand, unconsciously fiddling with the tormenting rogue curl. Her partner from the last dance flashed her a grin of thanks and handed her off to a fellow in sailor whites with the flap collar uniform.
They started moving to the mellow music, the sailor a homely fellow, but a passable dancer. Vivian tried her best to concentrate on him, but at every opportunity, when facing in the direction of the doorway, she searched the newly arriving soldiers for one particular face and hat. She fought the disappointment each time she didn’t see him.
“You lookin’ for somebody special?” the sailor asked when the song was nearly over. The sad, almost rejected look in his eyes made Vivian cringe with guilt.
“Oh, no…I was just looking to see how many soldiers would show up tonight,” she crossed her fingers at his shoulder and silently asked for forgiveness for the lie, then she managed a smile at his reassured look.
“It sure gets packed in here. I was here last Saturday night, but I didn’t manage one dance.”
“Oh?” she asked distractedly.
“Yeah…you’re a good dancer, Miss. I know I don’t do so good…and I ain’t much to look at. I thank you for sayin’ yes.”
Vivian forced herself to meet his eyes and saw the sweet vulnerability in his face. Her
heart went out to him and she smiled encouragingly. “You’re welcome, sailor. That’s what I’m here for. And your dancing is fine. There are just so many of you all, compared with how many girls there are…I’m afraid not everyone gets the chance to dance. You shouldn’t take that personally,” she added sweetly. He perked up and sent her a big grin.
“Thanks, Miss.”
They made polite conversation for the rest of the dance. He told her a bit about where he was from and what his job was in the Navy. She mentioned she worked in a bank.
The song ended with Vivian facing away from the door to the hall. As the sailor gushed another thank you and the next song began, a familiar voice just behind her ear softly inquired, “May I have this dance?”
Electricity zipped down her arms and legs and her breath caught in her throat as she turned and looked up into what was already her favorite pair of blue eyes in the whole world – those in the dear face of her blue-eyed sergeant.
“You most certainly may,” she returned.
Gene’s grin flashed in the bright lights of the ballroom as he took her in his arms, undoubtedly pleased that the song – Artie Shaw’s version of Cole Porter’s Begin the Beguine – wasn’t a particularly fast dance, and he could hold her instead of swinging her around.
After a moment of basking in the pure joy of being with Gene again, and with her temple nestled against his smooth jaw, Vivian ventured, “I wasn’t sure you would come tonight.”
He leaned back enough to look into her eyes; the familiar tingles fizzing through each of their bodies.
“Wild horses weren’t going to keep me away…although a flat tire on the bus tried its best,” he smirked.
“Flat tire!”
“Yep. You never saw a flat get changed faster let me tell you. We were all falling over each other trying to help the driver,” he laughed. “Probably looked like a bunch of Keystone Cops.”
Vivian laughed as they came close again, the nervousness, dread, and doubts melting away as they moved in total synch to the music. It was effortless, like they were made for each other…