She pushed herself away from the kitchen counter and walked to the butcher block.
"Gin," she said, as she picked up the bottle. "It's been a long time since I had a martini. Thank you.âť
âśI didn't know what you wanted."
Jesus Christ, she smells good. That's either a very expensive perfume, or I am in the terminal stages of lackanookie.
"Would you mind if we ate soon, right away? I didn't have any lunch.âť
âśNeither did I," he said.
"You know how to light charcoal?" she asked.
"Yes, but my culinary skills end there." Liza laughed. "No problem. I'm the complete housewife.
You start the fire-the grill is in the fireplace in the living room-and I'll make us a drink. Would you like a martini?
Is that what you drink?âť
âśMartinis and me don't agree. They make me think I'm irresistible. âś
âśThey won't make me think that," Liza said. "One won't hurt you. I hate to get all the paraphernalia out to make just one martini, and one is all I'm going to have."
"OK. Why not?âť
âśTake off your blouse and I'll get you an apron," she said.
"That's a new uniform, isn't it?âť
âśThank you," he said. "Just about." He unbuttoned the blouse. âś
âśCaptain," she said. "When did that happen?âť
âśWhen I came home from 'Nam," he said, handing the blouse to her.
"You must have made it on the five-percent list," she said as she walked out of the room carrying the blouse. When she didn't return immediately, he twisted the top loose on the gin bottle and started opening drawers looking for an opener for the vermouth.
She returned with a glass martini pitcher, two glasses, and an apron with HEAD COOK printed on it.
"Allan's," she said as she handed it to him.
He nodded.
"The charcoal and a can of lighter fluid are in the utility room," she said, pointing.
He got the fire going, then returned to the kitchen. There was a large pot on the stove now, and Liza was peeling potatoes. When she saw him, she put the knife down.
"You're not the barbeque type," she said. "You look distinctly out of place and uncomfortable in that apron."
"I'm your standard bachelor type.âť
âśYes," she said. "I often wondered about that.âť
âśWhat about that?" Instead of answering him, she wiped her hands. on a towel and then went to the martini pitcher, which was filled with ice. She spilled the ice into the sink, then added fresh ice from the refrigerator. "Allan always said that the key to a good martini was making sure that the pitcher was ice cold before you added the ice and the gin.âť
âśOh."
She carefully poured gin into a measuring cup, then poured that into the pitcher, added a few drops of vermouth, and began to stir it vigorously.
"Does it make you uncomfortable when I keep talking about Allan?" she asked.
"I don't see how it can be avoided." She stopped stirring the mixture, went to the refrigerator, and took martini glasses from the freezer section. She poured the martinis with all the care of a chemist, then handed one of the glasses to Oliver.
"I won't mention Allan again," she said, "nor what happened down the street."
"It's all right, Elizabeth," he said, then corrected himself, "Liza."
"Mud in your eye, Captain Oliver," she said. "That gives us something to talk about. Did you make it on the five percent list?âť
âś He nodded, then sipped the martini. It was good, but he resolved to have no more than the one in his hand.
"And how did you get to be toe General's dog-robber?" Liza asked. "Or is that rude, the dog-robber business?âť
âśI would rob somebody else's dog for him. He's quite a guy. But not my own dog." She laughed, making him aware of her perfect teeth and the contrast of her lipstick against her skin.
"How'd you get the job?âť
âśI was sent over to see him. I didn't even know I was being considered. As a matter of fact, I thought I was in trouble.
I'd been making a pain in the ass of myself; they wanted to make me a Chinook IP. âś
âśSomething wrong with that? Talking to Jack Dant gave me the idea that flying a Chinook was good duty. âś
âśI had a company for a while, a little while, in 'Nam. And I wanted-still want-another one. And I didn't want to spend two years teaching people how to fly. That gets dull in a hurry, and it's a dead end. You do a good job and you wind up a career IP. Not for me.âś
âśSo how did you get to be Bellmon's aide?âť
âśThe Department Commander sent me over. Now that I've had a chance to think about it, I think he was sympathetic.
He couldn't let me go-I had all the brownie points to be an IP: total time, 'Nam time, that sort of thing, but if I was picked as the aide, that would get me out of it. He didn't tell me that, and when I walked in Bellmon's office, I thought I was going to get one of those words to the wise: 'For your own good, Captain, shut up and do what you're told.' I didn't know he needed an aide until he asked me why I wanted the job. At first Hold him I didn't, but then I changed my mind.âť
âśSorry?âť
âśNo. He's a nice guy. I like his family.âť
âśEspecially Marjorie?âť
âśYou know her?âť
âśShe's a friend of Geoff's wife. I've met her. Nice girlâť
âśHer, too," Oliver said. "I even like Cadet Captain Bobby, of the Long Gray Line.âť
âśMarrying the General's daughter is supposed to be a passport to good assignments," Liza said. "Maybe you ought to go for her, Johnny.âť
âś That's a hell of an odd thing for her to say.
"That's just not in the cards. We're pals. She looks at me as sort of a brother.âť
âśHuh;" Liza grunted. "So there's nobody special, Johnny? âś What the hell is she doing? Looking for a husband?
"No," he said.
She looked at him and saw what he was thinking.âť
âśI know what you're thinking," she said. "You're wrong.
I'm not looking for- a husband: Generally , I'm doing very well, thank you, in the real estate business. And specifically, I'm not about to marry another soldier. Once down that path is more than enough. You can relax. âś
âśHow did you know what I was thinking?" She didn't respond directly to his question.
"What that was, was simple female curiosity. I used to wonder why you never had a girl. âś
âśMiss Right just hasn't come along," he said, lightly sarcastic. "I'm still looking for the Aviator's Dream Girl." She laughed. "The rich nymphomaniac who owns a liquor store?âť
âśWhy not?âť
âśAllan used to say you were really afraid of women. That someone had hurt you and you weren't going to let that happen again. âś
âśYou two talked about me?" he asked, surprised and annoyed.
"You really don't know, do you?" she said. "We used to find nice girls for you. You would take them out, they could confess to me they" really liked you, and then you would never call them again. No more than twice, anyway. What was that all about? Was Allan right about you? Are you afraid of women? Did somebody really disappoint you?âť
âśI don't know what you're talking about," he said, angry 'and uncomfortable.
She looked at her glass. âśI better not have any more of these. I'm feeling this one already.âť
âśThere's more in the pitcher." She looked.
"So there is," she said. "You want to live dangerously?
And kill it? Then I'll put the pitcher away 'and remove the temptation."
"Why not?" Oliver said and drained his glass.
"You're not supposed to do that," Liza said with a chuckle.
"You're supposed to sip them.âť
âśI'll sip the seconds.âť
âśOh, what the hell," Liza said, and drained hers. Then she refilled his glass, emptying the pitcher. There was considera
bly less martini in the pitcher than had appeared. His glass was only slightly over half full.
And he poured half of that into her glass.
She looked at it.
"I don't think chugalugging the first was such a good idea," she said. "I feel flushed.âť
âśThen throw the rest away. I don't want any more." He went to the sink and emptied the glass. She handed him her glass. Their fingers touched. He started to empty her glass in the sink and saw it had been emptied. âś
âśNow what?" she asked.
"Why don't we open the wine? And keep the booze for another time?âť
âśAll right," she said. "Good idea." She went to the wine, picked it up, and said, gaily, "Just think, four years ago some barefoot peasant in France squashed these grapes just for us.âť
The gaiety is forced. What the hell did I do wrong now?
She' handed him the bottle, then found and handed him a corkscrew. While he was opening the wine, she went and found glasses.
"They're dusty," she said. "They haven't been used since. . . in a long time."
She held the glasses out to him, and he poured wine.
"Mud in your eye, Liz," Oliver said, raising his glass to her.
"Nastrovya," she replied and touched glasses and smiled at him and took a sip.
"Nice," he said, about the wine.
"Yes, it's very nice. I better finish peeling the potatoes.
We're having french fries and a salad. Will that be enough?âť
âśPlenty. âś
âśThere's peas and lima beans in the freezer. They wouldn't take long.âť
âśSteak and fries and salad will be enough.âť
âśHow long will the steaks take?âť
âśI have no idea," Oliver said,' "but I suspect that first you have to wait until the black lumps in the grill turn gray." She looked at him, not understanding. Then she did.
"Charcoal." She laughed, met his eyes for a moment, then looked away. "I forgot. You're not the domestic type, are you? "
"No, Ma'am, I'm not. âś
âśWell, go see if the little black lumps are turning gray," she said. "That will give us a starting point, anyway.âť
âśSure." He went back to the charcoal grill and looked at the coals.
They seemed to be starting to acquire a layer of ash.
what I need is something to stir them, to push them around.
He went to the kitchen door to ask Liza for a tool of some sort. She was standing by the sink, her head tilted back, taking a pull from the neck of the gin bottle. He was so surprised that he didn't move until she set the bottle down and started to look guiltily over her shoulder.
He walked quickly back to the charcoal grill, sensing that she had seen him. Confirmation of that came immediately.
"You weren't supposed to see me do that" damn you, Johnny," she called to him. He was very uncomfortable. He swore softly, then marched to the kitchen door and back inside. She was facing the sink again.
âśYou say something?" There was no reply. And then he saw her back shaking, and knew she was crying. He walked close to the sink.
"Liza?" he asked softly. "Have I said something I shouldn't have?"
She shook herself from side to side, no.
"What's the matter?" he "asked.
"Oh, Jesus!" she sobbed.
He touched her shoulder.
"Hey, whatever it is, it'll be all right. I'll fix it." Now she snorted, and laughed.
"That's what I'm afraid of," she said, and turned around and looked into his eyes.
That's why there was no booze in the house! Why she wanted martinis. She's been hitting the bottle!
"You been drinking a little too much?" he asked gently.
"Oh, God," she said in exasperation, then chuckled a little bitterly. "That's not what's wrong with me.âť
âśThen what is?" Her hand came up and touched his cheek.
"I think you're going to be the thing that's wrong with me. Damn, I knew I shouldn't have called you!"
The hand on his cheek went around to the back of his neck' and pulled his face to her.
And then they were kissing. Very chastely, but the warmth of her lips seemed to have an astonishing effect on him. He felt his heart thumping. "Now do you know what's wrong with me?" Liza asked.
"And you thought I was a lush!" He bent his head to hers, and this time the kiss was not chaste. Her body pressed against his. There was no question what was going on.
Finally they broke apart.
She looked into his eyes. Her face was flushed, and her hair, for the first time, was out of place.
"Don't say anything," Liza said. "Just lock the door. I don't think my mother-in-law will come over here, but there's no sense taking any chancesâťWhen he had locked the kitchen door, she took his hand and led him through the house into the bedroom.
IX
[ONE]
123 Brookwood Lane Ozark, Alabama
1725 Hours 12 January 1964
"I'd love to know what you're thinking right now," Elizabeth Wood said to Johnny Oliver, "except maybe I really don't want to know." He was lying on his back, and he'd been staring at the ceiling. He turned his head to look at her. She had pulled a sheet modestly over her; and she too was staring at the ceiling.
What I'm thinking, God forgive me, is that on a scale of one to ten, that piece of ass was a low four, maybe even a three. Her fault or mine? A little guilt trip, maybe? "Allan, ol' buddy, you didn't come back, so I'm jumping your wife"?
But ,not to worry: she didn't like it much. Except toward the end, she lay there like a piece of cold liver. Without any life at all in her eyes. They were blank; she didn't see me.
"I feel very lucky," he said.
"You scored, you mean?" she said quickly.
"Hey, that's not what I meant." He rolled over on his side and supported himself on his elbow.
It probably is my fault. Christ, she's absolutely gorgeous!
The Aviators Page 20