Marjorie laughed. "No, you weren't," she said. "You were wondering how to get out of taking me. Now you can. Charley will take me, and you can bring Liz." He looked at her and smiled. "OK," he said. "If you'd really rather go with that Arkansas clodkicker than me, what can I say?"
"And speaking of the Norwich Dinner, Johnny," Mrs. Bellmon said. "What's the uniform?" The Fort Rucker Chapter of- The Association of Graduates of Norwich University had as a matter of courtesy sent a pro forma invitation to the Commanding General of the Army Aviation School and Fort Rucker and his lady.
"You're going?" Oliver asked, surprised.
"I like to keep an eye on the untermenschen at play," General Bellmon said
"whenever I can."
"Bob!" Barbara Bellmon said warningly. "It wasn't on the invitation," she added.
"I'm riot at all surprised," Bellmon said, undaunted.
"Norwich types think that full dress means tying their shoe laces."
"Daddy!" Marjorie protested loyally, but she had to giggle.
"Mrs. Bellmon," 'Oliver said
"if dress was not specified on the invitation it's because we believed that most addressees, being Norwich men, would understand without having it written down for them, that the proper attire for a dinner at that hour would be dress blues, or mess dress." Dress blues is the Army Blue uniform, worn for formal occasions, with a white shirt and a black bow tie. Mess dress is far more elaborate. The short jacket, worn over a "white tie-and-tails" shirt and cummerbund, is heavily decorated with gold. Rank insignia is worn on the lower sleeve, in the center of gold loops (the higher the rank, the more loops).
The lapels are faced with the color of the branch of service.
The uniform includes a cape, similarly lined.
"Good for you, Johnny! Let him have it," Barbara Bellmon said. "What are you going to wear?"
"I've been thinking about going whole hog," Oliver said.
"Mess dress."
"Has Charley got mess dress?" Marjorie asked.
"Uh huh," Oliver said. "We got it together" as a matter of fact. We took our Rand R in Hong Kong. We bought ours from a tailor in Kowloon.
Barbara Bellmon started to giggle.
"What's funny, Mother?" Marjorie asked.
"1 was thinking about Craig Lowell and his mess dress," she said.
"Jesus!" General Bellmon said, and snorted a chuckle.
"What happened was. . this was at Fort Knox, in what, Bob? Forty-six?"
"Forty-seven."
"Bob was a lieutenant colonel," Barbara Bellmon went on
"and Craig-this was before we really knew him-was a second lieutenant. No one, no one, except a very few senior officers, colonels and generals, had dress uniforms. But they were trying to get back to pre-war standards so the brass started putting formal dress encouraged on invitations. And the General and a few other people started getting dressed up, to set an example. Well, for the post commander's annual reception, they did this. Well, when Lowell got his invitation, he did what any second lieutenant with X many million dollars would do: he got on the telephone and called Brooks Brothers and told them to send him whatever it was he was being encouraged to wear."
"And he'd just been given the golden saucer," Bellmon said. "You know about that, Johnny?"
"No, Sir."
"He'd been with the Military Advisory Group to Greece, and performed really well, and the King of Greece gave him the Order of St. George and St. Andrew, the highest award given to non-Greeks. It's a gold thing, about the size of a saucer, worn hung from a purple sash around the neck. It's spectacular."
"So there is the reception line, at the main club," Barbara picked up the story
"with the General, maybe the Deputy Commandant, and three, four colonels, standing in it, all dressed up in dress blues, and everybody else in pinks and greens. And in walks this second lieutenant in dress mess, complete to cape, looking like Errol Flynn playing George Armstrong Custer in a movie. ."
"With this enormous gold medal," Bellmon said, laughing and demonstrating
"which no one had ever seen before, banging down over his chest from a purple sash."
"Poor Uncle Craig," Marjorie said.
"The General promptly decided he was being mocked," Barbara said.
"And 1 still think maybe he was," Bellmon said.
"He was not," Barbara said. "Craig was innocent!"
"Whatever Craig Lowell is, he has never been innocent."
"Now I'm not so sure dress mess is such a hot idea," Oliver said.
"Don't be silly," Barbara Bellmon said. "You wear it. Bob will wear his." Oliver glanced at his watch and stood up. "I've got to be going."
"You're pretty close to Lieutenant Stevens, aren't you, Johnny?" General Bellmon asked. "He's a classmate, you said?"
"Yes, Sir, and we were together in 'Nam."
"What's his background?" Bellmon asked.
"Daddy! My God!" Marjorie protested.
"It's a perfectly reasonable question."
"If you're filling out a stud book, it might be," Marjorie snapped. "All I'm going to do with Charley Stevens is go to the Norwich Dinner with him."
"Why don't you leave, Johnny?" Barbara Bellmon said.
"Before Marjorie belts him with a frying pan? Or I do?"
"His father has a Buick dealership, Sir," Oliver said.
"They're very nice people."
"That's right, stick together," Marjorie said, and stuck her tongue out at him.
[TWO]
123 Brookwood Lane
Ozark, Alabama
1705 Hours 19 January 1964
Liza's car was in the driveway, and there were lights on in the house, but there was no response to his knock at the kitchen door. He shrugged and tried the door.
"Anybody home?"
"I'm giving Allan a bath," Liza called. "Be out in a minute. Fix yourself a drink or something." He went inside and walked to her bathroom.
"'Johnny, Mama! Johnny, Mama!" Allan announced happily if quite unnecessarily.
Allan was having a fine time with his bath, Oliver saw. He had-discovered the joys of splashing water. Liza was soaked to the waist.
"You don't seem to be very good at that," Johnny said.
"Go to hell!" Liza said.
"Go to hell, Go to hell, Go to hell," Allan said.
"Shame on you, teaching that innocent child language like that," Johnny said" and ducked back out of the bathroom just in time to miss the bathwater Liza tossed at him from a plastic cup.
He went back to the carport, put the roof down on the convertible, removed a large box from the rear seat, and then put the roof up again.
By the time Allan came running into the living room, the contents of the box, a red pedal car, with real headlights and horn, was sitting in the middle of the carpet.
Allan stopped in midstride and looked at the car, his eyes wide.
"Don't run over any old ladies, sport," Johnny said.
He walked to the boy, picked him up, and set him inside the car. He took his hand and put it on the horn button, which Allan then proceeded to sound enthusiastically. It made a piercing, blatting noise, and Johnny winced even before Liza's voice came from her bedroom:
"What the hell?" She had apparently been in the process of changing out of her wet clothing, for she came into the room wearing only her underpants, her arms crossed modestly over her breasts.
"Oh, my God!" she said. "Johnny, you're crazy! He's much too little for that!"
"He'll grow into it."
"Can you shut that horn off?"
"Probably."
"Then do it!" She walked back into her bedroom. Johnny watched appreciatively until she was out of sight, then went to the pedal car and disconnected the horn wire.
"Broke, Johnny!" Allan said, hammering on the horn button.
"Looks that way, pal." He got down on his knees and pushed the car, trying without much success at all to teach the boy how to steer. There was no way the boy could
reach the pedals.
Liza came out shortly afterward, in a sweater and slacks.
"Who'd you buy that for, you or him?" she asked.
"The both of us." He stood up and looked at her.
"You're crazy," she said.
"I know," he said. "It's more fun that way." Allan got out of the car, went behind it, and pushed. It ran into the coffee table.
"I don't suppose it occurred to you that would happen?" she said.
"Every young man should have a convertible," Oliver said.
He put his hand out and touched her shoulder. He wanted very much to kiss her, but had learned she didn't like to be kissed, or, for that matter touched, when Allan was in the room.
"Well, it was sweet of you," Liza said. "Thank you." She touched his hand and then moved away from him.
"Hey, we're fixed for the Norwich Dinner," he said.
"What does that mean?"
"Charley Stevens is going to take Marjorie."
"I'm sorry, Johnny, if you're suggesting that now I can go with you."
"Why not?"
"I just don't want to go, that's all. Leave it at that."
"I don't want to leave it at that."
"Is that so?"
"I had this really wild idea," he said. "You want to hear it?"
"I think I'm going to whether I want to or not," Liza said, and walked into the kitchen. He followed her, and saw that she was taking things out so that she could feed Allan his supper. Afterward, a kid down the block was going to come in and baby-sit, and they were going out for supper and a movie.
He walked behind her, put his hands on her arms, and kissed her neck.
"Ummmm," she said, pressing back against him for a minute. "Nice."
"My wild idea is that before the dinner, we get you a ring."
"What kind of a ring?" she asked flatly, as she freed herself of his touch.
He chuckled." Whatever you would like, he says, praying his beloved hates ostentation."
"I was afraid this was going to happen. I didn't think so quickly."
"Afraid it would happen?" Oliver asked, surprised.
She spun around and looked at him.
"I never proposed before," he said. "I guess I don't know how to do it."
"Johnny," she said. "You're a nice guy. . Oh, Christ, you're more than that. But I'm not going to marry you. Not, as long as you're wearing a uniform."
"Why?'
"You have to ask? I went down that path once. I'm not going to go down it again."
"That's it? Period? Nothing would change your mind?"
"You told me your wild idea. You want to hear mine?"
"Yes, I do."
"Get out of the Army. Come to work for me."
"Work for you?" he asked incredulously.
"With me . . or find something else to do. But get out of the Army."
"This is what I do."
"Then the subject would seem to be closed, wouldn't it?"
"It does sound that way, doesn't it? I mean, why should we even think about something absolutely extraneous, like I love you?"
"Stop it."
"Goddammit, don't tell me you don't feel something for me!"
"I didn't say that," she said. "My God!"
"Then I don't understand."
"I've already lost one husband. I don't want to lose another. Is that so hard to understand?"
"When your number is up, it's up. When it's not, it's not."
"Except that the numbers of people in the Army seem to come up pretty often. Such as Allan's. . and Jack Dant's. . Johnny, don't fight with me. I'm not being coy.
I've thought this over pretty carefully. I can't take it. And, a couple of years from now, or next week, for that matter, I don't want to have to tell Allan that John is not coming home anymore, he's dead." There was the sound of breaking glass in the living room.
She rushed in. Allan had pushed the red pedal car into an end table and knocked a lamp and a vase to the floor.
"Get that damned car out of here!" Liza flared.
She scooped Allan up and he started to howl.
"Where should I put it?"
"I don't give a damn. In with the washing machine. Just get it out of here."
He picked up the car and carried it to the utility room.
When he started to go back in the kitchen, she stood in the door, blocking his way. He could hear Allan crying, in fury, inside.
"He's pitching a fit, thanks to you," she said.
"Sorry."
"That was a bitchy thing to say," she said. "I'm sorry."
"It's OK."
"Johnny, go home. I don't want to be with you right 'now" . He met her eyes for a moment, then turned and walked out the door.
"Johnny," she called as he got behind the wheel of his car. He looked at her.
"You asked if I didn't feel anything for you."
"Yes, I did."
"You really had to ask? Think about what I said." He looked at her a moment, started the engine, and backed down the driveway.
[THREE]
Building T-124
Fort Rucker, Alabama
2035 Hours 19 January 1964
When the telephone listed in the book for Oliver, J S Capt rang, Oliver was absolutely sure it would be Liza. He had been on the verge of calling her, although he didn't know what he would say if he did. But she would call and say she was sorry, and he would go back over there, and at least they could talk about it.
"Captain Oliver," he said to the telephone.
"Capitaine John Ol-iv-aire?" a male voice in a thick French accent demanded.
"This is Captain John Oliver."
"You 'ave a pink Pontiac auto-mobile? A con-vair-tible?"
"I have a Pontiac convertible. Who is this, please?"
"My name is Antoine," his caller said. "Henri-Philippe Antoine."
"How may I help you, Mr. Antoine?"
The Aviators Page 29