Richard Marsten - Murder in the navy

“Blow it out your ass,” he replied, and then he rolled over and pulled the blanket to his neck.

She had avoided his room because she was unsure of her own feelings, and she wanted time to think. There was something very charming about him, something very young and appealing, even though she knew he was undoubtedly older than she was. But there was this — this almost pristine frankness of youth about him, and she enjoyed his frankness, and she also enjoyed his... well, yes, his adoration.

He was very different from Chuck, different in a sure, brash way, but at the same time the brashness wasn’t annoying. Somehow, it wasn’t annoying because she felt he wasn’t being fresh just for the sake of being a wise guy; he was being fresh because he spoke his mind, and you could hardly classify that as freshness at all.

He was, too, a little frightening. Oh, not really frightening, but very masculine, she supposed that’s what it was, yes, masculine. You could almost smell maleness on him, you could see it in his eyes, see it in the almost cruel — and yet boyish — curve of his mouth. And this maleness frightened her, but it also aroused her until she had difficulty remembering that Chuck was also a male, and that Chuck had also aroused her. Why the devil didn’t he call or write or something?

This is all happening to me too late, that’s the trouble, she thought. I’m a novice at the game, and all because I began playing it when most other girls were already expert at it

And there was, of course, the bar to think of. Not that the title of ensign itself meant anything. No, that didn’t really matter a damn, did it? It was what the bar stood for, the idea of nursing, the ideal of nursing, and she didn’t want all that to get washed out to sea simply because an enlisted man was giving her a rush. And yet... they could wear civvies, and who would know? And what harm was there, actually, in seeing a movie together, or having dinner together, both in civvies? How could anyone possibly know, and what harm was there? No harm, really, unless you were caught.

But how could you get caught?

Oh, lots of ways. They could run into an officer she knew, perhaps, an officer who knew her escort, too, and who knew he was an enlisted man. But the chances of that were remote, especially if they went to a movie, say, outside of Norfolk. They could even get up to Richmond and back, for a movie, or dinner, or whatever, and really there’d be no trouble at all, not if they were careful, and they’d certainly have to be careful.

You simply had to figure whether or not it was worth it. If Chuck would only write or let me know he’s still alive... Well, he probably doesn’t care one way or the other. The good Lieutenant’s simply having himself a gay old time, and yet he seemed sincere, and oh, Chuck, why don’t you hurry up back, can’t you see I’m trying to decide something, and how can I really decide when you’re somewhere in New Jersey, and he’s here, right here, with those eyes of his and that cruel mouth, and those strong hands? Chuck, Chuck, can’t you call? Don’t you want to call me?

She stayed away from Room 107 because she didn’t want the decision forced upon her. And so she was surprised, and so she felt trapped, when she ran into him in the hospital corridor one night, wearing the faded robe and slippers of the ambulatory patient. She ran into him rounding a corner and he caught her in his arms, and then backed her around the corner again, into a little dead-end passageway at the end of which was a gear locker and nothing else.

“Where’ve you been?” he whispered.

“Around the hospital. My... my hours have changed.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jean. If you don’t want to have anything to do with me, say so. But please don’t lie to me.”

“I’m sorry. I was trying to make up my mind. That’s why I–I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Have you made it up yet?”

“No.”

“When, Jean? I’ll be out of here in a few days. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know.”

“Honey...”

“Please, don’t rush me. Let me think. Can’t you see that I...”

His hands were on her shoulders now, biting into the fabric of her uniform.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Jean, Jean...”

He pulled her close, and she tilted her face involuntarily, and his lips came down on hers, strangely tender for such a cruel mouth. He was gentle and she was swallowed up in the tenderness of his kiss. She moved closer to him, and his arms tightened around her, and she returned the kiss, enjoying the tight circle of his arms, enjoying the strange gentleness of his mouth. She broke the kiss then, and his lips trailed over her jaw. She buried her head in his shoulder, still clinging to him, feeling a little weak now, a little dizzy from his kiss, and the tightness of his arms, the closeness of his body.

“You will, Jean?”

“Yes,” she said. “I will.”

“You want to?”

“I want to.” She was still weak. She clung to him desperately, urging her senses to return.

“Friday,” he said. “I’ll be out by then. Well go to a movie in Newport News. All right?”

“Yes.” She pulled away from him. “You must let me go now. Someone might come.”

“Eight o’clock, Jean,” he said. “In civvies. You know the movie house there, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Eight o’clock Friday night. Jean, I—”

“Don’t. Don’t say it.”

“All right. Later.”

“Yes, later. Now please go.”

He kissed her again, briefly, and then he whirled and went off down the corridor. She watched him until he was out of sight, and then she leaned against the wall limply and thought, Friday night, Friday night.

On Thursday afternoon they sat together in the sixth-floor solarium. The glass was in place now, against the onslaught of winter, glass that stretched from floor to ceiling, substituting for the screens that were up in summer. They sat together, the three men, and they looked through the glass and out over the base.

Guibert was the first to rise.

“I’m going down to take a nap. O.K., Greg?”

Greg nodded, saying nothing.

“One thing about a rare disease,” Guibert said, “everybody treats you like a walking test tube. Hell, the whole future of mankind may depend on what they find out about me.”

“You’re priceless,” Greg said. “Go on downstairs and ask one of the nurses to lock you up in the vault. We wouldn’t want to lose you.”

“Greg’s a card, all right,” Guibert said. “Well, I’m going down.” He paused. “Tennis, anyone?”

No one answered. Guibert shrugged and walked away.

He watched Guibert walk past Greg and then out into the corridor. In a little while, he heard the whine of the elevator, and then the doors rasping open and slamming shut, and then the whine again. He turned to Greg.

“You must be happy,” he said.

“Yeah? Why?” Greg answered.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“We’re gonna miss you, pal. It ain’t often we get a professional goof-off like you around here.”

He smiled. He could afford the luxury of a smile now. Now even Greg couldn’t get under his skin. Everything was all set with Jean now. Tomorrow night, after that — hell, it would be simple.

“What’re you grinning about?” Greg asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

“I didn’t think you’d be so happy about leaving. I notice you been real palsy-walsy with Miss Dvorak,” Greg paused. “You ain’t stepped out of line with her, have you?”

“Me?” he asked, feigning incredulity. “Hell, Greg, I know my place. Miss Dvorak’s an officer.”

“So was Claire Cole,” Greg snapped.

“Well, I didn’t know Claire Cole. But even if I did, I’d have respected those j.g. stripes.”