H. Hawkes - For couples only

"I shouldn't be here. Boyd wouldn't like it."

"You can have a soda if you'd rather, but I can't face the commissary without a good belt," Lucia chuckled. "Come on, now. Quit your worrying and let's sit down. All the girls stop here before fighting the mob."

Though Faith did notice several tables with two or three women smoking and talking as they sipped at drinks, it looked as if Lucia somewhat exaggerated the point by saying that all did. Feeling slightly wicked, and as conspicuous as a sore thumb, she followed Lucia to a corner table and took a seat that permitted her a view of the room.

The waiter came over and Lucia ordered a margarita. "What do you want, honey?"

"The same as you," Faith told her, surprised at her own words. She didn't even know what a margarita was. Her answer just popped out as if her tongue couldn't bother to wait until her mind decided.

The drink was good. A little salty but very tasty. Halfway down the glass Faith watched Lucia fire up a smoke. She noticed a man sitting at the bar, watching them. It made Faith uneasy. He was a Negro. She mentioned it to Lucia and pointed him out.

To Faith's utter amazement Lucia smiled broadly and waved at the man, then motioned for him to join their table. "Thanks for telling me, honey. That's Buck. He's a pilot in Dirk's squadron."

The Negro officer brought his drink and came to the table. He was so tall that Faith had to lean back her head to see his face as Lucia introduced them. God, he's handsome, she thought, nigger or not. He wore a thin, well-trimmed mustache and had the fullest, softest-looking lips she'd ever seen. She watched the lips pull into a smile, baring the whitest of white teeth.

"Hi," he said, extending his hand toward Faith.

No "Please to meet you, Mrs. Dunston," or anything like that, just a grinning "Hi." Without realizing what she was doing, Faith grinned back and said, "Hi," putting her small white hand out and watching it disappear as brown skin engulfed and pumped it a couple of times. Then he was saying, "Glad to know you," and Faith had her hand back again. She watched in fascination as the brown face leaned over Lucia and kissed her a friendly peck on the mouth. There was a tingling in her lips to match the one in her hand as Faith watched the man sit down directly across the table from her.

"What the hell are you doing here, Buck?" asked Lucia. "Aren't you supposed to be flying the mission with the rest of the boys?"

It was as if Lucia'd slapped him in the face. His brilliant smile vanished instantly. A beaten, hangdog expression replaced it. "Didn't Dirk tell you?"

Sensing that something was drastically wrong, Lucia put her hand soothingly on top of his. "Tell me what, baby? Is anything wrong?"

"I've been permanently grounded," he said dumbly, as if he still could not believe it himself.

"Oh no!" Lucia wailed. "That's terrible!"

"For me it is. A desk jockey at thirty-two. Shit! There ain't no justice," he snapped. Then he looked at Faith apologetically. "Pardon my French, please."

"It's all right, baby," Lucia soothed. "It's all right. Say it again if you want to. I know how you loved flying."

He nodded.

"Can't you appeal it? I mean, are you sure it's permanent?"

He shook his head. "Flight surgeon's orders," he explained. "Reflexes aren't fast enough any more."

Lucia got to her feet and held out her hand, singing down at the saddened brown face. "Dance with me. That always livens you up, and usually puts a smile on your face."

Buck forced a smile. He took her hand and got up, saying, "What about your husband, lady? Won't he be jealous?"

Lucia winked at him and grinned, then put her arm around his waist and they went to the jukebox.

They bugalooed the first dance. Watching Buck go through the motions expertly and with such ease made Faith wonder how his reflexes could possibly be any better than they were. He really knew how to dance! The next song was slower, and Lucia glided in close to Buck. She put her head on his shoulder and her arms about his body as if they were the only two people in the place. She brought her mouth up to his ear and whispered.

Faith wondered what was said. Buck glanced over her way and whispered back to Lucia, then they came walking hand in hand back to the table.

"Up, girl," Lucia ordered. "Do your patriotic duty and dance with the major."

Getting to her feet, Faith wondered if she ought to dance with him. She wanted to. Boyd was such a terrible dancer, and she did love it so. Then he was smiling, taking her hand and leading her away from the table. The next thing she knew she was in his arms and they were moving about the floor. There was something about Buck, something that made her Alabama mind forget that he was black and she was white.

It felt so natural to be dancing with him. He was a good dancer, very smooth. His hand caressed the small of her back, drawing her body closer to his. Her breasts came in contact with his chest. Allowing them to flatten against him, she put her head on his shoulder and watched the brown skin of his neck and his ear. Both his hands were on her now, below the small of her back, resting on the upper slopes of her buttocks.

A wave of dizziness swept over Faith. The drink? She giggled and let Buck pull her belly up tight against his. Then she felt it. There was nothing wrong with his reflexes in the sex department! He was getting a hard-on! She could feel it growing bigger and harder against her soft stomach. She fought back a whimper. She wanted to pull away from contact with him but could not force herself to do it!

Mercifully the music stopped and he stepped away from her, quickly taking her hand and leading her back to the table. He thanked her, told Lucia he had to go, picked up his hat, and left.

A sense of foreboding clutched unrelentingly at Faith's guts. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the hairbrush and stepped in front of the full-length mirror in her and Boyd's bedroom. It showed in her face, too. She should be happy, smiling. They were going to a party. Instead, the face looking back at her from the mirror appeared tense and drawn. She forced herself to smile and began brushing her hair.

The sound of spraying water stopped abruptly. Boyd stepped out of the shower, still humming happily, and reached for a towel. Vigorously he began drying the water from his body. Faith shook her head in wonder. How could Boyd feel that way? She hadn't wanted to accept Lucia's invitation herself, and had been sure that Boyd would flatly refuse to go to their party. She'd put off mentioning it to him until this morning, even though Lucia had first asked them to come after they got back from the commissary on Monday.

At the time, she'd told her no. Lucia hadn't argued, and simply changed the subject and went on talking. The next day she'd asked again. Again the answer was a simple no. Lucia hadn't pressed it. The same thing happened on Wednesday. Faith again politely refused on Thursday. This time Lucia wanted to know why. Faith told her.

"Boyd won't come," she'd said unwillingly, sure that Lucia'd want to discuss the sordid details that she herself would sooner leave unspoken. But Lucia'd merely smiled knowingly as she got out a cigarette and lit it. Then she exhaled thoughtfully and looked her right in the eye. "How do you know until you ask him, Faith?"

It was up to Faith then. She could either explain her reasoning to Lucia, that Boyd would never consent to a continued friendship with Dirk after what had happened, or she could save herself the embarrassment of such a personal conversation and tell Lucia that she would ask Boyd. She agreed to ask Boyd if he wanted to attend the party.

Working up the courage to ask him was a difficult thing for Faith to do. Her husband appeared to have forgotten the shameful fact of her adultery. He was treating her better than he had since the honeymoon. Bringing the painful memory back into his consciousness would probably rock the boat quite violently.