W Griffin - The Corps I - Semper Fi

"We wondered what had happened to you," one of the girls said. "We're going over to Marcy's. You about ready?" "You go along," the most beautiful female McCoy had ever seen said. "I've other plans."

She looked into his eyes and smiled. He realized that his heart was throbbing. Like the water hose on a Browning.30.

(Three)

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, as they walked through the lobby of the Foster Park.

"I don't know anyplace to take you," he said. "I've never been in New York before."

"I have sort of a strange idea," she said. "Chinese food."

"Huh?"

"I guess your 'Thanksgiving in Shanghai' speech triggered it," she said. "Or maybe I'm over my ears in turkey."

"You'll have to show me," he said. "I don't know anything about this town," he said.

"I think we could find a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown," she said.

"Let's get a cab," he said.

"Let's take the subway," she said.

"I can afford a cab," McCoy said.

Which means, of course, that you can't.

"I like to watch the people on the subway," she said, took his arm, and headed him toward Sixth Avenue.

"Why?" he asked.

"You ever been… No, of course, you haven't," she said. "You'll see."

His eyes widened at the variations of the species homo sapiens displayed on the subway. And they smiled at each other, and somehow she wanted to touch him, and did, and put her arm in his, her hand against the rough fabric of his overcoat.

Maybe it is the uniform, she thought. Men in uniform are supposed to get the girls.

She let herself think about that. It was not her style to leave parties with men she had met there. Especially friends of people like Malcolm Pickering. What was there about this young man that made him different?

A drunk, a young one in a leather jacket and a knitted hat with a pom-pom, walked past them and examined her with approval.

And something happened to the eyes of the young man whose arm she was holding. And, my God, whose name I don't even know! His eyes narrowed, just a little, but visibly. And they brightened and turned alert. And menacing. She was more than a little frightened. My God, he is a Marine! And all I need is to have him get in a fist fight with a drunk on the subway.

She watched, fascinated, as the drunk sensed the menace, put on a smile, and walked further down the car. McCoy's eyes followed him until he was sure the threat had passed. Then his eyes moved to her, and they changed again. The menace disappeared and was replaced by something much softer. It was almost as if he was now frightened. My God, he's afraid of me! "I don't know your name," she said. "McCoy," he said.

"McCoy Smith?, McCoy Jones?" she asked. "Kenneth McCoy," he said.

She took her arm from under his and gave him her hand. "Ernestine Sage," she said. "My parents obviously hoped for a boy. Please don't call me either 'Ernestine' or 'Ernie.' " "What can I call you?" Kenneth McCoy asked. Not ' 'what do I call you,'' she thought, but, ' 'what can I call you." He's asking permission. He doesn't want to offend me. I don't have to be afraid of him.

"Most people call me 'Sage,' " she said. "Sage means wise."

"I know," he said.

She slipped her hand back under his arm. And she saw the skin of his neck deepen in color.

They walked down Mott Street with her hand very much

aware of the warmth of his body, even through the overcoat.

"There is a legend that young white women should not

come here alone," Sage said. "That they will be snatched by

white slavers."

He did not sense that she was teasing him. "You'll be all right," he said. When she looked into his face, he averted his eyes. "They say the best food is in little places in the alleys," Sage said. "That the places on Mott Street are for tourists. The trouble is that they speak only Chinese in the little places."

"I speak Chinese," he said, and while she was still wondering whether or not he was trying to pull her leg, he led her into one of the alleys. Fifty feet down it, he stopped in front of a glass-covered sign and started to read it.

He's really very clever. If I didn't know better I'd almost believe he knew what he was looking at.

"See anything you think I'd like?" she asked, innocently.

"No," he said. "This is a Szechuan restaurant. Most Szechuan food is hotter than hell."

An old Chinese woman scampered toward them.

McCoy spoke to her. In Chinese. Sage looked at him in astonishment. But there was no question he was really speaking Chinese, because, chattering back at McCoy, the old woman reversed direction and led them farther down the street.

"Her nephew," McCoy explained, "runs a Cantonese restaurant. You'll like that better, I think."

The restaurant was on the fourth floor of an old building. There were no other white people inside, and the initial response to the two of them, Sage thought, was resentment, even hostility.

But then McCoy spoke to the man who walked up to them, and smiles appeared. They were bowed to a table, tea was produced, and a moment later an egg roll rich with shrimp.

"This is to give us an appetite," McCoy said. "Hell, I can make a meal of egg rolls." Then he heard what he had said. "Sorry," he said. "You have to remember, I'm a Marine. We get in the habit, without being around women, of talking a little rough."

"Hell," Sage said. "I don't give a damn. If it makes you feel any better, cuss as much as you goddamn well please."

He looked at her without comprehension, then he smiled. When he smiled like that, he looked like a little boy.

Their knees touched under the table. He withdrew his as if the contact had burned. With a mind of its own, seemingly, Sage's foot searched for his. When they touched, he withdrew again. She finally managed to pin his ankle against the table leg.

Now they didn't seem to be able to look at each other.

There was a steady stream of food. Very small portions.

"I told him to bring us one of everything," he said. "If you don't like something, give it to me." "What does that OC mean on your collar?" "They call it the oxes," he said. "I suppose it stands for officer candidate."

"You're going to be an officer?"

He nodded, wondering if that would surprise her, and then hoping it might impress her a little. "When?"

"End of the month," he said. "Then what?"

"What do you mean, 'then what'?" "Where will you be stationed?" "I don't know," he said.

"I remember. It's all the Corps, and therefore it doesn't make any difference, right?" "Something like that."

We are both pretending, Sage thought. He is pretending that I am not playing anklesy with him, and I am pretending that I am not doing it.

"I can't eat another bite," she said, after a while. "I don't even know what I've eaten," McCoy said. "To hell with turkey anyway," Sage said. "This is what I'm going to do from now on on Thanksgiving."

For some reason, when they got to the street, Sage felt a little dizzy.

"This time a cab," she said.

"Where are we going?"

"West Third Street," she said.

"What's there?"

"Another Chinese restaurant I heard about, what else?"

She motioned him into her apartment and then closed the door and locked it.

He roamed the apartment, and when he came back, she was still leaning on the door.

"I like your apartment," he said.

"I'm glad," she said. "My father calls it my hovel."

"I was afraid you were going to turn out rich, like Pick."

"Would that have bothered you?"

"Yes," he said, simply.

They looked at each other, their eyes locking for a long moment.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing," McCoy said. "All I know is that I don't want to fuck this up."

He's so upset that he didn't hear himself. Otherwise I'd have got an apology for the "fuck," and he would have blushed like a tomato.