W.e.b. Griffin - The Corps II - CALL TO ARMS

According to the wall map, the Pacific Princess was sailing alone somewhere between Brisbane and San Francisco, trusting in her maximum speed of 33.5 knots to escape Japanese torpedos.

Fleming Pickering looked up from his desk with mingled annoyance and curiosity when he heard the sound of high heels on the small patches of parquet floor exposed here and there beneath fine antique (seventeenth-century) Oriental rugs. He knew it was not his secretary, the only person permitted to come into his office unannounced when he was there. Mrs. Florian wore rubber heels. All the facts considered, his visitor had to be either his wife or a very brazen total stranger.

It was his wife.

After twenty-four years of marriage, Fleming Pickering was still of the belief that he was married to one of the world's most beautiful women. And she was one of the smartest, too. Smart enough to avoid waging a losing battle against growing older than thirty. Her hair was silver, and if she was wearing makeup (which seemed likely), it didn't appear to be layered on her face with a shovel.

She sat down in one of the chairs facing his desk and crossed her legs, giving him a quick glance of thigh and black petticoat.

"'Come into my parlor,' the spider leered at the fly," Fleming Pickering said. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"God!" Patricia Foster Pickering groaned.

"Really?" Flem Pickering joked. "The clouds opened, and a suitably divine voice boomed, 'Go to thy husband.''?"

She shook her head, but had to chuckle, even though she didn't want to under the circumstances.

"I hate to bother you," Patricia Pickering said. "You know I wouldn't come here unless-"

"Don't be silly," he said. "Would you like some coffee?"

"I would really like a double martini," she said.

"That bad, huh?" he said.

"I'll settle for the coffee," Patricia Pickering said.

Fleming Pickering tapped three times with his toe on a switch under his desk. It was a code message to Mrs. Florian. One tap summoned her. Two taps meant "get this idiot out of here by whatever means necessary," and three meant "deliver coffee."

"I just had a call from Ernie Sage," Patricia Pickering said.

"And? What did he want?"

"Little Ernie," she corrected him.

"And what did she want?"

"She's out here. In San Diego."

He looked at her curiously, waiting for her to go on.

"She wanted me to get a check cashed for her," Patricia said. "And to see if I knew someone in Diego who could find her someplace to stay."

"I hate to tell you this, honey," he said. "But the way you're presenting this, it's not coming across as a serious problem."

"She's out here with McCoy," Patricia said. "You remember him? Pick's friend from Quantico? You met him."

"I remember him very well," Flem said. "What did they do, elope?"

"That's part of the problem," she said. "No. They are not married."

"A real Marine, that boy," Flem said. "I could tell the moment I saw him."

"Flem, this is not funny," Patricia said.

"Well, it's not the end of the world, either," he said. "She is not the first nice young woman in history to go to bed with a Marine before their union was solemnized before God and the world."

She glared at him. And her face colored. "That was a cheap shot, damn you!" she said. But she smiled.

"There's something about a Marine, you know," Flem Pickering went on. "My response to this situation is that I hope whatever it is Marines have will work for Pick, too. That he gets somebody as nice as Ernie. Let her who is without sin cast the first stone."

"Well, thanks a lot," she snapped.

"Honey, this is none of our business," Flem said.

Mrs. Florian came into the office, pushing a serving cart with a silver coffee service on it.

"I like your dress, Mrs. Pickering," she said.

"I will not tell you it's an old rag I found in the back of my closet," Patricia said. "I bought it yesterday, and made them alter it right away. Surprising absolutely no one, Guess Who hasn't seemed to notice."

"The way to catch my attention is to come in here not wearing a dress," Flem said.

"I'd sock him for that," Mrs. Florian said, and left the office.

"It is our business, Flem," Patricia said.

"How do you figure that?"

"Elaine is my best friend," Patricia said. "And Ernie's the closest thing I have to a daughter."

"Does Elaine know about this?" he asked.

"No. I asked Ernie, and she told me she was going to call her. And she went on to ask me to please not say anything until she works up the courage to do it."

"Then don't say anything," he said.

"I think I'm going to go to Diego and talk like a Dutch aunt to her," Patricia said.

"All that would do would be to piss her off," Flem said.

"I love your language," Patricia snapped.

"It caught your attention, didn't it?" he replied, unrepentant.

She met his eyes, raised her eyebrows, and then shifted her gaze and sat up in the chair to pour coffee. She handed him a cup and then slumped back in her chair, holding her cup with both hands.

"I think it's entirely possible that Ernie may need a friend," Flem said. "If she thinks you're going to say exactly the same thing her mother would say, she won't come to you."

She looked at him again but said nothing.

"I seem to recall when I was a handsome young Marine just home from France, that your own mother had a long talk with you about not letting me get you alone-in case I tried to kiss you. I gather she was afraid I'd give you trench mouth."

"I never should have told you that," Patricia said.

"You remember where you told me?" he asked.

"Damn you!" she said.

"In a ne'er-to-be-forgotten bed in the Coronado Beach Hotel in San Diego."

"All right," she said, just a little sharply.

"Never did get trench mourn, did you?" he asked. "And neither will Ernie. And you can no more talk her out of what she has decided to do than your mother could talk you out of seducing me."

"You bastard!" she said. "Me seducing you!"

But their eyes met and she smiled.

"So what do we do, Flem?" she asked after a moment.

"That will depend on what you've already done," he said.

"I told her to go to the San Diego office, and we'd arrange for her to cash a check."

"That's all?"

"That's all," she said.

Fleming Pickering picked up one of the three telephones on his desk and told the operator to patch him through to San Diego.

When J. Charles Ansley, General Manager, San Diego Operations, Pacific Far East Shipping, Inc., came on the line, Fleming Pickering told him that a Miss Ernestine Sage was on her way to see him. She needed a check cashed. He should cash it; and then he should arrange something with the Bank of America branch in San Diego so that she could cash checks whenever she wanted in the future.

"The second thing I need from you, Charley," Fleming Pickering went on, "is to find someplace for her to live. A little house, preferably on the beach, or at least with a view of it." "Jesus, Flem," the general manager protested. "That's going to be hard. This town is full of sailors and Marines, and most of them, the officers anyway, brought their wives and their families."

"A little house on the beach, or with a view of it, and someplace where the lady can entertain an overnight guest on a regular basis without any embarrassing questions being asked."

"It's a good thing I know you're a straight arrow, Flem," the general manager said. "Or otherwise-"

"The young lady, you dirty-minded old man, you, is the closest thing Patricia and I have to a daughter. She is visiting a young Marine officer. I don't know for how long."

"It's going to be hard finding a place."

"Do whatever has to be done, Charley," Fleming Pickering said. "And with your well-known tact and finesse. And get back to me."