|
Page 8.
Chapter 5
 Nearly a year passed—winter, spring, and summer.
Late on a lazy Sunday afternoon on the cusp between summer and fall, Captain David Gordon, 30, crossed a tree-lined street in Alexandria, Virginia. The Little River subdivision had in recent months blossomed with short-term leases for military officers, paid for by the Government as the Second Constitutional Convention got underway. David’s condo was a few blocks from where he now walked. He carried a bottle of wine, a handful of long-stemmed red roses, and a crisp new white plastic throw-disk. He wore a crisply ironed white shirt with rolled up sleeves; light blue jeans; and mahogany loafers. As he walked in that evening sunlight, time seemed to stand still and it seemed to take forever to cross the street. The humid heat of Washington summer had finally collapsed in a brisk, windy autumn. Though a distant plume of smoke rose from some street fight in Virginia, the massive presence of tens of thousands of troops was keeping the nation’s capital quiet as if no depression, no poverty, no violence, no calls for revolution were sweeping the land. The trees were turning cathedral colors, and rustling as if filled with important messages. David smiled at those chatterboxes. What could a bunch of leaves have to say to each other? Then again, they were old leaves, wise leaves, dying leaves, and perhaps he’d better listen to their gossip.
Parked cars lined the sidewalks, and not a vehicle seemed to be moving anywhere. The air was smoky with barbecue. The street, still warm and smelling of tar, seemed to point straight into the huge sun that quivered yolk-like in a reddish haze on the city horizon.
Hard to believe that CON2 had already been underway for two weeks, and there were serious signs of chaos as the 1,000 delegates disagreed more and more on the simplest points. Congress, which had called the convention after receiving the mandate from two thirds of the state legislatures, now sat helplessly by while its creation threatened to go amok. Neither the Judicial or Executive Branches had any more power than the Legislative to intervene. And the delegates had full immunity from prosecution for their actions.
Hard to believe all that turmoil, David thought, on a sweetly pensive day like this. He passed a group of young officers playing football, barefoot and shirtless, on a lawn. He walked through a long shady hallway (“The Palms,” a sign read, “Condos 2-3-4 BR/Good Rates”) and rang a doorbell.
“Why hello there,” said the smallish blonde who opened the door—Maxie! Her condo contained shoulder to shoulder people laughing, talking, holding drinks, yet she seemed to have waited only for him. But it was an illusion, a shared gesture, the remembrance of a special relationship. She’d been his nurse nearly two years earlier after he'd had a parachute accident. It had been the low point in his life. Recently divorced from moody and artistic Kristy, with whom he'd had little in common, he seemed to run a streak of bad luck. The accident had cost him his career as a combat arms officer, but as a West Point graduate he'd been offered this mysterious temporary duty with the electrically charged political circus in Washington, the Second Constitutional Convention. He'd had a brief crush on Maxie, but she was looking for a wealthy man to suit her parents' dreams for her. She kept saving herself for some wealthy guy who’d please her family but neglect or even abuse her. Lovable, but unreachable, she was now just a dear old friend. Times were getting better in David's life. He fondly remembered her kindness and support. He wouldn’t stay at her party long—just enough to renew his acquaintance. She was so spunky, though, that he couldn’t really feel sorry for her. She'd always come out on top, at least in matters other than love. He was glad to see her. “I told you I’d bring that throw-disk.”
“Come in, I’m glad you came, the throw-disk is great, oh look at the wine, the roses are so-o-o lovely, thank you.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Briefly he held her slight, firm frame. She wore a white summer dress, and he smelled a subtle citrus perfume on her bare back. She was not sweating at all despite the population problem between there and the refrigerator. “You did promise,” she said cradling the wine and the roses, “and you are a man true to your word.”
“And the throw-disk.”
“Close the door. Yes, and the throw-disk. We’ll all throw it later. Are you hungry?” She situated him in a comfortable corner chair between two Air Force pilots arguing about landing F-23A’s. The pilots held their beer bottles like joysticks and made repeated landings.
Maxie came back minutes later carrying a tray with hors d’oeuvres, southern style chicken pieces, and plastic cups of rosé spritzer. She chased the pilots away and sat on a folding chair beside him. “How are your legs?”
“I run five miles a day.”
She frowned as she served. “There’s no table surface free. Napkins and laps will have to do.”
“That smells great and I could eat a horse. Napkins and laps are fine.”
“If you have that kind of appetite you must be feeling okay.” She smiled, which was a sunny crinkle in a wonderful face. She had small, white, perfect teeth. Her face had a clean almost boyish squareness, with ash-blond hair flying as she moved.
“I’m feeling just fine. And I want to thank you for being a friend when I really needed one.”
“It’s my job.” But she glowed, searching with small, square hands and greasy fingers for just the right chicken breast. “Aw hell, David, I enjoyed your company too. I missed you after you left.”
“I’ve missed you too. So what’s this about you being a combat flight nurse? You promised to tell me all the details.”
She sat bolt upright, a little leap from the tush sort of, and folded her hands in her lap as if sitting for a portrait. Her face lit up in a proud, excited smile. She made fists. “I decided I couldn’t be an old maid anymore, so I broke off with the man I was seeing. I applied for this combat flight nurse school, and I got in—on my own, with no help from any uncles—and I just graduated a few weeks ago with honors! Can you believe it? So now I’m stationed here at Walter Reed. We spend most of our time up on the flight deck—on the roof—or flying around town.”
“What unit are you with?”
“55th Aviation Battalion (MAES).”
“Which means?”
“Medical Air Evacuation Service.” She added with a hint of pride: “I’m in Flight 1. We have three flights, each with four completely equipped and staffed helicopters.”
“Sounds exciting, Maxie. I’m thrilled for you.”
“It is exciting. One chopper can act as a complete field dispensary, or carry six stretchers.”
David frowned a little. “So the military has extra MAES units in town. They’re ready for a war, sounds like.”
She shrugged. “We’re training to evacuate sick people from the roof of the hotel, or if someone is in an accident. I doubt there will be anything more than that.”
David changed the subject. “The papers came in a few months ago. I’m a single man again.” He chomped down, enjoying a mouthful of fried chicken followed by a wash of rosé. The divorce was final. Kristy had sent him a little hand-lettered note of apology and goodbye, with a heart in one corner, and a not very happy Happy Face with a tear coming out of one eye. He’d written her a thank-you note. He didn’t expect to ever hear from her again. Which was what he preferred, because he still felt the loss of her passion that had been like an addiction. Often, he thought, there could never be another woman like her in his life. He still felt like a bomb crater inside. It was best to just move on.
Maxie studied him. “Should I say sorry?”
“That’s behind me, along with the broken legs, the airborne infantry, and the wars in the Middle East.”
“But you want to stay in the Army?”
“Yup. I’m taking it a day at a time. I’ve seen all the combat I want to. I’m just not ready for a desk job quite yet. This little assignment here with CON2 can’t last more than three months. Just enough time to build up time in grade so I can apply for a waiver and move back to Infantry. I want to be a company commander for at least a year or two. Got to have that experience under my belt.”
“I see you are still the same never-give-up hard charger, David.”
“I’m afraid so. Maybe a little more selective about where I’m charging.”
Maxie laughed, apparently reading his thoughts. “Army people shouldn’t marry civilians, huh?”
“Not if they’re nutty civilians. Oh God, this chicken is good. Did you make this?”
“You always made me laugh, David.”
“No, I’m serious. I’ll bet these were all first-born chickens with references.”
She gave a demure smile that seemed to light up a few freckles on each cheek. She’d confessed once that she felt very self-conscious about the freckles, and spent a fortune on all sorts of creams and salves from around the world. A hint of Southern Lady crept into her voice. “Actually, I had it catered in from a little specialty house in Georgetown, sorry. My little fingers just ache from all that telephoning and debit carding.”
He wiped his mouth and fingers with a warm, wet terrycloth towel scented with lemon. “Maxie, you’re first class. How do you do it? Have you met Mr. Right yet?”
She sighed deeply, and her slight bosom hove. “I’m afraid not. Those are the first roses I’ve received in about two weeks.”
“Two weeks, huh? So there is a guy.” So she’d finally dumped Mr. Wrong in North Carolina, and it sounded as if she’d found another Mr. Wrong in Washington.
“Yes,” she said looking down and folding her hands in her lap. The sun was going down outside and some of the sun was going down in Maxie’s eyes.
“A doctor,” David prodded. She must be getting the run-around again.
“Yes.”
TOP
Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
|
