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Page 9.
 “A brain surgeon.”
“No, a proctologist.”
“Oh.” David held up a chicken leg, making poking gestures with its thin end.
She laughed. “Stop it, David.”
“I haven’t teased a woman since I irritated my two sisters when I was home on leave. That was last Christmas.”
“Well you’re quite good at it. I’m very irritated.” She rose, running her fingers along his cheek. “I have to speak with my roomie. You stay put and rest your legs.”
“I jog five miles a day,” he said but she ignored him. He watched her walk away—small rear; narrow hips; perfect calves under knee-length skirt.
The Air Force guys floated in again This time they were trying to impress two nervously smiling women, who nodded a lot and made fluttery, wide eyes. The pilots waved Little Smokie Weenies and foreign beers as they made takeoffs and landings, and it was clear they wanted the women to come fly with them.
David ignored them as his gaze roved. He made his way to the front door, plotting his escape, and then back to his seat in the corner. Another half hour, he thought. Time to move on.
He noticed a tall, dark-haired young woman speaking with Maxie as they walked in his direction. The roomie wore a black dress and was bare-shouldered. David’s interest perked up, and he forgot about the half hour thing. The roomie was attractive in a sultry, mysterious way. Somehow, in his first impression, he got a sense of something not happy about her somehow, but he brushed it off. She walked in long, languid steps and, when she smiled, her features lit up with mischief and self-assurance. And yet—ah, but how white her eyes and her teeth gleamed, ivory-perfect, against the smooth texture of her skin. She carried a black purse that looked small against her long frame. Maybe because she was tall, she let her shoulders stoop a little and move with the rhythms of her walking.
By the time they were halfway to him, he realized that Maxie’s roomie was gorgeous. Of course she would be. Everything Maxie did had class. Take the plastic cups. Anywhere else that would be kitsch. Better glass, or even crystal. But in Maxie’s matter of fact world, that would be overdoing it. Plastic was just right, the simple, elegant solution. Less was more. It wasn’t that Maxie was affected or snobbish; things just always went that way. And of course Maxie’s genes dictated that she act as social glue, rescuing people from being loose ends or third wheels. Maxie was to wallflowers as fresh water was to droopy house plants. David rose.
“David, I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Victoria Breen. Tory, this is Captain David Gordon.” David and the roomie shook hands. She had a dry, warm grip; long arms; honey-tan skin with butterscotch freckles on her shoulders.
“David promised me roses, and look over there.”
“That’s nice, Maxie.” Her gaze avoided David’s but he sensed she might be interested. Maxie kept chattering, and then she was gone and David was alone with this Breen woman who sat quietly, comfortably leaning her chin on her fist, watching the pilots and their quarry. She seemed to have a playful inward smile, as if she had a secret. And she didn’t appear to be in a hurry to go anywhere. She carried herself almost regally, in an unassuming manner, he thought. She had cute eyebrows, too, that seemed knit up in some undefined discomfort which he immediately longed to understand and soothe.
Ah Maxie, you planned this all along.
“Have you lived here long?” David asked.
Breen turned to look at him for the first time. She had rich dark hair piled neatly around her head. On each bare shoulder was a small galaxy of brown-sugar freckles. Her skin was lightly peeling, and the circles of new skin were pinker, but still not entirely fair-complected. Her answer was direct and soft and aimed right at his heart without intending to be, and he didn’t even hear the answer—she could have lived here a month, a year, a thousand years—because they looked in one another’s eyes—hers teasing and dusky like a forest—and he totally forgot his half hour was up.
They talked about nothing and everything for a while. “Would you like another spritzer?” she asked, looking away, breaking the spell. Her tone had a hint of teasing: “Your legs—”
“No thanks.” He added in protest: “I jog five miles a day. Six. Sometimes ten.”
“Oh really.”
“I’m serious. Airborne.”
“I’ll be right back.” She had a way of closing up, of withdrawing, and then she seemed darker somehow, as if she had something on her mind. Was there a guy? She rose to open a window, long-limbed and graceful, then wandered toward the kitchen. He watched her as she nodded and smiled, first here, then there along the way. She moved with an unpretentious stride. She was indeed pretty, her white smile dazzling. Her head rode gracefully on a long neck. Her features were delicate and even, and her jaw had a brittle china-cup strength.
David and Tory sat talking all evening, most of it on a love seat where they sat close, face to face, gazing into each other’s eyes.
“What do you do?” Tory asked.
“I’m working for the I.G. detachment assigned to the Composite.” He was sure she’d find that boring, but she actually looked startled, and he wondered why. Some dark wink or thought or other moved in the liquid depth of that dark gaze: an involuntary blink tightening her pupils. The Inspector General’s office existed to inspect everything from blankets to burros, from tarps to tanks, from boots to bullets, and make sure it was according to regulations; the I.G. also listened to soldiers’ complaints and tried to make right where right was due. Did she have a complaint? The Composite was the 20,000 member military joint command assigned to guard CON2 in these violent times, with so many bomb threats and shootings related to nutty causes. “What about you?” he asked Tory. “What do you do?”
“I’m the Executive Officer of a data security unit. I’m afraid it’s kinda hush-hush.” She looked regretful, signaling she couldn’t say more about her job.
They turned from topic to topic. She was from Iowa. Her grandpa had been an Army officer killed in Vietnam. Her parents had a home in Davenport. Her dad was in real estate, her mom a housewife. She had an older brother and a younger sister.
David liked to read. He'd read some of the same books as Tory. He was sportsy—liked biking, hiking, martial arts, swimming, soccer. Funny, so did she. She laughed. “You’re making all this up, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I read minds, you see, and I just parrot whatever you’re about to say, so that you’ll be impressed.”
She threw her head back in a cascade of soft laughter. Light gleamed on her teeth, the pink of her palate. It took her a moment to regain control. “Maxie said you could be really funny.” She looked as if she were having fun.
People began leaving. Maxie opened some windows and a wonderful breeze came through.
The Air Force pilots left silently and slightly tipsy by the back garden gate, without passengers. Maxie brought two frosty rosé spritzers, and handed David and Tory each one. “Thanks,” David said, hardly noticing Maxie’s triumphant look.
A while later, Maxie signaled from the kitchen and Tory strode away. David sat with his eyes closed, enjoying the cool night air, and wondering how to make sure they saw more of each other. Maybe dinner? Or lunch?
More people left. Maxie was in a battle of goodbyes at the door, shaking hands right and left, smiling, hugging, encouraging. A man and a woman in white smocks appeared and began cleaning. David went out into the garden and inhaled a scent of trees. The city loomed darkly all around, sleeping, glowering.
Leaning on a wrought iron railing, he glimpsed the two women inside. Unseen, he watched Tory, trying to figure out how she had managed to tug that one note on his heart’s strings that no woman had in years. He was determined to see more of her. Under the thick hair with reddish highlights, she had a wide, dusky smile full of soft secrets. Her eyes seemed to throw off light when she smiled, but at moments she looked sullen and mysterious, almost hurt, and then her mouth took on a sultry pout, lower lip full. Was there a man in her life? This all seemed too easy. Maybe she was getting the proctology treatment from some other geek, and Maxie was trying to fix her up with David as a mercy thing. Everyone is getting the shaft from someone, David thought in a moment of alkaline despair. The world is full of proctologists. Actually, they are an alien race, invading the earth, and killing us off by ruining our love lives and frustrating us until we become extinct. We shall be as dinosaurs. Then the world will become one gigantic rectal exam populated by these people with huge gloves. But how long will they rule? How will they fare before other aliens—endodontists, perhaps—take over by a fiendish ploy? David set down his spritzer. Courage, he thought. He went back inside to mount his attack.
Already, the white-smocked man was vacuuming, and the woman cleaned plastic cups and plates from every surface. Maxie exhaled a puff of breath, and a few straight blonde wisps fluttered over her forehead. “David, I’ll invite you again. I’m having a cookout soon.”
“I’d love that.” He looked over her shoulder, and saw Tory in the kitchen with a broom and dust pan. Her hair looked frizzled from effort, her look pensive. How neatly drawn was the outline of her face, how warm her lightly-rouged lips, how neatly arranged her features seemed, crisp and just right.
“Tory,” Maxie said to her, seeing his look. She put her tools aside and walked toward them. Though she conveyed a sense of pleasure, she had something dark in her eyes; not cold at all, but warm and defensive, a beast that could be roused, a wall that might have to be climbed over.
The women walked him out to the street. They swatted mosquitoes and talked for a few moments under bug-chased lights. “Maybe my unit will fly around your building one of these days,” Maxie said.
David laughed, teasing: “Don’t tell me you wear a flight suit?”
“Bigger than Miami. Helmet, boots, this suit with all these pockets full of medicine packets. I also carry a great big gun on my belt. It’s just so cool. Beats doing blood draws and emptying bed pans. No offense—you were a fun patient.”
David told Tory: “I would really enjoy having lunch with you. Maybe a movie. We can talk some more about my mind reading and your interests?”
She thought darkly for a moment. Then, as if a sudden breeze had blown those thoughts away, her eyes sparkled and her red lips pleasured in a smile. “I’d like that.”
“You have our number,” Maxie told David with a conspiratorial dig in the ribs. The women waved and said goodnight as David drove away.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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