"Neither have I," Pick said. "Perhaps it is love at first sight."
"She had a lot to drink," Bitsy said loyally.
"I've noticed that women who want to do something they think is a little out of the ordinary tend to take a belt or two," Pick said. "It gives them an excuse."
"That's a dirty shot," Bitsy said.
"In vino veritas," Pick said. "Speaking of which, can I fix you another?"
"I think I've had enough, thank you."
"There is no such thing as 'enough,' " he said. "It goes directly from 'not enough' to 'too much.' "
"Have it your way. Too much."
Pick started to make himself a drink at Alexandra's bar.
"Can I ask you a question?" Bitsy asked.
"You can ask," he said.
"Do you always drink this much? You've really been socking it away."
"Only when I can get it."
"I've got another question, but I'm afraid to ask it."
"Ask it. I didn't promise to answer your questions."
"Is it because you're going overseas?" Bitsy asked. "Oh, God, that came out wrong. I didn't mean to suggest you're afraid."
"If I was going overseas, I would be afraid."
"You're not going overseas?"
Pick took a sip of his drink, then met her eyes before replying. "I just got back."
"You did? Where were you?"
"VMF-229, on the 'Canal."
"I don't know what that means."
"I flew fighters, Wildcats, F4Fs, on Guadalcanal."
There was doubt in her eyes.
"That's kind of hard to believe, Pick."
"It's even harder to believe when you're there," he said.
After a pause, she said, shocked, "My God, I believe you!"
"All's well that ends well, to coin a phrase."
"What are you going to do now?"
"I don't know. First they're putting Us on display. And after that, who knows?"
"What do you mean, 'on display'?"
"There's a war bond tour," Pick said, a bitter tone in his voice. "We are going to build up civilian morale and encourage people to buy war bonds."
Bitsy considered this a moment, then walked over to him.
"I have the prerogative of changing my mind," she said. "I'm a female." She took his glass from his hand and took a sip. "That's good. Would you make me one?"
He was pouring the drink when, thoughtfully, Bitsy asked. "You said 'we.' You don't mean that..."
She pointed toward the bedroom. Faintly but unmistakably, the sounds of carnal delight were issuing from it. She became aware of them and blushed.
"Put another record on," Pick said.
She did so.
"He was over there, too?" she pursued when she walked back to him.
"They're going to pin the Navy Cross on him in a couple of days," he said. "Little Billy in there is a double ace. Three kills at Midway, seven on the 'Canal. He was my squadron executive officer."
"But Alex asked him what I asked you, if he was... concerned... about going to the war."
"And he said he was. People who have been there are more 'concerned' than those who haven't."
"You know what I mean; that was dishonest of him. Of the both of you."
"First of all, I haven't made a pass at you, by way of trying to turn on your maternal instincts. So that is a moot point. Secondly, haven't you ever heard what the Jesuits say, the end justifies the means?"
"That's dirty!"
"They are both doing what they want to do. What's wrong with that?"
She exhaled audibly, shaking her head, then sipped at her drink.
"You're not what I expected, either," she said.
"What did you expect?"
"I was surprised I didn't have to defend my virtue," she said.
"Sorry to have disappointed you."
She laughed. "That I expected. The arrogance. I didn't say 'disappointed.' I said 'surprised.' "
"People think I'm arrogant?" he asked, as if this surprised him.
"The only reason Alex walked across that bar to you was because she knew you were the only man in there who would not walk across the bar to her. Or am I missing something here? Are you actually arrogant enough to think you can wait for me to make a pass at you?"
"Truth time?"
"Why not?"
"I really wish you had turned out to be a bitch like Alex instead of a nice girl. I don't make passes at nice girls."
"Baloney!"
"Boy Scout's Honor," he said, holding up three fingers like a Boy Scout. "I have learned that I have this great talent for hurting nice girls. There's enough of the other kind around so that I don't have to do that."
She found his eyes and looked into them.
"How do you hurt nice girls?"
"They seem to expect more of me than I can offer," he said.
"You've never had a nice girl?"
"I was, maybe still am, in love with a nice girl."
"And?"
"She was married to a guy in my line of work," Pick said. "He got killed on Wake Island. Once was enough for her. Oddly enough, now I understand."
He drained his drink.
"Are you staying here with Alex?" he asked. "Or can I take you home? The trumpeting of the mating elephants in there is getting me down."
She smiled.
"Where are you staying?" she asked. "With your mother?"
"No. In the hotel."
"Is anybody staying with you?"
"The king of the herd," Pick said, nodding toward the bedroom.
"You can take me home, if you'd like," Bitsy said. "But if you offered to show me your etchings, I just might accept."
Pick's surprise registered on his face.
"You have the saddest eyes I have ever seen," Bitsy went on. "I'm not what you think I am, Pick. Neither a virgin nor a quasi-virgin. As a matter of fact, I understand how your girlfriend feels."
"I don't understand."
"What happened to my husband wasn't heroic, like Wake Island. What happened to Dick was that a World War One cannon he was training on-or with, whatever-blew up at Fort Sill, Oklahoma."
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I think maybe tonight, we need each other," she said. She patted his cheek, smiled, and walked to the door, picking up her jacket on the way.
"Shall we go?" she asked.
Pick put his drink down and walked toward the door.
[ONE]
Office of the Supreme Commander
South West Pacific Ocean Area
Brisbane, Australia
0805 Hours 26 October 1942
"Good morning, General," MacArthur's secretary, a technical sergeant, said in a voice loud enough to alert everyone in the office to the presence of a general officer-meaning that everybody was supposed to stop what he was doing and come to attention.
"As you were," Brigadier General Fleming Pickering said quickly. The sergeant dropped back into his seat, and a couple of other enlisted men and a captain resumed what they were doing. But Lieutenant Colonel Sidney Huff, MacArthur's senior aide-de-camp, remained on his feet behind his desk.