Zeke's Shrimp & Oyster House
Alabama Point, Alabama
1815 6 March 1943
The restaurant hadn't changed much from the last time Weston had been here.
And that, he was acutely aware, had been in the company of Second Lieutenant Gregory J. Culhane, USMC (USNA '38); his fiancee, Miss Martha Sayre; and a tall redhead named… what the hell was her name?
It was a rickety building on a pier just inside the inlet to the Gulf of Mexico. Shrimp boats were tied up to the pier. The tables were rough planking picnic tables, and waitresses carried plates to them stacked high with steaming shrimp. You made your own sauce in paper cups from bowls of ketchup, horseradish. Worcestershire, and Tabasco, peeled and ate the shrimp with your fingers, and wiped your hands on paper towels. Rolls of towels sat among the bowls of ketchup and other condiments.
There was a jukebox and a piano, and a small plywood dance floor. The patrons were almost entirely young Navy and Marine pilots, and a scattering of aviation cadets who got off-base passes on weekends during the last month of their training. Some of their girls were almost as good looking as Martha.
«The last time I was here, I was with you and Greg,» Jim said.
«I remember,» she said.
They found places at a picnic table occupied by two Marine lieutenants—both aviators—and their girls. When the waitress appeared, she asked, «Shrimp and a pitcher of beer?» in a tone suggesting she would be surprised by a «no.»
«I'd really like a cup of coffee,» Jim said.
«I'll have a scotch,» Martha said. «And the shrimp, and the beer.»
When she saw the look he gave her, she smiled and said, «Why, Captain Weston. I seem to recall that it was from you I learned 'you can't fly on one wing.' «
«I didn't say a word,» he said.
«You wanted to,» she said, then turned to the Marines and their girls. «Captain Weston is just back from the Pacific. The first thing he did when he got off the plane was to call me—we're very dear friends—to report that contrary to published reports, he was not only alive but back and on his way to see me.»
«Welcome home, sir,» one of the lieutenants said.
«You were reported KIA, sir?»
«It was a mistake,» Weston said.
«Christ, that must have been tough on your family.»
«As well as his very dear friends,» Martha said.
«If I'm out of line asking this, shut me up, but what did they do, sir, when they found out they made a mistake? Apologize? What?»
«You must have been in the Corps long enough to know that the Corps never makes a mistake, haven't you?» Weston said.
There was the expected dutiful laughter.
«But I am so glad to see you that I forgive you,» Martha said, and kissed him. Not on the mouth, but on his forehead. When she pulled his head down, he found his face against her breasts.
Oh, Jesus Christ! Just as soon as we eat the shrimp, and she drinks as little of the beer as I can arrange, I'm getting her out of here. We'll ride around with the roof down. Maybe that will sober her up.
Only a three-star no-good sonofabitch with bells would take advantage of agirl like Martha when she was in her cups. And the reason she's drinking is that she's a widow, your best friend's widow.
«Here,» one of the lieutenants said, handing Martha a paper cup full of beer. «Until your pitcher gets here.»
«Thank you very much,» Martha said. «And yes, I would.»
«Yes, you would what?»
«Like to dance. My very dear friend here is a lousy dancer.»
«I'm a good dancer,» he blurted.
«Okay, then you dance with me,» she said, and stood up and held arms out to him.
The last thing in the world I want to do is put my arms around her.
He stood up, and she gave him her hand and led him to the dance floor. He carefully avoided any body contact beyond the absolutely necessary.
«I get the feeling, very dear friend, from your rigid body and the worried look on your face, that you think I am misbehaving.»
«I think you've had a little too much to drink,» Jim said. «So have I.»
«In which case, I will ease up,» she said. «The last thing I want to do is embarrass you.»
«I didn't say you were embarrassing me.»
«You didn't have to. I know what you're thinking. I could always tell.»
Christ, I hope not.
He saw over her shoulder that the waitress had delivered their shrimp and drinks—two scotches, no coffee—and a pitcher of beer.
«We have our shrimp,» he said.
«Damn,» she said, but she turned out of his arms, and, hanging on to his hand, led them back to the table.
He was surprised—and greatly relieved—that she didn't touch the scotch, and * drank only a little of the beer from the pitcher. He was also surprised that they were able to eat all of the steaming pile of boiled shrimp. And then he remembered he hadn't had any lunch.
Which is why I felt the booze, and allowed myself to forget that a decent human being doesn't look up the dress of a friend, who incidentally happens to be the widow of my best friend.
Or completely forgets Janice!
Jesus, what about Janice? What the hell would I have done about Janice if something had happened?
«I hate to rain on this parade,» Martha announced, as she daintily wiped her fingers and mouth with a paper towel. «But 1 have had a very busy day, and tomorrow is going to be busier. And if we're going to have a nightcap at the San Carlos, we're going to have to leave this charming company now.»
«We could pass on the nightcap at the San Carlos,» Weston said.
«I wouldn't think of it,» Martha said, as she rose to her feet.
The men shook hands, and one of the lieutenants repeated, «Welcome home, sir.»
In the car, Weston repeated, «We could pass on the nightcap at the San Carlos's bar.»
«There's something I want to show you there,» she said. «And didn't you notice that I was a good girl and didn't even touch my scotch? I'm entitled to a nightcap.»
It was too cold now to have the roof of the Buick convertible down, or even to have the windows open. In a matter of minutes, as they headed down the two-lane macadam road back to Pensacola, Martha's perfume overwhelmed the smell of the red leather seats.
note 39
The Cocktail Lounge
The San Carlos Hotel
2030 6 March 1943
The bar was crowded with Navy and Marine Aviators and their women, but it was captains and majors, an older, more senior crowd, than the aviation cadets and lieutenants in Zeke's.
After a minute their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and Jim Weston saw an empty banquette. He took Martha's arm and led her to it.
«You forgot, huh?» Martha asked, as she slid onto the seat.
«Forgot what?»
«That you weren't going to touch me.»
«Oh, Jesus, Martha!»
«Your intentions, I know, are very honorable,» she said.
A waitress took their order. Martha ordered a scotch, and after a moment's hesitation, Weston said to make it two.
«You said you wanted to show me something?»