McCoy was sure there'd been more than one "somebody else." She had done things to him he hadn't thought American women even knew about. Things that one missionary minister wouldn't have taught her. But he could hardly expect her to provide him with a list of the guys she had screwed. She wasn't like that. He was somewhat surprised to realize that he had come to like Ellen Feller.
"After that," Ellen went on, "he never came near me. I thought he was either disgusted with me or was punishing me."
"You still didn't know he was queer?"
"I didn't find out about that, believe it or not, until just before the Alliance called him home for consultation. That was the reason I didn't go home with him."
"How'd you find out?"
"I walked in on him," she said, matter-of-factly.
He was aware that she'd stopped manipulating him and he had gone down. She still had her hand on him, though, possessively, and he liked that.
"What did he say?" McCoy asked.
"Nothing," she said. "He didn't even stop. So I just closed the door and left. Very civilized."
"Why didn't you leave him?" McCoy asked.
"It's not that simple, my darling," Ellen said.
McCoy liked when she called him "my darling," even though it embarrassed him a little. He couldn't remember anyone ever saying that to him before. It was a lot different from a whore calling him "honey" or "sweetheart" or "big boy."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Well, there's Jerry's detailed, written confession, for one thing," she said, as if explaining something that should have been self-evident.
"So what?"
"He would show it to my father."
"So what? Tell your father he's queer."
"I wouldn't be believed," she said. "He's a man of God. My father is very impressed with him. He would think I made the accusation in desperation, to excuse my own behavior."
"Then fuck your father," McCoy said.
Her eyebrows went up. "I know how you meant that," she said.
"Jesus!" he said.
"I'm thirty years old," she said. "I have no money. I can play every hymn in the hymnal from memory on the piano. I speak Chinese. Unless I could find a job as a Chinese-speaking piano player, I don't know how I could support myself."
Thirty years old? At first I thought she was older than that. Then I thought she was younger. Thirty is too old for me. What the hell am I thinking about? In a week, she'll get on a ship, and that will be the last I'll ever see her.
"Can you type?" McCoy asked. She nodded. "Then get a job as a typist, for Christ's sake."
"For my own sake, you mean," she said. Then she added, mysteriously, "I have something else that might turn out. I won't know until I get to the States."
"Like a couple of thousand-year-old vases, for example?" McCoy asked. "Or some jade?"
Her face clouded, and she took her hand from his crotch and covered her mouth with it. "What did you do, look in the crates?"
"No. A stab in the dark," McCoy said.
"My God, does anybody else know?"
"My officer thinks that's the real reason your husband came back to China," McCoy said. "He doesn't believe the selfless patriot business."
"I have three Ming dynasty vases and some jade my husband doesn't know about," Ellen said. "I thought I could sell them and use the money to get a start."
"You probably can, if you can get them through customs," McCoy said.
"Your… officer… isn't going to say anything?"
"It's none of his business," he said.
"And the other officers? Do they know?"
"You've just seen how smart they are," McCoy said.
"It left us alone, my darling," she said.
"I like it when you say that," McCoy said. She looked into his eyes and it made him uncomfortable. "And I like it when you put your hand on my balls."
She stiffened. She didn't like him to talk that way, he thought. But she shifted on the bed and cupped her hand on him again.
"I would like it, too, if you said that to me," she whispered.
"Said what?"
"My darling."
"My darling," McCoy said, and flushed. It made him uncomfortable. "And I like to suck your teats," he added almost defiantly.
She stiffened again, and he wondered why he said that, knowing it would piss her off.
"I like the thought but not the vocabulary," she sighed. "Cows have teats, ladies have breasts."
"Pardon me," McCoy said.
"You're forgiven," she said.
"Move closer, so I can play with them," McCoy said.
"Why, you wicked little boy, you," she said, but she pushed herself closer to him, so that his hands and his mouth could reach her breast.
The "my darling" business was over, McCoy realized. First with relief, then with sadness.
She took her nipple from his mouth a moment later and kissed him lasciviously, then moved her head down his body. She was just straddling him when there was a knock at the door.
"Come back later," McCoy called in Chinese.
"It's Lieutenant Sessions, McCoy, open the door!"
Breathing heavily, Ellen reluctantly hauled herself off him and scurried around the room, picking up her clothing. McCoy watched her moves-lovely and graceful. She was the best-looking piece of ass he'd ever had, he had realized sometime during the last twenty-four hours. And the best.
He wondered how she was going to handle Sessions. She was not going to be able to holler rape, which was what usually happened when an American woman got caught fucking a Marine. Not only wouldn't she be able to get away with it (how could she explain being in his room?); but she had called him 'my darling' and he knew somehow that she meant it. He meant more to her than a stiff prick. She was not going to cause him any trouble, and he knew he didn't want to cause her any.
"Come on, Corporal, I have business with you!" Sessions called. McCoy waited until she'd gone into the bathroom, then pushed himself out of the bed and went to the door, pulling
on his shorts en route.
Lieutenant Sessions wore two days' growth of beard, and his seersucker suit was badly soiled. The Japanese knew that it embarrassed Americans not to be clean-shaven, so razors were not made available. And there was evidence of an "accident" at a meal. McCoy was amused at the Japanese skill in embarrassing their unwanted guests (and so was Captain Banning), but it was apparent that Lieutenant Sessions
was not.
"Sergeant Zimmerman said he had no idea where you were," Sessions accused as he pushed past McCoy into the room.
McCoy didn't reply.
"I presume that you have reported our detention by the Japanese to Shanghai?" Sessions asked.
"No, sir," McCoy said.
"Why not, Corporal?" Sessions asked angrily.
"I thought I'd wait to see what the Japs decided to do,"
McCoy said.
"You 'thought you'd wait'?" Sessions quoted incredulously. "Good God! And it's pretty clear, isn't it, how you passed your time while you were waiting? What the hell have you been doing in here, McCoy? Conducting an orgy?" McCoy didn't reply.
"A round- the-clock orgy," Sessions went on, looking at the debris, food trays, bottles of beer, and towels on the floor. He sniffed the air. "It smells like a whorehouse in here. Is she still here, for Christ's sake?" McCoy nodded.
"Goddamn it, Corporal, in my absence you were supposed to take charge, not conduct yourself like a PFC on payday. You are prepared to offer no excuse at all for not getting in touch with Shanghai and reporting what had happened to us?" "I was trying not to make waves," McCoy said. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" The bathroom door opened and Ellen Feller came into the room. She was in her bathrobe, and her hair fanned down her shoulders.