“Going to be back in Singapore day after tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“What hotel? Maybe I can stop by and take you to dinner.”
“The Intercontinental.”
“I’ll walk inside with you.”
“No, just stay where you are, mate. I’ve had quite enough tonight. One more good look at you in the light and I might drag you off to my lonely little bed for a night of sport. Can’t have that, can we, not with you pining your heart out for that other silly girl.”
With that she was gone. Across the lawn and into the crowd.
Jake Grafton leaned on the wall and lit a cigarette. His hands were trembling slightly.
He didn’t know quite what to think, so he didn’t think anything. Just inhaled the cut-grass smell and looked into the darkness and let his heart rate subside to its normal plodding pace.
At least half an hour passed before Jake went back into the pavilion. Three half-potted Aussies were huddled around the piano watching Flap dance with the three stews who were still there. Le Beau had them in a line and was teaching them new steps to the wailing of a Japanese music machine. Everyone else had left, including the Real McCoy. Tomorrow was a working day for most of them.
Jake decided one more beer for the road wouldn’t hurt, so he picked a bottle out of the icy water of the tub and joined the piano crowd.
“Hey, mate.”
“How you guys doing tonight?”
“Great.”
“Sure nice of you fellows to invite us to your wing ding. Makes a good break after forty-five days at sea.”
“Don’t know how you blokes manage.”
“Prayer,” Jake told them, and they laughed.
The biggest of them was a brawny man three or four inches taller than Jake and at least forty pounds heavier. Most of his bulk was in his chest, shoulders and arms. He hadn’t said anything yet, but now he gestured to Flap. “Wish your bleedin’ nigger mate would pick his bird and let us at the other two.”
Jake Grafton carefully set his beer on the piano. This was getting to be a habit. The last time they had sent him to the Marines.
Wonder where they’ll send me this time?
He stepped in front of the big Aussie, who still had one giant mitt wrapped around a bottle of beer.
“What did you say?”
“I said, I wish your bleedin’ nigger mate would—”
As Jake drew back his right fist for a roundhouse punch he jabbed the Aussie in the nose with his left. This set the man momentarily off balance, so when the right arrived on his chin with all Jake’s weight behind it, it connected solidly with a meaty thunk that rocked Jake clear to the shoulder. The Aussie went backward onto the floor like he was poleaxed. And he stayed there.
“Nice punch, mate, but you—” said the one to the left, but his words stopped when Jake’s fist arrived. The man took it solidly on the side of the head and sent a right at Jake that connected and shook him badly.
Stars swam before Grafton’s eyes. He waded in swinging furiously. Some of his punches missed, some hit. That was the lesson he had learned as a boy on the grade school playground — keep swinging and going forward. Most boys don’t really like to fight, so when you keep swinging they will fall back, and ultimately quit. Of course, these soldiers weren’t boys and worse, they liked to fight.
His’ attack worked for several seconds, then the third Aussie, who was now behind him, grabbed him and spun him around. Before Jake could get set he took a shot on the cheekbone that put him down.
Dazed, he struggled to rise. When he got to his feet it was too late. All three of the Aussies were asleep on the floor and Flap Le Beau was standing there calmly scrutinizing him.
“What was that all about?”
Jake swayed and caught himself by grabbing the piano.
“They insulted Elvis.”
Flap sighed. “I guess we’ve worn out our welcome.” He took Jake’s arm and got him started for the door. “Ladies,” he said, addressing the three stews gaping at them, “it’s been a real treat. The pleasure of your company was sweeter than you will ever know.”
He beamed benignly at them and steered Jake out into the night.
The base was quiet. No taxi at the main gate. They waved at the sentry and kept walking. Jake’s right hand throbbed and so did his head. The hand was the important thing, though. He rubbed it as he walked.
“What really happened back there?” Flap asked.
“The big stud called you a nigger.”
“You hit him for that?”
“Yeah. The asshole deserved it.”
Flap Le Beau threw back his head and laughed. “Damn, Jake, you are really something else.”
“He was peeved because you were monopolizing the women.”
Flap thought this was hilarious. He roared with laughter.
“Want to tell me what’s so damn funny?”
“You are. You nitwit! All of them are bigots. Even the women. I wasn’t getting anywhere with them. Not a one of those women would have gone to bed with me, not even if I was the richest nigger in America and had a cock eighteen inches long. They’ll go back to Australia and tell all about their big adventure, talking to and dancing with an American nigger. ‘Oh, Matilda, you won’t believe this, but I even let him touch me.’ ”
Jake didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
After a bit Flap asked, “Think you broke your hand?”
“Dunno. Don’t think so. Maybe stoved it. Man, I got that big guy with a perfect shot. Had everything behind it and drove it right through his chin.”
“He never moved after you hit him. Bet it’s the first time anybody ever knocked him out.”
“Thanks for coming to the rescue, Kemo Sabe.”
“Any time, Tonto. Any time. But you could have broken your hand hitting that guy that hard.”
“Had to. He outweighed me by forty pounds. If I had just given him a you-piss-me-off social punch he would have killed me.”
“You’re a violent man, Jake.”
“I had a lot of trouble with potty training.”
The next morning he realized the dimensions of the quandary he faced. Nell Douglas was a fine woman, passionate, levelheaded, intelligent, thoughtful…And Callie McKenzie was one fine woman, also passionate and level-headed, intelligent, educated, well spoken…He was in love with one and could easily fall in love with the other. But the woman he loved hadn’t written in two months and had made it clear that he wasn’t measuring up.
The woman he could love wasn’t being quite so picky. No doubt when he knew her better she would get more picky— women were like that. But she wasn’t being picky now! And if you couldn’t take the heat there was always celibacy to fall back on.
Alas, celibacy didn’t seem very attractive to Jake Grafton. Not when you are in your twenties, in perfect health, when the sight, smell and touch of a woman makes the blood pound in your temples and your knees turn to jelly.
He sat in his chair in his stateroom savoring the memories of last night. Of how her lips had felt against his, how her hot, wet tongue had speared between his teeth and stroked his tongue, how her breasts had heaved against his chest, how her thighs had pressed against his while her hands stroked his back. Gawd Almighty!
He liked the way she talked, too. That flat Australian twang was sexy as hell. Just made shivers run up your spine when you recalled how the words sounded as she said them. “… I might drag you off to my lonely little bed for a night of sport.” Well, lady, I wish…