In the Company of Women Page 4

  “Anyway,” Brady said, linking her arm through CJ’s, “I think it would be fun to go see an all-girls baseball game sometime.”

  “Me too,” CJ agreed, smiling over at her.

  Brady’s face was pink from exertion, her fatigue hat tilted over her forehead, blue eyes shining. As she leaned into CJ’s shoulder, CJ thought she saw Toby elbow Reggie. But she didn’t care if they regarded her friendship with an Admin Wac unfavorably. Right then, the cliques that governed Fort Bliss society seemed unimportant.

  Brady dropped them at their barracks, where CJ flopped face first onto her neatly made bed. The train ride and afternoon of activity were catching up to her. She needed a massage like the kind her mother offered at the end of a long day throwing hay.

  “What are you, an old lady?” Toby teased.

  “If I’m old, then you two are ancient.”

  Reggie laughed, and Toby slapped CJ on the back.

  “Sweet dreams, farm girl.”

  She closed her eyes and snuggled into her cot. Fort Bliss was growing on her, no doubt about it.

  * * *

  At Bliss, as at Chanute, Sunday was the one day of the week that most GIs were off-duty. From experience, CJ knew that while you could be gloriously unscheduled on Sundays, you also had to take advantage of the rare period of unregimented time to complete a hundred varied tasks—laundry, mending, shoe-polishing, letters and trips to the PX for any necessary items. But she hadn’t been on base long enough for the chores to pile up, so she spent her first Sunday in Texas napping, writing letters and shooting baskets in the mid-day sun.

  Honestly, the officers’ quarters felt more like home than her own barracks. On Saturday night she had accompanied Reggie, Toby and Kate to the PX for ice cream sandwiches, and then they’d made their way back to the WAC compound where they sat on the rear steps of the officers’ house watching a pick-up game of basketball. Some of the women from the softball match were present, including their squad mates Sarah from Montana and Mary from New Orleans. The evening air was warm, the chatter was friendly, and CJ relaxed beside her new friends, her belly full and her heart as content as it could be with the world at war.

  Now Sunday evening stretched ahead, the hours as yet unspoken for. Maybe she’d see if Brady wanted to stop by the service club later—assuming she hadn’t changed her mind about going for a drink. At breakfast and noon mess, they’d only managed to nod at each other in passing. Admin and Maintenance were like foreign territories.

  At supper she checked for Brady in the crowded mess, but there was no sign of her.

  “Looking for someone?” Toby asked after the tenth time CJ had craned her head.

  There was something about her tone that seemed off, but CJ couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  “I think I’ll head back early,” she said, rising with her tray. “I have some letters to catch up on.”

  As she turned away she could have sworn she heard Reggie murmur something, but when she glanced back her squad mate gazed up at her innocently.

  “See ya,” Reggie said cheerfully.

  Five minutes later, CJ detoured past Brady’s barracks and found her sitting on the front steps, frowning down at a V-mail letter.

  She glanced up as CJ approached. “Hey, soldier.”

  “Hey.” CJ stopped beside the steps. “I didn’t see you at supper.”

  “I wasn’t feeling very social.”

  The sun was setting over El Paso, and the fading light brought out golden highlights in Brady’s hair. CJ nodded at the letter. “Bad news?”

  “Not exactly. I didn’t tell you I was engaged, did I?”

  And there it was—Brady was going to be married. Would she end up quitting the Army too, like the soldier CJ had replaced? It didn’t seem like her style, but then, CJ didn’t really know her. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” But Brady didn’t smile or blush or otherwise appear the picture of the glowing bride-to-be. She folded the letter in half. “What are you up to tonight?”

  “No plans yet.”

  “Feel like a movie? Stage Door Canteen is playing at the post theater.”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “So have I. It starts in an hour. What do you say?”

  CJ hesitated. “Give me a minute, will you?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Back at her barracks, CJ brushed her teeth, examining her mirrored reflection. Her cheeks were flushed, or maybe she was sunburned. But she never burned. She’d grown up outdoors, playing in the woods and streams near her family’s farm. She spat out the toothpaste, still studying her face in the mirror. Why did she feel so different here? What had changed between the time she left Illinois and now? Whatever it was, she couldn’t detect any outward sign of a shift. Maybe she needed more time to get used to the move. A few days ago she hadn’t even known about Fort Bliss, and now it was her home for the near—and possibly far—future.

  A little while later she and Brady headed away from the WAC compound, dressed in their “A” uniforms. While they wore matching Hobby hats, collared shirts, ties, straight khaki skirts that fell below their knees, and sensible brown shoes, CJ thought she probably resembled a gawky teenager while Brady looked like she belonged on a recruiting poster. The sun crept closer to the mountains lining the horizon as they walked, and CJ watched the sky change colors, keeping quiet. Brady didn’t say much either as they walked down the road toward the center of base life, lamps flicking on as the sky darkened.

  “You’re not engaged, are you?” Brady said suddenly.

  “No.” Sean’s eyes, hurt and angry, flickered before her, but she blinked away the unwelcome image. “I don’t want to get married yet.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Then why are you engaged?”

  Brady squinted at the sun where it lingered at the edge of the horizon. “Because Nate asked me the day before he shipped out and I didn’t know how to say no.”

  “I know a lot of people who got engaged or even married right before their boyfriends shipped.”

  “So do I. I can’t quite believe I’m one of them.”

  They walked on quietly toward the theater, a hundred yards down the road from the men’s enlisted and non-com service clubs. Jeeps passed them, boys in uniform hanging out the sides whistling and offering rides, among other things. They ignored their would-be suitors and walked on through the cooling air together.

  As they passed the enlisted club, a buck private did a literal double-take, gawking at them. CJ, assuming the look was for Brady, kept walking. Men could be such idiots, falling all over themselves for a girl they didn’t even know.

  “Hey! CJ!”

  She turned back as the soldier left his friends and jogged toward her. Jack Sawyer. A year younger, he had been part of the same crowd she and Sean were in at Michigan.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, smiling at him.

  “I should ask you that.” He gave her a quick hug. “I heard you’d run off and joined the Wackos, but I didn’t think we’d cross paths.”

  “I guess it really is a small army.” She glanced at Brady, who was watching the exchange with apparent interest. “Brady, meet Jack. We were at school together.”

  He took Brady’s hand and gave a half-bow. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  “Behave,” CJ chided. “She’s a Seven Sisters woman, well above your pay grade.”

  “Now I’m really impressed,” he said, still holding Brady’s hand.

  “Don’t be,” she said, and took it back.

  “We’re on our way to a movie,” CJ added, “so maybe you and I can catch up later. What unit are you in?”

  He recited his assigned antiaircraft regiment, battalion and company, adding, “I can’t believe you’re stationed at Bliss! Maybe we could grab a drink later in the week.”

  “It’s a date.” CJ started to turn away.

  “Say, how’s Sean?” Jack asked.

  Dang it—the question she’d been hopin
g to avoid.

  “He got into the PhD program at Michigan,” she said, feeling Brady’s gaze on her again. “But that’s all I know. We’re not in touch anymore.”

  “No kidding?” Jack shoved his cap back. “I’m sorry. I always assumed you two would get married.”

  “Wasn’t meant to be, I guess. We should get going. I’ll track you down soon, okay?”

  He nodded. “Sure. Nice meeting you, Brady.”

  “You too.”

  CJ chewed her lip as they continued toward the theater. Seeing someone from her old life was not part of the plan tonight. At least he hadn’t pressed for details about the breakup. But what must Brady think? Even after she had confessed her uncertainty about being engaged, CJ had continued to pretend Sean didn’t exist. Then again, to her he didn’t anymore. He’d made it clear that if she joined the service, they were through, not seeming to realize that from her perspective they already were.

  “Michigan, hmm?” Brady commented.

  CJ glanced at her. “Yeah. It’s strange running into people in the Army you know from real life.”

  “Like you’re both playing dress-up?”

  “Exactly.”

  A few minutes later, popcorn and Cokes in hand, they entered the theater as the news reel was starting. Brady led the way past a dozen cat-calling GIs to open seats beside two boys who barely glanced their way. As CJ waited for the movie to begin, the war news washed over her, failing to find purchase in her crowded mind. Jack had always been more Sean’s friend than hers. How had he not known about their breakup? And what had Brady thought about her now apparent lie of omission? She would have mentioned Sean eventually, but it was still difficult to talk about his betrayal without feeling foolish. For some reason, Brady’s good opinion mattered more than it ought to, strictly speaking.

  Even after the feature started, she had a hard time concentrating until Katharine Hepburn’s scenes. She loved Hepburn, loved the characters she played, wild young women who refused to be tamed. One of her favorite movies was The Philadelphia Story, released back in 1940 when war was only a threat and her brothers were where they ought to be. Katharine Hepburn, Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant in one film. What more could you ask for? Other than world peace, of course.

  When they got to the scene where Hepburn comforted the USO girl whose fiancé shipped out the day they were supposed to be married, CJ watched Brady out of the corner of her eye. All through Hepburn’s speech about the life the girl’s fiancé was fighting for—to live and love and raise a family in a free country—Brady’s fingers drummed against the side of the popcorn container. Only after the girl kissed Hepburn’s cheek and walked off, shoulders squared resolutely, did Brady stop fidgeting.

  After the show, they lingered outside in the rapidly cooling evening, talking with a couple of GIs Brady knew from the PRO. CJ couldn’t miss the way the men looked at Brady. One even tried flirting with her, but not very seriously. Mostly she felt sorry for boys in uniform. The majority had been drafted and would be sent off God-knew-where as soon as they completed training. Other than the rare, gung-ho hero types, most male soldiers she’d met hoped to get through the war without having to kill or risk being killed. Overseas assignments in the WAC, on the other hand, were a hot commodity. More women had already applied for overseas duty than would ever be required. Same with officers. The chances of being promoted or sent overseas were low for Wacs like her who’d joined “late.”

  One of the GIs invited them to the enlisted men’s club. Expression neutral, Brady glanced at CJ. “Feel like a drink?”

  The idea of being a third wheel did not excite her. “I think I’ll go for a walk. But you go ahead.”

  “Don’t be silly. It isn’t safe to wander the post alone,” Brady said, linking her arm through CJ’s.

  They made their farewells and meandered away from the theater. Overhead, stars poked tiny holes through the pitch sky, and a nearly full moon hung suspended over the horizon.

  As they passed the men’s service club, CJ said, “You can go in if you want.”

  “It’s too nice to go indoors. Besides, I’m not going to abandon you on your first weekend at Bliss.”

  “Does that mean you asked me out tonight because you felt sorry for me?” CJ asked, smiling a little. “And here I thought we were getting to be friends, crumpet girl.”

  Brady elbowed her. “We are getting to be friends. Assuming you lose the nickname.”

  “I suppose that could be arranged. Where are we going, anyway?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Brady led her between buildings, along narrow sidewalks and behind bored MPs who somehow didn’t seem to notice a couple of giggling Wacs slipping past in the night. By the time they reached a sprawling parking lot filled with Jeeps and bordered by an airplane hangar, CJ was thoroughly lost. Her sole hope at finding her way back would be to judge directions based on the stars. But the West Texas night sky was different from the one she’d grown up with. Apparently she would have to depend on Brady to lead her back to the WAC compound.

  Brady hopped into the back seat of an empty Jeep at the edge of the lot. “Come on, Private,” she said. “You’re not chicken, are you?”

  “Chicken? Not a chance.” CJ climbed in next to her. How much trouble would they be in if they got caught? Actually, she didn’t want to know. “So, sweetheart, do you come here often?” she asked in her best Humphrey Bogart impression.

  “Nah, I don’t usually skulk around this much. I just wasn’t in the mood to be around all those people tonight.”

  “It’s almost impossible to escape in the Army, isn’t it?”

  “You have to leave the post to truly get away. Fortunately, the command here is pretty free with weekend passes.” Brady paused. “I’ve also heard rumors about Wacs making deals with MPs and taking Jeeps off base without a pass. Taking hops, too.”

  “Hops?”

  “Rides on ferry planes or whatnot. You should ask your friends about it. Maintenance as a company seems to get away with more than the rest of us.”

  CJ leaned her head against the seat and looked up at the wide Texas sky awash with starlight. Would she be up there soon, getting a “hop” on a giant C-47 or, even better, a B-17? She’d always wanted to go up in a Flying Fortress, mostly to see what Alec’s war experiences were like firsthand. Not that a training flight in West Texas compared to a combat mission over Axis-controlled Africa or Europe, of course.

  “I’m surprised they accepted you so quickly,” Brady added. “Your buddies don’t welcome strangers into their midst, except the WASPs. Women pilots seem to be kosher with your crew.”

  “Are there WASPs here?” CJ asked. The Women’s Airforce Service Pilots was an auxiliary organization without military authorization or oversight, like the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps had been before Congress had voted to remove the “Auxiliary” and grant the corps full military status earlier in the year.

  “A small contingent. But like everything else related to the military, the situation changes weekly. Rumor has it a much larger group is due to arrive any day.”

  “You must have access to a lot of information, working for the PRO.”

  “I do. And some of it is classified, so don’t try to make me talk.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  And then, because Brady was staring at her somehow a little too intently as they sat on the Jeep’s back seat in the middle of the deserted parking lot, surrounded by thousands of male officers and soldiers and cadets they couldn’t see, CJ went back to tracing the constellations overhead, learning the layout of the southwestern heavens.

  “So who’s Sean?” Brady asked. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  CJ sat up straighter, khaki skirt sliding noiselessly across the smooth seat. “A friend from school.”

  “Only a friend?”

  “Well, no. We dated for almost a year.” She frowned, wishing she had pockets to shove her hands into. Men’s pants had wonderfully deep pock
ets, she knew from wearing her brother’s hand-me-downs around the farm.

  “What happened?”

  She hesitated. “He wanted to marry me, but I wasn’t ready. So we broke up.”

  It was more complicated than that, of course. She’d thought they would, in fact, probably be married someday. That was why she’d deferred her acceptance to the graduate history program at the University of North Carolina, which boasted the largest collection of slave narratives in the country. Sean was in a master’s program at Michigan and had agreed that as soon as he finished his degree in the spring, they would pack up and move to Chapel Hill together. But then his thesis advisor had suggested he stay on in the doctorate program, and he had come to her jubilant that his dreams were coming true, expecting her to be elated for him.

  She leaned her head against the Jeep seat, remembering the night she’d pulled him up from his knees and told him that she couldn’t marry him. He’d stared at her there on her parents’ driveway, lit by the nearly full moon, as if some strange creature inhabited her body.

  “What do you mean you can’t marry me?” he had demanded. “I told you, they’ll let you stay on at Michigan. We can both get our doctorates right here, close to our families.”

  “I don’t want to stay here. You know that. You can’t change the plan without asking me, Sean.”

  He drew a breath, and then he took her hand and said in a tone he typically reserved for the greenest undergraduates, “But you have to see that your chances of completing a doctorate at UNC—or even at Michigan—aren’t all that high.”

  She had stared at him. “And why is that?”

  “Because you won’t be able to stay in school once the children come. If we went to UNC, we would end up back here anyway. This way makes infinitely more sense. I’ll be able to find a permanent position while the children are still young.”

  She’d yanked her hand back, realizing how narrowly she’d dodged the bullet of his love. He had always seemed to love her more, to need more from her than she did from him, but she had thought that was how love worked. She knew she cared about him. True, she didn’t daydream about him the way other girls did with the men they were dating. But she liked him better than any other man she knew, and liked kissing him too. He’d seemed to respect her mind and her goals for the future. Surely all those factors represented a healthy basis for marriage.