The Recruiter

by Dan Ames

  The film had been mildly interesting to Beth but hadn’t really made her more excited about joining the Navy. Samuel had told her that wasn’t why he brought her here. It was more about the bigger issues that entail service in the military.

  Samuel gets to the car first, opens the door for Beth, and takes her crutches. When she swings herself in, he hands her the crutches. He goes around to the driver’s side, gets in, and starts up the car.

  Beth sits there, holding her crutches as Samuel maneuvers the car out of the busy parking lot.

  “So why did you join the Navy?” she asks. “You’re too smart to be taken in by any of that Hollywood stuff. And I don’t think you’d let a recruiter sweet-talk you into it, either.”

  “Recruiters sweet-talking? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” he says, a smile on his face.

  He pulls the car out of the lot and onto the road, heading south. Back toward her home, Beth realizes.

  “A lot of reasons,” Samuel says. He pauses, then says, “No, that’s not right. There was really only one reason. I mean, I did like everything the Navy had to offer. I liked that it was out there, you know? The first line of defense and all that. I liked that it was a little bit of everything: ships, subs, airplanes.”

  He turns left at the next intersection.

  “But really, I just wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.”

  Beth nods, is about to speak when he goes on.

  “My family…well, it wasn’t the whole Ward and June Cleaver kind of thing, if you know what I mean.”

  The car is silent, save for the sound of the engine. “It wasn’t the best situation, and there weren’t a lot of options for me.”

  Beth reaches across the car and touches his arm. “Thank you for being honest with me,” she says. She’s truly moved. He could have lied to her, but he didn’t.

  At that moment, she wants to tell him to take her somewhere else. She doesn’t want to go home. She wants the night to continue, to lead up to something better. She thinks back to what Peter was talking about. How the scholarship led him to believe that he was on the eve of new changes, of greater life experiences ahead, and how he couldn’t wait to start.

  She’s like that now.

  She imagines taking Samuel somewhere secluded, kissing him, feeling his body. Yielding to him.

  “Shall we call it a night?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” she says. She allowed a little disappointment into her voice, but he seems not to pick up on it. But it was all she could do.

  A few minutes later, they pull up in front of her house. Samuel shuts the car off, and they both walk toward the house, Beth swinging along on her crutches. She’d like to invite him in, but she’s hesitant. Her mother hasn’t been drinking lately, but you never know when she’s going to fall off the wagon—and she will; it’s just a matter of when. No, Beth decides, tonight’s not the night to invite him in. It isn’t wise to rush things.

  “Do you want to come in?” she asks, the words escaping from her mouth like a hiccup.

  Samuel pauses, and in that instant, Beth blushes furiously. It’s a good thing it’s dark out.

  “I’m going to have to take a rain check, Beth. But I was wondering if you weren’t busy this weekend, if you’d like to do something.”

  The embarrassment leaves Beth in an instant.

  “Sure,” she says.

  She opens the door and Samuel turns back toward the car. She stops. “Samuel?”

  When he turns, she surprises both of them by leaning forward and kissing him.

  On the mouth.

  She turns and goes into the house.

  The pain in her knee is gone.

  Chapter 63

  The coffee is weak. Anna sips from the cup, like a repentant parishioner returning to the flock.

  The good news is the shakes, the sweats, the worst of the drying out seems to be over. The bad news is Anna isn’t sure how long she can keep it up.

  She takes another sip of the coffee, her stomach calm for the moment, but the waves of nausea hit without warning.

  Anna doesn’t believe in God, at least not the way it’s presented by organized religion. She believes in the possibility of some kind of dimension, perhaps, that is currently beyond the realm of our perception. But nothing more. And probably less. For all intents and purposes, she believes that when someone is dead and in the ground, it all stops.

  The doorbell rings, and Anna sets her now-empty coffee cup in the sink then goes to the door.

  She recognizes Peter Forbes and opens the door for him.

  “Hi, Mrs. Fischer.” Anna can see the way he studies her, looking for signs of drunkenness. She idly wonders how long she’ll have to stay sober before people stop looking at her that way. And then wonders if they ever will.

  “Hi, Peter.”

  “Is Beth home?”

  “No, she’s not.”

  “Good. May I come in?” He steps into the living room, and she closes the door after him. He takes a seat on the couch. She stands uncertainly for a moment then settles into the wing chair across from him.

  “Good?”

  He nods. “You and I have to talk. It’s about Beth.”

  “What’s wrong?” Her heart starts beating quickly, and a sudden urge for a drink flares up, but she beats it back down.

  “The Navy is what’s wrong, Mrs. Fischer. Do you know she’s planning on enlisting?”

  She breathes a sigh of relief. “I know. But I don’t think she actually will.”

  “I think she will. I think she’s got her heart set on it.”

  “What if she gets a scholarship?”

  Peter shakes his head. “No one else is interested. Not since she blew her knee out. She only had the one offer, and they gave that one to someone else. That’s why she’s thinking about enlisting.”

  “There may be more colleges interested.” She hesitates. Should she tell him? Will he tell Beth? He doesn’t want to set Beth up for more disappointment. She decides for the time being to keep it to herself.

  Peter shakes his head.

  “This recruiter is playing her like a fiddle.”

  “Samuel?”

  “Is that his name? Whatever. He’s working her, Mrs. Fischer. These guys are slick. And he’s working her. Can you imagine Beth on a battleship? Heading into a war zone? I don’t want that. You don’t want that. And Beth doesn’t want that…but she doesn’t know it.”

  Anna is slightly taken aback by Peter’s vehemence. His face is flushed, and he talks with his hands, nearly losing his breath with the urgency in his voice.

  “This guy has her convinced it’s perfect for her when in reality it’s all totally, way wrong for her,” he says. “We’ve got to put a stop to this. Do some kind of intervention like they do for addicts—”

  Peter stops himself, but not before they’re both embarrassed.

  “You make it sound so…calculated,” she says.

  “It’s what he does for a living. She’s just a number to him.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” Anna says, feeling herself come to the defense of Beth. “I think she…trusts him.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, for God’s sake!” Peter gets to his feet. “Why does she trust him and not me…us?”

  Anna has no answer for that.

  “You’ve told her you’re against the Navy, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And I’ve told her. Why does she have this in her head? What’s gotten into her?”

  “Come on, Peter. She watched her scholarship go up in smoke. She didn’t feel like she had any other options. She wants to get away from Silver Lake.”

  Anna heaves a deep sigh.

  “She wants to get away from me. That’s why she’s considering the Navy. It’s her ticket out of here.” Anna feels her own words hit her. She knows they’re true, but to hear them said out loud in her own voice…she immediately starts crying. She looks up and sees Peter looking at her.
A mask of anger and shame. He feels sorry for her, she realizes. But he also blames her.

  “Where’s Beth? She isn’t answering my calls or texts. We have to talk to her, together.”

  “She’s out,” Anna says, wiping the tears from her face. If Peter wasn’t here, she thinks she might just have a drink.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know where. I know who, though.”

  “No, don’t tell me it’s—”

  Anna nods. “She’s with Samuel.”

  Chapter 64

  It’s only been two days since he’s seen Beth, but now that he’s with her again, Samuel is eager. They are in his apartment after spending the day together. The time flew for Samuel, something that has never happened before.

  The first kiss is tentative. His lips barely brush Beth’s, but Samuel feels an electric charge run through his body.

  The second kiss is firmer. More urgent. It leaves a lasting impression on Samuel, but not so long that he doesn’t want a third, a fourth, and a fifth.

  He runs his hands over Beth’s body, feels her respond. She presses against him, urging him on.

  Her hands are over his body. Running down his stomach. Down below his belt. His breath is raspy.

  Suddenly, he breaks away from her.

  “Beth, maybe we—”

  She kisses his mouth before he can get the words out. His mind is racing. The day was perfect. Their conversation was easy. Natural. He’d never felt so comfortable with anyone, including himself.

  Samuel feels her tongue probe inside his mouth, and he responds, running his hands over her body, kissing her neck. He wants nothing more than to pick her up and carry her into the bedroom.

  But he can’t.

  He breaks the kiss. “Beth.”

  She runs her hands through his hair. Kisses him gently on the mouth. “What possibly could be more important than what we’re doing?”

  “I—” he begins, but nothing else comes out.

  She gives him another kiss, a long one that nearly curls his toes. He wants to tell her that he desperately wants to make love to her. But then he has a flash: Beth pregnant. Him, Samuel, leaving the Navy, getting a job at a factory.

  His train of thought is shattered with one idea, one singular realization.

  He would be just like his father.

  Suddenly, the pain in his temple erupts, and he momentarily loses his balance. He reaches out to Beth and holds her, his eyes clamped shut.

  “Are you okay, Samuel?” she asks.

  “I think—”

  She kisses him.

  His mind clears. If he does sleep with Beth, there’s a good possibility that she might fall in love with him. How good a chance? He doesn’t know. But no matter how small the chance is, he doesn’t want to take it. Because he does know one thing with certainty: the day will come when she has to ship out. She will have to get on board a ship and say goodbye to everyone she knows for at least six months.

  Most recruits have trouble with that concept to begin with. But put a young woman who’s having family trouble, who’s overcoming a physical hardship, and who’s romantically attached to a man…the odds are good she’ll bail before it’s time to get on board.

  And if she bails, there goes his quota. There goes his satisfactory review. And there goes his chance to be a Navy SEAL. Suddenly, the lust in his heart is replaced by fear. Fear of what could happen. Fear of how close he just came to throwing it all away.

  “I don’t think we should,” he says at last.

  She pulls away from him, the surprise and anger written all over her face. “Are you serious? You want to stop?”

  He holds his hands out to her. “I’m sorry, I just don’t think this is—”

  “Why?” she asks. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No,” he says.

  “Then what?”

  “Look, I’m recruiting you, Beth. I’m new at it, but I don’t think it’s good policy to get involved.”

  “What does your heart tell you?”

  He can’t answer that. Doesn’t know how to answer it.

  He looks at Beth, looks into her eyes, and sees her torment. And suddenly, he realizes that if he doesn’t sleep with her, if he rejects her, like her mother has, like her boyfriend has, like the people who yanked her scholarship, then he will surely lose her. She’ll take his Navy brochures and burn them.

  “My heart is telling me…”

  “What?”

  “…to shut up and kiss you.”

  He moves forward and they embrace, their lips smashed together, their hands all over each other’s bodies. Their clothes come off in a torrent. Samuel carefully picks her up and carries her into his bedroom.

  Chapter 65

  Can it get much more pathetic than this?

  After nearly two hours of tossing and turning, Julie Giacalone has gotten out of bed, thrown on a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt, poured herself a tall glass of whiskey and soda—heavy on the whiskey—and is now reading Samuel Ackerman’s service folder.

  Next to all of the basic information—birthdate, social security number, etc.—is a small photo probably taken at one of the administrative offices. It shows a slightly younger Samuel Ackerman, wary but comfortable, looking into the camera with an expression that is difficult to gauge.

  It is hard to tear her eyes from the image.

  Even though she’s sickened by the memory of that look on his face, it still hurts. But the reason she feels so pathetic tonight is because, even though she knows he feels that way about her, she’s still turned on by the sight of him. She looks at his picture and goddamn if she doesn’t remember the coarse feel of his hands on her body.

  Stop it!

  She takes a long drink from her whiskey glass. Her hand shakes slightly as she brings the glass to her lips.

  Her eyes are immediately drawn back to the picture. Ordinarily, the photos tend to make people look worse than they really are. Bad expressions, shitty color, poor exposures, the perfect recipe for high-school-yearbook-quality pictures.

  But not Samuel.

  Somehow the gritty black-and-white seems to etch his face in an even stronger light. It almost gives him a timeless quality. Like a gritty World War II photograph.

  She takes another long drink. World War II photograph? Who is she kidding, besides herself? He’s not a god, for Christ’s sake.

  So what is he?

  Who is he?

  Julie leans forward and taps the keys on her computer. She watches as the screen tells her the computer has made its connection to the Internet. She navigates away from the home page—the Navy’s recruitment website, of course—and accesses the Navy’s personnel records by giving her user ID and password.

  She enters Samuel’s information, and his service record appears. It’s a very basic document, which shows his movement through the Naval ranks. There is little information other than his assignment history. Julie stares at the information, processing what little there is. She takes another drink of the whiskey and closes her eyes. What is it she thinks she’ll find?

  Julie clicks on Samuel’s ASVAB results. Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery tests measure intellectual capacity, among other things.

  Samuel’s score is high. It shows him to be a quick thinker with equal strengths in creativity and strategic execution. He also scored high in linguistic and analytical categories.

  Julie closes the ASVAB section.

  Suddenly, the real question, the real reason Julie is looking at Samuel’s record at two in the morning, pops into her mind.

  Why has he been made into a recruiter?

  Julie has no illusions about her profession. It’s not the most highly valued position in the Navy. Granted, some very wonderful people are made into recruiters.

  On a note pad next to her computer, she has jotted Samuel’s progression through the Navy.

  Julie looks back over the record. A lot of movement for a sailor, but then again, nothing terribly out
of the ordinary. Sailors are constantly being moved and rotated and deployed. It’s a nomadic life.

  Still, Julie looks back at the information before her. Two questions immediately jump out at her. One, why such a short time in ordnance in Pensacola? And two, why did he drop out of BUD/S training?

  The latter is easily explained. She has heard the numbers—over half don’t make it through the incredibly difficult SEAL training. But Samuel’s sheer physicality seems to preclude the issue of strength and endurance. She remembers his body, as firm as chiseled granite. If he did break down, it wasn’t from a physical failing. It was probably mental.

  But even that doesn’t sit right with her. He’s so calm. So confident. So assured. Something must have gone terribly wrong for him at BUD/S training. So what was it? What made him drop out?

  She jots down the name of Samuel’s superior in Pensacola, as well as the name of the BUD/S instructor in charge during Samuel’s training.

  The last name strikes a chord with her.

  Larry Nevens.

  She drains the last of the whiskey in her glass, shuts down the computer, and walks back to her bedroom. Her eyes are already half-lidded as sleep beckons her. A last thought flashes through her mind before sleep overtakes her.

  Larry Nevens.

  Why does that name sound familiar?

  Chapter 66

  Peter is sitting outside Beth’s house at four thirty in the morning.

  It feels like the height of stupidity.

  He is stretched out in the third row of seats at the back of the Explorer—the same bench seat on which he and Vanessa had gone at it. He rests his head back and closes his eyes. That had been one hell of a night. A night he’ll never forget. He’d called and texted Vanessa afterward, but she refused to return his messages.

  He’d tried a couple more times then given up. He guessed that his reaction to Beth leaving had been a major turnoff for Vanessa. He could see how it might have ruined the moment; the sight of him running across the parking area with his pants around his ankles. Not exactly an image you’d see on the cover of a romance novel.