The Chow Hall began to fill up and my date, Ashley, was nowhere to be seen. When everyone took their seat and Major Richards got everyone’s attention to make a toast, it was starting to look like I was getting stood up.
A part of me was relieved, that I wouldn’t have to suffer through a couple hours of listening to Ashley blab on about her precious acting career—or whine about how attractive she was. “Boo hoo, everyone here wants to sleep with me. Life is so hard.”
But I would take a few hours of blabbing and whining if it meant skipping a month’s worth of ground duty. During his toast, Major Richards looked over at me more than a couple of times, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the empty seat across from me, as if it was my fault Ashley wasn’t showing up for dinner. And maybe it was—maybe she was too offended from me calling her dumb. Maybe I’d knocked her fragile ego too hard.
But just as Major Richards finished his useless, emotionless speech, and just as I was becoming sure that I was going to eat alone, the Chow Hall door opened and there she was.
She wore black heels, a long black dress, and her hair was curled and rolling over her shoulders. As she stepped into the room, her dress flowed with a weightless elegance, parting down the side and showing off her long, smooth legs.
She stole the room’s attention, every head turning in her direction. She may have been self-absorbed, but damn, she was beautiful.
She sat down across from me, adjusted her tits, and said, “How do I look?”
I shrugged. “I dunno, fine.”
The room’s many conversations were slow to start back up, everyone’s faces still glued to Ashley’s body.
It was no wonder she had such a big ego. She was gorgeous, even the women were swooning over her. The only negative comments she’d ever heard in her life were probably from jealous women and rejected men. The ‘dumb and stuck-up’ remark was probably the first time she’d ever been cut down a notch. And going through life with nothing but drooling compliments, one’s bound to develop a complex.
We sat in silence, while the recruits went table to table, dropping off appetizers. They’d attempted to dress the Chow Hall like a fancy Italian restaurant, with white table cloths over the plastic folding tables, and lots of dumb candles.
“How long have you been a marine?” she asked.
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to start some small talk.” She scowled.
“I joined the Marines three years ago. We deployed about two years ago.”
“Have you been out on the front lines?”
“No.”
“Have you been to Baghdad, or Mosul, or Ramadi?”
I stared at her and then laughed. It was obvious that she was trying to prove me wrong, prove that she wasn’t stupid. She had probably gone back to her room to look up a bunch of random facts, random city names. It was surprising she didn’t come to dinner with a pair of glasses and a stack of textbooks.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“How long have you been a Playboy Bunny?” I asked, ignoring her question. I didn’t want to start a fight at the table, so I figured I would humour her ‘small talk.’
“I’m not a Bunny. Bunnies work at the mansion. I’m just a Playmate.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Playmates are one-offs. Drew Barrymore, Farrah Fawcett, and Kate Moss were all Playmates. I’m an actor, and this is just a promotional gig my manager landed me.”
Not even a full minute into the dinner and she was already on about her acting career. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to her drone on about it again, so I changed the subject, and asked her where she was from.
“Seattle,” she said. “Well, a small town outside of Seattle.”
“Which one?”
“Greenwater?”
“Really? I’m from Buckley.” Buckley was only a few miles from Greenwater. Both towns were south-east of Seattle.
“Get out, really?” She kicked me with her heeled shoe as a big smile swept across her face. “What year did you graduate?”
“’05,” I said.
“No shit! I was ’03.”
“I was quarterback for the Buckley Bravehearts in my senior year.”
“I was a cheerleader with the Greenwater Ducks in my junior year. I bet I saw you at a game.”
“We beat you in the finals,” I said.
“That’s right, you did—oh wait! I remember you! You threw that touchdown in the final few seconds. That was you!”
“Did I?” I tried to remember back to the moment, but couldn’t. My memory must have been too shot from years of boxing, taking blows to the head. I knew we won and I could remember bits and pieces of the celebration.
And though I couldn’t remember throwing the winning touchdown, I could remember the cheerleaders, shaking their green pom-poms, kicking their little green skirts up and flashing their white panties. Just before I threw that last Hail Mary, the Ducks’ cheerleaders all lifted their skirts and flashed our team in an attempt to distract us. I didn’t care though. I knew, if I was going to fuck a girl that night, it would be because I threw the winning touchdown. The guy who caught the throw didn’t notice the girls’ flashing, and the only reason he caught the ball was because the guy that should have blocked him did see the ladies’ show.
I started to laugh as it all came back to me. Ashley had a big, beaming grin on her face. “I do—I remember you. My friend, Megan, went to flirt with you after the game.”
I tried to remember. I had a vague memory of a cheerleader coming up to me on the field after everyone started to leave.
“Do you remember?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“You made her cry,” Ashley said.
I strained to remember. The memory was hazy. The girl came up to me and stopped me from leaving the field. She told me my throw was impressive. She told me her name, but I couldn’t remember it, and then she asked me if I wanted to go out with her. I said no.
It turned out, Ashley knew a lot of my friends, and I knew a lot of Ashley’s friends. How we’d never met was surprising, seeing as the combined population of our towns was less than one thousand people.
I’d nearly forgotten I was on a forced date when my attention was grabbed by the snap of a camera. The reporter was down on one knee, with his camera pointed in our direction. He had a large grin on his face as he rose to his feet. “That was great—just great. Take a look at that shot!” He was far too excited for his own good. He showed us the photo.
In his photo, both Ashley and I were leaning forward and laughing. “Not bad, hey?” the reporter asked, pushing the camera closer towards my face.
I wanted to slap the camera down and break the stupid thing, and not just because I looked like a damned chode in his picture, but because I was getting sick of having to live with a camera lingering over my back. The reporter’s smirk made my blood hot and my body tense. I nearly swatted him to the ground and broke his thick-framed hipster glasses.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“You want to know what I think?” I said with my teeth clenched. I could see Major Richards with an eye on me, over the reporter’s shoulder. “I think it’s fine.”
“A lovely photo,” Ashley said. Of course, she meant it. She loved the camera. It was the whole reason she was here.
I remembered the date was a sham, and suddenly felt like crap about the whole thing. Ashley’s big smile, her bubbly attitude, the fondness of her high-school memories—there was no way to separate what was real from what was a show for the camera.
I looked around the room. All the other girls had similar smiles plastered on their faces, they all laughed at the other Joes’ jokes, and listened attentively to their stories. It was all a big sham, a big pity parade—all the Playmates simply humouring the poor, lonely soldiers.
“Gage?” Ashley said.
I looked over at her. She still had that big smile on her face, but her eyebrows were crooked, and he
r head was tilted to one side.
“What?”
“I asked, what are you doing when you’re back from your tour?” She stared at me, her smile slowly vanishing as I stared back. She was a career actress on a publicity promo—of course none of it was real, of course it was all a fake. She had probably gone back to her room and looked me up, looked up my town, looked up my friends, and the other Playmates probably did the same with their dates.
I was finished my dinner, so I decided to leave.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Dinner’s over. I told you, I’ve got things to do.” I left.
PART TWO
I love the smell of napalm in the morning. You know, one time we had a hill bombed, for 12 hours. When it was all over, I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' dink body. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole hill. Smelled like victory.
FRANCIS FORD COPPOLA, APOCALYPSE NOW
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Gage truly was an asshole, just putting on a show for his boss, not caring about anyone but himself. I felt like shit, sitting there, alone at that table in the middle of a crowded room.
We were hitting it off. At least, I thought we were, before he stood up and left the room without even saying ‘good night.’ I’d never felt so exposed in my whole life, sitting there like an idiot, waiting for desert to come out so I could eat alone like the school’s token unpopular girl.
People took notice, too. Some of the girls were looking at me—some smirking, all with eyes full of pity—and a great deal of the men were looking too, all with the same expression on their face: hopeful excitement. I felt like an injured antelope, generously left for pride by the alpha lion.
Later in the night, after the cafeteria was converted from its fine dining theme to a dimly lit, classy bar theme (complete with plastic folding tables, metal folding chairs, and an old cot that served as an appetizer cart), and the men got heavy into the drinks, things started to look a lot like the previous night. Men floated around the room like starved bottom feeders, looking for sex, and eventually finding me.
And once again, as the night progressed, and the men became drunker, it became increasingly difficult to get away when I needed space. Thankfully, Lyon was nowhere to be seen, probably resting from the beating Gage dished out earlier.
Once their hands started to slither onto my skin, I decided to slip out the backdoor and make my way back to my room. Before I reached the Guest Hall door, one of the men stopped me. He had a skinny, pale face, and big, heavy lips.
“Where you going?” he asked, stepping between me and the door.
“I’m tired. I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Tired? The night’s still so young. Besides, you’re only here for a few more days. Why not make the most of it?”
“I’m still fighting the jet lag,” I said, trying to inch past him, but he didn’t budge.
“Oh, c’mon. It’s the early afternoon back home.” His puffy lips stretched into a long grin and I suddenly felt cold and scared. He had that hungry, horny look in his eyes.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
He moved aside and let me through. A wave of relief washed over me, but it was short lived. He followed me into the Guest Hall, which was empty—everyone still mingling back at the cafeteria.
“Nice place,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking around. “I’ve never actually been in here before. Well—back when I was a recruit, we would have to come in here and clean up.”
“Good night,” I said, ignoring his small talk, heading straight towards my room. Between the echoing clicks of my high heels, I could hear him following.
“Are you okay? You aren’t scared of me, are you?” the scrawny-faced man asked.
“Just tired. I’m not trying to be rude.” My heart beat faster with every empty room that I walked past. I wanted there to be someone in one of those rooms—someone who could hear me scream if I needed help, someone who could make the scrawny man think twice before doing anything.
I tried to calm my racing heart down, telling myself, You’re overreacting. He’s just bored, he’s not going to hurt you.
“You look absolutely gorgeous tonight,” he said, still jogging to keep up with my quickening pace.
“Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.” I could hear my own voice trembling. Certainly, he could hear it, too. But he didn’t seem to care.
“I saw your Playmate spread online. It went viral, you know.”
“I know.” I reached the end of the hall. The place was totally empty, save for me and the persistent man. I looked around for somewhere to go, somewhere I could keep moving. The last thing I wanted to do was stop, and let the man catch up to me.
“The bedrooms were all back there. Are you lost?” he asked.
I turned around and he was blocking the long, empty hallway. He had that big grin across his face. Panic crawled down my spine and my legs became weak. My body froze. He approached.
“I’m sorry that Gage just left you there, at dinner.”
“It’s okay. He had stuff to do.” I tried to hide my shaking hands behind my back.
The man laughed. “No, he just said that. Gage is an asshole. It’s nothing personal though, he’s like that with everyone. The guy’s got a stick so far up his ass.”
“No offence,” I said. “But I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here.”
He laughed and started walking forward. “Don’t worry. I’m not like a killer or anything. I’m not trying to scare you. I’m actually a really nice guy.” He licked his puffy lips. “When Gage told me he wasn’t into you, I told him he was crazy.”
My body became tense, ready to charge at a moment’s notice. He stopped mere inches away and laughed. “Calm down,” he said. “You’re all stressed out. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Look, I’m sure you’re a really nice guy, but I really do just want to go to bed.”
He gently put his hands on my arms, sending a jolt of nausea through my body. His hands were damp and cool, like some sweaty reptile. I tried to force a smile, and act relaxed, despite being anything but.
“Gage really was crazy to turn you down. You’re too good for him anyway.”
It was hard to hold my forced smile with his cheap cologne filtering up through my nostrils. He slid one of his hands down the length of my arm in some pseudo-sensual motion. I couldn’t take it any longer.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I’m not interested.”
“In what?”
“In you. I don’t want to sleep with you. I just want to go to bed. Please.”
His big smirk slouched but his slippery hands remained on my arms. His lips parted to speak but he was speechless, though I could smell the spiced rum radiating out from his mouth. Finally, he closed his mouth and pressed his lips thin, inhaling deeply through his nose. “I was just trying to be nice,” he said quietly.
“I know. I’m sorry. Could you please let go of me.”
He didn’t. “I’m not desperate. You think I’m desperate? I’m not. I was just trying to be nice to you. You don’t have to be a bitch.” His grip tightened.
“You’re hurting me.” I tried to pull my arms free, but he wouldn’t allow it. He was a thin man—possibly the thinnest man on the compound—but he was still a trained US Marine, and he had that liquor fuelled strength in him.
“You’re just a bitch. It’s no wonder Gage turned you down.” He took a few deep breaths. “But you still fucked him, didn’t you? But not me, right? I’m not good enough—not good enough for precious Miss April.”
“Please let go,” I said. My vision began to blur as tears formed in my eyes.
Finally, he let go. But before he left, he slapped me across the face, knocking me to the ground. “Fuck you,” he said as he walked down the hall, back towards the front door.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next morning, I found myself sitting in Major Ric
hards’s office once again, after I beat Hastings halfway into a coma. I knew that I was in trouble because Richards wouldn’t sit down. Instead, he paced around the room in silence, occasionally grumbling under his breath while he formed the best possible opening sentence.
But once again, I knew he wasn’t angry with me—at least, not entirely angry with me. I wasn’t the one who broke his orders. Hastings broke orders when he claimed he slept with Ashley.
It was hard to believe, and I didn’t believe it, which is one of the reasons I beat his ass into the ground. The other reason was because it made me sick, the way he went into detail about it, describing every thrust of his tiny cock.
GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance Page 9
