by Janet Beard
By the time he sat at his desk in the laboratory, at least his stomach was feeling better. He sent an assistant to fetch him coffee. He told himself he must find June and apologize immediately. He would look for her at lunch—if she was working the morning shift, then she should be in the cafeteria. She could turn him in and he could be fired. That was distinctly possible. He knew nothing about her, and that was certainly what she should do, what the Army told people again and again they must do. He had to get to her first and hope that she took pity on him. But why should she? He had attacked her in the dark, after all.
And why had he kissed her? He must be more desperate for a woman than he realized. She was sweet, or at least she had seemed sweet from what he could remember. Perhaps she would be understanding. The kiss itself he remembered clearly, the taste and feel of thick lipstick, a soft floral scent, her hot tongue. To his horror, he realized he was becoming aroused thinking back on it. How much worse could this day become? His body was behaving like he was thirteen again, forced to hide humiliating bulges behind his geometry textbook in Mr. Deakin’s class. He was thirty now, and this was his laboratory. He had to get control of himself.
The coffee arrived, and he gulped it down.
***
JUNE WAS SURE to apply lipstick that morning and even slipped a tube into her pocket to take to work. She borrowed some of Cici’s eyeliner, too. Luckily Cici was working the evening shift this week, so she was asleep. June didn’t think she would mind her using it, but worried that Cici would suspect her reason had something to do with Dr. Cantor.
She looked around the bus stop, but didn’t see him. On the bus, she was fairly certain that a young man in civilian clothes whom she didn’t recognize was staring at her. Was it the eye shadow? Was she glowing with excitement? There must have been dark circles under her eyes, since she’d hardly slept. She looked out the window, pretending not to notice, but felt a flush. She hoped she saw Dr. Cantor today. Even though she’d only nodded off a couple of hours ago, with all the adrenaline moving through her, she didn’t feel tired at all.
After half an hour in her cubicle, though, June was yawning. She forced her mind into action to stay awake. What in the world could these dials have to do with a bomb? What was she actually doing? By the time lunch arrived, she was desperate for a break and giddy with the thought of seeing Dr. Cantor. Still, she put on a calm face as she walked to the lunchroom, not wanting to act like one of the ridiculous girls she worked with. She was startled to see him before she even entered the cafeteria, standing by the doorway. It caught her off guard, and she stared at him, unable to think of what to say or do.
He waved and motioned for her to follow him across the hallway, so she did. He waited until they were out of earshot of the girls entering the lunchroom before starting, “Miss . . .” He paused, apparently struggling for her last name.
“Walker,” she said. “But you can call me June.”
“June, I want to apologize for my behavior last night. I don’t remember everything, but I’m fairly certain that I acted terribly.”
“Don’t worry, Dr. Cantor. I know that isn’t how you would normally act.”
He looked relieved. “Of course it’s not. I made you feel awkward, I’m sure, and it was awful of me. I had far too much to drink, as I’m sure you realized.”
She nodded.
“There’s something else,” he continued, and her heart swelled. “I think I might have spoken out of turn.”
“Oh. You did say something . . .” She looked over her shoulder. No one was nearby, but she was still scared to say too much.
“Yes, I was afraid I did.” He clenched his jaw and looked so upset that she wanted to reach out and stroke him, help him relax. “It was completely stupid of me. I hope you won’t . . .”—now he looked over his shoulder—“tell anyone.”
“No, of course not. You don’t have to worry, Dr. Cantor. I’m a friend.”
His entire body relaxed upon hearing this. “Thank you, June. And please, call me Sam.”
It sounded so strange and casual that she smiled.
“Am I keeping you from lunch?” he asked.
“Have you eaten yet?” she offered.
“No. Shall we?”
June sat across from Sam, aware that the other girls must be staring at this unexpected coupling, some of whom might have also seen them together at the dance last night. But to her surprise, it didn’t bother her at all.
She dove into her potato soup with gusto, but Sam seemed hardly interested in his. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I’m not feeling that well today.” He gave her a rueful half-smile.
She leaned forward and said softly, “You shouldn’t drink like that.”
“I know,” and his tone sounded as if he truly did.
“You really shouldn’t drink at all.”
His dark eyes considered her, not with such frightening intensity as last night, but still in a direct, forward way. “Tell me, June. Have you ever been drunk?”
She laughed. “No, of course not. I’ve never had a drink in my life.”
“Then you can’t very well tell me to give it up.”
“You could get in trouble with the Army. And besides, you said yourself you don’t feel very good.”
“Yes, and I made a real nuisance of myself last night. That’s all true. I clearly overdid it. But I don’t see that as grounds for giving up drink completely.”
The last thing she wanted to do was argue with him, so she gave a little shrug and hoped the conversation would move on.
“I tell you what. If you drink with me and don’t enjoy it at all, then I’ll give it up for you.”
She laughed again, this time with a nervous edge. No one in her family ever touched alcohol, except for Jericho. But the chance to share more time, doing anything, with Sam was too exciting to pass up.
“Okay. When shall we do it?”
He winced. “Not tonight. Are you free tomorrow?”
She was supposed to go bowling with Cici, but could find a way out of it. “Yes.”
“Then we should meet at the canteen. If you’ve never had a drink, you just might be able to get drunk off the beer they serve here.”
For the rest of the day, she was floating above the stool at her cubicle. It was no trouble to stay awake now; she couldn’t stop thinking about Sam, what they would do tomorrow, what she should wear. She replayed their lunch over and over again in her head, trying to remember his words, how exactly he had looked at her. He had a deep, rich voice, and she struggled to recall the exact intonation he used when he said her name.
Luckily, Tom was to go bowling with them the next night, so Cici didn’t much care if June was there or not. June told her that Sally from work had asked her to go to the canteen with her in pursuit of a soldier she had her eye on. This had some precedent, as she had socialized with Sally a time or two, and the redhead was always pining over some boy or another. June knew Cici would never approve of her going out with Sam, let alone drinking with him. June hardly approved of it herself. She just hoped that they didn’t run into Cici and Tom while they were out together.
Truth be told, Cici barely registered June’s change of plans that night at all. Tom was all she could focus on these days. “It’s so unfair that we can’t have boys up to the room. I mean, of course, I don’t want to do anything indecent with Tom! But the poor thing has to live in those awful Army barracks. I just wish I could show him some hospitality. Oh, June, it is too bad you’re not coming out tomorrow. Tom’s friend Stan just broke things off with his girl.”
June was pleased with herself for not having to have Stan forced upon her. “I’m sure I’ll meet him another time.”
“Oh, you must!” Cici was in front of her mirror, putting curlers in her hair and talking to June through her reflection. “Stan’s a swell guy. I think you’d really like this one.”
“Mmm-hmm.” June got into bed and pretended to fall asleep, imagining Sam’s lips throu
gh shut eyes.
***
SAM WAS EMBARRASSED for feeling nervous as he prepared for his date with June. In vain he searched his room for a jacket without holes in it. He still wasn’t sure why he had suggested this; the obvious reason was, of course, that he hadn’t been with a girl in so long that the thought of kissing anyone provoked an erection. Still, he had shocked himself by actually asking her out. She was only a factory worker, for God’s sake, and she must be very young. She looked as though she should still be in high school, with her soft face and scrawny build. There were plenty of educated secretaries around, schoolteachers, administrators, even a few lady scientists. They would be much more appropriate for him. What was he doing chasing after this simple girl?
He checked his pockets for all the requisite items—wallet, cigarettes, flask. On his way through the hallway, he gave himself a quick inspection in the mirror. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie stained, his hair badly in need of a trim. He took his overcoat from a hook by the door. Ann stuck her head out of the kitchen, where she was washing the dinner dishes.
“Headed out to see Max?”
Thinking only of how happy she would be to hear it, he said, “No, actually I have a date.”
As predicted, she beamed, and Sam immediately regretted telling her. There would be questions he didn’t want to answer. He lunged for the doorknob to make a hasty exit.
“Have a good time!” Ann called, but he was already out in the frigid night air.
He turned the collar of his coat up and sunk his hands deep into the pockets. He had a long walk ahead of him. Not wanting to run into Max, Sam had chosen a canteen in another neighborhood. No doubt Max would have been pleased for him; still, he wanted to keep this to himself. If he himself had mixed feelings about it, there was no sense going and telling other people, he figured.
She’d never had a drink in her life! It was sweet, really. She had the local accent for sure—a real country girl. Never would he have imagined going out with someone like her when he was back in Brooklyn. Still, the way she had handled things yesterday had been excellent, and she had a quiet reserve, which he admired.
He got to the door of the canteen, and there she was, waiting in the front, sitting by herself in a blue skirt and a gray sweater that matched her eyes. She smiled when he came in, and he smiled back, surprised by how happy he was to see her.
***
JUNE STARED AT the mug of beer Sam set in front of her with trepidation. He sat down beside her with his own mug and took a gulp. She stayed motionless, working up the courage to taste it. “Oh, come on,” he said. “This stuff hardly counts as a drink at all.”
She took a sip. It was bitter but not that bad. Another sip. Not bad at all. It tasted no worse than black coffee. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. “It’s all right.”
“See, I told you.” Sam took another gulp of his drink. He was already halfway done with the mug.
“How much do I have to drink to become drunk?”
“You? I don’t know. Since you’ve never had a sip before, you might feel a bit light-headed after just one of those. But that stuff’s so weak it should take at least two or three.”
She took another sip. She was becoming used to the taste and was no longer frightened. “How does it feel to be drunk?”
Sam looked thoughtful. “Depends on what mood you’re in, I guess. If you’re happy, then drinking can make you even happier, but if you’re in a rotten mood, then it just sort of dulls the pain. Makes everything blurry around the edges. Your thoughts don’t come so fast.”
She took a bigger drink this time. Sam took a pack of cigarettes from his pack and offered her one. “You’re trying booze, might as well go all the way and try smoking, too.”
She was feeling reckless, so she took it and held it out for Sam to light.
“You have to suck on it while I light it,” he said, and demonstrated with his own cigarette.
She put it in her mouth and sucked as he held the lighter to it. A scratchy sensation quickly worked its way down her throat, and she began coughing.
“Easy. Just take little puffs at first.”
She didn’t want to take any more puffs at all. Her stomach felt a bit queasy, and her head was a balloon. But Sam was watching her expectantly, so she took another. Without realizing what she was doing, she blew the smoke out her nose, and Sam laughed.
“I don’t think I like it,” she said, handing the cigarette back, unable to go on. “Where are you from?”
“New York City. But I was living in California before coming here.”
“Wow. New York and California—just like a movie star.”
“Not exactly.”
“Still, I’ve never been out of East Tennessee.”
“You grew up near here?”
“Yes. And my mother grew up right here, can you believe that? Where Y-12 is now, my grandfather used to have a farm.”
“Imagine that.”
“You must feel like you’re in the middle of nowhere here.”
He finished his beer. “Oak Ridge isn’t exactly the middle of nowhere. But it’s like nowhere else on earth. That’s for sure.”
“Do you miss your family?”
“Yeah. My father’s dead, but Ma writes letters every week, like clockwork. I worry about her all by herself in Brooklyn, although my sister’s nearby.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“About four years ago. Before I moved to California.”
June glanced at his empty glass. “Do you want some more?”
“No, I have something better.” He gave a cautious look around the room and produced a silver flask from the inside pocket of his jacket.
“What’s that?”
“Splo.”
She laughed to hear him use such a hillbilly word. “You better be careful with that stuff.”
He took a sip and squinted in what appeared to be pain. “You want some?”
“No thanks.”
“That’s probably wise.” He took another sip and then put it back in his pocket. “You need another beer.”
Sure enough, she’d emptied her glass. She wondered if she was drunk, but didn’t think so. Sam was already gone to buy her another. His jacket had a hole under the arm, which she found endearing.
By the time they left the canteen, June had finished four beers, and she thought there was a good chance she had succeeded in getting drunk. She’d noticed when she went to the ladies’ room that even after she’d stopped walking, she still had the sensation that the room was moving. She wasn’t stumbling over anything, like drunk people in the movies, but she felt happy. Every time Sam looked at her, she couldn’t help but smile. She hoped he’d kiss her before they said good-bye for the night.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“West Dormitory.”
“That’s on my way home. But it’s a long walk.”
“I don’t mind walking. I don’t even feel cold.” She touched her cheeks. “My face feels so hot!”
Sam gave her a worried look. “Oh, dear.”
“What?”
“I think we’ve done it.”
She giggled.
“I hope I haven’t corrupted you terribly.”
She walked along beside him on the boardwalk. All her nervousness from earlier in the evening was gone. She felt like she could say anything to him. “How old are you?”
“Thirty.”
“Have you ever thought about getting married?”
“Not really, no. Have you?”
“Yes.” She looked at the muddy boards beneath their feet. “I had a fiancé. He was killed last September in France.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
She felt a sudden desire to tell him all about Ronnie, and she never wanted to talk about Ronnie to anyone. “We grew up together. His name was Ronnie, and he was only eighteen. I mean, I’m only eighteen. But he’s dead.”
“It’s a damn shame.”
&nb
sp; “Have you ever been to France?”
“No.”
“I keep trying to picture it where he died. To think he was all alone on the other side of the world.”
“Sometimes I feel like a real coward for not being over there myself.”
“Oh, but you shouldn’t! A mind like yours shouldn’t be wasted on the battlefield. You’re doing important work here. I mean, I don’t know what sort of work, but I’m sure it’s important.”
“But I hate to think of so many good men dying. Not just men. People. My father’s family in Germany . . . I have so many aunts and uncles and cousins, and who knows what’s become of them.”
“Your family’s German?”
“Yes. But we’re Jewish.”
“Oh.” She had never met anyone who wasn’t Christian before, at least not that she knew of. “So you don’t know where your family is?”
“No. But from everything I hear, it sounds like they’re probably dead.”
“I’m sorry. Sometimes I feel so lucky to be here, safe in America, and I can hardly understand how it is that I am safe here, when so many people around the world are dying.” She worried he’d think she was foolish, but he was nodding.
“I do, too. I think, What if my father hadn’t come to America? I’d still be back there. What of my brother? Why is he stuck who knows where in the Pacific Ocean, and I’m here drinking beer with a pretty girl?”
“I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve to be so lucky.”
“But you’re hardly lucky, June. You lost your fiancé.”
He gave her such a kind, pitying look that she wanted to tell him the truth.
“No. It’s not like you think. You see . . .” She took a deep breath, then forced the words out quickly: “I didn’t love him. Not the way a woman is supposed to love her husband. He asked me to marry him just before he shipped out, and I didn’t know what to do, so I said yes. But I didn’t love him.”
Before she even realized what was happening, she had let out a big sobbing cry. She couldn’t control herself and had to stop walking. Her humiliation only made her cry more. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt his arms encircling her. He felt warm and strong, and she put her arms around his shoulders and leaned into him, crying into the rough wool of his coat.
