by Lisa Bingham
The music and drums soon rose to a fever pitch, and she began working the hooks at the busk of her corset, taunting, teasing. Then, as it fell free, she snatched the curtain in front of her as if it were a large towel and she’d just emerged from her bath.
Normally, the corset would have gone the way of her dress—toward the wings where she could retrieve it later. But tonight, inwardly thinking “What the hell?” she tossed it into the roiling, shouting men. She was tired of wearing the blasted things. In the past few weeks, the restrictive garments she’d adopted to hide her burgeoning figure had become increasingly uncomfortable. She had other tight-fitting foundations ready for her later performances and she didn’t need that one anymore, so why not let some poor schmuck thousands of miles away from home have it?
Holding the curtain tightly against her breasts, she posed in a way that made it appear that she was only scantily clad in the sheerest of teddies. In actuality, the costume had been cleverly made with a lining of nude-colored fabric beneath the black chiffon, each seam boned and tailored to support the thickening of her waist and the added fullness to her breasts.
But she didn’t think about that now. Lifting her face to the lights, she yelled out, “God bless America and all those who fight in her defense!”
The roar was instantaneous, thundering toward her with such intensity that the boards beneath her feet trembled from the noise. At the last minute, she raised her arms high. The curtain dropped, the men surged to their feet as they were sure they caught a hint of nipple through her costume. Then in an instant, the lights went dark and she was nothing but a silhouette against the last ruby-glow of the sunset.
As soon as the curtain fell into place, Glory Bee dropped her pose. Quickly, she gathered up her discarded clothing, the slack-jawed stage crew watching every move as she padded toward her tent to change for the next number.
He slowly became aware of the noises that surrounded him. A whispering, buzzing rise and fall. The drone of insects.
Or voices.
He struggled to remain in the blackness, but he couldn’t fight hard enough against the current, and soon the pain returned.
But it was different this time.
Better.
“He needs quinine.”
“Bet the Nips’ve got gallons of it in that storage shed on the other side of the camp. That and our Red Cross packages.”
“Hey, you think they got our letters from home there too? Somebody has to have told our folks where we are by now.”
“You’re an idiot if you think the Japs have told anyone about us.”
“It could happen. They made us fill out those postcards to send to our folks.”
“Yeah, and they probably ended up at the bottom of the sea somewhere.”
“That’s too bad. Ol’ Tanaka made me rewrite it three times. I finally put: ‘Ma and Pa, I’m alive and well and enjoying my time with the yellow-bellied bees.”
“What the hell?”
“You know…yellow-bellied bastards…but instead of bastards, I put bees. I knew my Pa would figure it out eventually.”
“You’re an idiot, do you know that?”
“Am not. It got past Tanaka—which is more than I can say for…Hey, he’s awake.”
He blinked, once twice, then shivered, staring up at the faces that leaned over him.
“Welcome back!” one of the figures said, grinning.
He frowned, the pieces slowly filtering back into place. He counted heads quickly, then sagged when he realized everyone was present.
“We got tenko in about twenty minutes. Think you can make it?”
Tenko. Roll call.
He nodded, bracing his elbows beneath him in an effort to sit up.
“Not yet, not yet. Save your strength until it’s time.” A hand pushed him down. “I saved you some rice, but you’d better drink first.”
A canteen was held to his lips and he greedily gulped the water, then lay back again, panting. Someone had wrapped his ribs, which helped, but his chest still stung each time he tried to breathe.
He lifted a hand to touch the bandage, then panicked when he realized that he didn’t have his shirt.
Damn it! Someone had stolen his shirt…he needed…he had to have…
“Easy, easy! We got it here. Everything’s safe and sound.”
The tattered remains of the garment were thrust into his hands, and as he shivered against the racking chills, his fingers tunneled into his pocket. Only when he felt the fuzzy scrap of fabric, did he relax again.
Turning onto his side, he clutched his shirt against his chest, once again digging deep for the will to go on.
This couldn’t be the end.
He wouldn’t let it be the end.
Chapter Three
Rosemary Dodd surveyed the crowded dance floor and forced a smile to her lips. Five more minutes. Then her social obligations would be finished for the evening and she could gracefully bow out of the party and leave her new nurses to enjoy themselves.
And she had no doubts that they would “let their hair down” the minute she left. She well remembered her own welcoming party to the Philippines more than ten years ago. She’d been nervous and itching to make a good impression, yet eager to avail herself of the food and cocktails and the handsome servicemen who wanted nothing more than to draw her onto the dance floor.
Had she ever really been that young and carefree? It felt like a lifetime since then.
Grimacing, Rosemary took a sip of her martini—the same drink she’d been nursing for over an hour. She probably wasn’t much older than most of the women who’d been placed in her command. But she felt eons ahead of them in experience. Worse yet, today marked a long-dreaded milestone.
December seventh. Her birthday.
At two o’clock in the afternoon, she’d turned forty—which, according to her mother, was the official death-knell of all things youthful. No man would want to marry her now. The chance for children was officially over. She was swiftly on her way to becoming withered and bitter. One of those women that other mothers would point to and whisper, “That’s what will happen if you pursue a career rather than marriage.”
Rosemary’s father had been far more pragmatic in his views.
“Time to come home and stop gallivanting around, Rosie. Your mother and I aren’t getting any younger, and we could use your help on the farm,” he’d grumped.
Happy, happy birthday to me.
“Swell party.”
Starting, Rosemary glanced up to find Lt. Gilhouley standing behind her.
“You think so?” she countered.
“Sure.” His expression became wry. “But by the looks of that scowl, you aren’t having a very good time.”
She took another sip of her tepid martini before abandoning it on a nearby table. It was time to go home. Not to Nebraska, as her father wished, but to her officer’s digs here in the Philippines. Turning forty might have been the official end to her parents’ hopes of marriage and family in her future, but Rosemary couldn’t imagine trading in her career for the limiting prospects of marital bliss.
“I’m not much in the mood for a party, I’m afraid.”
His eyes—clear and blue as a Midwest summer sky—skimmed over her. “That’s a shame. A person should always be in the mood for a party.”
His expression was warm but unfathomable. Not for the first time, she wondered why he was seeking her company. And after this afternoon’s outing, he was even more of an enigma. Young, tall, and lean, he looked like the perfect candidate for a recruitment poster. But if the rumors were true, he knew how to make the most of being sent to this backwater post. He had connections upon connections. If there was something you wanted, Gilhouley could probably get it for you.
So why had he volunteered to spend the afternoon with her? He’d led her to believe that he’d escorted her off-base at Alice’s insistence, but when Rosemary had questioned her about it, Alice hadn’t known anything about Gilhouley’s invit
ation. Gilhouley had been acting on his own initiative, and for the life of her, Rosemary couldn’t figure out why. Even if he thought to cultivate her as one of his connections, he knew she would never break the rules. Try as he might, he couldn’t get so much as a tongue depressor from her dispensary unless he had all of the proper forms. In triplicate. Add to that, the unbelievable fact that her company had aroused him…
Her cheeks began to heat and she quickly turned away.
“I suppose we have you to thank for the grade-A champagne?” she said, studying the dance floor again in an effort to avoid his regard.
“I had no hand in furnishing the champagne,” he said, affecting a wounded expression. “That came from Major Briggs in the quartermaster’s office—something about trading it with the squibs for several pallets of toilet paper.” Gilhouley grinned. “But I will take credit for the scotch.”
Rosemary snorted. “Purchased through the proper channels, I’m sure.”
“What would be the fun in that?”
A passing waiter arrived with a tray of new drinks. Gilhouley eyed her questioningly, but she shook her head.
“Ahh. I take it you’re about to make your clandestine getaway,” Gilhouley said, bending close to whisper next to her ear. At five-eleven, it wasn’t often that Rosemary encountered a man who had to stoop to talk to her. “But surely you aren’t planning to leave without dancing first.”
Before she could muster a response, his hand settled low upon her waist, leading to the space in front of the military orchestra where eager-eyed nurses swayed in the arms of even more eager officers.
The last thing Rosemary wanted was to be seen waltzing with The Great Gilhouley. He had enough of a reputation as a ladies’ man that tongues would probably wag if she were caught talking to him, let alone dancing. But as the music of a slow ballad twined around the room and Gilhouley drew her close with a broad hand, she found she didn’t want to object. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been asked to dance with a partner who met her at eye level, let alone one who was taller than she was. So many times in the past, she’d been paired up with officers who were a few inches shorter and spent most of the time looking at her cleavage. But Gilhouley was showing admirable restraint, meeting her gaze with his own. His palm was firm at her back but not too familiar, the distance between them was friendly and not too intimate. If she’d wanted, she could have closed the space between them and tucked her head beneath his chin. But she pushed the thought away as soon as it came.
The music flowed around them. Ida Compton—a nurse who’d been in the Philippines since last spring—had volunteered to sing for the evening. The swing band—formed from soldiers on base—was as good as any Rosemary had ever heard on the radio.
In the past, Rosemary had always felt out of place at these soirees. Overtly aware of the invisible divide between her and the girls she’d led, she’d been afraid to truly enjoy herself. But tonight, she melted into Gilhouley’s embrace. He cut a fine figure in his Army dress uniform. The heat of his body seeped into her palm and the spot on the waist where he held her. He smelled intriguingly male—aftershave and hair cream, tobacco and freshly laundered clothing. And for some reason, those scents, combined with the faint perfume of violets that came from the corsage she’d worn on her evening gown, were oh so enticing.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to surrender to the moment and push aside all of the “should’s” and “must’s”. She felt suddenly feminine and girlish. Not the over-the-hill spinster career woman that her mother despaired she’d become.
When the song came to an end, she made a move to retreat, but Gilhouley held her in place, segueing into a quicker step as Benny Goodman gave way to Count Basie. Rosemary wasn’t well acquainted with the jitterbug or the Lindy Hop, and she was grateful when he kept their movements reserved and befitting a woman in charge. Then another ballad, even slower than the first she’d danced with Gilhouley. And this time…this time she couldn’t keep herself from moving in a little closer, and a little closer still, until, as she suspected, Gilhouley’s chin brushed the top of her head.
They didn’t speak. There was no need to speak. The music, the swaying of their bodies were all the conversation they needed, revealing more than she ever would have permitted herself to say aloud—and certainly much more than she would have ever let Gilhouley utter.
As the music drew to a close, she looked up, up, into those incredibly clear blue eyes, and saw something that she’d never seen in a man before. Wonder.
She stepped back and he let her go, following her to the table where she’d left her purse and her stole.
“I think it’s time for me to call it a night,” she said softly, her voice curiously husky.
“Mind if I go with you?”
“Suit yourself.” But there was no vinegar to her tone as there might have been only a day earlier. Instead, her words held a hint of invitation.
Rosemary gathered her purse, allowing Gilhouley to settle her silken stole around her shoulders. Then she weaved her way through the tables surrounding the dance floor, Gilhouley following several paces behind, until she stepped out of the officers’ club into the balmy evening.
She didn’t think she could ever grow tired of the tropical nights. The breeze was cool against her skin, the faint scents of the sea and the flowers from the beds lining the walkway were welcome, especially after the heat and cigarette smoke of the dance floor.
She nodded toward the far field where the enlisted men were enjoying their own brand of entertainment. A makeshift amphitheater had been built on the parade grounds, complete with a raised stage at the far end. Even from this distance, she could hear the cheers and whistles.
“I’m surprised you deigned to come to our party, Gilhouley, when you could have been with that lot over there.” She paused dramatically. “I hear they have a stripper.”
She laughed when Gilhouley actually looked discomfited.
“And who told you that?”
“Oh, please. You know how scuttlebutt travels on base. I probably knew about the arrangements before the stripper did.”
Gilhouley’s chuckle was low and silken. “I should have realized. You’re very well-connected with the disreputable element at Fort Stotsenberg yourself, Major.”
“So why aren’t you over there?”
He pretended to look shocked. “As if I would!”
“Of course you would. Every man on base was there for her opening act, even Brigadier General Bradmore. I was beginning to believe my girls were going to have to dance with each other. Why do you think I scheduled the party an hour later than usual?”
This time, his bark of laughter came straight from the gut. “You are a sly one, Rosemary.”
She didn’t chide him for addressing her so personally. She’d long ago realized that The Great Gilhouley did exactly what he wanted. And for some reason, despite being more than ten years her junior and beneath her in rank, he seemed comfortable in her company.
“So was she pretty?”
His brows rose to his hairline.
“Come on, Gilhouley, don’t be coy. You were there too.”
“And how could you possibly know that?”
“I know everything, remember?”
They reached the curb and he automatically took her elbow, even though she’d worn sensible shoes and was in no danger of catching her heel. But at the opposite side of the street, he maintained his gentle grip.
After a moment of silence, she prodded, “Was she pretty?”
“Built like a brick privy,” he murmured.
“Is that good or bad? I’ve never understood that phrase.”
His teeth flashed in the darkness. “Very, very good. She was…shall we say…handsomely endowed with all of womanhood’s most desirable gifts.”
“How much did she take off?”
“Rosemary!”
She laughed. “I’m curious. Despite what everyone thinks, I’m not a prude.”
; Rather than laughing with her, he paused, drawing her to a stop yards from her bungalow.
“I’ve never thought you were a prude, Rosemary.” His voice slid through the darkness like the shiver of silk against bare flesh, startling her with its gentleness. “Just…cautious.”
A frisson of something akin to fear skittered up her spine. “And what kind of scuttlebutt have you been listening to, Gilhouley?”
“No scuttlebutt. Merely an observation.”
Her relief was so tangible she felt weak in the knees. The last thing she needed after all these years was for gossip to have followed her to the Philippines.
Gilhouley reached out to touch her cheek and she frowned at the unaccustomed intimacy of the gesture.
“I suppose with your nurses occupied at the officers’ club, you’ll be finishing off the last few hours of the night shift—despite the fact that you’ve already had a full day.”
She stepped back, abruptly severing the contact and folding her arms in front of her. “Of course. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”
He nodded. “Then maybe you should get some rest before you head over.”
“I will.”
They closed the last few yards to her bungalow, but she hesitated at the end of the path, suddenly loath to leave Gilhouley’s company. She wrapped her arms around her waist, staring out at the velvety darkness, the glowing street lamps. Even now, she could hear the faint cheers from the parade grounds.
“You’re awfully pensive tonight.”
Grimacing, she shot him a glance that was rife with apology. “Sorry. I received some mail from my parents. Three letters and at least a half ton of guilt.”
“That’s not completely uncommon, is it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know about other people’s folks. Mine are loving, well-meaning but…”
