Chapter 8
The first effect of the brawl was that Earl's Tavern was closed down. Earl came to Amy with the news, angry with the State Police who had apparently stepped in over the heads of Earl's pals in the Sheriff's office. He was inclined to blame Amy for the whole thing.
"Why'd you have to fool around with that big baboon?" he demanded. "I saw he was trouble right away."
He had no idea that Amy knew Bull, of course, but he felt there was something fishy about the whole thing.
"You and your hero act," she sneered. "You had to come running and start a fight. If I smack a soldier, nothing's going to happen. If you hit one, every GI in the place will jump in to help him. They won't stand for a civilian beating up a soldier, especially those bouncers of yours with their blackjacks."
"Well, what's the use beefing about it? I'm out of business and I got to pull plenty of wires till I open up again. And just when everything was going nice and smooth too."
"You'd better get it open fast," she said coldly. "I can't hang around here forever."
He looked sharply at her.
"You would pull out when it got rough, wouldn't you?"
"I won't hang around forever," she repeated, "waiting for a handout from you or anyone else."
"Well, I'll be open soon enough. Two weeks at the outside. Got to let things quiet down. Trouble is, it's not only you I've got to take care of. I can let the girls take care of themselves, but I got a couple of boys I can't afford to lose. I got to pay them too."
Two days after the brawl Lt. Erskine came calling at Mrs. Cartison's. Amy had been out for a stroll in the morning and gone back to her room for a nap when Mrs. Cartison came bustling upstairs, obviously impressed, to announced that "there's an officer" to see her. Amy assumed it was a policeman. So she hurriedly went downstairs, and to her surprise saw that it was the handsome lieutenant of MPs. Amy's hair was down now, as she had worn it on her arrival in Millersville, curling fluffily behind her neck. She was wearing a bright yellow cashmere sweater and a snug green skirt, all of which gave the lieutenant quite a different picture of the girl he had come to see from the one the night of the brawl. Amy halted where she was on the staircase and gave him a big smile.
"Why, Lieutenant, I didn't know it was you," she said. "Please come up."
She turned and started back up the stairs, leaving him no alternative but to follow. When he entered her room he stood ill at ease, fidgeting and uncomfortable. In this setting Amy hardly looked like a wicked tavern hostess enticing men into trouble, but rather like a simple country girl, unusually pretty and unsophisticated.
"This will just take a minute, Miss Lovett," he said uneasily.
Amy smiled.
"There's no hurry. Why don't you sit down for a few minutes? I'm sure you're not that anxious to rush back to duty."
The lieutenant smiled shyly and sat down on a straight chair, sitting very stiffly. Amy smiled at his awkwardness.
"Here," she said, "try this rocking chair. It's just the thing for someone who has to stand at attention all the time."
Obediently he moved to the chair she indicated.
"And call me Amy," she added.
"Well, Miss Amy," he began.
"Amy," she interrupted slyly.
"Well, Amy, we need your testimony for the court martial of the soldier who started the brawl," he said.
"Oh, I thought that was all settled." Amy was disappointed.
"Well, all we need is an identification and a statement, that's all."
The words court martial suddenly frightened Amy with a vision of Bull standing before a firing squad blindfolded.
"I don't want to make any trouble for anyone," she said hastily. "What's going to happen to him?"
Lt. Erskine felt more at ease now that the talk was about things he knew.
"Oh, probably a term in the guardhouse, three or four weeks, and deprival of privileges for a couple of months. They might even push him down a grade or two."
"Oh," Amy breathed w ith relief. "When you said court martial I had no idea of what would happen."
"We don't shoot men for liking pretty girls," Lt. Erskine said.
Amy smiled widely.
"Do you think I'm pretty, Lt. Erskine?"
"Call me Clem," he said, suddenly revealing his ability to command. "Very pretty. Beautiful, in fact."
"Clem," Amy said, trying it out. "Clem. That's a nice name."
"I sort of go for Amy too," he said.
They both looked at each other and laughed heartily. For a moment Amy forgot the armor of cynicism and calculation she had adopted and reverted to the girl she had been before her arrival in Millersville. What remained, however, was the new assurance and poise which added immeasurable charm to her simplicity.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked. "After all, the poor fellow did get beat up badly."
"Nothing too serious," he assured her. "Just bruises and cuts. No broken bones. For a fellow like him, it's nothing. But we can't have our men going around brawling and molesting women. We have to make an example of him. I think an identification and a signed deposition about what happened will be enough. It's just routine."
"Do you want it now?"
"I need it done in the presence of several officers. Could you drive back to camp with me?"
"In a jeep?" she laughed.
He nodded.
"I'm on duty now," he explained.
She slipped on a jacket and told him she was ready. The jeep ride she found fun, but Clem slipped into silence on the drive back to camp and Amy was disappointed. Several times she tried to start the talk going again, but somehow the comradely feeling that had so suddenly sprung up between them had just as quickly slipped away. It was a letdown she didn't like.
At the camp she remembered that the sergeant at the reception building would probably remember her and she balked at going inside. It turned out it wasn't necessary. But she did have to see Bull and identify him and she was afraid that Bull might say something. Clem took two other officers with him and they went to the base hospital.
Bull saw her when she came in with the officers. He watched her in silence, his eyes steady on her. Amy felt no pity for him and she was glad to see his battered face.
"That's the man," she said triumphantly, and they all went away.
She dictated her version of the affair to an enlisted man who took it in shorthand and then she waited for him to type up several copies, which she signed.
"That's all," Clem said. "Thanks. I'll have you driven back to town by one of the men."
"Oh no you won't," Amy said, irked. "You drove me here and you drive me back. Otherwise I won't
"Don't drive her, Clem," said one of the other officers. "I'd rather have her stay. She's too good for civilians."
Clem got very flustered and Amy was a little sorry she had done it, but not sorry enough to call it off.
"I'm on duty," he explained, flushing.
It was an awkward moment for them both.
"I'm sure it's part of your duty to see that I'm returned home properly," she said teasingly.
He looked hesitant and again she realized how close to her own age he was. He was the kind of a boy she would have liked to know back in the city before she had met up with Bull.
"I suppose it's all right," he said at last.
When she was in the jeep she apologized to him.
"I didn't mean to put you on the spot," she said.
"I really wanted to take you back, Amy." His manner was suddenly so serious that they both fell silent. Then he said: "I really meant what I said back in your room."
"About what?"
"That you're beautiful."
It was Amy's turn to blush at the unexpected compliment. The conversation had suddenly taken a turn that she had not expected.
"I'm glad you think so," she said at last, not without shyness.
"What are you going to do now" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, they closed down the place and I suppose you're out of a job."
"I don't know," she said. "I really haven't thought about it."
They were back in Millersville and the jeep turned into Hickory Street. Suddenly Amy was afraid that she might not see the lieutenant again. He pulled up before Mrs. Cartison's and when he said nothing she made no move to get out of the jeep, waiting for him. He did not disappoint her.
"I'm off duty night after next," he said finally. "Do you think we might take in a movie or something together?"
"Or something," she said brightly ,cheerful again. "I'll be expecting you around eight."
He perked up at once and Amy was surprised to realize that he hadn't expected her to agree to a date.
"Make it seven-thirty," he said. "No point in wasting half an hour."
"You'll have to buy me dinner then," she warned. "I know just the place." She laughed.
"All you men are alike. You all know 'just the place.'"
"See you at seven-thirty," he waved as he drove off.
It was not until she was back in her room that she remembered about Earl. She wondered what he would think if he knew about her dating Clem, but she shrugged her shoulders and decided that she did not care what he thought. She felt like dating him and she would. It would be a welcome change from the kind of men she was now meeting. Or would it? Maybe she was just kidding herself again, she thought.
That she should use the clothes Earl had bought her to pretty herself up for a date with Clem was a source of amusement to Amy. The clothes had arrived all at once and Mrs. Cartison had stood by open-mouthed while the drivers brought the boxes up to her room. She selected a simple suit for her date with Clem, but she put her hair up as she had worn it while working. Somehow she felt more able to play the role she had set herself with this hairdo.
Clem was prompt, arriving on the dot of seven-thirty. He was arrayed in a bright and shiny uniform and officer's cap and instead of a jeep he had a car, a maroon sedan that was polished as spic and span as his uniform. Amy was ready and as they left she saw Mrs. Cartison watching them through the curtained window. She found herself measuring how high she came up to on Clem and for a brief moment the emotion she felt was akin to that she had felt the first few times with Bull. The comparison, however, was odious to her.
It proved almost impossible to get a conversation going with Clem as they drove out of town. He had not struck her as taciturn, but the few attempts Amy made to talk ended dismally and as darkness came on they drove in silence. Amy's good spirits fell away and she thought she had made a mistake with this soldier. He was like all the rest, only duller.
The place proved a surprise, however, and her spirits perked up. Clem too, once out of the car and in public, seemed to revive and come out of the moodiness that had gripped him.
"Like it?" he asked.
She nodded. It was a small place furnished on the style of an old inn with heavy oak beams across the dining area and antlers for coat hooks. The tables were covered with red-checked cloths and off beyond the unfinished wood partition there was a bar. Soft dance music was playing and the place was well-filled with prosperous looking people. Several couples were dancing. Clem was the only soldier there. She looked up at him with a pleased smile.
"This is nice. It doesn't look like a soldiers' hangout."
"Don't you like soldiers?" Her smile to him was pure coquetry. "No," she said as the waiter guided them to a table. "No, not usually." He bit.
"And me? Am I usual?"
"We'll see," she challenged him.
Dancing with him was a new kind of experience for Amy. She forgot she was dancing, so perfeclty did their bodies blend in the measured cadences of the steps, knowing only the mood of the music that was reaching through to her, sweeping her up in it and wrapping her in a magic that was impenetrable. Not that she was not aware of Clem and of his youthful body close to hers, because she was. It was an awareness that seemed not to come from her mind, but one that had a logic and movement all its own seemingly apart from her control.
The dancing, the music, the small talk, the subdued atmosphere, the dim lighting and the subtle effect of a world different from that she had known all combined to work this magic for Amy, to brush aside the front of cynicism and relegate it to the background. All the promise that there had been between herself and Clem since their first meeting that morning, all the easiness and natural attraction served to bring back into being the simple girl who had dreamed of an idyllic white cottage on a hillside a few short weeks before.
They talked of the things they liked and the things they did not like.
"Do you like dancing?"
A simple question that meant much more than just that.
"It depends," she answered. "It depends on who I'm dancing with. He could be the best dancer in the world, but if I don't like him I won't like dancing with him."
He knew what she meant, of course, and it emboldened him and freed him from much restraint when she, in turn, asked:
"What do you like in a girl?"
"I like her to be pretty," he said, "though she doesn't have to be. And I'd like her to like the things I like and to be a good pal to me, someone I can share things with."
In these banalities they did not listen to the words or .try to analyze meaning, but let the emotions behind the words reach out to one another, touch them, and bring them closer. They served not to identify attitudes towards situations and objects and phenomena, but to reduce barriers between two almost-strangers, to bridge the gulf of time which both of them knew without thought was short for them. It was in the nature of a short-cut taken by two people, strangers among strangers, who had to learn quickly to know each other if they were to know each other at all.
All thoughts of a movie or any other form of artificial entertainment vanished from their minds, so engrossed were they in this process of getting to know each other. When they finally left the restaurant still wrapped in that warm glow of self-made magic no question as to what to do rose in either of them. They got into the car and drove off into the night, sitting close to each other.
And when Clem stopped the car, not at some "romantic" spot, but simply a suitable place to pull off the road, a place where there were trees and deep dark shadows and moonlight sifted in faint silver rays through heavily leafed boughs, it was only natural that they should turn to each other and embrace. And when they kissed, it was not a kiss of love nor of passion. Rather was it more in the nature of continuing the process of learning about each other.
"It's peaceful here," Amy said after several minutes.
What she meant, and he understood, was that she felt herself at peace with him after the kiss. Though her words in fact described what was outside her, was more truly describing what was inside her. He felt it too and he nodded slowly in agreement. Then, he reached out his arm, put it around her shoulder, and pulled her gently toward himself. She leaned over without resistance and her head was on his shoulder, the soft hair, faintly luminous in the faint moonlight that trickled into the car resting caressingly against his cheek.
"I never met a girl like you before, Amy," he whispered.
"How do you mean, like me?"
"Beautiful," he murmured.
"That's all?" She was disappointed, vaguely dissatisfied with that insufficiency.
"Beautiful," he repeated softly, "but still a really simple girl at heart. We like the same things."
She laughed softly, but the mood which had threatened to be dispelled, returned.
"Is that why?" she teased. "Because I like the same things you do?"
"Don't laugh, Amy," he said. When his face turned toward her Amy knew he was going to kiss her again and she wanted him to do it. She knew it would not be a kiss like the first one and she lifted her face slightly toward his. And when his lips moved toward her she closed her eyes at the moment when she could feel his breath on her lips but had not yet touched him.
The lurking passion broke out with this kiss. Their mouths met, warm and wet this time, melting into each other softly, sending gusts of desire whipping through both of them. They clung to each other for a long moment. Amy felt the wonderful pulse of love beating, seeking her soft warm flesh.
She broke away with a short and angry laugh, the mood shattered suddenly.
"Slow down, soldier boy," she said, hard again and not clearly understanding why herself.
Her abrupt action threw him into confusion, but he did not resort to words, even if he could have found them to express the anger and hurt and frustration that had so suddenly overwhelmed him. He stared at her, bewildered by her mercurial change in mood, but inclined to blame himself for what had happened.
"I'm no penny candy," she said without anger.
"You seemed to like it."
She did not miss the hidden accusation.
"The kiss was fine," she said coolly, as if she were estimating it for a sale. "But the other stuff ... I guess you're just like all the rest of the soldiers."
"I'm sorry if I offended you, Amy, but I couldn't control myself. I'm in love."
She laughed softly but with a sardonic edge that she knew would hurt.
"It's always love with you soldiers. Whatever it is, it's love. An easy word, easy to spell and easy to say." She made a harsh and bitter sound in her throat. "You're all alike."
He made no further attempt to defend himself, realizing the futility of it up against her suddenly bitter mood. He could not know that the memory of Bull and of the sex-minded GIs of the tavern had obscured for the moment what she knew of him and made him seem like one of a pack. It might have been the uniform as much as anything else, but it was a door shut in his face and he knew enough not to try to batter it down.
"Let's go home," she said tonelessly.
On the way back to Mrs. Cartison's, they drove in silence. Amy realized she did not like herself for what she had said. They were sitting apart, Clem concentrating grimly on driving while Amy was reliving the episode, searching it through to find answers to the many questions that now occurred to her. What was foremost in her mind was Clem's remark that she "seemed to like it."
She had. Yet she had pulled out of his arms when he had acted in a way to which she could not now say she was unaccustomed. She had taken it from Bull and she had taken it from Earl, yet now she had balked at Clem. It was a development she could not fathom, though she knew now she was sorry she had done what she had done to Clem. It was, after all, a punishment he did not deserve. And, of course, she had been as much responsible for what happened as he had.
When he had kissed her she had enjoyed being in his arms, but she had enjoyed it in part because she felt superior to his way of love-making. In a sense it had been an excursion into her past, a renewal of a more juvenile form of sexual play, an indulgence in necking which she thought she had outgrown. But when Clem had sought, naturally enough, to move beyond necking she had cut him off coldly. It was as if she set up one standard for him and another for the rest. There was no sense in it except her dislike of soldiers, which had begun with Bull and had been reinforced by her observation of them at the tavern. In taking the job at Earl's there had been an element of revenge, of teasing the soldiers with what they wanted from her but not giving it to them. Clem, it appeared, was no exception.
She looked over at him and saw the outline of his face, tight and grim. Amy felt sorry and wanted to reach out and stroke his cheek gently. But she did not. The car turned and the headlights cut a swath down Hickory Street. They were in front of Mrs. Cartison's. Quickly she opened the door and got out.
"Good night," Clem said coldly.
She leaned in the window of the car.
"I really want to see you again, Clem," she said softly. "Please call me again."
Then she pulled her head out and ran quickly into the house. He watched her until she vanished inside the door. Amy heard the car pull away and as she went into her room she was suddenly seized with a sense of loneliness that was overwhelming. She could not shake it off nor could she manage to kid herself out of her mood as she had so often done in recent weeks. The evening had not gone quite according to plan, but where she had lost control of it she could not see.