“Ugh,” I said, rolling my eyes and sitting up. “Fine. I’ll come. Where are we going?” I held up my hand as soon as the words were out of my mouth. “Never mind. Don’t tell me. I’ll probably change my mind if you do.”
Char had a knack for finding her way into some of the dingiest little places in Luganville, the nearest town to base. But while she found diversion flirting with drunk soldiers for free drinks, batting impossibly long lashes and making empty promises, I only felt the sense of sadness hanging over the men’s heads. They laughed and joked and teased, but the laughs were hollow, the jokes often didn’t hit, and the teasing came tinged with a longing that physically pained me. There was a palpable feeling of dread among them, as though they knew their time was nearly up. They couldn’t keep narrowly escaping death forever. Not in this place.
“Should we wake Paulette?” I asked, looking at the sleeping form of our friend. She’d gotten in a few hours ago but mentioned she might want to go out if we did.
“Shh!” Char said, pressing a finger to my lips, which I batted away. “What did I tell you both? Never again. She scares all the boys away.”
She wasn’t wrong. Paulette’s sharp tongue, while sometimes warranted, had a way of turning an easy conversation into something awkward.
“I still haven’t forgiven her for what she did,” Char said, glaring at her.
I pressed my lips together. I knew Paulette did it because she was bored and looking for a reaction. She also just really enjoyed ruining whatever game Char was playing. But even I had been shocked when, during a conversation about the pains of war with three men, one of whom Char was heavily flirting with, Pauline had burst out with, “You know what’s really painful, bending over to resuscitate a patient while on your menstrual cycle.”
The look of shock on the men’s faces was nothing compared to the wide-eyed disgust on Char’s.
“I will never forgive you,” she’d said under her breath as the man she’d been talking up excused himself to the other side of the bar—and never returned.
And she hadn’t. Even two months later. In fact, she brought it up anytime she got a whiff of Paulette being interested in joining us, which wasn’t often as her days off rarely fell on the same days as ours.
“How long until we leave for whatever godforsaken place you’ve found for us tonight?” I asked, grabbing a wrinkled navy blue dress.
“You can’t wear that!” Char said, grabbing it and tossing it back into my footlocker. “It looks like it got run over by a tank. Twice.”
She opened her own locker and pulled out a pale pink number I’d seen her wear half a dozen times. If I remembered correctly, and I did, it had a neckline that dipped into the indecent territory. I’d have to wear my white Midgie cardigan over it, despite the wretched heat. With a sigh, I took the pink dress and lifted my shirt over my head, smiling as Char turned her back to give me privacy.
It was amusing to me how modest some of the other women were, hiding their bodies behind bunks and blankets. Even Char, who put her body on display as often as she could, was a bit of a prude when it was time to change clothes. I’d never had the luxury to experience modesty in my young life. It had been stripped from me, literally, by my mother, who had expected me to keep up appearances at all times and surveyed me for what she deemed “unnecessary weight.” I wasn’t allowed to bathe unattended by her until I was sixteen. Which was the age I left her house and never returned.
I caught myself, shuddering as I shoved those memories aside, and reached for my brassiere.
The establishment Char had picked out was one we’d been to before. Cramped, dirty, and loud. My heart sank as her eyes widened in excitement at the possibilities she somehow saw laid out before her. There were only two other women in the room besides us and a few dozen men, a ratio Char referred to as a “buffet of opportunities.”
“I don’t know why she gets so excited,” Tilly said on a rare night the four of us got to go out together. “She doesn’t put out. She barely even lets them get a feel. Unless of course she’s with Mac.”
“She likes the game,” Paulette had informed her. “The power of hooking them, reeling them in, and then leaving them wanting more.”
I’d found it fascinating watching the other three navigate the scene. Char was all big eyes, delicate hands touching strong arms, a push of her breasts to keep the men engaged if their eyes began to wander, and that deep, sexy laugh of hers. Paulette, plain but pretty in her own right, was usually half scowling, half amused, and scaring any man who got within two feet of her with the piercing stare she gave over the rim of her glass. And then there was Tilly. Soft, quiet Tilly, with wisps of blond hair forever falling in her face, pale gray eyes wide and wonder-filled, and blouse buttoned as high as it would go to cover as much skin as possible. Most of the men thought she was too young to be in such a place, her youthful, demure appearance giving the illusion she was closer to sixteen than twenty-six. It boggled my mind that she’d chosen the kind of work we did. Until I’d seen her in action. Tilly, despite her innocent looks and demeanor, was unfazed by blood, severed limbs, and the sound of gunfire. She was precise, noticed everything, and moved quickly.
“She frightens me,” Char said once. “She’s the kind that could walk in a place and not gain a second glance—and then blow it all to bits.”
I’d laughed at the time, but she wasn’t wrong. Tilly was a quiet force and I admired her for it—and loved having her for a bunkmate. She felt like a mystery, peeling back layers of herself as time went on. Letting us in bit by bit. I understood her more than I let on. I had my own secrets. But no one here would ever be privy to them. Mine were the kinds of secrets that incurred judgment. Oftentimes before an explanation could be given.
“I’ll get us drinks,” Char yelled over the noise, pulling me from my thoughts. “You get us a table.”
But I shook my head. Getting a seat, much less two, would require something I didn’t possess—tolerance of the opposite sex openly and thirstily eyeing everything below my jawline.
“I’ll get the drinks, you get the seats,” I said, and headed for the bar before she could change her mind.
“Whatcha want, love?” the bartender asked.
“Couple of beers,” I said, and he nodded and grabbed two glasses.
While he poured, I surveyed the room. It was a far cry from the bars I’d frequented in New York before boarding the boat for New Hebrides. It was just as loud, the men just as obvious, but while this place gave off the feel of a good time, one could see the fear behind each man’s eyes. As much as I hated it, I couldn’t blame them for their staring and obvious ways. They were men possibly on the verge of death. And they wanted to forget.
“Here you go,” the bartender said. I eyed the sudsy overfill slopping over the sides of the glasses, handed him some money, and turned to see what Char had found for us, inwardly groaning when I saw the two men who had let her join their table.
It wasn’t the men themselves that were the problem, it was that there were only two of them. Which meant when Char decided on the one she wanted, I’d be stuck trying to make conversation with the other for the remainder of the night. At least when there were three or more, they could still talk among themselves if I didn’t join in the conversation, and often did. But that wouldn’t be the case this time.
“There you are,” Char singsonged, taking a beer from me.
