The weeks that followed were spent in sightseeing in and around San Diego. Gail found herself constantly trying to break through Rod's increasing bitterness and depression. His confusion seemed to deepen and he refused, curtly, to talk of their future. "Plenty of time for that when I get my discharge," he would say, leaning his elbows against a railing and gazing at the gorillas which sat in their pit, picking at fleas or lost in a stupid reverie.
Gail, standing beside him, touched his shoulder lightly. "How long are we going to stand here looking at those apes?"
"I dunno."
"There are a lot of other animals to look at besides those hairy things."
"I like looking at them," he said with implacable finality, never wavering his gaze. "They're kind of locked up the way everyone else is."
A look of concern crossed her face. "Why do you say that? We're locked up? We're free. This is America. They're on one side of the bars, we're on the other."
Rod gave a secret bitter smile. "I know. Maybe we're all locked up."
Gail grew silent. She waited patiently while Rod moped, watching the great apes listlessly play with a car tire until he stretched and walked away. It was the same when she introduced him to her friends, proudly exhibiting her husband home from the wars. Rod was polite and remote, usually sitting silent behind a drink.
He seemed to regard the war with a sorrow and scorn and seldom talked about it unless they were alone and he was drinking. Then, he would go off on harangues. "I had a buddy over there. Bill Peterson. Nice guy from Minnesota. We were going to go fishing up in his neck of the woods when we got back. Lakes freeze over and you pitch a tent to keep out of the wind and cut a hole in the ice. Drink brandy to keep warm. Bill was more than a buddy, he was a friend. I don't know why, we just got along. Talked a lot and he was pretty cool about everything. He didn't dig longhairs, neither do I. He didn't especially like listening to politicians, neither do I. He wanted to work for himself. His old man was a druggist. He didn't want to do that when he got out. We had a half-assed idea that we'd do something besides fishing together when we got back."
Rod would look down at his drink a long time before saying anything. Gail had learned to sit quiet during these silences. He drank and went on. "We had our own apartment in Saigon that we shared. One day, we came back from some real rough runs. Three days straight. We were beat but we had to check out our choppers. Just a matter of professional pride. Like I said, we were both beat and seen enough guys blown apart so I suggested we flip and see who stayed behind and checked out both choppers. Bill agreed and I lost." A sad cynical smile crossed his face. "I won. I stayed at the base while Bill drove back to Saigon. Said he'd have a pitcher of martinis waiting. Bill put the key in the lock, opened the door and got his head blown off. Booby trapped while we were away. None of the little bastards who worked for us had any idea who did it."
Yet it was more than just the readjustments of a returning soldier, more than learning to live with peace after a year of constant war. He was sullen and their evenings were spent in silent drinking while they sat in the living room, never looking at each other, having the television as a constant excuse. To the other servicemen they knew, husbands of friends of Gail, Rod was bored with their war stories and often rude.
They saw less and less of friends, their life becoming insular, their nights spent in drinking, their days spent in quiet desperation. Rod seemed to avoid looking at her or talking to her as much as possible. During the day, he made excuses to get away from her. The car had to be taken in for servicing, he had to make trips to the base on vague business.
At night, they drank and. Rod avoided their having sex again. Each night they went to bed and she was refused, Gail's anxiety mounted. Since that first night, he had cut off all conversation about sex. Gail cringed inwardly, feeling she had given herself away. Yet she couldn't help it. With a sickening feeling in her stomach, she had to admit to herself that she only lived for lewdness, that she would gladly, fervently, perform any and all obscenities that Rod would ask her to do. With a shudder that made her wrap her arms around herself against a nonexistent cold wind, she thought she might be capable of performing any sex act that might be asked of her by anyone.
She knew she must be sick, she knew her desires and drives were not normal. Her body ached and throbbed for her brother Lee while her mind was revolted at her desires and lust.
They rose late every day, hung over, with Rod irritable and noncommunicative. He was sure, after the first night, that Gail had taken a lover or lovers while he was away. The thought, added to his already existing feelings about the war, only deepened his rage. Nobody at home seemed to have any idea of what the war was all about and the thought of his own wife fucking her hot little ass off, acting like a common slut while he was over there trying to do something about all that endless misery, was too much. It seemed to him that nobody cared, that everybody had their heads in the sand and were busy enjoying themselves, that the peace demonstrators weren't so much interested in ending the war as they were in tooting their own horn and cause.
Over all of this, hanging heavy on his ego, was the feeling that his wife was not what he thought she was. Certainly not the girl he had left behind. What they had done in bed together was something he had done with whores, common prostitutes that he had paid. She had outdone the biggest whores in Barracuda Mary's, a Saigon whorehouse devoted exclusively to oral sex. Was that any kind of a woman to be married to? Was that any way to build a future? No, she had been whoring around and he was going to bide his time, find the guy and then he was going to have his revenge.
Each day they arose late, Rod taking a hot shower against his ramming headache, downing several Excedrin and a glass of foaming Bromo Seltzer then dressing and strolling out to the mailbox while Gail showered.
Each day he went out, he caught sight of an old man in the yard across the street. Every morning, the old man pretended to be working but was always watching. Every morning, he seemed disappointed when Rod came down the drive. Can he be the one, Rod asked himself. Naw, too old. A good fuck would kill an old geeser like him.
One particular morning he came back into the house with an open letter in his hand. Gail was in the kitchen, washing dishes from the night before and preparing a breakfast of black coffee and orange juice. "Hey," he called, "we got a letter from your brother, Lee. He says he's coming out to visit us for awhile."
There was the crash – an explosion – and tinkle of glass from the kitchen. Rod ran to see Gail staring at him with a white face, shattered glass at her feet.
"What happened?"
"Nothing. Slipped. My hands were soapy and it slipped. Let me see the letter."
"Look out, you're in your bare feet, you'll cut yourself," he said, alarmed by her pale appearance, the odd look in her eye and the way she walked through the glass, impervious to pain or danger.
"Let me see!"
"Gail, you're bleeding!"
"Let me see the letter!" she said in a strange wailing tone.
"Here, take it. Sit down."
He guided her to a chair, alarmed by the way she was behaving. She paid utterly no attention to her cut feet and her bleeding. He sat her down in a chair while her eyes raced madly through the letter.
She sat reading it over and over while Rod ran to get the first aid kit and treated her cuts, pulling shards of glass from her feet. Her cuts sterilized and bandaged, he swept then vacuumed the floor then paused, caught his breath and looked at his wife. She was still as pale as a plaster wall, the letter, read many times over, in her lap, her face vacant of any emotion as she stared off, her eyes sad and resigned.
"Gail, I've got to get you to a doctor," he said, concern in his voice.
"He can't stay here," she said in a small voice.
"Who? Lee? The hell with that now. Get dressed, I'm taking you to a doctor."
She looked up at him as if she hadn't heard. Her eyes seemed larger and darker than he had ever seen them before. And there was an odd unhealthy look to them. "I don't want him to stay here."
"Lee? Why not? He can sleep on the couch. Gail, what the hell is the matter with you? Are you all right?"
She tried to smile and moved to get up, wincing as she put weight on one foot. "Ouch. Oh, that hurts."
"I know." All of his resentment was forgotten. The sight of blood, the thought and sight of someone in pain brought back feelings he had tried to bury and forget since coming back from Vietnam. No matter what he felt, he had been trained to help people when they were hurt. "Let me carry you to the bedroom where we can get you dressed. I've got to get you to the hospital."
"I'll be all right."
"You'll be all right when a qualified doctor can look at those cuts and get all the glass out. What got into you?" he asked as he picked her up in his strong arms and carried her to the bedroom where he put her on the bed and busied himself with gathering clothing for her.
Gail lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, the letter crumbled in her hand. Once before she had lain on the bed, a letter in her hand: Rod's. With a mighty effort, she tried to stir herself. "I don't know," she lied. "I felt so funny when I woke up. I felt worse when I was in the kitchen and that glass just slipped. I'm sorry."
"Forget it and get into these slacks and stuff." He smiled down at her. "You sure were weird about that letter. Walked right through the glass like it was nothing."
"I… I thought something was wrong with Lee. I just had a… funny feeling, that's all," she lied. She removed her robe, wearing only a bra and panties underneath. She paused and lay back, looking up at her husband with half closed eyes. "Rod?" she asked longingly.
"What?"
"Make love to me."
"What? Now? The way you are?"
"Please. Now."
"Gail, don't be crazy. You have a temperature?" He put his hand to her forehead and she seized it and licked the palm of his hand with her tongue. "Gail!"
"Please," she implored, her voice breaking. "It's so important. I need you. Make love to me, make violent love to me. Rod! I need you! Please make love to me! Fuck me like you really mean it."
Rod recoiled at the words. He looked down at his wife. Her face was so tortured, so serious. And there was that strange look in her eye. What was it? Had Rod known, or had he even suspected the lust and agony Gail was feeling at that moment, he would have been able to do something: a gesture, an act, a word. But, he had no idea. He busied himself with dressing her, treating her as a child, preferring to think her rantings came from the fact that she was hurt. He carried her to the car and whisked her off to the hospital, to the emergency ward where a doctor cleaned and treated her cuts, gave her an injection and prescribed some pills to relax and calm her and pronounced her cuts as not being serious at all.
They stopped at the drug store and Gail sat in the car while Rod ran in to have the prescription filled. She sat parked in the shopping center and watched the people around her. They seemed so normal with such normal activities. Mothers and fathers with their children, teen-agers walking arm in arm, older people window shopping. All this, she thought, and Lee is coming. The letter didn't say when, just that he was on his way. The letter was postmarked two days ago. He could be arriving at any time. What was she going to do?
Rod broke her reverie as he got into the car, slamming the door and looking at her. "How're you feeling?"
She tried out a wan smile. "Better."
"You sure acted funny. All I said was I got a letter from Lee and you acted funny."
"I know." She took a deep breath and lied. "It's just that I never hear from him and he should be in school now. He was here awhile ago. Didn't I tell you?"
"No, I didn't know that. How was he?"
"Wild. Lot of things disturbing him. I worry about him and when you got that letter I had the crazy feeling something was very wrong. Silly. I'm so sorry."
For what seemed the first time in a long while, Rod smiled at her warmly. "Forget it. Let's get home and give you this medicine."
Rod was very attentive all evening long. He placed her on the couch and placed pillows behind her back and turned on the television and made and fetched her drinks. He even managed a simple dinner that he served her on the couch. Gail was grateful for his attention even though she kept protesting she was all right and could manage for herself. The prescription, a tranquilizer, worked well and Gail found herself being lulled into an artificial serenity by the combination of pills and scotch. She liked the lazy drowsy feeling they supplied her and drifted off to sleep, thinking of how nice it would be to take tranquilizers and make love. She curled on the couch, looking at Rod with a sleepy-eyed look, smiling, murmuring, "Why don't we go to bed?"
Rod nodded, watching the TV. "In a little while." His plan was to wait for her to fall asleep, cover her, turn everything off and go to bed alone, using the excuse that she needed sleep. He didn't have too long to wait and he sat smoking and drinking, pretending he was watching television but really thinking about his wife. It was something more than just an affair. But what? Her behavior when he said he had a letter from Lee was odd. Weird, in fact. But why? He found Lee's letter and read it over. It was simple and short. Lee had been a visitor when he was in Vietnam. What had happened? Gail called him wild and disturbed. What had happened and why did she wait until now to tell him Lee had visited? It wasn't like her to forget a thing like that. She had always been so fond of Lee.
"Fond." Sitting in the chair, tapping the letter thoughtfully against his chin, he said the word softly. He had heard of "stuff like that" in Vietnam. There was even the Okie kid, a real hayseed farm boy who said he had fucked his cousin and various farm animals. Rod had always put him down as a bragging crackpot.
He shook his head and got to his feet. Nothing like that could happen here. He felt a little ashamed of himself for thinking such thoughts about his wife and brother-in-law. Hell, he thought, last time I saw him, he was just a kid.
He went to bed troubled, thinking. There was something very wrong with Gail and something wrong with their marriage. He couldn't accept a wife who made love the way they had the last time. He had to talk to her. They both had to sit down and soberly talk over things. Maybe a visit to a minister or doctor would help. Something had to be done.
Something was done. It was done at three o'clock that morning. Rod found himself stirring from a deep sleep by the persistent ringing of the front door bell. He got out of bed warily, drudging about on reflex, used to being called at all hours to fly his chopper on a mission. "All right, all right," he mumbled, stumbling to the living room and stopping sleepy eyed when he saw Gail still sound asleep on the couch. The doorbell stabbed through the early morning silence and jolted him awake. He blinked and walked to the door, wrapping his robe around him.
"Who's there?"
"Me," a voice answered in a stage whisper. "That you, Rod? It's me, Lee."
Rod threw the door open and stood with a quizzical grin on his face. "Lee! What the hell are you doing?"
Lee came in. "Didn't you get my letter? I got a ride clear to Denver and got a plane down. How are you, you old son-of-a-gun?"
Rod shook hands, taking in Lee's appearance sleepily. He had grown, becoming strong and rangy. Slimmer and not as tall as Rod, but growing. And that crooked grin of his was familiar. To him, Lee always looked as if he had just come from pulling off some insane prank and was pleased with himself.
Rod let him in, watching him haul in his gear and noticed his appearance was getting a little "farout". He grunted to himself, hoping he wasn't one of the peaceniks. "What are you doing here? What about school?"
Lee shrugged and gave him a fine enigmatic smile. "I got kicked out."
"How come?"
Lee stood on one hip, looking at the floor and lazily scratching the back of his neck. "Well, I could tell you a lot of stories but the truth is I got caught balling the wife of the head of the history department in a broom closet and all hell broke loose and when it was all over it was suggested that maybe I should pursue my education elsewhere."
Rod laughed. "No? Really? Caught in a broom closet!"
Lee looked rueful. "Ever try to put your pants on while you're running down a hall stark naked with an irate husband swinging at you and his wife screaming bloody murder up and down the hall?"
They laughed together and Rod held a shushing finger to his lips, pointing to the sleeping form of Gail on the couch. Briefly, he explained what had happened and they carried Lee's suitcase and sleeping bag into the bedroom. Rod got drinks and closed the bedroom door. He was delighted to see Lee and, as they sat and drank and joked, it reminded him of good times in Saigon, nights when they stayed up and drank. He liked Lee, liked his honesty and, as they talked, he found he could tell him things about the war that he had kept locked up inside of him. Lee was a good listener and said, "Yeah, I've been thinking about upping. Hell, I'm bored. I'd like to see a little of that life over there. I mean, that's where the action is. It's all that basic bullshit, all that spit and polish you go through, that stops me."
"Yeah, it's a drag. Sometimes I think of re-upping. Most of the time, I don't know what the hell I want."
They sat, relaxed, drinking. "Yeah, I know the feeling. Hey, how was the poontang over there. Fill me in, man."
They talked on, their voices low and confidential, drinking, laughing together over sexual adventures. Lee listened closely, his eyes glinting like some predatory bird sizing up a potential meal.
Finally, he leaned forward, nudging Rod's knees. "Listen, last time I was here, I got to know a chick. Her name is Kim Clarke. Wild? Out of sight. A real far out broad for real."
"What's she like?" Rod asked, feeling the scotch and a certain man-to-man smuttiness.
"She's a topless, bottomless, double-clutching, breech-loading, high-stepping, gear-shifting, air-cooled, free-wheeling wild dancer. Didn't Gail tell you about it?"
Rod shook his head and tried to keep calm. "No, she never mentioned it." Perhaps he was going to find out some of what was bothering her.
Lee shrugged and nodded understandingly. "I took her to one of those topless-bottomless places. She had never been. The chick there, Kim, turned me on and so I met her."
"Ah," Rod said, holding up a finger. "That's what's bothering her. She told me you were kind of wild when you were here."
"Wild?" Lee looked like he was posing for a picture as the innocent angel. "Wild? Me?" Then his lips spread in that crooked insinuating smile and Rod slapped him on the knee.
"Probably the whole thing upset her. I mean, the place and you, her brother, making out with a dancer. You know how she is."
"Yeah," Lee grinned. "Only it didn't upset her and I didn't make out with Kim until later. I told Gail I was going back to school and went back down and shacked up with Kim for two long grueling days. I tell you, she is out of sight. No bull, just a straight come-on and hop right into bed."
"No kidding?"
"An inexhaustible fucking machine."
"No kidding?"
"Wake up in the middle of the night with her going down on me. Listen, I'm going to see her for sure this trip. Like to meet her?"
Flattered, Rod laughed and said, "Why not? Always wanted to meet a fucking machine."
"Great!" Lee said enthusiastically. "Tell you what. Tomorrow night we'll all go down to the club and you can catch her act."
"She really strip? All the way?"
"All the way and believe me, what you'll see is nothing compared to what she does in a bedroom."
"Too much, huh?" Rod asked, his mouth a little open, his cock beginning to jerk and swell in his pajamas.
"Listen, I'll tell you a little of what she does. Ever heard of using whipped cream? Puts it all over your cock then eats it off."
"Really?"
Lee grinned sardonically. "And that's just for openers. Like she says: if you cum on that, it don't count."
The two laughed together, Rod amazed by Lee's outlook and excited by the prospect of meeting such a girl as Kim. Lee went on regaling him with her lewd and bizarre conduct. He described her body in detail and topped it all with, "And guess what? She's only just turned seventeen. Honest! She's so built, she looks older. Phony I.D. allows her to work in a nightclub. We'll all go down to see her tomorrow night. What say?"
Rod was only too eager to agree when he remembered Gail. "No good. Doctor says she's got to stay off her feet for a few days."
Lee looked concerned and nodded. "Tell you what. Why don't I bring her up here after her show? Man, that would be a gas. Gail will get tired and go to bed and I'm sure I can talk Kim into a private show."
Rod's cock gave a leap. "It would be wild," he said, dubious that such a thing should ever happen.
Lee reached and punched him on the shoulder. "Like old times in Vietnam, I bet. Tell me about over there. Ever smoke any of that Vietnam grass?"
And there the discussion took a new turn with Lee admitting and producing some grass and Rod tiptoeing to the door to check on Gail before lighting up and smoking and relaxing into a rambling euphoria where he talked of the war and, eventually, his buddy. They ended the talk with both silent and drugged. Lee stirred himself, unrolled his sleeping bag and fell asleep on the floor. Rod crawled into bed thinking of all the kids who had been wounded and killed. Thinking of the body of his roommate when he was asked to identify it.
When you can go like that, he thought, quick and without warning, when you can go for no good reason at all, what the hell difference does anything make? Live it up.
He rolled over on his face and fell asleep, determined he would somehow have the dancer, Kim, over to their house that night.