"And then I think he hurt his legs, either in the water, or maybe walking in the sand."
"So why didn't you do something about it?"
"Getting drunk worked as good as anything from the dispensary," McCoy said. "And if we had taken him there, they probably would have wanted to keep him."
"That's pretty damned callous!"
"He's a big boy, baby. He wanted to come down here."
"And he wants to do whatever it is you're about to do, right?"
"Right."
"And you're not going to tell me what that is, right?"
"Right."
"How about how Beth and me are supposed to get back to Washington?"
"The way Mainwaring was looking at you, I thought maybe you'd want to stay."
"Go to hell!"
"After Mainwaring drops us at Pensacola-I'm not sure we can get you on the base without a lot of hassle; you may have to wait outside the gate-he'll take you to Mobile. That's another forty miles or so. You catch a train there to Montgomery and connect with the Crescent from New Orleans to Washington."
"And by the time I get to Washington, are you still going to be there?"
"Baby, I don't know."
"In other words, I may not see you after tomorrow morning?" He didn't reply.
"For how long?"
He shrugged.
"And if I hadn't asked, you were just going to get on that goddamned airplane tomorrow without even saying goodbye?"
"Saying goodbye to you is hard for me, baby."
"How about saying, `I love you, Ernie'? Is that hard for you, Ken?"
"I love you, Ernie," McCoy said.
"If you love me, you sonofabitch, why won't you marry me?" she said. But she didn't expect a reply or wait for one. She walked quickly to him and waited for him to put his arms around her. When he did, she told him she loved him, too.
Two rooms down, Beth Lathrop also asked what was going to happen to her and to Ernie the next day. When she asked it, she was standing in the door to the bathroom, wrapped in a towel.
"Mainwaring is going to take both of you to Mobile to catch a train."
"Do you think she means it when she says she can get me assignments as a photographer?"
"I'm sure she does." She doesn't know you're a whore. Maybe if she knew that, she wouldn't.
"You don't think she's just saying that?"
"You better be able to produce, Beth."
"What does that mean?"
"It better not be bullshit, you being a photographer."
"You bastard! Is that what you think?"
"All I'm saying is that if you're not a photographer, now is the time to say so. Don't make a fool of her. She's a nice girl."
"You think I've been lying all the time, don't you?"
"I don't know what the hell to think."
"That's not all. Say what you're thinking!"
"She knows Pick. He knows you. What is he going to tell her about you?"
"I didn't think about that," Beth said. "Oh, Jesus!"
"Shit," George said, and went to the dresser and opened the bottle of beer he'd brought from McCoy's and Ernie's room.
"OK," Beth said, "so what I'll do is tell her thanks but no thanks."
"No," Hart said. "No, you won't. If she says she can get you a job, you'll take it."
"What about Pick?"
"She won't be seeing him anytime soon," Hart said. "Maybe ever. "
"My God, what a rotten thing to even think!"
"And anyway, what he tells her about you has nothing to do with you and me."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning I don't give a good goddamn what anyone knows, or thinks." That's true, goddamn it, he thought. I don't even give a good goddamn what my father would say if he found out.
"You say that but you don't mean it," Beth said.
"Goddamn it, I mean it."