The Quintessence of Quick (The Jack Mason Saga) (51 page)

“Nope. I would in your shoes, for sure. Just hate ‘it,’ please, and not me, OK?”

“Hell, you know better than that. In your shoes, I hope I’d make the same decision. Gimme a call before you go, huh?”

“Wilco, fly-boy. Give the twins a hug for me, all right?”

“That’s a rog, dogface. hasta la vista.” Hasta la vista indeed, he thought; among other things, to the time when you and I told each other nothing but the truth.

30 SPRING ROLLS & POT-STICKERS

The Bachelor Officers’ Quarters bar at Naval Station San Juan was dark and quiet on most Sunday evenings, and Jack was pleased that tonight it played strictly to form. He and Lulu typically closed out their weekend with afternoon cocktails, after which the visiting team would head home to rest up for Monday. At a little after nine on this eve of a workday, neither of them had moved to mention dinner. Sitting at a corner table within range of the bartender, its top populated with a half dozen empties, they sat nursing the contents of two more stemmed glasses. Time was short, not just for the evening or the weekend. Jack’s orders sending him to Commander, Fleet Air Jacksonville for release to inactive duty were effective two weeks from the coming Monday morning, the approach of which they were actively ignoring in this prime candidate for the sleepiest watering hole in San Juan.

They had left the
Condado
Beach
well before sundown, a couple of hours earlier than Lulu and her friends typically abandoned the sundeck. Jack’s reactions to the fallout from President Kennedy’s assassination that affected him personally varied, day to day, over a wide emotional spectrum. It was his first weekend in
San Juan
for over a month; he’d excused himself to Lulu with an assortment of events, from being scheduled as Squadron Duty Officer to car trouble. For her part, Lulu was far less interested than she used to be in making the drive from
San Juan
to Roosevelt Roads. Her friend, Margarita “Maggie” Torres, answered the many questions raised by the Condado clique concerning Jack’s absence: “She thought she was in love with him, and I guess that she still thinks so; but one thing Lulu won’t stand for is to have him, or anyone else, think that she’ll settle for being anything but Priority One. Whatever’s keeping Jack away from here on the weekends, it can’t just be his Navy duty. It never was a problem for him to get away before.”

And of course, the Navy wasn’t the problem. Since being returned to Earth in a craft from the far future, Jack’s real problem was how to understand, given Gil’s revelations, the true nature of his being. What would centuries of outliving one generation of peers after another bring to bear on him? More than six months had passed, and while he flew his missions and remained functional as a Naval Officer, he couldn’t bring himself to share the knowledge of his fate with anyone. After surviving into the fifth millennium, and returning to create major changes of events by saving Jesus’s, Linda’s and Pete’s lives, he now felt total responsibility for them. And his ongoing love for Linda, he now new, hadn’t faded much.

Returning to Lulu on a bright fall Saturday, it seemed at first that he might be able to bring it off, this reunion with the other with whom he had, for a time, conceived of being in love. Bright, beautiful and, by some margin, the sexiest woman he’d ever known; and in her own words, having come from ‘pretty near nothin’,’ which was, to Jack, yet one more thing in her favor. As was their habit, they went for an early lunch at the restaurant she prized above all others, Le Chalet Suisse, to, also in her words, ‘lay down a base’ for yet another afternoon of alcohol, sunshine and horseshit at the Condado Beach.

The first to greet them, not unexpectedly, was Burke Swearingen, which didn’t improve Jack’s already-faltering resolve to be civil, and if possible jocular, with all hands in this clueless coalition. “Well,” Swearingen breathed. “Thought you’d given us up for Luquillo or someplace.” This afternoon was the third, or maybe the fourth in Jack’s recollection, that he’d shown up since returning from leave the previous December. Contributing to his disenchantment was the fact that Swearingen, after a long evening at Casa Coquí, had made a laughably clumsy grab for Jack’s balls on the way into their quarters.

“Well, you know, Burke, my Sanskrit correspondence course doesn’t leave me as much free time as I used to have.”

“Oh, is that what I’ve been hearing next door? Didn’t know Sanskrit had quite so many screams and shouts in its grammar.”

“Guess you forgot that our boy Roy’s getting in shape to try out for UDT. Aside from the nightly 28-mile canter to the hangar and back, he cools off with calisthenics in the living room. Matter of fact, he told me he thought he caught you checking him out from the backyard a couple of times. You oughta ask him to let you go on that run with him some night; just you, him and the land crabs.” With a nauseating smirk, Swearingen side-stepped away.

“Jesus, Jackie, that was kind of rough. That fading flower has enough trouble scaring up some action around here. God knows what it must be like for him on the base.”

“It’s his call. If he wants to stir up gossip, that little pissant’s gonna get it sprayed right back at him. And he won’t like it.”

Grinning at him, she said, “Sister Burke’d like to get me together with one of these poolboy buddies of his. He’s always reminding me that it won’t be long before you’re gone. He almost choked on his canapés when I told them that Maggie and I were leaving too.”

The afternoon wore on, Lulu’s easy joie de vivre and carelessly sexy presence countering worn-out bons mots as they tripped through endless variations, sun and booze taking their inevitable toll on wasted bodies and flaccid minds. Jack’s dingbat tolerance wore thin, collapsing when Maggie Torres attempted a burlesque recall of the day that he brought Rick to have a look at the accumulated detritus that made up a
Condado
Beach
weekend.

“I’ve never had someone look directly through me with such passion,” she’d said, mimicking Rick’s no-nonsense military bearing, which she actually did quite well.

“It might help if you were a little less transparent,” Jack responded as he got to his feet. He and Lulu were in the car within minutes, BOQ-bound.

“It’s a shame that Ray had to leave so soon,” Lulu said, her grin made slyer than usual by the Daiquiris that had tailgated a slew of their siblings into her system on the deck that afternoon. “Maggie’d taken his measure five minutes after you guys showed up. If he were still here, they’d be banging each other’s brains out pretty much as we speak.” Jack had told her the previous Friday evening about Ray’s (Rick’s) no longer being part of the new FlxAir scenario.

“Yeah, too bad that didn’t work out. Would’ve probably done them both good. Who is fucking Maggie these days, anybody? I’d be surprised if it were any of the Condado Commandos; can’t be much left after they lie out in the sun all day.”

“She won’t admit it, even to me, but I believe that the only action that she’s had for awhile’s been with her boss. She was very curious about you in our early stage, i.e. whether I might be willing to share you, or at least pass you along after our thing ran its course.”

“Well, hell; she’s not all that awful, if in fact you and I hadn’t clicked. What’d you do, fatten up my resume?”

“Didn’t have to; she gave me the perfect opening.”

“And that was?”

“She asked me how big you were.”

“Hm. You mean BIG?” Jack said, angling a finger down at his crotch.

“Bingo. And I just had to tell the truth.”

“And that was?”

“I just told her what my uncle used to say all the time, when he’d talk about what he did in the machine shop at the mill.”

“Go on.”

“I said, ‘Honey, that thing’s absolutely a press-fit.’ Then I had to go on and explain, at least to the best of my understanding, what a press-fit actually was. Her eyes got big, the way they do, and then guess what she said.”

“Just tell me.”

Laughing, Lulu told him. “She said, ‘Do you think he’d mind if I watched some time?”

“Now you tell me.” Sliding his hand up her thigh to moist hair, Jack smiled as he reached her stiffening clitoris. Has she ever seen this young sausage of yours? Shall we give her a break before I leave?”

Still smiling, she shifted in her chair to ease his access and shook her head. “You just don’t understand girls at all, do you? We’ve been an ‘item’ for over a year, and it’d be a little much for her to get her poor Catholic mind around. When she said ‘watch,’ she was talking about peeping out from behind the closet door. Still, on a given day, with enough Daiquiris- but she’d never be satisfied with just watching, once she got a look at you doing me.”

“My, my,” Jack said. “What would you think of our giving her a light workout together?”

“Be a nice going-away present for you, wouldn’t it? Let’s save that for when we’re all back in
New York.”

Draining his glass, Jack said, “So the plan’s going forward. Got any kind of a timetable for getting back to civilization?”

“Nothing definite; be kind of nice to be there for New Year’s with you, though.”

“Yes it would. Should be close to done with Lear Jet training by then. Either way, that’s a done deal. I’ll take you on a jet ride.”

Lulu shuddered as he rolled her clit lightly between thumb and forefinger. “That’s my Jackie. Most of your pals can’t wait to get out and go to work for an airline. Not you; you want your own goddam airline.”

“Well, part of one anyway. Feel like another round?”

The irony in her smile would have done credit to a woman 10 years her senior. “And we were going to make it an early night. Now that you’ve got me going, I feel like getting one to go, with a nice press-fit as a chaser. Why don’t you go see the Steward and get us a room?”

“First I want to tell you something.” As he spoke, Gil appeared at the far end of the bar, giving him a frantic wave-off. Staring at him, Jack couldn’t miss the pantomimed words:

“Tell her later.”

Visitors to Serena’s new home on
East 10th Street
first encounter a mammoth Florentine brass knocker. When lifted, it triggers a four-tone chime strong enough to penetrate to the visitor’s side of the loft’s vault-grade door as though it weren’t there. As it did, a wry grin crept onto Jack’s face. “I can’t believe it,” he said to himself as he stood waiting in the bleak space between the door and the building’s only elevator, which was still configured to carry freight, given its horizontally-split door.

Serena, luminous in a black silk caftan with crimson embroidery circling a neckline that would invite speculation by any sentient male, opened the door.

Grinning as they embraced, Jack said, “Is it just me, or is that the old
Griffin
shoe-polish commercial?”

Serena cocked her head a couple of degrees for a sidelong look at him. “I forgot. You listened to a lot of radio as a kid, didn’t you?”

“Sure, who didn’t? Remember? ‘DING-dong, DING-dong; it’s tiime to shiine. Everybodygetset, it’s time to shine- yeah.’” Accompanying the jingle with an uninspired-but-energetic soft-shoe, Jack hit the finish at the end of the last line.

“Hi, Mom,” he said.

“Hi yourself, Bojangles,” she said. Get your ass in here before I kick it.” Jack stuck his tongue out at her. She laughed, wrapping her arms around him. “Dancing was never your strong suit. How ’bout playing to your strength and throwing a few Martinis together? Looks like I’ve got some catchin’ up to do.” She led him into the apartment; except for a short stretch of wall on the left, on the other side of which was the kitchen, the entire space was open. Several Persian rugs covered a good part of the wood parquet floor. Large, multi-paned windows took up most of the left and far walls, providing the vital north light for the third of the floor space occupied by Serena’s studio. A wrought-iron spiral staircase in the far right corner led to an upper floor, the view over its chest-high wall adding a thin slice of the
East River
to its overlook of the first floor.

“I ’spect I can handle that. How about a rum Martini?”

“Rum? You kidding?”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

“You obviously picked that up in
Puerto Rico. Sounds more like a
Manhattan.”

“No; with light rum. Got any Bacardi?”

“Yeah, I think so; look in that cabinet the shaker and stuff’s sitting on.”

After their frigid crystal glasses had touched rims, Serena said, “Welcome, bub; hope you’re going to stay awhile.”

“Oh, yeah, we’ll be in town for long enough to wear out our welcome. Harry and I need to cut loose for a few days before we get started with the Lear Jet. He’s coming in tomorrow.”

“Great. By the way, I bumped into a friend of yours not too long ago.”

“Really?  Who was that?”

“Diana Bishop.”

“Hm. Where in the world did you run into her?”

“Of all places, the Village Vanguard. Hap dragged me down there to see one of his favorites, Mose Allison. As we were leaving, I heard someone holler ‘Miz Mason’ behind me, and damned if there weren’t the twins, sitting at a table with Mose Allison.”