Color Blind (Team Red) (22 page)

“Henry will be sure to let Red in and out whenever he approaches the doorway,” Bas told us. “Henry is a Veteran; he was a combat engineer who fought in both Vietnam and Korea. He’s a really nice man, with a great sense of humor.” David reached across me to shake Mr. Witherspoon’s hand and thank him for his service to our country.

The elderly man ducked his head shyly. “Sebastian, I wouldn’t have gotten all chatty if I knew you were going to embarrass me in front of the beautiful lady.”

As a group, we left the balcony. I signed to Red for ‘lights out’ just before we entered the noisy ballroom. Our pace was unhesitating, despite the crush of people, so David and Bastian must have had a good idea of the room’s set up. It was a combination of knowing the table layout and their superior height that allowed the men an advantage as they cleared a trail to our table. We were informed ahead of time, that each of the tables had assigned seating, with little place cards to guarantee your seat. Per prior arrangement, a chair was removed from our table, allowing extra space between us, so that Red could tuck himself under the table. I was impressed with the extent of accommodation and forethought that went into planning for Red’s inclusion. I would have to make sure we sent Lt. Mercer a nice baby gift to show our appreciation for her hard work and attention to detail.

Knowing we would be going outside during the evening, I had elected to keep my jacket, rather than hand it to the coat attendant. David helped slip the velvet down my arms, and he hung it over the back of my chair. My little beaded purse, which only contained a lipstick and a handkerchief, was placed on the seat, which he tucked closer to the table. David carried a thin wallet with my ID, emergency cash and medical info, in an inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket so that I would feel comfortable leaving my purse unattended.

“Senior Chief?” A voice asked from behind us.

Bastian laughed, “Not anymore, Fritz, just plain Bas now. How are you doing? You remember David Preston, don’t you?”

There was shared laughter at the ridiculousness of introducing David who had been the supervisor for both men. “Hello, Sir, nice to see you again,” Fritz greeted.

“Oh, no! I left the ‘sirs’ behind me when I retired. Just David, please. Nice to see you again. With a deft maneuver, David angled me around so I was included in the conversation, “And this beautiful lady is Teresa March. Teresa, this is Fritz Lieb, we used to work together.”

One of the guys must have signaled Red, because I suddenly had a visual of the group. And so began the introductions. I met Fritz’ partner Leanne Clarey, a lovely silver-haired woman with sharp features in a dainty, fine-boned face. I think her hair must have been prematurely grey, as she didn’t look a day over forty. Aware of Bas’ earlier caution to monitor my reactions, I made sure to ignore Dexter and his companion who were standing patiently behind Fritz, until they were introduced and brought forward for their greeting. Dexter’s date for the evening, was Roselyn Myers (call me, Rose). At first glance, she appeared non-descript with her bobbed brown hair and plain features, but when she smiled, her face lit up with the pure enjoyment of a shared joke. It was hard to school my features, and not be drawn in by her charisma. Both women gushed over Red, who reveled in the attention of his two new admirers.

“Rose has dogs,”
Red told me. His head tilted to take advantage of the scratches she bestowed to his ear. I listened to the little moans as he leaned into her hand.

“Red’s a good boy,” I praised. Lights out.

The chatting between us was informal, although Dexter brought up the fact they all worked together at Wild Horse Security out of San Diego. “You remember Lt. Commander Thomas, don’t you? Russell Thomas started a security company five years ago. Ninety percent of the field operatives are Mustangs. We’ve had to lower our standards to get some key positions filled, so there are a few NCOs and a retired Jr. Lieutenant in the ranks.” The teasing was a direct poke at Bastian, who was the only non-Mustang in the group- besides me, of course. I was grateful for the ranks 101 primer Bas and David had given me in the car ride from the hospital a couple weeks back; without it I would have missed the byplay.

“I thought you had to be a Warrant Officer to be a Mustang,” I said. “Why would a commissioned officer start a business that was predominantly staffed with warrants?”

“There are two main reasons,” Fritz replied. “Firstly, Warrant Officers are technical specialists, which are the skill sets we are looking for. Secondly, all Warrant Officers are Mustangs, as they come up through the enlisted ranks. There is a smaller percentage of commissioned officers who start out enlisted, then switch to officer status while in service. Those officers have a half-dozen or so years as enlisted, and so qualify as Mustangs.”

There was a little more conversation as the guys caught up with the whereabouts of mutual friends. We were probably grouped together for five minutes, before David, with some reluctance, excused us to circulate.

Bas separated from David and I to meet and greet on his own. With Red to my usual position on the left, and David to my right, we managed the crowd fairly well, stopping for the people that predictably asked about Red and wanted to shower him with attention.

“We need to get out more often, Teresa”
Red told me.
“These people are starved for canine therapy. We need to make ourselves available for all these folks who need to hug and scratch a dog, it would be a public service.”
Yeah, my dog the humanitarian (insert eye roll here).

It was a good fifteen minutes before David halted to introduce me to our hosts. “Good to see you, Sir,” David greeted. “This is Teresa March. Teresa, this is General and Mrs. Brigham. Mrs. Brigham is one of the organizers for the Black and White Holiday Gala.”

“Oh, just call me Sarah. It’s lovely to have you here, Teresa. And you must be, Red,” she crooned.

“Is it you I can thank for the accommodations for my boy here?” I asked. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done to make it easier for us. The mini-lawn on the patio is a stroke of genius.”

“I can’t take credit for any of that, it was all done by my staff. I will be sure to pass along your thanks,” she diffused gracefully.

Sarah spent a few minutes with me, explaining some of the more challenging aspects of assembling such a large event. She proved to be a witty and engaging conversationalist, entertaining me with stories of mismatched tablecloths (Really, Teresa, a Black and White ball. How hard could it be?), and undelivered caviar. I heard about ice sculptures, open bars, and my personal favorite, the trials of monitoring dress code (… and would you believe she tried to get in wearing silver metallic? Silver, I tell you! Well you can be assured she was turned away at the door).

“Teresa, Morales is here. I can smell him. They used female bitch pheromones for the scent marker,”
Red chuckled.

Since Red was still considered a juvenile, the pheromones didn’t have the same pull as if he were an adult. But obviously, my dog could understand the joke. My mouth tilted up at the corner.

“What?” David whispered in my ear.

“Morales is close by. Someone has a sense of humor; they used female dog pheromones for the scent marker,” I mumbled back.

“How are you doing, Red?” I stroked a hand over his head as he filled my mind with the festive lighting of the ball room. The press of bodies kept my dog close to my hip, so the visual angles consisted of kneecaps and upwards views of chins. “David, I think the dog needs to move around a little, if you’ll excuse us, I’ll just take a short stroll with him, and meet up with you in a few minutes.”

“You need any help, Sweetheart?” He placed a soft kiss to my cheek.

“No, we’re fine. Our boy can find you as soon as we are done.” Red and I stepped away, starting one of many circuits for the evening that ended with us going to the balcony, before Red returned us to David’s side. At one point in the first solo walk around the room, Red made a point to brush by Javier Morales. It was so hard for me to believe that such a young, innocent looking boy was a gun runner. I had Red release the sight link after that, to make sure I didn’t do anything out of character for a blind woman taking a stroll with her companion animal.

Red told me there were a few people who stared at the damage to my eye, going so far as to whisper furtively to friends standing close by. For the most part, people ignored me after realizing that Red was leading me with the harness/cummerbund rigging. By the time we made our fourth circuit of the night, people were automatically stepping aside, and fewer were stopping us to pet the nice doggy.

“Doggy? Really?”
Red asked.
“Are they, like, five?”
It’s true, even dressed in jewels and expensive designer gowns, women were baby talking to Red. So much for maintaining some semblance of dignity.

Dessert was a choice of a chocolate pudding cake, something called a tuxedo cheesecake, or strawberry shortcake. Talk about poor planning! Half the women in the room were wearing white, and all the desserts are ones that would stain if you dropped a morsel in your lap. The waiter was very thoughtful and brought me a single scoop of vanilla ice cream instead. David had strawberry shortcake, and Bas ordered the cheesecake. They were each nice enough to share a bite of their treats with me. There are advantages to being in the middle. A vanilla wafer accented my scoop, which I discretely handed off to my dog, waiting patiently under the table. “Good boy, Red,” I said, from habit. Lights on- just in time to see the under table view of the woman across from us sliding her hand into her date’s open fly. I choked on the water I had just sipped (thank goodness it wasn’t coffee).

Bas’ solicitous hand gently pounded my back, while David’s concerned, “Teresa, are you all right?” sounded in my ear. My coughing brought Red’s head around to try and peer at me from his spot under the table, giving me an unimpeded view of Bastian’s crotch. Oh boy, the material was pulled tautly across his very generous assets, which caused me to cough harder.

In sign language, assuming the table would shield most of my hand movements from others, I let the guys know what had caused the choking. I watched as Bas lifted the table cloth edge to peer down at Red, whose head was staring right at his inseam. Through Red’s perspective, I saw Bas knowingly lift an eyebrow, which set me off on peals of laughter. “Thanks, Red,” he grinned, effectively giving Red the lights out code. In the dark again. Geez, this on and off was exhausting. I took another bite of my ice cream to help fortify my weakened defenses.

I’m pretty sure the rest of the guests at our table thought I was crazy, but Bas explained that the dog was licking my ankle and I am ticklish. Not the best save, but it worked in a pinch. Goodness knows I wasn’t going to tell anyone else the real reason.

There was a nice leisurely interval where we were able to sip the excellent coffee (after a while, the waiter got a clue and brought me my own little insulated carafe), before the band started tuning up in preparation of the evening’s festivities. I let Red know I wanted to make a trip to the restroom, when Melody, the woman sitting to the left of Bas, offered to accompany me, and help freshen my lipstick. I was happy to have the help.

After using the facilities and thanking Melody for her assistance, I told her Red and I would find our own way back to the table after I took him outside before the dancing started. Red had caught Morales’ scent a few times during the evening, but the people watching him had not signaled us that he was spending any noticeable amount of time with one person in particular. When we were heading towards the balcony, Red gave me an unanticipated visual, which caused me to stumble from surprise. My awkwardness drew the attention of Javier Morales, who was standing in a deserted hallway beside a tall, cold-eyed blonde in a black gown. I managed to keep looking ahead, but Red’s gaze zeroed in on the couple for a few moments, giving me just enough time to see the man excuse himself and come towards me. Red looked forward and resumed directing me to the balcony. “Lights off,” I said, confident I couldn’t be overheard. Our mind sight switched off, and I was able to concentrate on the tred of shoes gaining on us from behind.

“We were on the edge of the ballroom, well enough in sight of other guests I was unconcerned when he called out, “Excuse me, Miss?”

Because I was in the dark again, I responded naturally, by stopping and cocking my head, as if unsure who the man was singling out.

He laid a familiar hand on my arm, which startled me, and caused Red to issue a warning growl.  The hand pulled away, as if burned.

“I have a clear shot at his balls, just give me the word, Teresa.”

“That’s okay, boy. Calm down,” I murmured to Red.

“Sorry ma’am. I believe you dropped this,” Morales said, with the soft touch of an accent adding a beautiful cadence to the words.

“He’s holding something out to you,”
Red told me.

“I’m sorry.” I’m sure my tone belied my words. “I can’t see what it is you think I may have dropped.”

“It is an earring, but it seems you have both of yours. I must be mistaken.”

I caught a faint scent of soap, and gasoline near my face, and jerked my head back.

“Ah, so you are able to see a little bit,” he stated. Obviously a test, and he feels I failed it.

“Not at all, I am totally blind, sir. If you are referring to my reaction to your hand near my face, it is the odor of hand soap and gasoline that I object to. It is my guess you had to fill up your gas tank earlier this evening. The soap was not strong enough to remove the scent.”

“He’s smelling his hands,”
Red informed me.
“He smells like Italian food; lots of garlic.”

“My blindness has caused me to develop an excellent sense of smell. Enough to say, even at this distance from one another, that garlic was on your menu tonight. Italian?” Ha! Let him think he has garlic breath for the rest of the night.

Red growled again, shouldering his body in front of me, backing me up a step. I didn’t smell gasoline this time. “He poked a finger at your left eye,” Red explained. Go figure, who knew Red could tell left from right? It had never come up before. As long as he didn’t touch me, I had no problem with Morales satisfying his curiosity about the extent of my blindness. It was important for him to believe I was no threat.

“My apologies, ma’am. Can I escort you anywhere? Back to your table, perhaps?”

“Actually, my dog and I were heading for the patio. The event organizers set up a little area for him, and I try to stop by every hour, at least, so that he’s comfortable.”

“Please, ma’am, by way of apology, let me escort you,” he offered.

“Why thank you, that’s very kind. I’m sure that my dog and I can find it on our own, but the escort of a gentlemen is always appreciated,” I smiled. “I am Teresa March, and this growly boy to my left is Red. Please excuse him for being a little protective. I think he realized you startled me, and was only looking out for me.”

“I understand completely,” he replied. “I am Captain Javier Morales.”

“An officer!” I tried to inject delight into my tone. “That explains the lovely manners, and the ma’am’s at the end of every sentence,” I teased.

“He’s offering his elbow to you,”
Red said, slipping his head under my right wrist to lift my hand towards the captain.
“Yep, we surprised him. I love when we do that to people.”

Morales snugged my offered hand into the crook of his elbow, and awkwardly pulled me toward the balcony. Luckily, my height made it easier for me to keep up with his jerky pace.

“Hello, once again, Miss Teresa,” Mr. Witherspoon greeted, as we approached the balcony. The air had cooled quite a bit since we arrived earlier in the evening. I had a moment to regret not stopping by the table to grab my jacket, as the chill off the Bay swept over my bared arms and shoulders.

“The lady from the hallway, is standing close by,”
Red informed me.
“I think she wants to come outside.”

“Thank you for your escort, Captain Morales,” I said. “I won’t monopolize your time any longer. I hope you enjoy the remainder of your evening. Red and I will be fine now.”

The intimately lit patio area came into view, as Red connected with me, once again. He was acting like any curious dog, sniffing along the railing and the seats of the chairs.
“David just noticed where you are, he’s heading this way with your coat.”
Smart boy that he is, Red maneuvered his body so that he was facing me; I was backlit by the lights of the ballroom. I could see David striding towards us, Mr. Witherspoon smiling a greeting, as he pulled the door open.

“Do you mind company for a few more minutes, Miss March? It is quite enjoyable to step away from the noise and bustle of the Gala, don’t you agree?”

“Yes. Large gatherings can be quite disconcerting for me. It’s been a year since my accident, but I still find big crowds difficult. To have bodies pressed so close is somewhat claustrophobic.”

Noise spilled out the open door, a stark contrast to the quiet we had been enjoying. “Teresa, I saw you out here and noticed your jacket was still draped over the chair. I have it in my hands, Sweetheart. If you turn around, I’ll help you into it.” I didn’t have to fake the shiver that shuddered over my body.