The Edge of Honor (46 page)

At ten o’clock, she found a parking place just off the main drag, parked and locked the car, and sat there for a minute. The university district was so named because of San Diego State. The university sat up on the edge of a mesa overlooking the valley through which interstate Highway 80 ascended the foothills east of San Diego and headed for Yuma, Arizona. College Avenue contained the usual college town collection of bars, cheap restaurants, bookstores, laundromats, grocery stores, and dry cleaners.

The sidewalks along the street were crowded with young people of every description, costume, and length of hair. Maddy smiled at their ardent efforts to be nonconformists, with most of the boys wearing exactly the same thing: faded jeans, loose shirts, sandals or shabby sneakers, headbands, granny glasses, and various kinds of Indian jewelry, as if there was a de rigueur, up-yours dress code for college students in honor of the Age of Aquarius. Many of the young women looked almost as if they were trying to be unattractive, with lots of Mother Hubbard dresses, baggy shirts, flopping, braless fronts, deliberately unkempt or frizzy hairdos, no makeup, and what looked like downright dirty clothes.

From the shadows in the darkened car, Maddy shook her head, brought up as she had been to accentuate whatever attributes the Good Lord had provided.

Attributes. Yes, well, and weren’t we dressed for trouble this evening.

She wore a tight-fitting cream-colored skirt that came to just above her knees when she was standing, shiny white stockings, medium heels, and a peach-colored short-sleeved knit sweater over a pushup bra that very definitely accentuated the assets. She had fixed her luxurious hair to obscure partially the left edge of her face, then topped it off with a black velvet beret.

She glanced over her shoulder. The sign for Parker’s Place was about ten doors back up the street. She waited until the crowd on the sidewalk had thinned out a bit before getting out, locking the door, and heading for the club.

She had to keep her eyes lowered as she walked toward the club in order not to laugh out loud at the boys, who tried to stay in character as dedicated hippies while trying not to trip over themselves looking at her. Maddy knew she presented something of a college boy’s dream as she walked as fast as the heels would allow to Parker’s Place, wreaking havoc among the boys while drawing disdainful stares from all the Mother Hubbards, even the occasionally good-looking ones.

Parker’s Place was long and narrow, decorated in a western motif. There was a crowded anteroom up front where a girl dressed up as an Indian princess, right down to braids and buckskins, was trying to sort out tables and reservations. Behind her podium was the entrance to the actual bar area, through which could be seen a long room of closely spaced tables, a sit-down bar along one wall and a tiny stage at the very back, where the group was setting up for the first set. Maddy caught the attention of the first man at the back of the crowd by pressing her front into his back and, when he turned, easing her way through the crowd, murmuring soft “excuse me’s” in her best Atlanta drawl as the men drew back to stare while they let her through, their dates rolling their eyes. Once in front of the podium, Maddy waited to get the hostess’s attention, then asked for the manager.

“Is there a problem?” The hostess frowned.

“Not at all, but I think he’s holding a table for a friend.”

The manager solved the problem by appearing from the smoky haze of the bar, taking one look at Maddy, and beckoning her to come around the podium. The manager was a beefy young man with very short hair and a Semper Fi tattoo on his right biceps.

“Maddy?” he asked as she stepped around the podium.

“Yes.”

“Damnation. I just lost twenty bucks. Bet Autrey that you wouldn’t show.

After he described you, I thought he was connin’ me just to get a good table. C’mon. He’s up front, like he promised.”

Maddy lowered her lashes, smiled, and followed the manager as they wound their way through the packed tables, creating something of a ripple movement of turning heads and a moving dip in the noise level as she went by. She gazed straight ahead and wondered why people were bothering to wait up front—all the tables were taken. And then she saw Autrey. He was standing there, practically in front of the stage, with a big grin on his face. He was wearing a flowing white long-sleeved silk shirt that draped from his wide shoulders and was open at the throat. The shirt was straight out of a Three Musketeers movie; she almost checked to see whether he was wearing a sword and sash. But instead, he was wearing tight, well-worn jeans, brown loafers, and a belt buckle with some kind of turquoise design worked into a matrix of silver.

He continued to smile as she came to the table. He palmed the twenty from the manager without taking his eyes off Maddy. She smiled demurely and sat down.

Autrey jabbed the manager on the shoulder; the manager shook his head and tipped him a one-finger, edge-of-the eye salute before heading back to the bar area.

The singing group consisted of two men and one very good-looking young woman. There appeared to be more instruments than people, and the whole arrangement was barely able to fit on the stage. The singer was ready, but the other two musicians were making small noises, tuning amps and adjusting dials. The singer smiled and nodded at Maddy, who smiled back.

Autrey was speaking.

“Nice hat,” he said, emphasizing the word hat, as if the rest of the package was just okay.

She laughed out loud as a waitress arrived with two glasses of white wine. She looked at the two glasses.

“Pretty sure of me, Mr. Catches Crow?”

“It’s Autrey, just Autrey. And these represent high hopes more than anything else.”

“And the twenty-dollar bet—what did that represent?”

“Revenge. Buddy said there was no way I could get a woman who looked as beautiful as I described you as to meet me anywhere this side of heaven.”

Then it was his turn to laugh as she groped for a way around the compliment. Buddy appeared at the microphone at that moment and announced The Three of Us to enthusiastic applause. The group went right into their first song, and Maddy relaxed as she recognized that they were not only good but very good, the singer comfortable in her range and the musicians adept at making several black boxes sound like a seven-member rock group. Maddy concentrated on watching the singer, taking care not to look directly at Autrey while moving around in her chair just enough to let Mr. Smart Ass there get a good look—at the hat.

As she sipped her wine and absorbed the songs, she tried to think about what they would talk about when the first set ended. She knew that she had lost control the last time she was with him, and that was not the way she liked to conduct relationships with men. That would have never happened when she was in college, unless she wanted it to. So what’s the game this time? Tantalize and then go home? Show him who’s in charge?

What’s the point? He’s an attractive man; this is the second time you’ve gone out with him. All the other times you’ve indulged in cock teasing, there was an objective, something you wanted well over and above sex. So what is it you want from Just Autrey? She conjured up the melange of images she had of him, standing by the table, his long, lean body, the tight jeans, his fingernail edging across her stomach, the studied way he had of moving, the implied power, grace, and control. As a song hit a quiet spot, he was saying something.

“What?” she whispered.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” he replied, leaning forward, making her look at him. “I guess I’m going to get my chance to go see what it’s really like.”

“What what’s really like?”

“What I’ve been teaching these guys. I’m going over to nam.”

She sat upright, barely restraining a loud ‘No!’ He saw it in her eyes and nodded. “They figure I ought to see it firsthand, make me a better instructor, give me more credibility with the new guys and the other instructors.”

“But you’re a civilian.” Because the music was still going, they spoke softly. She was having to lean toward him, faces nearly touching, her breasts on the table a few inches from his hand.

“Yeah. But there are other civilians over there, from different government, uh, agencies, if you know what I mean. They dress you up in jungle gear; everybody looks the same.”

“When?” Suddenly it was important. She felt his knee just barely touching hers under the table.

“Two, three weeks. Scheduling’s not their strong point. They just told me to get myself ready, shots, passport, and they’d let me know.”

The first set ended and they sat back in their chairs.

Maddy was suddenly very thirsty; she finished her wine.

He signaled the waitress to bring another round, but she changed hers to ginger ale, remembering her plan. After the applause, the level of noise in the room had risen precipitously, so she had to lean closer to him again to hear what he was saying. If he was wearing any cologne, she could not detect it.

“It’s actually a pretty good deal,” he was saying.

“This thing can’t go on forever, and I don’t know what I’ll be doing after Nixon shuts it down. But if I have some actual in-country experience, it will help me keep a job with the military after the war is over.”

“How long will you be over there?”

“Nobody can say right now. Probably until I say, I guess. Being a civilian, I can probably wrap it up when I want to.”

She ran her finger through the ice cubes in her ginger ale, thinking about Brian, who was stuck on the deployment for seven months. Why was he telling her this? I’m shipping out, baby, so how’s about let’s get this thing going, a last fling at love before I face the hostile shores?

“I’m very glad you came tonight,” he said, staring down at his own drink. “I really did want to see you again.”

“Why?” she said, looking up.

He looked at her for a long moment. “These are interesting times.

Everybody says you do your own thing, let it all hang out—you know the words. So the answer to your question is, Because you are a very beautiful woman and I’m very much attracted to you.”

Well, that was pretty straightforward. She felt all her aspirations to control fraying around the edges a bit.

Suddenly, she wanted to tell him, had to tell him. She wanted the truth out on the table, almost as if it would protect her from herself.

“Look,” she said. “You’re a very attractive man, and I’m … I’m at somewhat of a disadvantage here. I’m married.” She looked sideways at him, to see if this was news. “Perhaps you knew that.”

“Yes, I think I knew that,” he said. He steepled his fingers hi front of his face, obscuring all but his eyes.

She looked back down at the table, her hands flat in front of her, uncertain of how to proceed. “My being at MCRD was an accident, a sudden whim of a friend whom I went along with. It was a dumb idea. I should never have done that, but I was curious, and bored, and depressed at the thought of my husband’s being gone on a ship for seven months. And going to dinner with you … well, I thought I owed you something for saving me from … well, you know.” He nodded deliberately. “And tonight?” he asked.

“Tonight. Tonight because I wanted to see you again.”

She lofted his words back to him. “Because you are a very attractive man and I’m attracted to you, too. But, in my heart, in my head, I just can’t. I mean—”

“I understand, Maddy Holcomb. And if that’s how you feel, that’s okay.”

He touched the back of her right hand with his left; his fingers were warm. “Look,” he said. “We’ve become aware of each other, as a man and a woman. You must know I want you. But put your mind at ease, because I will settle for your company.” He withdrew his hand.

She nodded once, felt relieved, and then, perversely, let down. She felt like saying, You give up pretty easy, Just Autrey. He was watching her face, trying to read her thoughts. Afraid that he might see her reaction, she hid her eyes behind her hair and began to stir the ice cubes again.

“You think I have been trying to seduce you, don’t you?” he said after a few minutes.

She shook her head but did not answer.

“Even if I knew how, I wouldn’t do that. See, I know a secret.”

“What secret is that?”

“Men don’t seduce women, not beautiful women with brains, women who are aware of themselves. If women are seduced at all—and I often wonder about that—they seduce themselves. The woman chooses. The best we men can do is to put ourselves in the way of love and hope that we get lucky. You tell me that you cannot bring our acquaintance to love. I accept that. You have either chosen not to or you have not made up your mind, but either way, I accept it, because that’s how it works. If I try to force something, the result is probably going to be ugly and barren.

If you choose, it is passion and love.”

She did not know-what to say. You wanted to be in charge, in control.

Well, there it is, she thought. He’s telling you that it’s up to you.

Just like you wanted, right?

Then he was smiling.

“And besides,” he said, “there are some things that are exciting not to know.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It is exciting not to know whether you’ve made up your mind or if you are still thinking about it.” His eyes were alight with humor, and, despite herself, she found herself smiling back. Devil.

“I thought I made that clear, Autrey. I—”

“Yes, or at least you started to. But now I’ve told you what I do not want to know, so the least you can do is to have a little pity and keep the news to yourself—at least until we’ve heard the second set. Here comes the group.”

She studied her glass, uncertain of what to say or do.

They sat somewhat more at ease to listen to the second set, but inside, Maddy experienced a kaleidoscope of emotions: relief, disappointment, gratitude, and even tenderness toward this man who was gently willing to be rebuffed for the privilege of her company. She almost wanted to reach over and take his hand, but she knew, suddenly knew, that there was fire in that direction.

Damn it. Here I go again. The man is just … there, and he has me spinning. She blanked out her mind and focused on the music.