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Show 143 "No thanks. I always buy my own drinks." She had clear, greenish eyes and the kind of skin that often goes with yellow hair, creamy skin, without a blemish. She parted that hair on the side and it fell to her shoulders. When we told each other our names, she offered her hand to shake, which surprised and pleased me. Her hand was firm and warm. She said she really wasn't out for the evening, just for a break from her roommate, a girl who got on her nerves. She was married and her husband was overseas in England. I said I was going to the Pacific in a matter of a week or two-the first time I'd said that when it was true, and the first time without using it to pressure the girl into the sack. She sighed. "I wish this damned war would end. How old are you anyhow?" "Twenty-one. Even if I don't look it. How about you?" "Twenty-three and I look it all right. You know, my husband always wanted to be a Navy pilot but we wanted to be married while he was a cadet and the damned Navy has a rule against that." "Yeah, some of my friends got married secretly." "I guess we could have lived in sin but he joined the Army instead. He flies too. P-38s." "Hey, so does my older brother. He was in England for a while too. I think he's in North Africa or someplace now though." I looked into her greenish eyes. "Sure I can't buy you a drink?" "I haven't even finished this one. I don't drink with both hands." She tilted her head to look at me. "Why do they call you Babe?" For the first time I didn't make a wry joke of it; I even tried to explain how terrible I'd felt at first, and then how "Babe" had become a new identity for me-sort of like playing a character in a play. "So it isn't really me doing all the things I do." |