Heads turned to the steps leading to the pool deck when a middle-aged man appeared. He was of medium height, with receding hair slicked back into curls, wearing a blue blazer and peach shirt open to reveal layers of gold chains against his brown, leathery skin. Conversation stopped, however, because of the stunning woman who accompanied him. Tall, with flowing brown hair and a brick-house figure spilling out of her too-short dress, she towered over the man in her five-inch spikes.
For a moment, all the assembled men were slack jawed. “Whoa!” muttered Billy.
With a satisfied smile, the man led her down the steps while the matron rushed over with the admiral in tow. The man looked important, enjoying the attention from everyone, and the girl was clearly an armpiece, dutifully offering obligatory saccharine smiles at each introduction. Almost a full head length above her companion, she surveyed the crowd, bored and uninterested.
Amused, Annie broke the silence. “You guys never seen a trophy wife before?”
Billy answered, “That is an accoutrement, and if she is his wife, she’s number four or five.”
“That’s what you red-blooded American men are fighting for!” Mike boomed, too loud as usual. “Me, I’ve got my honey right here!” He pulled Annie close to him, almost causing her to lose her balance. Wilson watched her give him a look to calm down, which he playfully ignored.
“Think she’s a pro?” Wilson offered to anyone.
“If she is, she’s not from around these parts,” Mike answered. Annie turned to her husband and raised an eyebrow.
“And how would you, know?” she asked him with a half playful, half withering look.
“Hey, I was once a sailor on liberty in Saint Thomas, and I don’t remember her — or anyone that looked like her. Not that I was looking! And I’m not looking now! Actually, I’m not sure I was ever here! Ah, what were we talking about?” Mike guffawed at his own infectious humor.
Annie, feigning disgust, nodded slowly at her husband as he pulled her to him once again. Mike ignored the Navy’s rules about public displays of affection in uniform that pertained to his wife, not to him.
A microphone appeared and the matron took it, gushing over the assembled Coral Sea officers, especially the admiral, with whom she appeared to be smitten. At the appropriate time, Admiral Meyerkopf took the microphone and graciously thanked the Navy League and the people of Saint Thomas for their warm hospitality. Professional and confident — and well prepared — he didn’t leave anyone out as he thanked the locals by name and impressed upon them the importance of this port visit to the Navy. The civilian guests beamed.
Once the perfunctory remarks concluded, the steel drum resumed the island beat and everyone was ready for another round of drinks. In the dimming twilight, Wilson walked to the railing and viewed the 100,000-ton ship at anchor. Resplendent in “dress ship” lighting that cascaded from the mast to the bow and stern, with row upon row of gray aircraft parked on her deck, she dominated the entry to the harbor. A ferry had just left, chugging across the gentle waves with another load of sailors ready for a night in town. They had five hours until midnight when Cinderella Liberty would expire for many of them. Plenty of time, he surmised for them to find fun — or trouble. As Wilson pondered the good ship Coral Maru from a mile away, he imagined himself abeam, hook down, through the 90, picking up the ball, easing the power as he slid across the imaginary wake, on centerline, on glideslope…
“Hey.”
Wilson turned with a start. The tall brunette stood right next to him waiting for a response.
(Frenchman’s Reef Resort)
“Hey,” Wilson replied. She looked directly at him. Her soft smile suggested she was his friend and wanted to talk.
“Come here often?” she asked with a coy turn of her head. Wilson tried to place the accent.
“Couple of times a career. How about you?”
“First time. Love it,” she drawled. Texas? Mississippi?
“What brings you here?” Wilson asked and turned to face her.
