JAG HQ
Falls Church, VA
Wednesday
1230
"Pistachio."
"What?"
"I painted the living room pistachio."
"That's sounds terrible."
"Oh, no, it's great. It's not as dark as hunter green but it doesn't have the brown undertones of olive. It's just a light, cheery green."
"You're the only person I know that would actually call it pistachio, Harriet. The rest of the world would just call it light green."
"So what are you girls discussing?" Commander Rabb pulls a chair up to our table as he sets his lunch down.
"Oh, you know, the usual. Makeup, boys, getting our period, the last slumber party," I say. Harriet chuckles. Harm blushes. "That's a very pretty blush, Commander. Did I embarrass you somehow?"
He clears his throat, "Not at all, Colonel. So exactly when did you get your period?"
Now it's Harriet's turn to blush. She pushes her chair back, "Ma'am, Sir," she nods to each of us, "I have to get back inside." She's gone before I can say anything else so I turn back to Harm and his question.
"I was thirteen. Did you want all the gory details?"
"No, that's okay. I prefer a little mystery about people."
I glance at what is in the bowl in front of him. "So why did you join us? Trying to make me nauseous with some soy based product you're having for lunch?"
"Yeah, I had a purpose, but that wasn't it. And then you distracted me with your willingness to share too much information. Do you remember Diana Cleveland?"
"Of course." Her divorce had been nearly as hard on him as on her. He had been forced to see how infidelity tore into the betrayed spouse. It pulled buried past events to the surface.
"She called today."
"And?"
"Well, you know her husband married the Lieutenant he had been having the affair with."
"Yeah."
"Apparently, instead of cheating on this one, he beat her. She filed charges and he's been court-martialed and convicted."
"You sound awfully happy about it."
"Not about that. Diana is getting married."
"That's great. She deserves a little happiness right about now."
"That's what I thought."
We sit quietly for a few minutes. He inhales his lunch while I continue to pick at mine.
"So, want to hear about the first time I had sex?"
His eyes get so wide I'm afraid they'll actually fall out of his head.
"No," he quickly replies. He looks at someone over my shoulder
"Ma'am, Sir," Tiner interrupts, "sorry to cut your lunch short but the admiral needs to see you immediately."
"Thanks, Tiner." I push myself away from the table. "No rest for the wicked, I guess."
"Speak for yourself, Colonel." I wait as he gathers what is left of his lunch and we head for the admiral's office.
By the time we make our way inside and upstairs, Tiner has left for lunch. I knock loudly on the heavy door to Admiral Chegwidden's office. I hear a faint command to enter, so I push the door open to find Chegwidden sitting at his desk eating lunch and trying to shuffle papers around without getting anything on them.
"Have a seat."
Rabb and I do as we're told. "Is there a problem, Sir?"
The admiral looks at him as if he's the biggest fool on the planet.
"I think the proper question would be, 'What's the problem this time, Sir'"?
One corner of his mouth turns up, "Colonel, maybe you should try and teach Commander Rabb how to ask questions. What do you think of Fort Campbell?"
Harm speaks up, "Kentucky, Sir? Home of the 101st?"
"One and the same, Commander. There was an accident last night and five men were lost. I want the two of you to find out why."
"What exactly went down, Sir?" I ask.
"A Chinook MH47E."
"Another helo. I'm surprised Congresswoman Latham isn't here."
"I know you don't get along with the congresswoman very well. That's part of the reason I haven't returned any of her calls as of yet. I want the two of you down there by this afternoon and a preliminary report tomorrow evening. I can only hold the woman off so long before she starts knocking down the door. See Lieutenant Sims about arrangements for your trip."
We both stand, "Aye, aye, Sir."
We exit the admiral's office to find Harriet standing in front of Tiner's desk. She holds out plane tickets to both of us and hands me an envelope of information about the helo and crew involved in the accident.
"You fly out in an hour and a half. The CO at Fort Campbell is Major General Cody Richard."
"Thanks, Harriet."
"Oh, Ma'am, you'll need these, too. The closest national airport to Fort Campbell is at Nashville. I've rented you a car with Hertz. Clarksville is only about an hour from Nashville." I take the piece of paper from her and glance at the numbers scribbled on it.
"Clarksville?" Harm questions.
"The town next to Fort Campbell. And no, Sir, I don't know how to get from Nashville to Clarksville."
"Oh, okay," he sighs, "we'll ask at the rental counter. It can't be that hard. It's Tennessee."
I smile at Harriet and begin pushing Harm toward his office. "Thanks again, Harriet. I'm sure it'll be no problem." With my hand between his shoulder blades I keep pushing him, "I'll meet you at the airport in 45 minutes. Hopefully, we'll fly out on time."
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Rick and Bubba -- The Two Sexiest Fat Men Alive
http://www.rickandbubba.com
Are you in the loop?
<>< <>< ><> ><>
Nashville International Airport
1430
"Wake up, Harm," I knock my knee against him as I buckle my seatbelt, "and buckle up. We're about to land."
"What time is it?"
"It's 1530," then I remember the time difference, "I mean 1430."
He pulls his arm away and buckles up. "We left DC at 1430."
"Time difference, genius."
"So how lost are we going to be when we drive out of the airport parking lot?"
"Pretty lost I would say. But I think once we get out of Nashville, we should be okay. Clarksville isn't that big a place. An average size college town."
"How do you know?" He lurches forward as the plane touches down roughly.
I jerk a thumb across the aisle, "The people across the aisle have family in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. It's near Clarksville."
"What college is in Clarksville?"
"Why?"
"Just wondered if I might have seen them play basketball in the NCAA tournament."
"I seriously doubt it."
He leans across my lap and tugs the sleeve of the woman across the aisle, "Excuse me," he turns on the thousand watt smile, "I was wondering if you knew the name of the college in Clarksville?"
She smiles back, "Austin Peay."
"Thank you," he looks at me. "You were right."
"I usually am. Now get off me so we can get off of here."
Hertz Counter
Nashville International Airport
1500
I watch him sign the last piece of paper as the lady behind the counter drops the keys in my hand. I smile at her.
"Can you tell us how to get to Fort Campbell?" I ask.
"Oh, sure. It's not hard to find at all. As you leave the airport, go left. Just up the road you'll find I-40, make sure you get on forty going west. To avoid a big chunk of the construction, get off at the next exit. It's number 215, Briley Parkway. Take a left on Briley. You'll go about three miles out to exit 3B and take I-24 to Nashville. Stay on I-24 all the way to Clarksville. I'm not sure how to get there once you pass through Clarksville, so I would stop and ask directions anywhere there. They'll all know how to get you there."
Harm grabs my elbow and starts pulling me away, "Thank you so much," I call back to her. Then I turn to him, "What's your problem?" I pull my arm out of his grip.
"She was killing me."
"She was trying to give me directions so we don't end up in Memphis. How was she killing you?"
"I didn't think she was ever going to finish."
I toss my luggage into the trunk of the little compact car they've given us.
"Whatever," I mumble. I wonder where the bad mood blew in from.
I shake my head as I get in the car. I start to say something else when I realize he's not getting in the car. I lean over and push the driver's door open.
"What are you doing?"
"How do they expect me to get in a car like this?"
"Stop whining and get in."
He plants his right foot in the car and tries to push the rest of his body into the car. He manages to get in but his knees hit the underside of the dash. His chest is no more than eight or twelve inches from the steering wheel. He grips the steering wheel and it's like watching an adult try and ride a Big Wheel. I swallow the laugh that threatens to roll out of me when he looks at me. He looks defeated. I don't know what to say or do. He was fine when we landed.
"I'll drive." I shove him out of the car.
I manage to get us on I-40 going the right direction, only to find it looking like the middle of rush hour. Everything is at a complete standstill. I finally manage to merge onto the interstate so that I can just sit there like I'm in a parking lot. Whatever they are working on must have half the lanes closed. We slowly inch forward and after thirty minutes I see a sign for Exit 215.
"Look," Harm points out the windshield.
"What are you pointing at?"
"The sign."
"What about it?"
"It says Opryland on it."
"What's Opryland?"
His eyebrows shoot so high I think they may fly off his face. "What's Opryland?" he asks, his voice brimming with disbelief.
"I don't know what Opryland is."
"You mean, was."
"Okay, then I don't know what Opryland *was*."
"I can't believe you don't know about an amusement park that was devoted to country music. We came once when I was about thirteen. It was the first time Mom let me go around a theme park alone. I loved it. I rode the Wabash Cannonball about ten times. Now that I think about it I guess the best part was that I felt like I was growing up and I didn't have to spend time with Frank pretending to be a "happy" family."
"Well, what happened to it? You were talking about it in the past tense."
"They tore it down a few years ago. Frank was telling me about it because it was the first vacation we went on after he and Mom married."
"They might want to change the exit signs then. They couldn't snarl the traffic anymore than they already have."
After 45 minutes, we get to the actual exit and were finally able to move at almost five miles per hour. Apparently though, everyone had the bright idea to get off the interstate and take secondary roads. We moved faster than I thought we would and we were able to find I-24 in about twenty minutes. Luckily, I-24 was construction free and we were clipping along on our way to Fort Campbell.
Fort Campbell, KY
1700
"You mean to tell me that General Richard is already gone for the day?" Harm's voice takes on that steely edge it gets when he's cranky.
"Yes, that is exactly what I'm telling you, Commander Rabb. And I'm headed in that direction myself." The general's assistant is a twentyish looking civilian who has dealt with enough 'Commander Rabb's' to not take any crap off of any of them. The nameplate on the desk has the name Mary Jane Forrest etched on it.
"And there's no possible way we could talk to him tonight?"
"No, he's at Austin Peay for a dinner."
"At 1700."
"Yes, at 1700." It's taking everything she has got to be half-way polite with him.
"Well, is there anyway Colonel Mackenzie and I could look at the reports filed concerning the Chinook accident?"
She snorts. Literally. "Commander," her voice is filled with derision, "nobody, and I do mean nobody, is going to get a look at those reports without express permission from General Richard himself. Just because you're standing there wearing a pretty little uniform does not mean I'm going to swoon and do just anything you ask. I suggest you and the colonel take yourselves down to the Turner Guest House, it's on Texas Avenue near Gate 4, and get settled in the rooms that have been assigned to you for the duration of your stay with us here at Fort Campbell."
"Ms. Forrest, Admiral Chegwidden expects a report on this incident by tomorrow afternoon. If I don't have access to the reports filed with General Richard, then I'm going to get my ass chewed off by a two-star." His voice has risen several decibels during his short tirade.
She stands and slips her purse onto her shoulder, "Then you might not want to turn your back on the admiral. I'm going home."
"Good night, Ms. Forrest," I say quietly as she walks past me. She stops at the door and waits for us to leave in front of her so she can lock up the office. I give her a small apologetic smile and pull Harm out to our car.
Once we're on our way to the Turner Guest House, I start in on Harm. "There was absolutely no reason to act like that. She was doing her job and you should have expected nothing less from her."
"Her name was Mary Jane."
Just to irk him, I say, "What does that have to do with price of tomatoes?" Ms. Forrest had posed the same question to him when he told her I was JAG's Chief of Staff in an attempt to get her to call General Richard at home.
"She had a double first name."
I pull the car into the lot by the Turner Guest House. "Your point?" He gets out of the car and slams his door. I pop the trunk for him and get out to get my luggage. "I'm serious. Do you have a point?"
He gives me a 'go to hell' look, "Let's just get our stuff inside and go find something to eat. Airplane peanuts are just not enough."
In my room, I toss my bags on the bed and switch on the TV and unpack my toiletries in the bathroom. I'm nearly done when Harm begins banging on my door and yelling my name. I dash across the room and yank the door open. His fist comes down on my shoulder, hard. I don't scream quite loud enough to wake the dead, but I do bring some people to their doors to see what's going on. I smile brightly, grab his hand from where it rests on my shoulder, and tow him into the room.
"Let me change," I say as I pull clothes out of my bags. He settles onto the bed and watches the local news flicker on the TV.
I drape my uniform around the bathroom. I pull on my jeans with the flare leg that he hates and a bright pink cotton shirt. When I come out of the bathroom to put on my shoes he rolls his eyes at my jeans and makes a choking sound when I slide my feet into a pair of pink flip-flops with a big pink flower on them. I'd make fun of his clothing choices but he's wearing jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a pair of Nikes.
"Let's go."
"Where are we going?" he asks.
"I don't know. Surely there is somewhere in Clarksville with something good to eat." I go out the door as he trails along behind.
"Your toenails match your shoes."
"Well, at least you're not colorblind."
Driving into Clarksville, he reaches over and puts his hand on my leg, "I'm sorry."
I rest my hand on top of his, "Sorry for what?"
"Hitting you in the shoulder. I was looking at something down the hall when you opened the door. I didn't see you there until my arm had too much momentum for me to stop."
"I'm sure I'll be fine. Just try not to go beating up on anyone else while we're here."
He lifts my hand and places a soft kiss on my knuckles. Instead of releasing me, he clasps my hand in both of his and rests them in his lap.
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Rant #1: If one more person touches my purse, while I'm wearing it, and says, "That's so neat. Did you make it?" I am liable to rip their fingers off. How I was I to know the rest of the world had never seen a purse made from a Cumberland County, TN license plate!
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Commissary
Thursday
0730
I watch him shovel eggs and biscuits in. While unsightly, it's better than just pushing the food around on his plate like he did last night.
"Feeling better?"
His blank face looks up, "I'm fine."
I decide not to push it. "So Ivins had had how much time in the Chinook?"
"An hour and a half."
"Seems to me that he just needed more practice in good weather before they took him out in bad weather. I'm thinking we're looking at simple case of pilot error, Harm."
"He was a student, Mac. How else do you expect him to learn? You have to remember just because he only had an hour and a half in the Chinook doesn't mean he didn't have hundreds of flight hours in other aircraft under his belt."
"I don't care if he's flown a thousand hours in twelve different kinds of craft, he still needed more practice in the Chinook. How could he be acclimated to the way the Chinook handled in such a short time. Flying a Chinook is a hell of a lot different from an Apache or a Blackhawk."
"Well, maybe we should listen to any tapes and talk to the people who are putting this particular helicopter back together before we go saying Ivins had no business flying that night."
"Then let's go see if you can sweet talk Mary Jane Forrest today."
"I wonder what acts of contrition I'll have to perform today to get on her good side."
"Maybe this time you'll let me do some of the talking.
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"Ms. Forrest," I begin.
She cuts me off, "I see you managed to find you way back this morning." Her tone is less than polite.
"Yes, Ma'am," he starts laying the charm on. His tone is cloying. It's not going to work.
"You can stop, Commander Rabb. Playing nice now isn't going to work."
"I do apologize for my attitude yesterday evening. It was completely uncalled for."
"Yes, Commander, it was, but you still don't get to see General Richard."
"But, Ms. Forrest..."
She holds her hand up. "Don't worry, Colonel Mackezie, it's nothing that you two have or have not done. All five men in that helo were part of the 159th Aviation Brigade, and General Richard wants the commander of the 159th to handle you two. You're to be in Colonel James Merkt's office in," she glances at the clock on her desk, "in a minute and a half. Luckily, he's only up one floor and three doors further down."
Harm is already out the door as I thank Mary Jane Forrest. I nearly run out the door because I need to be with him when he walks into Colonel Merkt's office. I can't have him tick off another secretary.
I run into Harm when he comes to an abrupt stop just inside Merkt's office door.
He manages to stammer "I'm sorry, Sir. I had assumed that there was an outer office."
Colonel Merkt smiles, "Only the base CO gets an outer office with his own secretary for you to piss off, Commander Rabb. Are you going to move so Colonel Mackenzie can come in?"
I see the back of Harm's neck turn red. Somewhere along the way he stopped blushing, but his neck still turns red. He steps aside so that I can join them in the room.
Colonel Merkt is standing at a dry erase board hanging on the right wall, next to the window. Apparently, he's in the process of erasing and re-writing the names of the rest of the 159th. Losing five men not only deals you an emotional blow, but a staffing one also.
"I was just in the process of re-arranging my people so that most of them could be off for the memorial service later today. Fortunately, I can get all but the newest arrivals there."
"We're sorry for your loss, Colonel."
"Thank you, Colonel. Sherman said, 'war is hell.' He just forgot to mention that training could be just as gut wrenching." He waved an arm at the chairs across from his desk, "Please, have a seat."
We settle into the chairs as he continues writing in names.
"What can you tell us about Lieutenant Ivins?" I ask.
"He was a good student, Colonel. I know ya'll want to claim 'pilot error.' And I admit, it might be, but seems to me it would be awful hard for a good student pilot to let a helo fall out of the sky with his instructor sitting next to him."
"What about the three other men, Shea, Richardson, and Jenson?"
"They were all well-qualified men. John Richardson has been in the 159th for the last four years, and his total service was twelve years. Lucas Jenson was a six-year man. All of them with the 159. Thomas Shea had two years experience under his belt. They all knew what they were doing and how to do it."
"What about the instructor?"
"Sean Vincent had been training helo pilots for fifteen years, Commander."
"Colonel Merkt, we need everything you have from that flight. All the paperwork, access to the helo itself, and anything your people have found since the crash."
"Not a problem, Colonel Mackenzie. All the paperwork is right here," he hands Harm a thin manila folder, "and everyone has already been instructed to cooperate fully with the two of you. Well, except Mary Jane. She does whatever the hell she pleases most of the time."
<>< <>< ><> ><>
Artisan Gear
http://www.artisangear.com
All hemp! All the time!
<>< <>< ><> ><>
I stop just inside the hangar. Pieces of the downed helo lay everywhere. It looks like there's no method to the madness but I'm sure there must be. A sergeant approaches us.
"Can I help you, Colonel, Commander?"
Harm steps in. "You're in charge here, Sergeant Greentree?"
"Yes, Sir."
"What can you tell us about what happened to this helo?"
"It's a long story. Let's have a seat," he waves a hand at a couple of benches against the wall of the hangar.
I settle in and lean forward to better hear Greentree.
"The weather that night was terrible. It was one of those storms that appear out of nowhere. We get a lot of those this time of year. The rain was so bad that visibility was down to only about a quarter mile or so. They were about 25 miles out and Ivins was preparing for approach. Because of the weather, he had to rely mostly on instrument readouts."
"Would relying on instrument readouts be a problem?" I ask.
"Not usually. But in Ivins's case, his lack of time in the Chinook could have made it more difficult."
"But he was flying with his instructor, Sean Vincent."
"Yes, he was." Doubt flickers in Greentree's eyes.
"What are you trying to say, Sergeant?"
"Just this, Ma'am. A Chinook is a big helo. It could be possible that Ivins and Vincent thought it was all under control and then a mistake was made. Mistakes in that size helo would be hard to correct."
"From what you've seen so far, what do you think the 'mistake' was?"
The emphasis on the word 'mistake' is hard to miss. How is it that pilots stick together even across branch lines? It must be something given to them in flight schools.
"From what my people and I have seen so far? I think Ivins was a little disoriented because of the downpour, cut the helo around too sharply, became more disoriented, and began losing it. The only thing I can figure is that by the time Colonel Vincent was completely aware of what was happening, even he couldn't pull it out."
"Thank you, Sergeant Greentree. Can you get us copies of the reports and notes you have so far?"
"Yes, Ma'am. If you'll give me about fifteen minutes, I'll bring it all out to you." He walks away in the direction of the offices lining the back of the hangar. I lean back and sigh.
"What's wrong, Mac?"
"I guess I was right."
"Don't sound so happy about it." He leans into my shoulder.
"On one hand, I didn't want to have deal with Congresswoman Latham, but on the other hand, I never like having to tell a woman that her husband died, and took four other men with him, because he didn't know what he was doing."
I feel him stiffen, "I know what you mean."
What I've said hits me like a load of bricks. "I'm sorry, Harm," I snake an arm between his back and the wall so I can wrap my arm around his waist, "I didn't mean for that to sound like I was aiming it at you."
He relaxes and lifts his arm to put it around my shoulders. "I know, Mac. Sometimes it hits me a little harder than other times."
"Was that why you were so snappy yesterday?"
"Probably. I always cringe at the words 'pilot error,' and everyone was so dead set that this was Ivins's fault. Much like they were with me. Only I was lucky enough to be around to take the blame and hear the accusations. Mark Ivins isn't fortunate enough to be here to defend himself."
We untangle ourselves as Greentree comes back across the hangar. As we straighten ourselves, I lay my hand on Harm's knee and give it a gentle squeeze. Greentree stops in front of us as we stand. He offers an inter-departmental envelope stuffed with papers.
"Thank you, Sergeant"
We snap off salutes to one another and head our separate ways.
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Rant #2: Why does every trip to Wal-Mart have to be like an excursion to the North Pole? I'd like to be able to go in, get what I want, and leave in less than a half-hour. But, nooooo, everyone has to be in the one aisle I need to get my tea from.
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Turner Guest House
Mac's room
1130
I lean back against the headboard. Harm's sitting at the foot of the bed. He has pizza in one hand, a Coke in the other, and a transcript of the conversation between Ivins and the tower on the bedspread. We've been here since about 1000. He ordered a pizza as soon as the closest Domino's opened.
"So, whatcha think?"
"I'm not sure, Mac. If you read it one way it *does* sound like Ivins was disoriented. Read it the other way and it sounds like something was happening and neither Ivins or Vincent knew what it was."
"So what do we want to tell the admiral?"
"I think our initial report needs to state a finding of pilot error. We also need to keep in touch with Sergeant Greentree until he and his crew finish their work with the wreckage so that the report can be amended to reflect his findings."
"Alright. You call D.C. and tell them our intentions and then we'll go tell Colonel Merkt what we've found.
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Walking toward Colonel Merkt's office, I notice a young man spraying down a helo. I touch Harm's elbow to get his attention.
"What's he doing?" I nod at the scene.
"Well, he has a water hose in his hand and a Chinook in front of him. I'd say he's getting ready to play in the sprinkler."
"You're so funny." I give him a little shove as I make my way to the Chinook.
The young man sees me coming in his direction and cranks the nozzle of the water hose to kill the spray of water.
"Can I help you, Colonel?"
I smile my most genuine smile, "I'm here as part of the team investigating the helo crash the other nigt."
"Yes, Ma'am. I know."
"I was wondering if there would be a problem with me climbing in that helo?"
"Not a problem at all, Ma'am."
When he opens, the door I notice a little water in the seat. He hands me a towel and I wipe it out and climb in.
"Go ahead and finish what you were doing. Maybe it will give me a better feel of what the weather conditions might have been like the night they went down."
He slams the door and goes back to his water hose. Just before the spray hits the door, I see Harm, standing where I left him, puzzled as to what I'm doing. As I'm looking at him, I see a trickle of slow moving water. Outside, water is pounding the door, but this trickle just barely moves. I reach out to touch it. I pull my hand back. The water is smudged and my fingers are wet. Several more streams of water appear. The spray moves to the front of the helo. A fine mist of water lands in my lap. The water cuts off and I jump out. Harm meets me half way.
"Looks like you have a problem there, Colonel."
I ignore him. Waving my arm behind me, I say, "The damn thing leaks."
"What?"
"It leaks like a sieve, Harm. Water was running all down the inside of the pilot's door. And it came in around the windshield. If it can come in around the window seals, like that where else is water ending up?"
He grimaces, "Anywhere and everywhere. Causing an electrical shortage that could disable any number of the instruments."
"Five men are dead because Boeing didn't bother to seal it up good. Wives are widows and children are fatherless all for the need of a little caulking."
He squeezes my arm, and we get ready to let Colonel Merkt what I've found.
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Tennessee Tech
http://www.tntech.edu
Home of the 2001 Men's and Women's OVC B-Ball Champions
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Friday
0800
Commissary
"So when do we fly out?"
"Tomorrow at 1030."
"Tomorrow?" His voice rises on the last syllable.
My head moves like that of one of those bobbing head dolls. I'm more interested in my waffles and juice than in discussing our flight out.
"Why?"
I stuff a huge chunk of waffle in my mouth. When I try to talk all I manage to do is mumble.
"Nice."
I swallow and then down a swig of juice.
"Thanks," I swipe my mouth with a napkin, "We leave tomorrow because it was assumed that it would take us at least that long to finish this up. I suggest we get most of our report written this morning and then go to Clarksville for a few hours. Mary Jane was telling me about some of the shops over there. Or you can hang around here until Sergeant Greentree gets through spraying down some more Chinooks and checking the electrical panels."
"I guess I'll go with you."
"You're just jumping with joy. Mary Jane made reservations for us at the Campbell Club for the Moonlighter tonight."
"Moonlighter? Sounds like something you smoke, not something you go to."
"Oh, come on, Harm. Dinner, dancing, a live band. What more could you ask?"
"What am I supposed to wear? I didn't exactly bring my dress whites with me. They're not *usually* needed when we take these little jaunts."
"We'll get you something in Clarksville. I've got to buy a dress and shoes."
"I knew shoes would make it into a shopping conversation eventually."
I just take another huge bite of waffle.
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Rant #3: Why can't people just say, "You have really pretty hair?" Why do they then have to ruin the compliment by asking, "Is that your natural hair color?"
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Turner Guest House
Mac's room
1800
I sweep more lipstick across my bottom lip and press my lips tightly. I blot it and then apply the glittery lip gloss over it all. I take a good look at myself in the mirror. We stopped at a local Wal-Mart so I could buy a pair of hose and I found myself purchasing the glittery lip gloss and hair gel with a touch of glitter in it. It might be a little crazy for a grown woman to put glitter in her hair, but tonight I'm having fun and being a little crazy. I straighten the black shantung silk sheath I bought earlier today. Everyone needs a basic black dress. I needed a new one.
There is a knock on the door. "You decent in there, Mac?"
"Yeah," I call out.
Harm cuts a dashing figure in his black three button suit, snow white shirt, and shimmery maroon tie. He flips the end of the tie at me.
"What do you think of my Regis tie?"
"Very expensive. Not quite a million but at least a good three-quarters of a million."
He glances at my bare, stockinged feet. "So where are those shoes you wouldn't let me see earlier?"
"Just a sec." I step back into the bathroom. I push my hair around a little more as I slip my shoes on. I make a grand exit from the bathroom.
A big smile stretches across his face. "Is that the "Dorothy goes to Auntie Em's funeral" look?"
I'd throw something at him if I had something to throw. I'm wearing red patent leather three-inch heels with my black hose and dress. They are rather Dorothy-esque with the squared toe and chunky square heel.
"I don't like you," I state. I'm yanking his chain and he knows it.
He's across the room in two strides. One arm slides around my waist.
"You should have had me buy a black shirt. Then we'd be the smashing cat-burgling couple with a penchant for red accessories."
I slide an arm underneath his jacket and pull him a bit closer. My heels make me so tall I can whisper in his ear with out stretching.
"We better go."
We begin moving, our arms still hooked around one another. I place a light kiss on his cheek.
"This would go faster if you would turn around."
"It would, but I rather like being right here."
"How about we go eat and then I promise to dance every dance with you."
"Promise?"
In my best Scarlett accent, "Every waltz and every reel."
"Well, then we better get going because we have a lot of dancing to do."
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Elmore Leonard
http://www.elmoreleonard.com
Author of "Get Shorty," "Be Cool," and "Pagan Babies"
Fleming and John -- The Way We Are
http://www.flemingandjohn.com
Hit (should've been #1) single "Ugly Girl"
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The End
Author's notes: I based this story on an actual occurrence at Fort Campbell, Kentucky (Home of the 101st Airborne Screaming Eagles). And I followed it pretty closely; only I gave it a shorter time frame.
In March of 1996, a Chinook crashed in a snowy wheat field. Initial investigation indicated pilot error (dude hadn't flown in a year and a half and he had an hour and half of flight time in the MH47E). A year later it was discovered that melting snow had seeped in and shorted out distribution panels. The wives of the five killed men later sued Boeing and a settlement was reached. The families settled for 4.4 million dollars.
The article (from The Tennessean) had a lot of other little facts that I used throughout the story. If you would like the entire article let me know and I'll send it to you.
Please don't snark about things like the fact I crossed my Navy/Marine branch with the Army. If you do, I just might cross the Coast Guard with the Air Force.