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wanted him to. That bothered her; she hadn't fully formulated her plan yet. "Why?" she teased. Cappy was an acknowledged master of the tease. |
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"'Cause . . . 'cause I like you." He closed his eyes momentarily, then reopened them and tried to focus. It worked; there was only one of her again. |
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Cappy's tired face collapsed easily. The fatigue was beginning to show. Every guy rotating down from the command's isolated duty stations to the north processed through the local base and caught his MATS flight back to the States from there. Harvey or Harold or Homer or whatever his name was was just one more in an endless parade of girl-starved, gawky, homesick hillbillies that the U.S. Air Force marched through the base east of town. |
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The best Cappy could hope for most of the time was a couple of drinks, a $20 bill if she made her story sad enoughsick mother, mounting medical billsand a fast and usually final farewell. Only once had one of them attempted to reestablish contact, but she had ignored him, mostly because she would have been no better off than she was before. |
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"My name is Cynthia. Cynthia Irene Salem. But everybody around here calls me Cappy." |
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She watched him tumble the name around in his mouth. His orientation was coming and |
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