Chapter 17

I left Palmdale at 0730 Monday morning and pulled up to the Headquarters Company barracks a few minutes before noon. I grabbed my dress blues out of my wall locker and congratulated myself for having my new stripes sewn on and the uniform dry cleaned as soon as I returned from Iraq. I attached my awards, decorations, and accoutrements to my uniform, and wiped off my patent leather low quarter shoes. Then I drove down to the big PX at Fort Stewart. I grabbed a hanging garment bag at the PX and a matching medium sized rolling suitcase. I also bought a couple of long-sleeved dress shirts, a pair of black Levis, and a pair of khaki trousers.

My next stop was the military clothing store where I picked up two white shirts, one with long sleeves and one with short sleeves. I also bought a new black clip-on bow tie to replace the one Mikayla ‘accidentally’ tossed out the limo window after the Battalion Dining Out. As I understood it, Dress Blues with a four-in-hand black tie and bloused jump boots was sort of like business attire; the bow tie and patent leather shoes made the uniform formal wear. For good measure I bought a new extra-large black hoodie with the yellow Ranger Tab logo and two black t-shirts with the same logo, one medium and one extra-large.

While I was at Fort Stewart, I went to the military travel office and booked a militarily discounted round trip airline ticket between Savannah and JFK Airport in New York City. Thankfully, the Southwest flight was nonstop. The ticket was surprisingly inexpensive because I was traveling on weekdays and staying over the weekend.

Tuesday morning, I parked my truck in the Savannah Airport’s long term parking lot, went through the glacially slow TSA security check and boarded my flight. The flight took off on time, I found a seat in the emergency exit row with extra leg room, and a very cute flight attendant comped me with a set of headphones. The guy in the aisle seat was asleep before we reached the runway, so I listened to classic rock and vainly tried not to think about Donna Cavanaugh. I succeeded mostly; although the vision of her damp with sweat, her heaving breasts sporting hickeys I delighted in giving her jumped into my head as Meatloaf sang, ‘I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That).’

The plane smoothly touched down in New York at 1400. It was my first trip to the Big Apple, and I was trying hard not to act like a bumpkin. JFK Airport seemed even busier than Orlando International, so I was glad Mikayla had arranged for me to be picked up and delivered to her. I was much relieved to see a man holding a sign that read ‘SGT PULASKI’ was standing at the end of the concourse.

The distinguished looking middle-aged man was wearing a black suit and introduced himself as Mister Singh. Mister Singh had a lilting Indian accent and he seemed like a very nice guy. He led me down to the baggage claim and helped me wrestle my bags off the carousel. I insisted on carrying my own bags out to his car though, since I was six inches taller and eighty pounds heavier than he was. He popped the trunk on a black Lincoln Town Car, I threw in my bags, and we motored into the city.

Mister Singh was surprised when I ignored the back door he opened for me. I slipped into the front passenger seat, instead. I told him I wanted to see where we were going, since it was my first trip to the Big Apple. I should have sat in the back because Mister Singh flung that big boat of a car around like it was a Formula One race car. As we careened through the asphalt jungle, Mister Singh told me in what high regard he and his family held Miss Delong. From what I gathered from talking with Singh, Mikayla used him whenever she needed a driver and she had helped Singh’s daughter find a job in the fashion industry. According to Singh, Mikayla walked on water.

Forty minutes after departing the airport we pulled onto a concrete pier with an older aircraft carrier docked on one side and a submarine on the other. A banner over the pier welcomed me to The Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

Singh pointed towards the gangway of the aircraft carrier Intrepid.

“Miss Delong is doing a photo shoot, she said you can go up and watch,” Singh answered, and he handed me a visitor’s pass on a lanyard.

I walked up the ramp and found the photo shoot easily enough as a bunch of models and sailors were standing around a bunch of older aircraft. The models were wearing summer clothes and acting as if the temperature were ninety degrees instead of fifty-five. I spotted Mikayla standing by an F-14 Tomcat, a guy in Navy Officer’s dress whites on either side of her. Mikayla was wearing the hell out of a maroon cocktail dress and matching high heels as the photographer moved her and the male models through a variety of poses.

Mikayla saw me and shot me a smile, then she tapped her wrist and signaled ‘thirty minutes’.

I nodded and wandered around the displayed aircraft. I’d only seen photos of most of the planes and I was like a little kid gawking at them. I was admiring an F-16 Fighting Falcon when Mikayla walked up. It was more like forty-five minutes before she found me.

“Wait for me in the car, Baby. I need to change but I’ll be down in fifteen minutes,” she said as she walked by.

I was sitting in the Town Car — this time in the back seat — when Mister Singh opened the door and Mikayla climbed in. She had changed into jeans, the hoodie she stole from me, and a pair of white high-top Nikes. She kissed me thoroughly as we drove away from the pier. When we came up for air, she filled me in on what was going on.

She said, “The thing tomorrow night is a fund raiser for the museum ship we were just on. My agency asked us models to attend and mingle in exchange for using the ship for our shoots this week. In addition to the normal prospective donors, the Museum has invited some pilots from an aircraft carrier here for Fleet Week so we would have escorts. I said I would go, but I had a friend in the Army who would escort me. The event is happening there on the ship, and it starts at seven PM. It is scheduled to last for four hours but we are only obligated for two. Does that sound okay to you?”

“Sounds good, Mickie, I told you I’d do anything for you, and that even includes socializing with a bunch of squids,” I replied.

She laughed and frogged my bicep with a middle finger knuckle hard enough to make my arm go numb.

My “Ouch!” did not elicit any sympathy.

“That’s what you get for being a wise ass!”

It took twenty-five minutes to traverse the four bumper-to-bumper miles from the pier to Mikayla’s Soho apartment. Mister Singh earned the hell out of whatever they paid him. Singh dropped us off at the door of her building at 1800 hours.

Mikayla lived in a third-floor apartment in a converted factory. It was a nice two-bedroom, two and a half bath place with maybe twelve hundred square feet. I guessed that was fairly large and certainly expensive in Manhattan. Mikayla lived alone in the apartment, because Lana had found a place of her own. Lana’s new partnership with Grande e Bello came with a beautiful loft apartment just off ‘Fashion Avenue’ (7th Ave).

Mikayla and I didn’t fall into bed as soon as we arrived at her place. Instead, I sat at her kitchen’s three seat bar and chatted with her as she made spaghetti and meatballs. The meatballs were out of a freezer package, and the sauce was Ragu Chunky, but the company made the meal awesome. We did not go out that first night, instead, we sat on the couch and watched television. Mikayla changed into a pair of silk boxer shorts and a camisole, curled up on the couch beside me and covered us with a colorful crocheted throw. I put my arm around her, and she sighed in contentment.

“This is heaven for me, Johnny. I can’t begin to tell you how contented I am right now,” she said.

No way could I disagree because I felt the same way. Being sprawled out on the couch with Mikayla brought me peace for the first time since I woke up in the Cavanaughs’ pool house ... or at least it brought me peace for a couple of minutes before I started feeling guilty about the thought of taking her after what I’d done back home. So I bit the bullet and told her what happened.

“I know we aren’t exclusive or anything, Mickie, and I’d like to think none of that would have happened without the drugs. But that doesn’t negate the fact that I slept with Elaine’s mother,”

I said after spilling my guts.

Mikayla shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it, Baby, I can’t hold any of that against you. Elaine is a lot like me when I was sixteen; only without cocaine, pills, and booze, I hope. Back then I thought I had invented sex. I tried to seduce anyone who interested me, and I slept with people to get them to do things for me. It’s probably just a phase, Baby. And she has as much right to do what she enjoys as you do. She is wrong making lifestyle choices for you, though. Those sorts of expectations need to be negotiated in advance,” she explained.

I was much relieved getting everything off my chest and I was thrilled that Mikayla let it all slide. And the night got even better when Mikayla and I made gentle love under the covers of her queen-sized bed with Bryan Adams serenading us from her iPod speakers.

“I love this song because it is about how I feel about you, Baby,” she said as Bryan emoted Everything I Do, I Do It for You.

Wednesday morning dawned bright and sunny. Mikayla and I woke up early and took a frisky shower together. I enjoyed the hell out of washing Mikayla’s dark red hair. She cooed as I massaged her scalp with my fingertips.

“If you keep doing that, you’ll never get rid of me,” she said with a groan.

“That’s the idea,” I replied.

Mikayla took ten minutes to blow dry her hair, and when she finished with her hair she put in her blue tinted contacts. Mikayla wore the contacts when modeling because her light green eyes did not photograph well. She said all the artificial lighting photographers used made her look like a vampire. Also, the blue contacts made it easier to disguise herself when she wasn’t working. Privacy was a gigantic issue with Mikayla, that’s why she looked different almost every time I saw her. The different people she could transform herself into would have won her an Academy Award in Hollywood.

Listen, I know Mikayla had some eccentricities, she made that point clear every time we were together. Yes, she struggled to stay sober and her desire for privacy bordered on paranoia, but she was also sweet and caring. To me, the good things about her far outweighed what she called her ‘baggage.’ And after my latest experience with Elaine Cavanaugh, I really appreciated Mikayla’s steadfast loyalty.

I spent the morning wandering around Lower Manhattan while Mikayla worked. I guess to the folks living there it was no big deal, but to me everything I saw was amazing. I was ducking into a small deli to grab a drink and a sandwich, when I had to stop to let a policeman exit. I held the door for him because he had a coffee cup in each hand. He grunted a ‘thanks’ then stopped and looked me over.

“You a Ranger?” he asked.

Not a difficult bit of detecting on his part since I was wearing a Ranger t-shirt and a fresh high and tight haircut.

“Yes, Sir. Combat Medic in the 1^st Battalion, stationed in Savannah,” I replied.

By this time his partner was out of their car and standing off to my right side. He was ready in case I was trouble, I guess. The first guy handed his partner one of the cups and stuck out his hand.

“Small world ain’t it? I was an 11 Bravo (Light Weapons Infantryman) in Charlie Company from ‘89 to ‘92. Went to Desert Storm with the Regiment,” he said.

We shook hands, bullshitted for a couple of minutes, and he gave me his card. They got a call and sped away, so I went into the deli. The guy behind the counter, an older man with an accent I couldn’t place, fixed me a pastrami on rye with spicy mustard. It was at least two inches thick. I ate every bite of that sandwich along with a bag of chips and told the old man how outstanding his creation was. I was sitting on a bench in Battery Park admiring the Statue of Liberty in the distance when Mikayla called me. She said the shoot had concluded but she had a couple of errands to run that would take about an hour, so I ambled on back to her apartment.

Mikayla’s errands took longer than her hour estimate so it was almost 1700 when she breezed in the door. Her friend, Malia, was with her. Mikayla was carrying a fancy garment/dress bag and Malia’s hands were full of shopping bags.

Malia said, “Hi, Johnny,” and Mikayla blew me a kiss.

“Malia is going to help me get ready for tonight, so take all your stuff into the other bedroom because we are going to be busy in here,” she said.