Saturday, May 5, 2001

Clear
High—87°F
Low—61°F
Dew Point 58 °F
Chance of Rain—0%
Wind 12 mph (WSW) Gusting to 30 mph
Sunrise 5:06 AM Sunset 6:57 PM
Moonrise 5:01 PM, Waxing Gibbous, 95% of the Moon is Illuminated

Navy Housing, Norfolk, Virginia, 06:17

The wonderful thing about Saturday, Alex Ghirardelli thought, is that you don't have to get out of bed until you're damn good and ready. The sad thing was, after twenty-eight years of getting up at 04:00 to start breakfast for hungry sailors, Lex was damn good and ready. He'd already slept in two hours later than usual.

Lex slipped from the covers, knowing that no matter how careful he was, the motion would wake DeeDee. She was a light sleeper—always had been. He watched her cat-like stretch as he walked to the head ... the bathroom. Have to start thinking in Civilian terms again.

After he relieved his bladder, Lex decided to take a hot shower. A long, hot shower. Submarine showers is one thing I won't miss for a while. He adjusted the temperature and stood under the nozzle, letting the heat open his pores.

He heard the shower curtain drawn and smiled. After a few seconds, he felt a washcloth on his back. "Need your back scrubbed, sailor?" DeeDee asked.

"Okay," he replied, "but you'll have to hurry. My wife might come in any minute. She's a light sleeper."

DeeDee laughed, just as she always did. It was a familiar routine, one of the many that had survived twenty years of marriage. If her laugh was shorter, or less loud than in years past, it was so in honor of the memory of their other wives and husbands who'd shared the routines.

Lex turned around to rinse his back and begin soaping DeeDee's. She had her hair pinned up to keep it dry, and he lovingly scrubbed her back, just as she had his. When he made room for her to rinse, she did so, then turned with another cloth so they could wash each other.

Maybe they both sagged a bit, showing their ages, but DeeDee still looked damn good to Lex. As good a time as any, he thought, gently laving her breasts. "Dee, darlin', I've been thinking." He paused for the inevitable comeback.

"Shall I turn down the water temperature so you can cool your head?" Inevitable.

"Might not hurt, at that," Lex said. Routine. "Is that how you do it?" They smiled at each other. "Anyway, I think it's time we..."

"Please don't finish that thought." DeeDee's face had lost the smile.

Lex gathered her into his arms. It was awkward, turning off the shower without letting go, but he managed. Then he held her as she began to sob into his wet chest. He knew her tears were mixing with the wetness. "Okay, baby, not now. But soon."

Tragedy can strike anyone, anytime, anywhere. God knows we've seen enough for one lifetime. No one should have to bury two wives and two husbands. But if they must, they shouldn't have to bury them alone, or be alone afterwards. Lex did not intend to leave DeeDee alone. We're plenty young enough to marry again. It's time she faced that.

When she seemed calm enough, he hugged her one more time. Then they resumed the routine, as though nothing had happened. Dried. Dressed. DeeDee made the bed while Lex went to the kitchen.

She'll come around, he thought, while starting yet another breakfast. He snorted to himself. Don't know why I think she will, she hasn't so far. But she's got to. If we start living like some old couple or triple, waiting to die, we will. And we'll waste twenty or thirty of what's supposed to be our "Golden Years."

He had a thought. I'll take her out tonight. Chiefs' Club, or maybe the Mariner. Dancing after, she always liked that. Maybe we'll meet someone she takes a fancy to.

Hell, I know what'd put her in the mood. I wish I could tell her about the Skipper and his finance ... feasance... "Fee on says," he finished aloud.

"Whose fiancées?" DeeDee asked, entering the kitchen.

Lex groaned. "I don't think I can tell you." ... unless I want all of Norfolk to know about it. Telephone, telegraph, tell a Chief's wife, the three fastest ways to spread a message.

"There you go, thinking again. I thought that smell was bacon frying."

"Well, I can't tell you. The Captain swore me to..."

"The Captain proposed to Nancy and Debby Hubbard and they accepted? That's wonderful!"

" ... secrecy," he finished, mouth remaining open. "How in the hell did you figure that?"

"Obvious! Fiancées, Captain swore, and everyone knows about the date with the Hubbards. Who else would it be? Oh, I gotta call Milly, she'll love this." And she was gone.

"Telephone, telegraph, tell a wife." I am so screwed when the Skipper finds out.

He turned back to the bacon.

Arlington, Virginia, 09:30

Well, that was painless enough, Bob thought, as he relaxed in his cousin's staff car. James had thoughtfully made both car and driver available for Bob's trip to the War Department. The interview with the Commander of Submarine Forces (Atlantic) and Fleet Commander, Virginia, was more social call than anything else. Just another tradition, in a tradition-bound service.

The morning traffic hadn't been nearly as bad as Bob had expected—it was, after all, Saturday—and the return traffic was even less so. So the debriefing over coffee and coffeecake was anticlimactic. A Captain of a decommissioned ship normally received his or her new orders at these debriefings, whether a new ship or some other assignment. Bob had been relieved to hear that he would resume the helm of CSS Robert E. Lee SSN 507 when she was recommissioned following overhaul.

I didn't really expect anything different. Why was it such a relief to hear it confirmed? Am I that insecure? Bob knew he wasn't, but ... there were always possibilities. If they'd offered something newer, he pictured the Ballistic Missile submarine under construction at Pascagoula, would I have turned it down? Officers who turn down promotions or opportunities generally aren't 'bothered' with any more of either.

He frowned. Would the idea of such an offer have bothered me at all, if I hadn't just begun courting Nancy and Deborah? Never mind my Exec's commitment to her career—what about mine? The unwritten rule was always, "Junior Officers should not marry—senior officers must." It's never applied to female officers, either way—how fair is that—and the boundary between "junior" and "senior" was extremely flexible. Bob was certain that his position as a ship's captain was on the senior side of that line.

Bob gazed out the car's window, but his eyes focused on none of the landscape or building that rushed by. How much did that unwritten rule influence my decision to court the Hubbards? He thought back to the day Deborah reported aboard, all starched and crisp ... and smiled. He'd liked "the cut of her jib" even then. And at the Submarine Ball, Nancy seemed so shy, so fragile—and Deborah so fiercely protective, without being assertive. He'd danced with both, and with all his officers or their spouses, as custom demanded. But I enjoyed Deborah—and Nancy—in my arms more than any of the others.

No, he reassured himself, I didn't start thinking about any silly unwritten rules until after I'd made the decision to ask them out. Just the head trying to provide justification for what the heart had already decided. And nothing in our two dates has changed the heart's decision. If anything, the attraction is stronger. Now if I can just keep my too-clever head from screwing up what the heart needs...

The diorama beyond the windows slowed and stopped. Bob was startled to realize that they were once again at Lee House. He profusely thanked the General's driver and proceeded into the house.

Priscilla and Connie were waiting for him in the family room. From the set of their jaws, they were ready to resume castigating him for the clumsy way in which he'd handled the courtship so far. Well, enough's enough. It's my courtship, and clumsy or inept or not, it's my affair to run or ruin. So, let's set that record straight.

"Bob, we think you need to..."

"Good morning, ladies. Prissy, are you still beating that dead horse, or are you prepared to offer constructive criticism of my love life?"

Priscilla's eyes darkened and her brows knit. Her face began to color ominously. Constance, on the other hand, took a step back, her eyes widening. A hand darted to her lips, and she appeared to be stifling herself. She looked at the back of Priscilla's head, darting glances at Bob. Priscilla began to inflate, preparatory to an explosion.

Get there firstest with the mostest. "Stop looking at me in that tone of voice, Prissy. If you don't like the nickname, don't act the part. Constructive criticism or silence. I've taken enough of the other."

If Priscilla had inflated before, now she positively swelled, her face a beet red...

... and then she let it all out, in one prolonged "Bronx cheer." Her shoulders didn't quite slump, but they were no longer pulled back. Her color returned to normal. She cocked her head to one side, and looked Bob in the eyes.

"Rings."

"Rings?"

Priscilla nodded. "Engagement rings. If you're determined to aggressively pursue them, get the rings on your way home and carry them on you all the time. Be prepared to whip them out on a moment's notice."

Connie joined in. "Take a cab to this dinner tomorrow. Don't make it easy to get rid of you. Dismiss the cab immediately when you arrive."

"Don't push. Just be your sweet, boyish," Priscilla cocked her head the other way, "bedeviling, annoyingly charming self."

Bob laughed, and hugged his cousin's wives.

Priscilla said, "Just two more constructive criticisms, and I'm done criticizing for the rest of your visit."

Bob smiled wider. "Go ahead. What's the first?"

She nodded. "Whatever you're planning on spending on those engagement rings? Double it. At least."

Bob laughed again. "To make up for my 'annoying' charm? Fine. What's the second item?"

Priscilla swelled again, slightly, and in deadly earnest said, "Don't call me 'Prissy'."

The COB's Home, Princess Anne, Virginia, 10:59

Winnie Tanner-Bloom ran a tight ship. As senior wife to a pair of Chiefs-of-the-Boats, she had to. A COB's spouse is as close to an official position as any unofficial position can get. The spouse of the COB is at once a counselor, a confidant, a confessor, a crying post ... the list goes on.

That list includes "town crier." If the ship had news, it was up to the COB's spouse to activate the phone tree and get it out there to everyone who had a need to know. So, as she set the telephone in its cradle, she wondered why she wasn't one of the first to know what she had just learned coming up the phone tree. But she knew who to ask.

"Lucas Tanner!"

"Ma'am?" The gruff, no-nonsense macho Chief-of-the-whole-damn-boat-and-don't-you-forget-it COB of the Robert E. Lee scrambled out of his recliner and left behind the sports page to stand in the door of Winnie's den.

Winnie cut straight to the chase. "What's going on between The Captain and Lieutenant Hubbard and her wife?"

Luke swallowed. "Officially, I don't know. The Captain hasn't said anything to me, nor has the Lieutenant." He swallowed again. "I heard they had dinner together last night. Mrs. Hubbard stayed aboard with the Lieutenant and was present at Change o' Command. That's all I know." He wanted to swallow again, but his mouth was suddenly dry.

"According to Georgia Carter, she heard from ... well, never mind the chain, but it leads to a 'reliable source'—that The Captain proposed and the Hubbards accepted. Now, I need to be able to confirm or deny. Get me proof one way or the other." Winnie went back to preparing the Spouses' Club Newsletter, trying to decide whether an announcement should be on the front or in the personal news section.

Luke had his marching orders. The simplest way to verify the story would be simply to ask the Captain. He even knew approximately where the Captain might be. But no way was he calling COMNAVSUBFOR(Atlantic), or even his office, to ask about a personal matter—not even for Winnie "Ironfist" Tanner-Bloom.

The next simplest was to ask the Lieutenant, if he could figure out a delicate way to phrase the question. He dug into his own phone list and looked them up. He reached for the phone.

Hubbard House, 11:02

Nancy and Deborah looked at what may well have been the entire contents of their walk-in closet, laid out on their bed, across their dressers, and on the backs of chairs. Then they looked at each other. "Road trip," they both said, and laughed.

Choosing clothes to shop in was a matter of grabbing slacks and a blouse, and in moments, both women were heading out the front door, purses in hand. Nancy had the keys; Deborah paused to lock and shut the door behind them.

As they pulled out of the driveway, their phone began to ring.

The COB's Home, Princess Anne, Virginia, 11:15

Luke set the phone down, mildly annoyed. Neither the Captain nor the Lieutenant are available for comment, not that I know exactly what to ask. "Good evening Lieutenant, sorry for calling you at home, but did you and your wife get engaged to the Skipper last night, and was it supposed to be a secret?" Oh yeah, that's a great way to start. So now what do I do?

He broke out the muster sheet he'd used the day before to ensure that the duty section was mustered off the ship. The Captain's steward ... he cross-checked his leave and school schedule ... on leave, home to Sonora. A General Delivery address and phone for contact. No help there.

Then there were the Wardroom pantry cook and Senior Chief Mess Specialist Ghirardelli, both on board last night. Luke's face broke into a grin considering Winnie's "reliable source." But he decided to call the pantry cook first. The phone rang twice before someone picked it up.

"Good morning, Mrs. Pufta. This is Master Chief Tanner, the Chief of the Boat. I'm trying to reach Stamos, is he in today? ... Yes, ma'am, I'll hold ... Oh, no ma'am, there's no emergency. He won't be called in, I just need some information ... Thank you, Alicia, and you can call me Luke. Stamos has to call me 'COB', but you don't." Luke found himself laughing. "Alicia, I've heard the very same rumor. That's the reason I called, in fact ... Yes, I'd have to agree it would be a good thing, if it turns out to be ... Oh, he won't? Well, we'll see about ... thank you, Alicia."

"Good morning to you, too ... So you know why I call ... Wait, I haven't asked you to confirm or deny any ... Yes, I understand oaths ... No, I ... No, I ... But, I..."

Enough is enough. "Petty Officer Pufta, shut up and let me explain why I'm on this phone. No. Shut up and listen." Luke took a deep breath and waited for silence on the line. "There is a rumor making the circuit—rapidly—that the Captain asked Lieutenant and Mrs. Hubbard to marry him, and that they accepted. Shut up, I'm not done." Another deep breath.

"Sta, listen very carefully. If the rumor is true, but the Captain and the Mmes. Hubbard do not want it public—yet—then the word must be put out to keep quiet, because those are their wishes. If he asked and they are thinking about it, a call for discretion is even more important, lest we screw it up for either side. If he asked and they said no, discretion is even more important, or a lot of people are going to be very embarrassed.

"The fourth case is that he never asked, in which case not only must the rumor be squelched, but I need to track down the rumor monger for counseling. All four cases require investigation. So, now I'm going to ask you just one question ... no, wait for the question, damn it!"

Luke wondered how to phrase the question. He only had one shot, and he didn't want to waste it. Okay, here goes. "If my wife passes word on the phone tree that the Captain and the Mmes. Hubbard do not want their relationship discussed until they discuss it publicly, will she be correct?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone while Sta Pufta reviewed the details of his promise.

" ... nor deny that information. Yes, I understand. I don't have any other questions, Sta. Enjoy your weekend, and when it comes time, I'll personally inform the Skipper that you never broke your promise not to tell anyone about his engagement."

Luke smiled slyly at the response. "You're very welcome, Sta—it's the least I can do." After a few more pleasantries, he hung up.

Way to go, you crafty old bastard. The kid doesn't even realize his thanks gave away the whole show. He paused. Or maybe he does, and he just needed a discreet way to let it slip, without actually letting it slip. Either way, I've got confirmation. Now I just need to deal with the discretion issue. This phone number he knew from memory. No need to reach for the lists. But first he'd better give Winnie the poop.

Offices of the Virginian Pilot, 13:08

Willard Schotz finished speed-reading the resume in his hands and turned his attention to the young woman who had brought it with her. He next asked for her portfolio, and thanked her for having it available on such short notice. "When Jason told me this morning that you'd agree to an interview, I couldn't wait to get you in here. Based on his recommendation and the photos I've already seen, I'm prepared to offer you a position."

Donna hesitated. "You understand that I'm not available full time until August first? My enlistment doesn't expire until then."

Willard nodded, thumbing through her portfolio. If anything, the photos there were even more impressive than what he'd seen before. "Since my previous photographer moved to Albuquerque last summer, I've been making do with interns from the art college at William and Mary's Norfolk campus. Some of them are very talented, but most want to be 'news' photographers, or photojournalists, or the like. They seem to think of the Society Section as practice—or purgatory."

He leaned back. "How do you feel about photographing for the Society pages? Please be candid."

"Truthfully, I just love to take pictures." They both laughed. "I'm a city girl. I can appreciate photos taken in a war zone, or by someone accompanying a trek through the wilds; I can admire the artistry of a given shot; but I've no wish to put up with the bugs or lack of toilet paper it took to get them." They both laughed again.

"All my other applications—for photo work, I mean—have been with portrait studios. I like working with people. Does that answer sufficiently?"

Willard smiled. He'd seen enough. "As I said, I'm prepared to offer you a position. Are you prepared to negotiate a salary, or am I wasting our time?"

"With the understanding that the Navy has first claim on my time..."

Willard waved that off. "Not a problem. We want to claim your free time—we'll work around military duty until your enlistment is up. If what Jase told me is correct, you're too 'short' to deploy with your current command, and you'll finish your hitch on temporary duty at the Naval Station here."