4 Chris’ Quest
The music was getting louder, and the upper part of the guesthouse which was open to the public now, was being filled up with GI’s and Germans, some hanging their hands and torsos over the railing looking down below, looking at all of us poor folk …Ski took a look, made a grimace—:
“How’d they like me to pull their fu’en noses down here,” he commented, shaking his head.
“Yaw, it’s getting crowded with young gals, German girls… and GI’s,” he added.
“She seems nice,” I said to Ski, as he sipped on his dark-bock-beer, leaning back in his chair checking out the four guys at the table about twenty-feet to our right, and watching the waitress from the side of his eye (I noticed Mac had come in, or was in, I didn’t see him come in, and he sat at the bar, he didn’t like Ski, not sure if he saw me).
“Are you saying Chick, my observations were right on?”
“The German girl…?”
“You know what I’m talking about, don’t play dumb…”
“Yaw.” He smiled with pride as if he was the Commanding Officer of the 1/36th Artillery, for giving so much wisdom, but what could I say he was right.
“Hay man, she’s given you the indication to visit…!”
“What!”
“Go dance with her…!”
“So how should I approach this?”
“Listen, the music, dance man, get into it, this is a guesthouse not a funeral home, she’s wanting to meet you for some reason, not bad either, kind of on the richyyy $$… side I’d say, you know, good job, money, looks, car, you can’t go wrong.”
Somehow I heard that philosophy before, I think Ben Franklin said something like that, — “…marry above yourself and you got nothing to lose…” something like that, Ski must had read a bit.
“She can come over here,” I said.
“She’s not going to come over here man, where’s your head, she already made her move, it’s your turn, your move, she’s going to dance with someone else if you don’t move; you’re going to lose her!”
(I glanced at the bar, Mac was not looking well, he was drinking one drink after the other, and he seemed to sniff the air, trying to figure out where he was at, or perhaps he knew, and he was back in Vietnam, I saw this before, whenever he got too drunk, and too lonely.)
I felt he [meaning: Ski] was probably right, she would dance with someone else soon if I didn’t make the effort, but I had learned in life also, yes, my little 22-years on this earth, I had learned, when a woman has her eye on you, it doesn’t matter if you are in a barn with one hundred-naked men with gold chains on their you know what, she will come to you; even if you’re in a chicken coup, she will come to you: perhaps it is a challenge, because as soon as they see something else they like, they will: you got the picture, go on to other things. And, for some odd reason and only they know—I don’t know—when they focus, when women focus, they are concise, I mean really focused, and when they shift gears to leave your ass that is what they do, for some odd reason what they like fades faster than the wind…they run faster than a train. This was my experience at twenty-two, anyhow.
She was about twenty feet from us making more gestures.
“She’s not coming to you Chick, go see what she wants.”
“Yaw, yaw, I’m going, I’m just not used to someone coming on to me like she is, normally I got to work for it.”
(I looked over at Mac again, his very silence, his not talking to anyone told me he was going through some hard times, I’m sure it is the attack coming alive in his head again. He’s mumbling to him self, his hands are moist, and he’s wiping them off on his pants. I saw his nerves go like this before.)
If it wasn’t winter it wouldn’t be so hard to date anyone now, I thought especially not having a car; I mean, dating in winter time is next to impossible. For Ski it wasn’t a problem, he had a car, a VW, but you never could really count on him, he was around, but not when you needed him, when he needed you, that’s when he was around. But what the hick, this was a night out, a Friday night out, and so I had to be back by midnight, might as well try, why not. During the week bed check was at 10:00 PM.
She hovered over her chair as if she was a cat waiting for a mouse; and I was her mouse to be: sitting —studying me…like a hawk; next move has got to be mine, —-I ‘…NNNNNNNooo…’
She had a few years on me, maybe two or three. A business degree, maybe, a manager possibly, unattached I hope. If we were ever to meet it might workout somewhat, she seemed to relay: but you know, men always think like that. That smirk on her upper lip tells me she’s a fox after a hound; and to be honest with my second self, I think I am dreaming faster than a rocket.
“Wakeup Chick! Stop daydreaming, she wants yooooou…!” said Ski. I shook my head: yes, I guess I was daydreaming.
Financially, I knew I could not afford her, but the theme was starting to take on a life of its own, its own course: to be exact, taken out of my hands—for the time being anyway; I think I was starting to feel her prestige involved; she had two girlfriends sitting by her and I was something of an imagined plot of hers: I told myself as I starred back at her, and she at I, and Ski at both of us, and Mac into his beer: Perhaps we do have something in common after all, who was to say unless you took that step.
As I started to stand up, I noticed she was dressed in a fine up-to-date style of cloths, and it made her look a tad older than I first thought. She put her hand out (it was thin, slender to be exact, smooth, nice finger nails, milky white skin, with a tint to it, not much, just a slight auburn tint) and stood up, ‘shoots,’ I said, Ski laughing and covering his mouth (now Mac turned to look at me, he nodded his head, a slight smile as not to offend Ski and I figured I stop on over there afterwards. His head kind of fell to his chest, his chin hit his chest, like a bomb, I saw him do that before.)
“Don’t say it Ski, I’ll turn around and leave.”
“I’m not saying anything man, just enjoying the trip, dance man dance!”
She was almost as tall as me, sandy-dark-brown hair; a fresh looking face, with a nice smile, a laugh right around its corners, and she seemed like she was simply celebrating life, as I was.
“My name is Chris, sit down,” she said as a quick introduction; then her three girl friends said their quick hellos. Chris just looked about, and then like a kitten, came back with her eyes focused directly into mine, like a hypnotist.
5 Mac’s Dilemma
“Let’s dance; I do hope you dance,” she added, in a tone low, and a light laugh starting to come out of her smile again, almost disarming me. And out to the middle of the dance floor we went. About several couples filled in around us, and the dance became a mental waltz, as we tightened our dance to each other’s body curves on the floor.
“Yaw dunce vel,” she commented with her broken English, and Germany accent.
I didn’t instantly reply, she pulled me closer to her during the next dance saying, “I’ve vant to go to club I know vel, you’v Vis to come along?”
She waited for a response. My pants started to bulge out a little in the wrong place or maybe right place for her. I thought, and thought –she’s asking me to go to a club she knows, I think. And I got to calm down, before I get laid on the floor here. I was starting to like the dance, it was smooth, and her thin body was melting into mine. I was hoping she would change her mind and just stay here.
“Vell,” she asked again.
“I need to tell somebody I’m leaving first, ok.”
“Yaw, I vat.”
“Just a minute please…I’ll be back.”
As we got outside, I thought about Ski, I felt a little displeased with myself but Ski knew it was coming; it was not quite that evident to me at first, that is, that I’d be leaving the Den, but to him, I’m sure it was evident.
Chris was attempting to ease me a little as we walked out the door, not quite achieving it at first, realizing the slow approach I made at her calling me to her table in the Den, like a dog or at least I kind of took it that way, I didn’t tell Ski that, he’d think I was a kid, her approach was like ‘come here little doggy…’, even though I was a little nervous, and I did like the fact she made the first move… I put it together it just took me awhile.
She explained it wasn’t all that far from where we were as we walked around the corner to her car.
“A most interesting friend you have,” she commented.
“Well, I’ve heard that before I guess.”
“Eh… yaw-have…?”
“I don’t want to get into it, he’s …”
“Trouble…?” She said.
“Yaw, I guess you could say that, how did you know?”
“I can see it, I’m sure others can too.”
“I guess I thought it wasn’t that obvious, that I was the only one that could.” She smiled as if she would have me all figured out in no time. Was I that readable? I thought.
Rapidly she opened the door to the car, a new 1970 Ford Mustang and within a minute we were on our way to wherever. As we drove a few minutes I noticed a section of town that was quite alien to me. Then I noticed the big gray tower as she drove north of where I was stationed at Reese compound. I pointed it out, saying that was where I was stationed with the 1/36th Artillery. She said ‘Oh,’ as if she’d pick up the conversation on that subject later.
Then down around a number of buildings and around the cities fancy regal design water fountain she raced as if the cops were her fans and wouldn’t give her a ticket; then up a few more unknown streets I hadn’t seen as of yet, — she went; I actually seen most of the city on many of my long afternoon walks throughout the city. I counted twenty-seven blocks in all as her tires squealed around the corners, and then suddenly she stopped.
“Yaw … you ok?” She felt moved to say; “I need a cigarette…” she looked at me.
“Oh, I see.” I looked quite dashed I suppose, we both looking at each other.
“…In as much as, or rather I should say, it isn’t my business of course, but do you smoke?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to now,” I hesitated, “Well, not really,” nervously.
“My dear boy, we are here!” She gazed at me, with bewilderment—a little inward exasperation, as she sat behind the steering wheel, charming, eager, and full of life; so, anyone would have said.
“Must you have one now,” I said.
“No, let’s get into the bar….”
As we stepped out of the car, the stars were glowing in the cool glassy darkness. Chris pulled off her black small hat fixing her full thick hair with her fingers. Her hair was not long, but not short.
As we walked into the club, it seemed she was quite in charge of the moment. But it was a good moment I thought, a new corner of town for me, headlined with bright lights, a huge mirror along the bar and a jolly bar tender with a white shirt and black bow tie. A few guys and women seized Chris as we turned the corner from the entrance hall to the bar area, they started speaking something in German. Then she introduced me to her friends as her friends hurried to get a round of drinks for us as we joined them at their table.
“Just a few friends,” commented Chris.
“I like scotch on the rocks,” she told me. I tried to figure out how much money I had in my pocket. I had just gotten paid a few days ago, $127-dollars for the month and it had to last, and this place was high buck, costly by the looks of things.
She picked up her drink, and hit my beer glass “…a proast my new friend…hit my glass,” she meant ‘toast’, I mumbled, she smiled, ‘proast in Germany…’ but I guess it’s different in Germany, and so I did as the Germans do best, and down the hatch it went.
Her three friends talking at the bar came over with another round, and down they went also. Then I bought a round, $12.75, it was a few days pay, but I knew if I survived the night I could not duplicate it again this month.
There was little conversation between the five of us, for only Chris could speak English clearly, the rest of them tried but they were as bad at English as I was at German, and so I just kept drinking. But it was joyful.
As the drinks kept coming the voices at the table sank to a sleepy blur, and a few yawns. Chris smiled to herself or so it seemed, standing up a few times walking in circles. She got a sandwich ate half of it and asked me if I wanted the rest, I said ‘no,’ so it was left on the table, she seemed fatigued but we continued to drink, smoke and smile.
Chris drank slowly not as fast as I. It seem to me she had a good sense of human nature attached to her character, and her sex-drive went up as my beers went down—or at least it seemed to me to be that way, as her eyes were removing my cloths. Or was it my mind, my imagination doing it for us. Who could tell?
In my mind I was counting the money I had left in my pocket, and how much I would have left for the month after this evening, yet I didn’t want to spoil the inner warmth of our connecting drowsy bodies being stirred up.
I earnestly hoped that this new lady friend would be a little sympathetic with the drinks: –I would have to tell her soon I was a private not an officer, that I couldn’t afford to go on spending money this way, but I’d wait for the evening to get a little more interesting. Timing was everything, or so I believed. And I didn’t want to leave the wrong impression.
For the second time in an hour I had found myself buying another round, another $12.75, this was number five. I had to remind myself again I had not come prepared to spoil Miss Germany with every penny I had, in the broad-spectrum, I could not go on like this.
“Chris,” I asked, “let me explain. I’m a Private First Class [PFC], not an officer. I’ve got to get back to base before midnight, bed check. But I guess the Army is doing away with bed check come next week. The whole damn army is. I hope we can see each other more. And please don’t think of me as being cheap, but I can’t afford this place.” She smiled, one of them cat and mouse smiles I do believe; but she understood.
“Yaw, I know, and you are a gentleman, and tired. Let me buy a few rounds.” I looked a little embarrassed I’m sure, but said to myself if she wants to stay here so be it, and I sat back down and waited for the next round. Actually my beer was the cheapest think on the menu.
It was almost like a holiday for me, you know, on one of those high-class vacations on the Mexican Rivera, the ones I used to read about in the Sunday paper back home. Beautiful bars with well to do women, and everyone dressed as a star, everyone that is but me. I was dressed all right, but these people here were dressed a little more sophisticated.
I almost couldn’t believe it, all this luxury, and a pretty woman to boot she was not any young girl I should say, but not old. And the club was playing my Elvis music, not that disco crap. Chris got a look at me as I was tapping my fingers and moving my feet ♪ with the song “Heartbreak Hotel” ♪ ☺ and then came “Don’t Be Cruel” ♫♫♪
“I see you like him to, Chick?”
“Yaw.”
“What’s your best song of his?”
“Not sure, maybe ‘It’s Now or Never,’ not sure.”
“We all loved Elvis coming to Germany; many of the girls used to try to find him while he was on guard duty, until they took him off. But that was ten-years ago.”
“That’s right he was here just ten years ago, how interesting.”
“He is now making a comeback I see, or so they say.” Chris liked the song, Heartbreak Hotel as much as I did, we both kind of rocked in our chairs looking at each other, and at her friends as they got up walking around chatting with everyone in the bar.
“You like the Everly Brothers?” I asked Chris.
“Some of their songs are fine…not as much as Elvis though—why?”
“They played at my High School Prom.”
“So do yaw like me?” She asked. I hadn’t expected that, but I quickly appeased her by saying, ‘Yes,’ and there was truth in my voice. I’m not sure why I did confirm that, but I did.
She bathed her voice slowly, saying, “You’re quite handsome, I like your square chin, I mean jaw, I guess I mean both, and strong looking face.”
I knew she had been to the top of the mountain, and was not quite sure what she wanted with me, but I had nothing to lose. We were both attractive people in a sea of youth, and the timing was right. Everything seemed just right, too right.
She had reached a stage in which she knew what she wanted, and went after it, I figured that much out quickly. But I lacked the finery she possessed; yet she was proud and unspoiled, as I seemed I suppose, which she chose for her intellectual reasons.
As she fell back into her chair, she became very comfortable with me quickly, and for some reason I was not getting drunk but she was. She had that smile again, that laugh I noticed at the disco, and it seemed to come out sideways. It made me believe it was more of cunning assurance she cultivated for her prey, rather than sincerity.
The bar maid came by, “Can I help you with another drink….” She asked.
“Maybe a little coffee, Chris?” failing to concentrate on my comment, she leaned over the top of the chair and took her finger and waved the waitress on closer.
“You know, Chris,” I commented, “This finger thing with you is a little disturbing, kind of like you would do to a dog.”
“Arf ffff… arfff….” she went, we both started to laugh☺ I leaned over toward her, within inches of kissing, but out of respect, I just couldn’t so I left it alone, it wasn’t the time or place, especially with all her friends around, plus she was too vulnerable. I have learned a few things in my young life and one is that if a person sees you taking advantage of them when they are weak, they will not forget that when they are strong. It is like telling someone your secret-weakness, and when you are arguing and you want to win the fight you take that secret weapon out and use it to shut the person up, yet, to do this is not to be honorable, and it is not a friend that would do this; friends do not do such things.
“Let’s go Chris…I got to get back….”
She got up, I helped her put her coat on; she smiled a little, and held out her keys.
“Youuuu driiive Chick ☻ yoa-r more sober I–iiii think.”
“Sure,” I replied. As we walked out to her Mustang, I then thought about the way she dressed, I liked it, and it was as if she dressed for success. We both were excited about this first date, this enchanting evening, and we both knew we’d never forget it, how could we, it was the beginning. Chris asked optimistically “How about me mmee-meetng yooou at the front-gate of the base… tomorrow…”
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[chapter 5 to be continued in following chapters]
See Dennis’ web site: dennissiluk.tripod.com dennissiluk.tripod.com