Sleepless in Iraq Over Again
I'm reposting this because once I put it on a larger monitor, I saw some booboos. Also once again I failed to get the story posted on the main FF/JE page. So trying again…..
No Babe here. This is a look at several episodes in Ranger's life before, during and after the Army. Main character is a woman, a female version of Ranger? You decide.
Of course Ranger, et al belong to JE. I enjoy getting them out of Trenton from time to time.
Chapter One: Uncle Manoso
"Cathy, I didn't realize you were heading to town! You want to join us?"
I didn't want to spend my 24 hour leave playing tourist in New York City. I was born and raised in the Hamptons and couldn't get excited about ferry rides and bar hopping. "I have business to attend, sorry guys."
"Business? Yeah, right," Todd snickered. "What's his name? You are awfully dressed up for business."
I've never particularly liked Todd James but he just took a nose dive in my popularity book. Todd was raised somewhere in north Texas where the idea of dressing up was kicking the bull shit off your boots.
I looked down at my attire. From the bottom up I was wearing 4 inch heels which made me 6'4". Todd barely made it to 5'10". Maybe I intimidated him with my extra height. I was wearing hosiery, maybe seeing shaved, not seeing hairy legs bothered him. My skirt was above my knee, I thought demurely for business. My blouse was a camisole, nothing special and the jacket was short. It was my one and only civilian outfit so had to serve a multitude of duties.
"Father's death. I have to deal with the estate, bills must be paid, "I answered. My father had recently died after surviving my mother for 9 years. As an only child the family inheritance was now mine. Just how much the inheritance I had no clue and surely no business of my fellow West Point cadets.
Once we reached the city we opted for the subway. I was going down to the financial district, others were going to museums, and we soon went our separate ways. The subway didn't bother me. Granted it didn't have the marble floors, pillars, chandeliers, and workers icons of Russia's subways. At first glance their elaborate subways seem to be a throwback to the Czar era except most were built long past the revolution and just before World War II. I was in New York where the walls were tile, the floors cement or tile and the stairs urine soaked. The transit authority tried to keep ahead of the graffiti but wasn't always successful.
As I rode under the streets of Manhattan I was remembering the last time I saw Fernando Manoso. It was at my parent's house in the Hamptons. My parents were having a late summer beach party before I was being shipped off to private school. Puberty, my puberty, was difficult for my mother. Her idea of a young lady didn't jive with mine. I preferred blue jeans and halter tops, she preferred more lady like apparel. She insisted I take ballet lessons and I acquiesced if allowed to take karate as well. I never argued about the piano lessons; I loved music. I smiled at what her reaction would have been when I announced my intentions to go to West Point. If she wasn't already dead, that would have done it.
My mind returned to Fernando Manoso. He was often a guest in our home and he and Daddy were best friends. Mr. Manoso was younger than my father but greatly resembled him. At first glance one would think they were brothers. My father was taller but both had dark hair, Daddy's was wavy, Mr. Manosos' straight. They had similar Latino skin tones and deep chocolate eyes. Party day Mr. Manoso was dressed, like most other men in tan pants and a white linen shirt, but his clothes fit so much better than it did other men. His chest was broad and his stomach flat, waist slender. I was 12 and only newly noting when men took care of their bodies and those who didn't.
As the elevator raised high into the sky I smiled as I remembered dancing with Mr. Manoso on the outdoor dance floor. He moved like a panther, smooth and long stride. He was careful not to hold me too close but his hand on my back directly my movements as if I were plastered to his body. He refused to dance the tango with me. "That's a dance for adults." Watching him dance the tango with other women I immediately saw what he meant. I didn't understand the word sensual, but at 12 I knew it looked...special.
The elevator doors opened directly into a reception area. One gentleman was at the reception desk; after all it was Saturday. The rest of the offices appeared to be empty. A few people could be seen scurrying about.
"Ms. Catherine Castillo to see Mr. Fernando Manoso. "
"Yes ma'am," the receptionist replied and I was lead to two massive walnuts doors. We paused at the outside desk while a very lovely blonde woman spoke into a phone, set it down and said, "You may go in."
The door opened into a large office with several floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline. The gentleman behind the desk was just getting to his feet. "Catherine" was all he said but his eyes showed surprise. The last time he saw me, 9 years ago, I was 4 inches shorter, struggling with puberty and my hair in a ponytail. Mother Nature had been kind to me, I was now 6 feet tall, curved but the Academy had also trimmed and tightened me up. At the academy I wore my long hair in a bun, but today I let it flow over my shoulders. It was wavy like my father's.
"Mr. Manoso, it is a pleasure to see you after all these years." The years had been kind to him. His hair was still dark. The only face lines were the crinkles around his eyes. As he came around the desk with the same panther like movement, I noticed his clothes still fit very well. In place of the linen shirt and tan trousers he was wearing a very expensive Italian suit, white shirt and plain warm tone tie.
"Catherine, I'm so sorry I missed your father's funeral. I was in China and couldn't get back in time," he said and he swept me into a hug and kissed my cheek. In my heels I was two inches taller. I made a note to myself, next time, shorter heels.
"He died quickly and caught everyone off guard. Thank you for the sentiments. You were his best friend."
"When was the last time I saw you."
"About 9 years ago, either at Momma's funeral or the summer beach party before her passing."
"You have become a lovely woman, Catherine. Congratulations on your appointment to West Point. Your father was so proud. May I ask why you chose to go there and not a traditional college? "
"Like Radcliffe, Smith or Harvard?" I smiled. "I'm not your typical girl. I'm much more at home sitting in a Long Island duck blind at dawn or on the trail of elk in the Rockies than I am at a cotillion or shopping in Paris."
"Yes, you were always a tomboy. You made your father proud and drove your mother crazy."
"I found boys and their toys a lot more fun to play with...and still do." That felt so sexy. I was remembering Fernando dancing the tango and wondered if I was now old enough.
He laughed but his eyes were intense.
After discussing investments, portfolios, tax shelters, I knew I'd never be a financier like my father, the whole thing left me cold. But it was my money now and I needed to be responsible about it.
When we were done, Fernando asked, "What else is on your agenda today?"
"I have a standing room only ticket for the Met opera matinee this afternoon. All the seats were sold but I do want to see the performance."
"I'm surprised a young woman like you enjoys the opera."
"Mr. Manoso, I've alwasy preferred classical and jazz to modern music. In particular I love well trained voices, the drama, music..." I think I sighed.
"I have season tickets to the Met, perhaps you'd do me the honor of attending a performance with me some time."
I gasped, "You mean I could actually sit down. I would love to attend a performance with you."
"Do you have plans for New Year's Eve?"
"No, I've been avoiding thinking about Winter Break. The house will be lonely without Poppa."
"Then do me the honor of accompanying me to the Gala."
A big smile crossed my face, "Of course." I shivered to myself, oh my gosh, the Gala!
I had no interest in buying a new outfit for the Gala but knew what I had back home was out of style or likely too large. I bit the bullet and spent a portion of my Christmas break at Sak's and a large chuck of my monthly stipend. The dress was too revealing, the shoes too tall, the handbag outrageously expensive and the wrap was one of my mother's. I also needed new underwear; opera Gala underwear is not the same cadet's wear. With the first try my hair behaved and was swept upright into a loose pile a top my head held in place with a single jeweled comb. Make up was sultry eyes, sexy but conservative lipstick. When the costume was complete, I didn't recognize myself.
I knew I hit a home run when I saw Fernando's expression as he helped me into his transportation to Lincoln Center. "My dear, I hardly recognized you."
I blushed. "I had the same thoughts." Maybe my mother was right, I needed to dress more like a woman.
Dinner with Fernando took me back to family dinners in the city; fine dining with too many forks and wine glasses. Dancing with Fernando accompanied by the Met orchestra was a heady experience. We later moved to a Latino club where I finally was able to dance the tango and bachata with Fernando. The sexual tension between us was thick. I knew we'd end up in bed together. Yes he was old enough to be my father...if he started to breed in his early teens.
I was a little tipsy, too much champagne, but welcoming in the New Year did call for a bit of fine French champagne. We held hands like teenagers during the ride back to his condo and in the elevator he held me close and kissed my neck.
It didn't take us long to get to the bedroom and undressed, at least it didn't take him long to undress me. We giggled, he sang with a lovely baritone voice. I helped him undress and was delighted to find what lay underneath was still trim, taught and standing at attention. I wanted to salute.
To one who's experience with boys was mostly quickies than controlled long love making, I was thrilled to be with a man who knew many more ways to satisfy a woman. As we lay completely spent together on his bed, I heard breathing other than ours.
"Fernando, somebody is in the room with us," I whispered in his ear. He rolled over casually and reached behind the bed side table and pulled out a 9 mm. At the same time all the lights came on. There in the chair next to the walk in closet door sat a young man who looked a lot like Fernando.
"What the hell are you doing here Carlos?"
The young man, about my age, apparently high on something smirked, "Watching the show, Tio."
"How long have you been here?"
"I've been here the whole time. You got some good moves man, but then look at the bitch, I wouldn't mind a making her scream with delight too."
Fernando was already on his feet, the gun was left by the bedside table. When Fernando got in front of the boy, the boy remarked, "Are all us Manoso men hung like this." Before he could smirk or smile, Fernando grabbed him by the jacket front, lifted him to his feet and punched his gut and face. The boy tried to fight back but never laid a hand on Fernando. Carlos was no match for Fernando.
In the mean time I slipped out of bed and began dressing. I was horrified knowing our activities had been observed by his nephew who was now getting the crap beat out of him. This was a family fight and I didn't want to be around.
Fernando moved his nephew from the bedroom to the bathroom where he was washing the blood off the boy and assessing the damage. Fernando stopped when he saw me dressed, "I'm very sorry about this Catherine. He's been in and out of trouble for some time. I'd like to make it up to you."
"Leave won't be granted for a while, but I'd very much like to get together Fernando. I stepped over to him and kissed him on the lips trying hard to avoid the blood on Carlos' face and Fernando's hands.
As I left I thought I heard Fernando tell his nephew, "Carlos, you get straight or I'm going to kill you."