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The restaurant was dimly lit on the inside, and most light came from the oven fires that flared as pizzas were tossed into the heat.
The walls were adorned with Italian paraphernalia, such as small Italian flags, or pictures.
He led her to a shady corner booth where neither could be easily spotted by gaping onlookers or nosy passersby. Wordlessly, she glanced down at the menu, and her green eyes flickered back and forth in the dimness. while John continued to smile as he received his draft beer.

"To drink miss?" The waiter asked her. Like John, the man had black hair and black eyes that were accentuated nicely in the darkness.
John grinned up at the waiter, "She'll have water." He told the man, as he watched Tallulah shake her head.
"Do you have cognac?"
The waiter glanced confusedly between the both of them, and didn't answer as her eyes dared John to continue.
"She'll have water." John answered firmly, passing back the menus. "And we'll have a large New York style pizza."
"You do want pepperoni on that?"
John nodded, and the man disappeared back to the kitchen, and soon there was a large flash as another pizza was dumped onto the fire.

Tallulah fiddled with the little carnation in a small vase that sat on the table. Her fingers twiddled the stem back and forth before softly tracing the edges of the crimson petals.
They reminded her of the little boy.
"Why water?" She asked John, her eyes flashing upwards from the flower.
He shrugged, "You smell like vodka and cognac, and I heard you shoving bottles under your bed before I came in…"
"What does it matter?"
"You oughta give it a rest."
She gave a small snort. "It is rest."

He shook his head and smiled sadly at her, his dark eyes tinged with pity while the waiter delivered the water to the table.
She stared down scornfully at it, watching the ice bob up and down in the clear glass.
This would offer no solace or peace.
It would only be something cold to slide down her throat.
"Drink it." John whispered softly, prompting her with a raise of his dark eyebrows. "Just try it…"
Tallulah grasped the cup and lifted it to her lips. The water tasted nice and cold, but there was no pungent smell or pleasurable sting that told her relief was coming.
The ice water would not provide the coveted forgetfulness.
"See it isn't bad!" John told her, as he lifted his dark ale to his own mouth. "It's pretty good."
Tallulah gave a snide little laugh. "Says the man drinking beer."
"Oh, phsst. The beer isn't that good."
Tallulah glanced at the amber liquid, watching foamy bubbles float to the top. "Beer doesn't do it anymore." She noted quietly, as John studied the pained gaze in her emerald eyes. "Beer isn't strong enough."
John nodded. "Keep it up, and neither Vodka or Cognac will do it either."

She said nothing and lifted the water to her lips, feeling the bland coolness in her mouth.
It felt pure and clean- and almost strangely good because of it's righteousness.
The waiter returned with the pizza, it's meat and cheese still sizzling from the brick oven. He placed it on the table, and instantly John was cutting into it, picking a few pepperonis off the top and popping them into his mouth.
The water glanced at Tallulah's half full glass of water. "Still interested in Cognac, Miss?"
Tallulah cleared her throat and glanced at the lemon floating in the water, occasionally bumping into the ice cubes.
"No, I'm fine. Thank you though."
The waiter nodded, and John glanced up from shoving an entire slice of pizza in his mouth to shoot her a proud grin.
"Atta girl..." His dark eyes looked triumphant in the darkness, and rolling her own, Tallulah cut off a small sliver of the pie.
"I've still got cases and cases of bottles back at the apartment…" She reminded him, raising a blonde eyebrow. "You haven't won yet."
He laughed, and took another slice before grapping his mug of beer.

After dinner, John escorted Tallulah back to her apartment high-rise. The lights glinted off her little blue dress, and her long legs seemed to shine in the moonlight. Through the darkness, no one recognized the famous couple, and Tallulah was grateful for the peace. He opened the door to her apartment, and stepped in behind her, shooting her a quiet smile as he rubbed his stomach appreciatively.

"Great dinner!" He enthused, plopping down onto a couch. "I'm completely stuffed."
She smiled at him, and joined him on the couch, yawning as she leaned back into the cushions. "I'm glad we went…"
He grinned and nodded his agreement, before glancing at the clock that showed 11:30 as the time. "I'm glad you drank water." He joked, as she snorted. "Pizza and cognac? I can't think of a more disgusting combination."
She laughed a little, and her nose wrinkled as she thought of the proposed taste. "You're right, it would have tasted horrible…" She agreed, as she attempted to suppress another yawn. "That greasy pepperoni and Italian sausage. Blehh!"
"Hey now!" John warned, flicking a finger towards her. "That's the best pizza joint in New York because it's truly Italian."
Tallulah made a little face, and stretched her legs out upon the coffee table. "I'd rather have shrimp."
"Shrimp?"

She nodded, and smiled at the thought. "Broiled, grilled, boiled, fried…" She told him, "Buttered, with cocktail sauce, garlic sauce, breaded." She closed her eyes and imagined a pile of steaming shrimp before her, as she glanced out at the bayou. "Best food in the world."
John looked unconvinced as he tried to imagine what shrimp would taste like with garlic sauce, the same Italian garlic sauce his mother used to baste steak or vegetables with. It seemed a mortal sin to waste it on briny shrimp.
She saw his disbelief and laughed, "I'll bring you home to Mobile, and you'll understand."
He grinned, and from his pocket pulled out his shiny silver flask. Quietly, he placed it in her hands and watched as she glanced down at it. Her fingers traced over his name that was engraved into the shiny steel, and she ran her red nails across the indentations. Jokingly, she shook it and pretended to listen for the distinctive sound of liquid sloshing against the sides.
"It's empty!" She complained, as he chuckled.
"That's the way it oughta be!" He noted, as she attempted to hand the container back to him. "Keep it like that Miss Adams."

x.x.x.x.x

Tallulah stumbled out of bed the next morning, and didn't bother to eat breakfast. She didn't really care if she starved to death. The flask sitting by the bedside glimmered in the bright morning light caught her eye. She took it gently in her hands. She would miss John. He was kind and caring, and she loved the way his dark eyes twinkled, reveling in their own mysterious blackness. She ran her fingers along the engraving of his name and sighing reached under her bed, attempting to see past platinum locks that fell into her face. She grabbed a bottle of Grey Goose and expertly removed the cork, something she knew she'd done far too many times. She carefully poured some of the vodka into the flash and capped the container before tossing the flask into an awaiting purse. For John's sake she would try to curb the vodka and cognac, only because he'd given her such a time about it, and also given her such a pretty flask. She tossed on a blue frock and grabbed a stack of mail that lay on her desk, which she would read during the boring week opening meeting Frank always insisted on having. Hell, if she was feeling particularly generous, and if Frank was being especially longwinded she might even return some of the fan-mail. Tallulah slipped on a pair of white sandals and headed for the door, ripping through an envelope.
x.x.x.x
Dear Tallulah,
Thank you for your last check you sent. A big storm ripped through mobile the other day and tore some boards off the side of the house. Your father and I replaced them, and also some others that were almost rotten. It amazes me how the climate here can just destroy a house, even a new one like ours! Teola is doing well and is excited because she's going to tour a collage soon, and Trula is happy with her daughter and just recently found out she's due to have another in the spring. We received a letter from Bryan, and he told us he was fine and to take care of Trula for him. Mr. and Mrs. Sledge got a letter from Eugene and he's doing well in bootcamp. They also received a letter from Sidney Phillips- do you remember Sidney?

Tallulah's green eyes shot up from the paper and she stared hard out into the space above Frank's head as he stood talking at the podium.
"Sidney Phillips…" She breathed to herself. "Sidney Phillips."
x.x.x.x.x
Her fingers continued to drag through the dirt as she found another stone and tossed in back into the gravely sand. As she glanced up into the sky she noticed how the sun's marigold rays highlighted the fringes of the clouds setting them ablaze in a shocking orange. Abruptly, she rose from the ground and attempted to dust of her ratty white dress, The skirt had been soiled by the plumes of dust and the gritty sand, and her little fingers could not remove the stains. The dying light illuminated the blond boys curls and filled the tangles full of sunlight, highlighting them like the clouds. The redheaded girl turned to leave after scuffing her worn Mary Janes against the gravel.

"You going back to nowhere?" The blonde boy asked, as he pushed up a loose denim overall strap that had slipped off his tan shoulder. Tallulah nodded and began to walk away before the blonde boy rose from the dirt. "We ain't found a rock to match your eyes yet." He protested as he folded his arms into a pouting gesture. She threw a glance back at him and scowled. "You aint't never gonna find no rock to match my eyes."
"We could try."
"I gotta go home."
"Back to nowhere?"
Tallulah nodded and the pointed towards the clouds that had now turned a menacing shade of purple.
"There's gonna be a storm."
He nodded at the obvious. "I oughta walk you home then." He noted as he adjusted his small baseball cap, tousling his blonde curls in the process. "Momma says that ladies should always be escorted home…"
Tallulah didn't say anything but ran her small fingers through her crimson hair. "It's a long walk…"
"Then I ain't letting you walk it alone."
The tough redhead's lips broke out into a smile, and her usually hard expression softened in gratitude.
"Thanks." She finally whispered, her voice softening just like her face had.
Clearing his throat the blonde boy offered Tallulah his arm as she wriggled her toes against the insides of her shoes. She hated the feeling of her dust coated, grimy feet sliding dryly against the slick bottoms of her Mary-Janes.
"Well my momma says I ain't supposed to walk with strangers."
The blonde boy rolled his eyes, the dazzling cyan of his irises glinting in the fading evening light.
"Well I ain't no stranger." He told her, as he once more locked arms with Tallulah.
"I'm Sidney Phillips…"
x.x.x.x.x
Tallulah's emerald eyes jerked back into focus and she glanced around the conference room distractedly.
"And as I was saying, I know Miss Adams can really attest to the idea." Franck glanced towards Tallulah.
She cleared her throat and attempted to clear her head.
"Uh yes!" She agreed loudly, unsure of what she was actually concurring with. "Frank is right. I uh, completely agree."
Frank shot her a horribly condescending smile and she snarled at him, a corner of her candy lips upturning in disgust.
"And so my lovely ladies." Frank continued, pushing his thick rimmed glasses back up to his face. "There will be a shipment of rotations and injured men coming back from the pacific. The USO and some other organizations will be there to welcome the boys back and we've decided that esquire magazine models should be there too."

Audibly, Tallulah snorted. She guessed this was just another of Frank's publicity stunts.
"We'll be selecting girls to greet the troops and pose for a few pictures.
A hand raised and Frank pointed to the questioning girl. "When is this?"
Frank grinned. "Tomorrow the boys come in and we'll be there to wait for the troop ship.
Tallulah fiddled with the edge of her skirt and glanced aroun, already bored of Frank's useless meeting.

x.x.x.x.x.x
"I don't think sailors are real smart." W.O Brown commented as he pulled out a cigarette from the pack that Bill Leyden offered him.
"Why's that?"
"They volunteer to sit in an oven all day."
Dewan tossed W.O his lighter and swiftly he flicked it, causing a flame to spring to life. The men stared at the flame, wondering if the entire ship was as hot as that little spark. Finally, W.O lifted the zippo to his cigarette and threw if back to Dewan who listlessly caught it.

'Too damn hot in here to smoke!"
Leyden turned to see his young friend climbing tiredly into his bottom cot.
"I swear Sid." W.O began tiredly. "If it was up to you, it would be too hot to do anything."
"Except sleep." Muttered Dewan
Sidney Phillips shook his blonde head, sending his unruly, non-regulation curls flying as he plopped jadedly onto his berth. "It's too hot for that too." Sidney grumbled, as Hammond jumped up excitedly, his eyes cutting secretly to the side.
"What the hell are you doing?" Leyden moaned as his cot jiggled while Harrison crashed to the floor.
Hammond grinned and stumbled to his foot locker. He reached into the compartment and finally pulled out the latest issue of Esquire magazine.

"No way!" W.O breathed, jerking the cigarette from between his lips. "You've got the new one."
Hammond grinned and raised his dark eyebrows in fake promiscuity. "Perks of having a mailman for a brother."
Sidney didn't even look at the magazine, the whole wall of the berth was covered in photographs of Esquire's harem of women, each as lovely as the next. He drew a cigarette out and lit it quickly. He jammed the cigarette between his chapped lips, inhaled the dry smoke, and stared upwards at the striped mattresses that hung overhead. He crossed his eyes and observed the effects of blurring his vision, as the rows of navy and white strips fuzzed into one shade.

"C'mon Sid!" Urged Dewan as Bill whistled at the spread in the magazine. "This is a good one."
Sidney sighed and pushed himself off the bed as he rubbed his burning eyes. He'd been on the bridge all night on watch duty. He ambled over to Hammond who held the magazine proudly, as if he personally owned all the women it displayed.
"I oughtta charge ya'll." He noted.
Sidney scoffed at the magazine and shook his head.
"I'm too damn tired to look at your girls Hammond."
"Someone take him to sick bay." Dewan complained, as his eyes widened while he stared down at the page. "He's obviously ill if he don't wanna look at this girl."

Growling, Sidney stood and ambled dazedly towards the group of men who had crowed around Hammond and his coveted publication.
"Glad you could make it!" Bill muttered. Hammond pointed to a leggy starlet on the glossy page, and raised his eyebrows whistling appreciatively.
"Ain't she something…"
Sidney followed the point of Hammond's finger and glanced down at the girl.

She had platinum curls that barreled down her shoulders to reach halfway down her back. She had perfect, shapely, long legs that gleamed in the photograph's lighting. She wore a skimpy little swimsuit, colored white and blue like sailor's uniforms. In the photos she posed with a handsome dark marine that Sidney identified easily as the infamous John Basilone- hero of Guadalcanal.
He was lifting her with the same strong arms that had lifted the hot machine gun and left him with third degree burns and a medal of honor. She straddled his powerful shoulders with those two glorious legs, and John Basilone had his hands were other med could have only dreamed of putting theirs- on Essie Jo Adam's heavenly curves.

Sidney smiled at the pictures and shook his head. "Yeah, she's gorgeous." He admitted to the guys as he snatched the issue. Quickly he stared at the girl once more and noticed the glimmering green in her eyes. He'd seen green eyes like that once before, and only once. But he couldn't remember her name. only the face that her eyes had been more verdant than emeralds.
He couldn't help but smile down at the picture of the girl who reminded him of someone else. Someone with glorious vagueness- someone who reminded him of a life without war. She looked as if the war had never happened.

"Where ya going with my pictures?" Hammond demanded, following Sid closely to keep an eye on his magazine. Sidney hopped back into his cot and reached up to the metal bedframe above. He ripped off a piece of paper that had been pasted to the cot above him and wriggled back out of his tiny, hanging bed. He held out the poster of Betty David to Hammond in offering. "I'll trade you!" Sidney proposed. "I'll trade you a Betty Davis for that girl there."
"Hmmm. Betty Davis for my Essie Jo Adams." He stared between both blondes and finally looked back at Sidney's wistful gaze. "Seems like a fair trade…"

He handed Sidney the magazine and watched the younger man eagerly tear out the picture of Essie Jo Adams, giving a cheeky salute to the camera and hiking a leg up onto a railing of a battleship. He posted the pictures above his bed, and his buddies whistled to him as they filed out of the room for the 0630 meal and morning briefing.
Sidney gave them all a satisfied grin as he folded his arms behind his head and stared up at his new pictures. He heard the bell call whistle and he sighed as he settled back into his cot for a four hour nap.
Sidney Phillips drifted to sleep staring up into familiar green eyes and wishing the breeze that blew so perfectly though the blonde's hair would somehow find it's way into his sweltering berth.