ROAD RAGE
Chapter #35
"Surprise!"
Miramar
September 1958
Blythe House awoke early Thursday morning to a very unusual feeling coursing through her senses.
Peace.
If it indeed had anything to do with her venture into forbidden territory with Gil Stratton the night before, she wouldn't speculate. She certainly felt no guilt for it, and entertained no sense of recrimination. She'd had sexual relations with a man who was not her husband and she had allowed herself to enjoy it. They both did. Such a thing had never happened between the two
of them before and would, in all likelihood, never happen again. They had always treated each other with apprehensive awareness; a little jealous and a little curious. No more. The 'one-
night stand' had been a good thing.
Blythe took her marriage vows seriously. Her promise to 'love, honor and obey' John House was a sacred bond in her life. She would continue to uphold those vows and honor their union. She did not delude herself into believing the liaison with Gil Stratton meant anything more than a unique way of easing external tensions. She and Stratton had both been frustrated by incidents in their lives that were beyond their individual abilities to control. They'd exchanged frustrations and bodily fluids and followed that up with a lively discussion that had turned highly therapeutic for both. That was that. They'd parted as friends who had learned a little more about each other and gained new respect as a result. Both came away knowing the contact was a one-time thing and would never be mentioned again. Sometimes the most beneficial life lessons were learned through highly unusual … but practical … methods.
Peace!
There was a lot to be said for it.
oooooooo
When the telegram arrived, Blythe had just finished with the last piano pupil of the day; one of the younger boys from up the street. She watched as he climbed on his bicycle and hammered it out of there like the devil was after him. She smiled as she watched his figure disappear quickly in the distance. It was a teachers' in-service day today and tomorrow, and he couldn't wait to join his pals, already waiting for him at the sand lot baseball field on the opposite side of the base.
Behind her, across the back lot and yonder on the flight line, a noisy C-124 prop-jet cargo
plane lumbered down the runway and lifted slowly, like a pregnant albatross, into the sky.
The Doppler Effect thundered after it for another thirty seconds before it faded into the
distance.
She was about to turn and go back inside, but another bicycle skidded to a halt in the street in front of the house. This was an older kid, the son of a Major who had recently moved his family from Hickam Field. The boy was named Willy, Connie had told her. He was wearing an old fedora jammed onto his head with a chunk of cardboard stuck in the brim: WESTERN UNION.
"Telegram, lady," announced the kid breathlessly as he pushed the bike over the curb and into the tiny yard. "You're Mrs. House, right?"
She nodded. "That's me. And you're Willy. Right?"
He grinned back with an expanse of large white teeth. "Yep …" He extended his hand containing the distinctive yellow envelope with block letters pasted across the front. "Sign
on the dotted line, please." He thrust a clip board forward with his other hand.
Blythe took it from him and signed where he indicated. She extracted the envelope from his fingers as he watched.
She handed him a dollar from her apron pocket while Willy tipped the fedora and grabbed the handlebars of his bike. "Thanks. Good day to ya, ma'am," he shouted over his shoulder as he rode away, hiking the bike's tires roughly back over the curb and into the street.
Blythe ripped open the flimsy envelope and stared at its contents.
"BE HOME FRI AM/ STOP/ PACK FOR TRIP TO SF /STOP /SORRY I GOT MAD/ STOP/ WILL MAKE UP FOR IT IMMEDIATELY UPON ARRIVAL/STOP/LOVE JOHN HOUSE/ STOP."
He was apologizing? She stared at the formality of the last line and almost giggled.
"Love, John House".
She would have bet a hundred dollars that Gilbert Stratton had wasted no time contacting the aforementioned John House, probably informing him that he had spoken to his polite little Marine Corps wifey, who had bitched to him and was really really pissed at his stupid-assed jarhead actions!
You were right, Gil. There is a very nice part of my husband hidden way down inside, but the Marine Corps keeps it buried so deeply that I can barely reach it anymore …
Blythe jammed the telegram into the pocket of her apron and walked slowly back inside the house. Her mood took a turn for the better immediately as she hummed a sprightly tune inside her mind. His method of "making up" might be very interesting indeed …
Funny what a little piece of paper could sometimes do for one's disposition.
oooooooo
Friday morning at ten o'clock Blythe heard the big pickup grind to a stop in front of the house and shut off. She looked out the front window and saw her husband, pressed and spit-shined, with brand new silverbars gleaming on the collar of his summer-tan uniform shirt. She watched him grab his shoulder bag, slam the truck's door and then stride up the sidewalk. Quickly she removed her apron, fluffed her hair and added a smile of welcome. She was, of course, packed and ready for their trip to San Francisco.
Blythe House's salute was almost as smart as a new recruit's as she came to a brace of attention and drew herself up stiffly in front of him. "Welcome home sir!" Then she giggled and threw her arms around his neck. "Congratulations, Captain House!"
John ditched his cunt cap on the couch and waggled his eyebrows in seductive fashion. He reached a strong, hairy, heavily tattooed right arm about her waist and twirled her so hard that her feet left the floor. "Let's go to the boudoir my big-assed Marine," he said, "and maybe I'll let you congratulate me again in a way that I'll always remember! Then tomorrow morning we leave for a romantic weekend in the big city! I regret that I have a very large apology to make."
He got no argument from her.
oooooooo
They caught the pre-dawn tour bus from the base and found themselves in the middle of San Francisco in broad daylight. The old city was a bustling madhouse and a delight to behold, and they set out to explore as much of it as possible on their two-day whirlwind tour.
Fisherman's Wharf, by dinnertime, was crowded, noisy, smelly and colorful. The two of them explored its delights like newlyweds on a grand adventure. They walked the planks with a sense of wonder they had not experienced since the early days of their marriage, and though John did not express it in words, his attentativeness to Blythe that day was as eloquent an apology as he could possibly manage. Toward evening they stood together looking out into the bay, watching the sun sink slowly behind Alcatraz Island until the wind grew gusty and daylight began to desert the sky.
They were escorted to a secluded table by a window on the restaurant side and ate crab legs and clams-on-the-half-shell on the lee side of the huge building. After dinner they lingered over tall drinks, even after colorful evening lights began to come on and twinkle brightly through the darkness.
They returned to their hotel room long after midnight, still a little giddy with excitement. They showered together and had nightcaps sent up to the room. They turned their lovemaking into
an endurance contest, lost in the spell of candlelight and soft music on the radio. They enjoyed quiet laughter and gentle touches under silk sheets that smelled like lilacs. They were still wrapped in each other's arms when daylight spread across the window sill and John broke the magic spell by announcing: "Up and at 'em, Big-Assed Marine! Semper Fi!" They had their breakfast in bed and Blythe was delighted to find a single red rose in a slender vase on the breakfast tray with a tiny card that read" I love you".
"I love you too," she whispered with a kiss.
Their last day in town found them loaded with gaily wrapped packages from some of the tiny shops in the Embarcadero Center. John had no choice but to rent a bright red Henry J to return their purchases to the hotel in time for lunch. In the afternoon they took the little car out to do some exploring and ended up traversing the very interesting and twisty Lombard Street, laughing with delight as their bottoms slid from side to side across the narrow expanse of the front seat.
Evening found them exhausted and a lot poorer. They'd returned the Henry J to the gas station's small rental lot and caught a taxi, whose driver shook his head impatiently when they loaded another pile of packages into his cab's trunk. It was nearly dark when John and Blythe caught up with the tour bus to return them to the base at Miramar. They didn't talk much on the trip back, but sat quietly in their seats and fell asleep leaning against one another, swaying to the rhythm of the bus's gentle motion.
oooooooo
By the middle of November, Blythe House began to take on a certain glow. She became
serene and quiet and hummed to herself and seemed to glide about their little house as she did the chores and cooked their meals. John had not requested extra TDY as he had in the past, and instead attended to some of the neglected work around the base. One night he came home to find his wife in a pretty house dress, a bouquet on the dinner table and his favorite meal of roast beef simmering in the pot and making the house smell like a gourmet restaurant. He raised his eyebrows.
"I'm pregnant." Blythe told him shyly. "We're going to have a baby."
John's face drained of all color and his jaw dropped. He turned around, walked out the back door and headed in the general direction of the flight line ...
oooooooooooo
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