Title: Paraguay didn't solve anything - Part 4
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Fall Church, Virginia
1710 Zulu
She turned the wheel of her red corvette and entered a small parking lot. She glanced down at the yellow 'postit' in her hand. This was the correct address. 'Alexander's' was the ornate sign that hung on a wrought iron post in front of the renovated colonel building. Alexander's was a day spa and salon that Clay's mom had recommended.
Large wreaths with pink bows hung in the windows. Thanksgiving was barely over and the Christmas season had started with a vengeance. Mac walked up to the French doors at the entrance and waited for two women to exit.
Contrary to the military picture she presented in her class A Marine uniform, Mac had a keen interest in current fashion. For her, clothes were fun and a respite from the unrelenting green she wore every day. She covertly gave the two women the classic once-over, checking out their outfits. A tad on the conservative side for Mac's tastes, she could still appreciate the expensive labels.
She smiled and stepped through the door. The elegant reception area reminded Mac of a DC law firm. Soft chamber music wafted through the air. An elegant woman looked up from a antique birds-eye maple desk. The high gloss of its surface was uncluttered except for a crystal bowl full of fruit, a phone and a sleek flat screen monitor.
"Yes?" said the woman as she studied Mac. A slight frown appeared on her face.
Mac recognized the reaction immediately. She felt like smacking her. Just because she wore a uniform didn't instantly mean she was a frump. Ignoring it, she said. "This place was recommended to me by a friend. I'm interested in some of your services."
"Yes?" the woman said with icy politeness.
"I was told to ask for Peter. I interested in chatting with him for a moment. Would that be possible?" she said.
"Of course." She pulled a glossy brochure from a drawer and handed it to Mac. It was a list of services with prices. Expensive prices. "Peter," she said into the phone receiver, " could you come to the front?"
Mac waited until Peter appeared. He was dressed in tight black pants and an equally tight black T shirt that accented his muscular build. He looked at her. "Sarah Mackenzie?" he asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Porter said you would come by. I think I can help you." He turned and Mac followed him down a hall to a small room.
Mac digested his statement. She tried to imagine what Clay's mother had said to the stylist. She almost could hear her pinched voice saying "A lovely woman, Sarah is. A little unconventional. But we can help with that, can't we?"
As she sat down on a small ornate chair, Peter started to fluff his fingers through her hair. He stood back and looked into her face. Moving forward again with a comb in hand, he pulled her hair back, studying.
"Let's start with a more classic color, shall we? A bit lighter with highlights. You have beautiful features. Let's not hide them with all this hair hanging around your face."
Mac listened detached as the man talked on in a condescending tone. An image sprung unbidden to her mind. It was the image of Harm, standing in the doorway of the hotel bathroom in Paraguay. She was in the bath, surrounded by bubbles.
"I forgot how beautiful you were..." Mac remembered his words. What had brought that little slice of Paraguay to mind now?
She looked at Peter as he rambled on about her proposed transformation. 'What am I doing here?' she thought. She looked around. This wasn't her. Since when did she start to change her appearance for a man? Any man?
She stood up. Thanking Peter quickly, she made an exit. She needed to talk to Clay.
Sarah Mackenzie's Apartment.
0237 Zulu
She contemplated the painted toenail in front of her. She was sitting on her couch with her feet up on the coffee table, painting her nails. Moving on wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. Her dinner with Clay had been somewhat unpleasant. She thought about his reaction to her news. He had seemed more insulted than upset, proving to Mac she wasn't the love of his life. No, Clay was a little miffed that he hadn't anticipated her announcement. That he had lost control somehow.
But in true Clay style, he was a gentleman to the end. No insults, just regrets. If only he had been more of a jerk about it. Then it would have been cleaner. Then she wouldn't be sitting here, wondering if she had done the right thing.
Like Mic, Clay had been a safe harbor. But unlike Mic, this time she had the courage to call it off herself. Maybe she had learned a lesson from her relationship with Mic Brumby. He would be proud of her.
As usual, this was all about Harm. Again. It was like a broken record, repeating. Only this time, Harm wasn't chasing her to the Guadalcanal. There were no working dinners, no Jagathon, no heated arguments. Paraguay had seen to that. They had nothing.
She was truly alone.
***************************************
Fall Church, Virginia
1710 Zulu
She turned the wheel of her red corvette and entered a small parking lot. She glanced down at the yellow 'postit' in her hand. This was the correct address. 'Alexander's' was the ornate sign that hung on a wrought iron post in front of the renovated colonel building. Alexander's was a day spa and salon that Clay's mom had recommended.
Large wreaths with pink bows hung in the windows. Thanksgiving was barely over and the Christmas season had started with a vengeance. Mac walked up to the French doors at the entrance and waited for two women to exit.
Contrary to the military picture she presented in her class A Marine uniform, Mac had a keen interest in current fashion. For her, clothes were fun and a respite from the unrelenting green she wore every day. She covertly gave the two women the classic once-over, checking out their outfits. A tad on the conservative side for Mac's tastes, she could still appreciate the expensive labels.
She smiled and stepped through the door. The elegant reception area reminded Mac of a DC law firm. Soft chamber music wafted through the air. An elegant woman looked up from a antique birds-eye maple desk. The high gloss of its surface was uncluttered except for a crystal bowl full of fruit, a phone and a sleek flat screen monitor.
"Yes?" said the woman as she studied Mac. A slight frown appeared on her face.
Mac recognized the reaction immediately. She felt like smacking her. Just because she wore a uniform didn't instantly mean she was a frump. Ignoring it, she said. "This place was recommended to me by a friend. I'm interested in some of your services."
"Yes?" the woman said with icy politeness.
"I was told to ask for Peter. I interested in chatting with him for a moment. Would that be possible?" she said.
"Of course." She pulled a glossy brochure from a drawer and handed it to Mac. It was a list of services with prices. Expensive prices. "Peter," she said into the phone receiver, " could you come to the front?"
Mac waited until Peter appeared. He was dressed in tight black pants and an equally tight black T shirt that accented his muscular build. He looked at her. "Sarah Mackenzie?" he asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Porter said you would come by. I think I can help you." He turned and Mac followed him down a hall to a small room.
Mac digested his statement. She tried to imagine what Clay's mother had said to the stylist. She almost could hear her pinched voice saying "A lovely woman, Sarah is. A little unconventional. But we can help with that, can't we?"
As she sat down on a small ornate chair, Peter started to fluff his fingers through her hair. He stood back and looked into her face. Moving forward again with a comb in hand, he pulled her hair back, studying.
"Let's start with a more classic color, shall we? A bit lighter with highlights. You have beautiful features. Let's not hide them with all this hair hanging around your face."
Mac listened detached as the man talked on in a condescending tone. An image sprung unbidden to her mind. It was the image of Harm, standing in the doorway of the hotel bathroom in Paraguay. She was in the bath, surrounded by bubbles.
"I forgot how beautiful you were..." Mac remembered his words. What had brought that little slice of Paraguay to mind now?
She looked at Peter as he rambled on about her proposed transformation. 'What am I doing here?' she thought. She looked around. This wasn't her. Since when did she start to change her appearance for a man? Any man?
She stood up. Thanking Peter quickly, she made an exit. She needed to talk to Clay.
Sarah Mackenzie's Apartment.
0237 Zulu
She contemplated the painted toenail in front of her. She was sitting on her couch with her feet up on the coffee table, painting her nails. Moving on wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. Her dinner with Clay had been somewhat unpleasant. She thought about his reaction to her news. He had seemed more insulted than upset, proving to Mac she wasn't the love of his life. No, Clay was a little miffed that he hadn't anticipated her announcement. That he had lost control somehow.
But in true Clay style, he was a gentleman to the end. No insults, just regrets. If only he had been more of a jerk about it. Then it would have been cleaner. Then she wouldn't be sitting here, wondering if she had done the right thing.
Like Mic, Clay had been a safe harbor. But unlike Mic, this time she had the courage to call it off herself. Maybe she had learned a lesson from her relationship with Mic Brumby. He would be proud of her.
As usual, this was all about Harm. Again. It was like a broken record, repeating. Only this time, Harm wasn't chasing her to the Guadalcanal. There were no working dinners, no Jagathon, no heated arguments. Paraguay had seen to that. They had nothing.
She was truly alone.