Seoul, August 1952
Questioning his own sanity, Hogan shook his head in wonderment for at least the twentieth time. Why, in God's name, had he ever allowed her out of the house in that dress? Miri'd explained that a traditional Hong Kong cheong-sam was form-fitting. The full-length, emerald green silk gown emphasized bosom and hip, leaving nothing to the imagination. The high mandarin collar, the only concession to modesty, was more than off-set by the knee-high slits in the sides. Looking at her, he sighed in frustration. He didn't want to go out at all. Other, more entertaining ideas danced in his head. But it was a stand up and smile affair, and duty called.
The ballroom in Seoul's swankest hotel buzzed with people. This year's charity auction for the Catholic Relief Society promised to be the biggest bash of the year. Hogan surveyed the room, crowed with tables and well-dressed people. Miri had done a brilliant, if ruthlessly efficient, job of organizing the event. It would certainly turn Marie Hamilton green with envy. "Turn her into an even more spiteful cat, too," muttered Hogan as he limped over to the bar, his hawthorn cane clamped firmly to his left side.
He took a sip of his martini, then heard a familiar voice. "General Hogan, I didn't expect to see you here." Father Mulcahy of the 4077th greeted him warmly.
"Oh, yes, my wife was this year's organizer. So I have to be here. What brings you here?" He thought a moment then added, "Sister Teresa's orphanage."
Mulcahy looked a bit sheepish. "Well, actually, Colonel Potter and I are here by special invitation. Though normally, I would be here on account of the orphanage."
"Special invitation?"
"That's right, general," Potter entered the conversation. "Fortunately, it coincided with a medical conference here in Seoul."
"Oh," responded Hogan, not exactly eager to renew his acquaintance with the 4077th's CO. The general shifted uncomfortably, obviously in pain.
Potter conspicuously noticed the cane. "I thought we fixed you up, general."
"You did. Captain Hunnicutt did a bang up job, too. I was out of the hospital in 2 weeks and out of my cast in 6 more." He took a deep breath. There was no point in evading the colonel's unspoken question. "I severely sprained my right ankle about two weeks ago."
"How'd you manage that?"
"Chasing a 4 1/2 year boy with a mind of his own."
Patrick could make Hogan feel like he was 100 on any given day. Where did that kid get the energy? And tripping over that damned tree root in the park and then being hauled to the hospital by two passing Marines had been ignominious to say the least. Trying not to frighten Patrick had made everything worse.
Potter chuckled sympathetically while Mulcahy said, "Excuse me, general, colonel, but I have to go fulfill my function as auctioneer. Do you have the auction list?"
Patting his breast pocket, Potter replied, "Absolutely, padre."
"Somehow I missed mine. What's up for bid?" The colonel passed him his copy. "I'm going to kill her," Hogan threatened ominously. 3 songs, sung on the spot by his wife, were up for auction.
"Robert, old man, pleasure to see you as always."
Hogan and Potter cringed simultaneously as Crittendon sailed up to them. Having to salute the air commodore galled Hogan enormously.
"Ah, Colonel Potter, fancy meeting you again, wot?" Another sharp salute accompanied by a small sigh of resignation.
"What are you doing here, Rodney?" Would this idiot ever go home? Hogan cried silently.
"I wouldn't've missed this bash for the world. When the old girl throws a party, she really does it up in style." Crittendon rubbed his hands in glee.
Suddenly, it all clicked for Hogan. When I get you home tonight, my darling girl, you're going to have some serious explaining to do.
The auction went quite quickly. Most of the stuff, all donated, wasn't particularly interesting and went rapidly for modest sums. The two jade brooches did generate a small bidding war, and the painting, in the primitive style, of a mare, went to General Hamilton for a solid $75.
Hogan whispered to Potter, "My wife tap you for that, colonel?"
"I couldn't refuse her."
Father Mulcahy announced the three songs. "These open at $50. Any takers?" Hogan raised his hand. "50. Do I hear 60?" Potter raised his hand. Hogan wondered, what the hell? "60. Do I hear 70?" Crittendon raised his hand.
Oh, this was too much, cursed the general who called out, "100."
Mulcahy blinked. "100 it is. Do I hear anything else?"
"110," from Potter.
Crittendon went up. "125."
Hogan's eyes narrowed to angry slits. "150, Father."
The orphanage was going to do quite well. The money from the songs was specifically earmarked, at the donor's request, for Sister Teresa. "150. Do I hear anything else?"
Potter bowed out. Crittendon upped the ante. "175."
Hogan decided to put a cap on it. "200." He watched in anger as Miri sidled up to him. He answered the question on her lips. "Buying your silence."
Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan watched Crittendon's reaction to her: his eyes popped out, his face turned red, he turned away quickly. Potter stared resolutely at his Scotch.
"200. Do I hear anything else," Mulcahy called nervously.
"225," Crittendon responded. The air commodore leaned over to Hogan and whispered, "You do realize, old man, we're bidding pounds, not dollars?"
A rapid calculation--that was about $1000--made Hogan understand he'd lost. He couldn't afford that much. With eyebrow raised, he gave the Englishman a slow, burning glare. "It's all yours, Rodney."
"225. Going once, going twice, gone. Sold to Air Commodore Crittendon for $225."
"225 pounds sterling, padre." The priest nearly fainted.
Crittendon counted out the cash. "Damn and blast," he muttered sharply.
"A little short, air commodore?" Potter queried quietly. "Here, allow me." He added $100 to the kitty. "That should cover it." Crittendon stammered his thanks. "Not at all. I want to hear the lady sing, too." Potter smiled at the glowering general.
Miri asked Crittendon, in a honeyed voice, "And what'll you hear first?"
Blushing furiously, he spluttered, ""Rose of England.'"
"You're such a patriotic soul, Rodney." She hummed the tune for a moment before belting, a capella, "'Rose of England, thou shalt fade not here/Proud and bright, from rolling year to year/Red shall thy petals be as rich wine untold/Shed by thy warriors who served thee alone/Rose of England, breathing England's air/Flower of liberty beyond compare/While hand and heart endure to cherish thy prime/Thou shalt blossom to the end of time!"
Crittendon enthusiastically clapped, and she turned to Potter. "Your turn, colonel. Your choice."
He thought a moment. "'Lili Marlene.'"
She laughed. "You do go back. All the way to the Great War."
Hogan wondered which language she'd sing it in. "'Underneath the lantern, by the barrack gate/Darling I remember the way you used to wait/Twas there that you whispered tenderly/That you loved me, you'd always be/My Lili of the lamplight/My own Lili Marlene.'" The middle verses she sang in German. Then Miri switched back to English. "'Resting in our billet just behind the line/Even though we're parted, your lips are close to mine/You wait where that lantern softly gleams/Your sweet face seems to haunt my dreams/My Lili of the lamplight/My own Lili Marlene/My Lili of the lamplight/My own Lili Marlene.'"
Under the general's eyes, Potter shifted uncomfortably. You got more than you bargained for, didn't you, colonel? Hogan thought smugly. That feeling dissipated rapidly as she turned to him. "Rodney has graciously allowed you the final song, but made it my choice." She started snapping her fingers and began to sing "Always True to You in My Fashion". Hogan felt all the color drain from his face while he listened to her sultry voice, "But I'm always true to you/darlin', in my fashion./Yes, I'm always true to you,/darlin', in my way."
Vamping him, she finished up beside him, "'Mr. Harris, plutocrat/wants to give my cheek a pat./If a Harris pat means a Paris hat,/then Oo-la-la./Mais je suis toujours fidèle,/darlin' in my fashion./Oui, je suis toujours fidèle,/darlin', in my way!'" She winked at him over her shoulder.
Two can play this game, my love, he thought devilishly. He took her into his arms, dipped her, and kissed her passionately for what seemed forever. When he set her back on her feet, she was breathlessly taken aback. She panted and looked at him in surprise, and he nonchalantly crossed his arms over his chest. He asked, quite conversationally, "That's what you were demanding, wasn't it?" Her mouth opened and snapped shut.
HH HH HH
Three hours later, they waited for Hogan's driver to bring the car around. Although Hogan thought it pretentious to have a driver, right now, his ankle wouldn't permit him to drive, and there was no way on God's green earth, he was letting Miri behind the wheel. He'd ridden with her before, and his fingers had covered his eyes the entire time. Chuckling softly at the memory, Hogan slipped an arm around his wife's shoulders.
"What's so amusing?" she asked.
His words came from out of nowhere. "There are better ways, Miri, of asking me to retire from the army."
Her head abruptly swung upwards. "What are you talking about, Robin? I've asked you no such thing, nor would I ever." She quickly looked away, down the dark street.
He leaned over, kissed the top of her head. "Yes, you did. About 3 1/2 hours ago. When you declared war on the other women—who never miss a chance to ride you." Hogan wasn't blind; his wife's youth, beauty, and independence didn't go over well. Miri tried to protest. "Save it. I know you've been unhappy lately. Too much outside stuff taking away from your time with Patrick."
"And you," she hiccuped, blinking back tears.
He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up. Looking her in the eyes--and even in the darkness, he could see they were brilliant with moisture--he said quietly, but adamantly, "When this tour is up, Miri, I'll put in for retirement. Twenty-two, twenty-three years is enough."
"Oh, Robin, your career. No, you can't." Miri was too shocked for coherence.
"Yeah, I can, and yeah, I'm going to." He watched the tears spill down her cheeks, ruining her mascara, one of her only concessions to cosmetics. Lipstick was the other. "It'll only get worse for you if I go for thirty. You'll only be more unhappy."
"Robin, you must have other reasons. You cannot be doing this exclusively for me."
"You're right; there are other reasons. All things being equal, though, I could endure them, make my thirty, and retire as at least a major general. But seeing that you're happy is more important to me than another star. So, as soon as possible, in goes the paperwork." He'd still do the same job, just in a civilian suit. It would get them both, but Miri especially, out of the goldfish bowl.
Miri hugged him tightly all the way home.