Emily - December 1943
Emily was furious with herself. She had revealed way too much to Nixon. Some intelligence operative she was. But he had caught her at a vulnerable moment, desperate for someone to talk to. Everything that had been building over the last couple of years was beginning to bubble out of her with nowhere for the overflow to go. Her parents were impossible to talk to about any of it. Beyond what was polite or necessary, they wouldn't talk about the baby, or about John or the impending wedding. At home, every distasteful thought was tucked neatly into a little box and put on a shelf to never be spoken of again. Then when Nixon, a man she was desperate to befriend, showed her that little bit of kindness and attention she fell for it, like an idiot. She had shown her hand and now he knew her weaknesses.
Their relationship had to be strictly professional from now on, Emily determined. No more teasing, or spiked coffees or presents. She had learned her lesson and would move forward in all her relationships with the Easy men at an arms distance; friendly but never too close.
New Years Eve night George Luz provisioned her with a beer before sitting down sloppily next to her. "You sure don't look merry and bright," he said.
Emily took a sip of the drink, "sorry, I've been in a weird mood the past few days."
"Missing home?" George asked sympathetically.
"Something like that."
The raucous men around her did nothing to lift her mood. Emily had been in a funk ever since that conversation with Welsh and Nixon the days before. Nixon had asked the question she had been too afraid to touch; let's say you weren't taken? Yes, that question had been reverberating around her head since Nixon unlocked it.
Emily hadn't heard from John recently nor did she have any hopes of hearing from him anytime soon. Wartime; that word had become her motto and her continuous justification for his new radio silence.
"Hello? Still alive in there?" George waved his hand playfully in front of her face.
She snapped back to attention and plastered a smile on her face, "Hi yeah, sorry just a little tired."
"Time to wake up! The party's only starting!" Joe Liebgott dropped into an empty chair a foot away.
"Need another drink, Emily?" Floyd Talbert asked with hope in his eyes. Clearly he didn't notice the nearly-full beer in front of her.
"I've got one, thank you," she smiled politely at the less familiar soldier, weary of his already growing reputation as a ladies man.
"Perhaps something harder?" Talbert suggested.
"First shot of the new year?" Frank Perconte approached their little group.
"Yeah!" Liebgott enthused, "let's do it!"
"Well, won't be my first," George muttered inaudibly.
Emily remained quiet in hopes of being forgotten about. "Emily! You up for it?" Perconte woefully included her.
"Oh I don't know," Emily said hesitantly.
"Oh come on," George urged her, "I'll treat you to a sherry to wash it down!"
"The last thing I need is more alcohol after a shot of whiskey," Emily giggled.
"Sherry is basically juice," Perconte said.
"Come on, Em," George whined, "you've barely had anything to drink!"
"Fine, but I want it noted that this is coercion!" Emily playfully shook her finger at him.
"Noted, for the record," George helped her out of her seat, grinning in delight. Their group made their way up to the bar; Emily festively dressed in her red dress surrounded by eager soldiers crisply uniformed in olive.
Liebgott held five fingers up to the bartender. The men continued to joke and chat as they waited for their liquor to be poured. Emily found a dryish spot on the bar to rest her elbows while she waited. At that moment, the rogue figure of Lewis Nixon appeared beside her.
"Bumming it with the enlisted men?" Nixon leaned down not-so-smoothly on the bar next to her.
"Those are your men you're referring to," Emily responded curtly.
"Technically, they're not my men. I'm not their commanding officer."
"Always so technical," Emily refused to look at him.
"Nice dress," Nixon looked her up and down appreciatively. Emily blushed.
Nixon called the bartender to him after Emily and her friends' shots had been delivered.
"What should we toast to?" Talbert asked as they all raised their glasses.
"1944 and currahee!" George proclaimed.
"Currahee!" The men repeated his cry. Emily threw back the shot of whiskey with a great deal of effort. When she turned to place the empty glass back on the bar Nixon was still there, a double in his hand.
"Better than the last time?" he cocked an eyebrow. Despite her flush, Emily still managed to shoot him a dirty look. The memory of her pathetic state that night he had caught her crying flashed in her mind.
Emily didn't even bother to respond to him, which was a bad idea. It was always a bad idea to ignore a man with an ego like that. He followed her and her group over to their table. His words were sloppy when he said, "so gentlemen, who's willing to play me in darts?"
George Luz and the others looked at Nixon in surprise. Nixon wasn't one to play darts with enlisted men. Unsure of what to say, the men remained silent but looked to Emily for direction. Her face flushed red again with the uncomfortable sensation that as a general staff member she was perceived to have some responsibility in regard to Nixon.
"Come on men, don't be shy. I haven't spent nearly the same amount of time at the rifle range as you all, surely one of you's a better shot. It's just a game of darts!" Nixon stumbled ferociously over his words. George Luz's warm brown eyes caught Emily's pointedly.
"Lewis!" Emily hissed. Grabbing him by the arm, she pulled him into a corner of the bar, "stop making a fool of yourself. This is so out of character."
"You can't speak to me that way, I'm your superior officer," Nixon retorted impotently.
"God," Emily cursed, "I've never seen you so drunk." He reeked of whiskey and was noticeably off balanced.
"Well maybe you would have but you don't socialize with the officers anymore, except for Harry of course," Nixon sneered.
"You're right, Captain," Emily spat, "it's not appropriate for someone of your rank to socialize with someone like me." Emily stepped past him, fury and hurt burned red hot inside of her. He was an embarrassment of a man; an arrogant, snobbish, drunk. What infuriated her more was how much his words stung. Why did she even care about an opinion like his? She should have been glad that he was making it so easy to distance herself from him. That's what she wanted right, to be strictly professional? Emily had no business in saving him from his inebriated self.
"Em, you okay?" George called after her with concern as she stormed past.
"I'm leaving," she said in passing.
"Want an escort home-,"
"No, I'm fine, George," she cut him off. She winced internally, knowing that her voice had been harsh, but she continued forward. By the time she collected her coat and made it to the door her head was spinning, from the alcohol or the emotion she wasn't sure. The cold air only seemed to disorient her body more. The streets were lit up more than usual for the holidays but Emily still found herself stumbling slightly in the dark. She was so blinded by angry confusion that she barely noticed the red tip of a cigarette burning in the nearby alleyway.
"You alright ma'am?" a deep, husky voice startled her. She whirled around in surprise just as a broad figure stepped out of the shadows.
"Oh, Joe," Emily exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Emily? I didn't recognize you," Joe Toye threw his cigarette on the ground, grinding it to ash between his boot and the gravel. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Emily said, "just feeling a bit sick."
"You gonna boot?" Joe's nose wrinkled in disgust.
"No," she laughed, "I'm fine, just need some fresh air and to go to bed. All the noise was giving me a headache."
"I understand that," Joe heaved a sigh.
Emily cocked her head at him, "are you okay, Joe?"
Joe shrugged, "yeah, just wanted to escape the noise."
"I understand," Emily smiled at him. There was an unexpected gentleness to Joe Toye that she found endearing. They hadn't only interacted on a few occasions, and always in a group setting, but Emily felt a kindred spirit with him.
"You want me to walk you back?" Joe gestured down the road with his shoulder.
Emily wanted to decline but she looked down the dark road and decided it would be smart to accept his escort. Who could guess how many drunken soldiers were milling about this night. "Sure. I would appreciate that, thank you Joe."
"It'll be good to walk," Joe stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. They made their way down the gravel road in a comfortable silence. The sky was so black and seemed to weigh down on them, wrapping them in a protective blanket. As they moved further and further away from town the only sounds became the crunch of the earth beneath their feet and the occasional rustle of wild life.
"You turning in for the night?" Emily asked when they reached the steps of the HQ manor house.
Joe looked up at the dark sky as if searching it for answers, "maybe, might just walk back too."
Emily studied him thoughtfully. There was something melancholic about Joe, something intriguing. "Alright, Joe. Well hey, thank you, and merry Christmas!"
"Anytime," Joe rumbled in that husky voice of his, "merry Christmas." Then he disappeared back into the darkness.
