14
You got some sun this afternoon,” Jake observed listlessly as Callie straightened his tie. He was wearing a dark civilian suit. “You look …” He kissed her forehead.
She cocked her head. “Do you really want to go to dinner this evening? You don’t seem to be in the mood.”
“I don’t get to take you out very often. If we didn’t go, I’d kick myself when I was at sea for missing this opportunity.”
She searched his face. Satisfied, she said lightly, “You be nice to Judith this evening.”
“Hey, you know me. I’m charm personified. By the way, I asked one of the young bachelors from the ship to join us for dinner.” Jake glanced at his watch. “He should be in the lobby now.”
Callie eyed him obliquely in the mirror as she checked her lipstick. “I thought you found Judith abrasive when you met her in Tangiers.”
“Well, she was probably under a lot of pressure. You said she is very nice. And this kid I invited is a great guy. Maybe they’ll like each other.”
“Abrasive?”
“All business. She wanted me to comment on things I’m not qualified to comment on and she wasn’t taking no for an answer. It was like she was out to write a nasty article about prison camps and had stopped by our stalag for some material.”
“She has to do her job.” Callie collected her purse and stepped into the hallway. “What’s the bachelor’s name?”
“Toad Tarkington.” Jake turned off the lights and checked that the door would lock behind them.
“That’s odd. How did he get a nickname like Toad?”
Jake pulled the door shut with a bang. “He has warts.”
“You’ve met my husband, Judith?” Callie smiled.
“Oh yes. Captain Grafton.”
Jake was surprised at the firmness of her handshake. “Good-taseeya again,” he muttered just as Toad came out of the bar with a drink in his hand. “Here comes our other dinner guest. Lieutenant Tarkington, this is my wife, Callie, and you may remember Judith Farrell.”
“Mrs. Grafton.” Tarkington shook Callie’s hand perfunctorily, then nodded at Farrell. “Hello.”
He received a polite nod and a cool appraisal from Judith Farrell.
“Well, folks,” Jake said. “Let’s go get some dinner.” He took Callie’s arm and led them toward the elevators. There was a small crowd waiting for the express elevator to the restaurant on the top floor of the building. The door opened and the people in front of them climbed aboard. There was obviously room for two more, but not for four.
“You go ahead,” Judith urged Jake and Callie. “We’ll catch the next one.” Since a smiling Japanese tourist was holding the door open, Jake led Callie through the door, nodding at the man.
Judith stood silently beside Toad, not looking at him. He kept his gaze focused on the floor lights above the polished metal elevator doors. They waited. Several minutes later the doors opened again. They were the only passengers this time.
On the way up, Judith said, “Nice that you could join us this evening.”
“Captain Grafton asked me to,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I suppose he’s worried that I might ask too many questions. And Callie is such a nice person. I wonder what she sees in him?”
“I’ll have you know,” Toad shot back heatedly, “that the CAG is one of the finest naval officers I have ever met. He’s a gentleman in every sense of the word. He’s also a genius with an airplane. He’s more than capable of handling a twit reporter who—”
“I’ll quote you on that,” she said lightly as the door opened, revealing Jake and Callie standing there waiting for them. Judith grinned broadly at the Graftons and murmured to Toad as she stepped past, “Buy a paper.”
Toad was still gaping at her back when the elevator door started to close. He elbowed it open again, his face twisted with fury. No one noticed. Jake Grafton and the ladies were already following the maitre d’. The women giggled together as they proceeded toward a table in the corner with a view of the harbor, and he caught Judith Farrell glancing at his reflection in the windows that lined the wall. Only then did it dawn on Toad Tarkington that he had just been had.
“Oh, so you’re a linguist?” Judith said, looking at Callie. The two women had been carrying the conversation. Judith had been gently probing Callie about her life without her sailor husband while Toad sipped his wine and poked his fork morosely at the garbanzo beans in his salad. Jake Grafton seemed content to listen, observe, and nibble, speaking only when spoken to. Whenever Callie spoke, however, her husband listened attentively, and whenever she smiled or laughed, his face relaxed into a grin.
“Yes,” Callie said, her eyes seeking Jake. “I’ve taught in several colleges near where Jake’s been stationed, and now I’m translating for a government agency in Washington. It’s temporary, but with Jake’s career that’s the way it has to be.”
“Is that fair?” Judith asked, looking at Jake, who was gazing contemplatively at his wife. “Captain?” she added.
“What?” Jake said, finally realizing that he had been addressed.
Judith repeated the question and noticed that Callie’s hand was now on top of her husband’s.
“Probably not,” Jake said. “I never thought so. But that’s the way Callie wanted it.” He shrugged, and turned his hand over and opened it. He smiled at Callie. Their hands remained together.
Judith Farrell grinned broadly and sat back comfortably in her chair. She even found a smile for Toad. Then the waiter brought their dinner.
Over dessert the conversation somehow turned to the political situation in the Mediterranean. “Captain,” Judith said, “what will the president do about the kidnappings in Lebanon? Will he use the navy?”
“Is this off the record, or on?”
“Background. Not for attribution.”
“Nope. If you want background, go to Washington, They pay flacks to give reporters background. I don’t want you to even hint in print that you have ever heard of Jake Grafton, or even know who he is.”
“Jake,” said Callie. “She’s just doing her job.”
“So am I.”
“Okay. Off the record. A never-said-it noninterview.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what the president or anyone else in government will do,” Jake said and sipped his coffee.
Toad chuckled, then swallowed it when Judith glanced at him.
“Do you know anything about the terrorist boat incident several weeks ago?”
“You mean the one where the boat tried to attack the task group off Lebanon?”
“Yes.”
“I know about it.”
“What can you tell me about it?”
“Judith, I think you’re being coy. You know very well I flew that mission and later answered questions at a press conference. You’ve undoubtedly read some of the stories. You should have been at the press conference. We missed you.”
“Nothing else to say? Is that it?”
“I’m not going to sit at the dinner table and tell war stories. That’s a bad habit old men fall into. Ask me some questions about something I am qualified to comment on, off the record.” The waiter delivered the check and Jake palmed it.
“I’ll help with that,” Judith said and reached for her purse.
“My treat,” Jake said.
“We should go dutch. I can pay my way.”
