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“Not tonight. Lieutenant Salvatore has duty.”
The man started pulling out desk drawers, then slamming them shut. “Whiskey and women then, sir?”
“Also not happening tonight.” Thane leaned back a little more in his chair and tucked his hands behind his head. “Sleep. Nothing but sweet sleep.”
His platoon sergeant spared him a quick glance. “You pulled another thirty-six hours, sir?”
An affirmative grunt was enough of an answer.
Without further comment, Sergeant First Class Lloyd sat in the desk chair and started testing its tilt and the height of its armrests.
“What are you doing?” Thane finally asked. “You planning on buying that chair after this test ride?”
“No, sir. Just seeing if I should permanently borrow it before the new platoon leader arrives.”
Thane sat up, boots hitting the floor. “Don’t get my hopes up, Sergeant First Class. Is there a new platoon leader coming in?”
“Yes, sir. In-processing on post.”
“About damn time.” Thane didn’t like the look on the sergeant’s face, though. “Let’s hear it. I can tell you got more intel.”
“Brand-new second lieutenant, fresh out of Leonard Wood.”
Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, was the home of the Military Police Corps. All new second lieutenants had to go through the four months of BOLC, Basic Officer Leadership Course, there. If that was all his platoon sergeant had on the new guy, it hardly counted as intel.
Thane leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head once more. “It’s that time of year. The college boys all graduate in May and complete BOLC in the fall. It would be too much to hope for to get someone with experience. It’s butter bar season.”
The term butter bar referred to the yellow color of the single bar that denoted the rank of second lieutenant. As a first lieutenant, Thane’s rank insignia was a black bar on the camouflaged ACUs he wore almost every day, or a silver bar on the dress uniform.
“Sergeant First Class Ernesto has broken in his fair share of lieutenants,” Thane said. “I’m sure he’ll handle this one. I just want someone to throw into the duty officer rotation. A butter bar will work.”
Sergeant First Class Ernesto was the platoon sergeant for fourth platoon. He’d been running fourth platoon without a platoon leader for three months, attending all the first sergeant’s meetings for NCOs and then the commander’s meetings for the platoon leaders, as well. Thane would bet money that fourth platoon’s sergeant felt the same way he did. Even a wet-behind-the-ears butter bar would be better than nothing.
“Well, sir, you’ll get to update that duty roster soon enough. The new LT already had one ride-along. A couple more ride-alongs this weekend, and you can add that name to your schedule.”
“Do you have a name yet?”
“Second Lieutenant Michaels. I’ll be right back.” Lloyd rolled the office chair out the door. Each office in the headquarters building held two desks. While fourth platoon had no lieutenant, Lloyd had been using the desk next to Ernesto, two NCOs doing their NCO thing, but the new platoon leader would be in Ernesto’s office now. Thane would have to get used to having his own platoon sergeant sharing this room again.
He picked up his cell phone and unlocked the screen. Pink words awaited him. Something came up, and I won’t be able to be by the phone tonight. There goes our Star Trek marathon. I’m sorry. The best-laid plans of mice and men...
They’d planned to write each other while watching the same channel tonight—so he knew Ballerina Baby lived in the United States somewhere and got the sci-fi channel on cable—but it looked like his evening was suddenly free. And more boring. The disappointment was sharp, but he had to play it cool. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He couldn’t demand to know why she was changing her plans, and he shouldn’t demand it. If Ballerina said she couldn’t make it, he believed her. Thane frowned. He also wasn’t sure who’d said the mice and men line.
Shakespeare? That was right nine times out of ten.
Gotcha. Robbie Burns. You’re not a fan of Scottish poetry?
Damn. She’d gotten him last week with Burns, raving about how she loved her new sofa that was the color of a red, red rose. No, but I’m a fan of Star Trek and I’m a fan of you. Now I only get one of those two things tonight.
His platoon sergeant came back in, pushing a chair with squeaky wheels ahead of himself. Thane turned his phone screen off. With all the pink and blue letters, it practically looked like a baby announcement. Lloyd would have a field day with that.
Thane stood up. “I’ll help you move the rest of your stuff. You prefer the squeaky wheels, huh?”
“No, sir. That’s why I just upgraded. I’m going to leave this chair here.”
“You’re not moving back in?”
Lloyd had that grin on his face again, the one Thane didn’t trust. “Well, sir, maybe an experienced lieutenant like yourself ought to show the new lieutenant the ropes. Maybe we should keep one office NCOs, one office lieutenants.”
“No. No way. You’re not sticking me with some fresh college kid. He’s Ernesto’s problem to deal with, not mine. That’s what a platoon sergeant is for, to keep the rookie LT out of trouble.”
Lloyd only grinned wider. “It’s not my idea. Seems like the CO thinks you’d be the best man for the job. He told the first sergeant who he wants in each office. He wants you to babysit Lieutenant Michaels. I mean, train Lieutenant Michaels.”
Thane cursed and rubbed his hand over his jaw and its five o’clock shadow, suddenly feeling each one of the thirty-six hours he’d been working. He’d wanted a fourth platoon leader to come in to lighten his work routine, but he hadn’t wanted that new platoon leader to impact his daily routine this much. “That explains the grin on your face. I don’t suppose there’s any chance this lieutenant is OCS?”
OCS stood for Officer Candidate School. It was the quickest way for an enlisted soldier who already had a college degree to become an officer. Thane had only had a high school diploma when he’d enlisted, so he’d applied for an ROTC scholarship. After he’d served two years as an enlisted man, the army had changed his rank from corporal to ROTC cadet and sent him to four years of college on the army’s dime. His prior two years as an infantry grunt made him a little older than most first lieutenants. He thought it made him a little wiser as well, since most ROTC grads were entering the army for the first time. If this butter bar was coming to them from OCS instead of ROTC, then he’d have some prior service, and he wouldn’t be as much of a rookie. But Lloyd was still smiling. Not good.
“No, sir. Not OCS. Not ROTC, either. The word is that Lieutenant Michaels is fresh out of West Point.”
“Are you kidding me?” The third way to become an officer was by attending the United States Military Academy at West Point, one of the country’s oldest and most elite schools. Elite meant there weren’t very many West Pointers in the army in general. Thane had worked with several, of course, and he couldn’t honestly say he’d ever had a problem with a West Point graduate, but anything elite was automatically met with suspicion by everyone else, including him.
“Monday morning, sir, you get to share all your special secret lieutenant-y wisdom with a brand-new West Pointer. I’ll be over in Ernesto’s office if you need me.”
“You’re so helpful.”
“You’ve been up since yesterday morning, sir. The CO hasn’t. You should go home now.” But as Lloyd left the office, he stopped and turned around. “Oh, and one more thing. Your new butter bar West Pointer office buddy? Word is that Lieutenant Michaels is a girl. See you Monday, Boss.”
* * *
I wish I could sleep another four hours, but I’m burning too much daylight as is.
Thane glanced at the pink words as he poured raw scrambled eggs into a cast-iron skillet. Ballerina was going to have to dig deeper than that if she was going to stump him today. He’d slept until noon. The duty schedule had finally coincided with the right days on the calendar, and Thane had a whopping forty-eight hours off. He’d left the office Friday evening and didn’t have to be anywhere until he took over at the police station on Sunday evening.
He typed on his phone with one finger while he kept his Saturday morning eggs moving around with the spatula in his other hand. John Wayne. (Too easy. Really.) Why so tired?
Late night.
His flash of jealousy wasn’t easy to laugh off. A single woman out late on a Friday night? Thane knew, somehow, that Ballerina would have no shortage of interested men around her. He had no idea what she looked like, but she was so full of life, so fun and quirky, men must find her as attractive in real life as he found her online. She must laugh and smile a lot with her real friends; there was nothing more attractive. Or maybe she was shy, making intelligent wisecracks under her breath only to the one friend standing next to her. Also attractive.
This old app had no photo features. It didn’t matter what she looked like, anyway. She was attractive to him in a way that went beyond blonde, brunette or redhead. Not only did it not matter, it would never matter. Other men would compete to get her smiles and hugs. He had no chance of being one of those men, the one who would pursue her until he was her favorite out of them all, until he was the only man she wanted to be with.
He should be satisfied that he was the man who got her thoughts and words, at least for now. When she found someone to love, he wouldn’t even have that. Thane grabbed a fork and started eating from the skillet, standing up. Jealousy over a pen pal was stupid and he knew it. But...
She hadn’t been able to chat with him last night, because she’d gone out somewhere.
He stabbed the eggs a little viciously. All right, so Ballerina had a life. He could keep this in perspective. She’d said something last night about working off that bag of tater tots she’d eaten. Maybe she’d had a rehearsal or even a performance. If she wasn’t a ballerina, he still suspected she was involved with dance, maybe a dance instructor, or a choreographer. Like him, she often mentioned going to work out or being tired from a vaguely described workout.
He shoveled in more eggs and began to type.Out late for work or play?
There was a bit of a pause before she answered. Is this a trick question to see if I’ll give you a clue about what I do for a living? Do I work at night?
Busted. Of course it was.
Of course not. How about this—did you enjoy your late night or were you gutting it out?
I loved it. I’m a natural night owl. I wish more of the world was. Even as a little kid, I hated going to bed for school. Kindergarten is misery for night owlets. Owlings. Whatever the term is. Why couldn’t school have been from 8pm to 2am, instead of 8am to 2pm?
He put down the fork to type with two thumbs.You should’ve been a vampire. Do they have school-aged vampires? A kindergarten full of little ankle biters—literally, biters—who want school to start at 8 at night.
That doesn’t seem right, she answered.I think you have to be a grown-up and choose to become a vampire. I don’t think I would, though. I feel isolated enough already. If I became a vampire, I’d be so sad, watching everyone I know going to bed and knowing by the time they woke up, I’d be done for the day. I’ll just have to stay a human night owl. (Is that an oxymoron? A human owl?) I don’t have many night owl friends, though. In fact, you’re the only one I can chat with at 3 in the morning. And because I know how to follow the ground rules, I’m not going to ask why you’re sometimes awake at 3.
I’m a vampire.
Ha ha. I’m just glad that you’re a night owl, too. You really are the perfect pen pal for me.
Thane finished his eggs and left the iron skillet to cool. At least one woman out there thought he was perfect because of his crazy military schedule, not despite it. His last girlfriend, a civilian he still ran into too often in the small world of an army town, had pouted every night and weekend that he had to work. Pouting wasn’t as cute as it sounded.
Do you know the longest amount of time I’ve gone without talking to you? Ten days. And by talking, I mean writing to you in hot-pink letters, of course. Stupid app. It’s so cliché, pink ink for girls and blue ink for boys.
I know. I’m so used to it now, I get startled when I type anywhere else and the words are black instead of blue.
I love this app, though, because it made us pen pals. I enjoy talking with you as much as with any friend I’ve ever had.
Thane smiled down at the phone screen. After a long pause, more pink appeared.
Do you think that’s normal?
He stopped smiling. The answer, of course, was no. It wasn’t normal. He took the phone out to his balcony, all four feet by two feet of concrete perch, three stories above the earth, and looked down to the complex’s central swimming pool. Management had posted signs by the mailboxes that there would be a party today with free food. That party had started without him.
He didn’t care. There was no one down there he’d rather be talking with. If it isn’t normal, then we’re both abnormal. It’s easy to talk to you.
Agreed. Real people are hard.
I’m real, he wanted to write. But he didn’t.
Do you have a close friend in real life? she asked.
Define friend.
I think that means no. If you had a close friend, you’d just say yes. You wouldn’t ask me what a close friend is.
She had him there.
But I think you’re normal...for a blue ink person. I read somewhere that the majority of married women will say their female friends are their best friends, when asked. But the majority of men will say their wife is their best friend. I remember that because I thought it was sad that there are apparently a lot of husbands out there who think their wife is their best friend, but she prefers a female buddy. Are you really best friends with someone if that person doesn’t think you are their best friend, too? It’s too much like unrequited love.
Who was his closest friend? His platoon sergeant came to mind immediately. They worked together every day, aiming for the same goals. They relied on one another. But Sergeant First Class Lloyd was not someone who would catch a famous quote in conversation—or who would laugh about it if he did. Heck, the platoon sergeant couldn’t even call Thane by his first name. Thane was addressed as Lieutenant Carter or Sir. Sometimes LT, the abbreviation of lieutenant, or, if they were being really casual, Boss. That was it.
His company commander was another good man. More than a boss in the civilian sense of the word, but not a buddy. They shared some laughs, they were on the same page when it came to training and discipline, and they’d spent one Sunday in the field huddled over the same radio to get the playoff scores, because they cheered for the same NFL team. But the company commander was always the commander, with all the legal authority and responsibility that the position entailed. Thane was always Lieutenant Carter, no matter how many whiskeys they’d downed during officer-only dining-in events in the brigade.
Thane was pretty sure Ballerina Baby would expect him to call a close friend by his first name, at a minimum.
The only people at work who didn’t call him Lieutenant Carter were the other two platoon leaders. They were good guys. One was married, one was not. The married guy’s wife was named... Cecilia? Serena? Something with an s sound. If you couldn’t name a friend’s wife, he probably wouldn’t qualify as a close friend in Ballerina’s book. The other platoon leader was from Phoenix. Thane felt like he should get points for knowing that...okay, not a close friend. A friend, though. More than an acquaintance.
Laughter from the pool floated up to his balcony. Maybe he ought to care more that he didn’t have a friend at his own apartment complex.
He tried to put the ball back in Ballerina’s court. Do you have a real friend in real life?
Then he waited. She’d probably say yes. Jealousy reared its ugly green head again, and in that moment, he realized how selfish that was. His life didn’t allow him to make friends in a normal way. Military rules didn’t allow him to date any woman who interested him. Military schedules were demanding. Did he wish the same for Ballerina Baby? Just because he felt isolated, just because he felt lonely among the very same people whom he would willingly fight beside, that was no reason for him to wish the same for her. He wanted her to have it better.
Her reply was a question. You’re real, aren’t you, Drummer?
Poor Ballerina. She was the same as he, sharing all her emotions with a stranger through an app. It filled a need, for certain, but even she didn’t call him by his first name. No one called him by name.
Whose fault was that?
Thane looked at the pool party with new eyes. If he wanted someone in real life who would call him by name, then he should do something about it. He could start by putting on his board shorts and flip-flops, going down there and telling people his real name. “Hello, I’m Thane.” And that would be followed by...
What? Awkward small talk. He and Ballerina had moved past that quickly, months ago. He wasn’t the kind of guy who told jokes, but Ballerina answered his attempts at humor with her little pink Ha. That wouldn’t be happening in the group down there, people who were laughing between the barbecue grill and the keg of beer.
Thane Carter in apartment 601 left his balcony and shut the door against the Texas heat and the party noise.
I’m real, Baby, and I’m here for you.
* * *
Chloe Michaels in apartment 401 wriggled into a sitting position on the floor of her new living room, sitting up with her back against a moving box. She never took her eyes off her laptop screen.
I’m real, Baby, and I’m here for you.
She slid right down to the carpet again. Jeez. The most romantic words she ever heard weren’t spoken, but typed.
Drummer was the perfect man, and she was so glad to have him in her life. Normal or abnormal, she couldn’t help but spin fantasies about a man who was so open with her. Her latest was that he might be a billionaire, for example, so determined to find out who she was and where she lived that he’d buy the company that ran this pen pal app. Then he’d find her when she wasn’t expecting it. He’d stride up to her and say, “Hello, I’m Drummer. I wanted to meet you, touch you, kiss you and take you away from all this.”
Of course, even a billionaire couldn’t tell the US Army they didn’t own her for the next five years. She would stay a lieutenant no matter whom she met and fell in love with. Frankly, she wouldn’t want to go anywhere. She’d been sworn into the army as a new cadet just two weeks after she’d graduated from high school, and she’d been training ever since to be an officer. She wanted to do what she’d been trained to do.
She looked up from her laptop. Through her sliding glass door, past the edge of her little concrete balcony, she could see the swimming pool in the center of the complex. It was crowded. There’d been a flyer posted by the mailboxes about free burgers at the pool today. It looked like a full-on party to her.
This was where she lived now, and even if a billionaire named Different Drummer went to extremes to find her and then declared his undying love for her, she would not only stay a lieutenant, she would continue to be stationed right here in Texas. For years.
She ought to make friends here.
Drummer’s icon flashed, indicating he was typing. Her heart did a little happy flip. They could type back and forth like this for an hour or two or more. They’d done just that many times.
Ok, Miss John Wayne, you said you were burning daylight. Big plans?
Chloe looked out to the pool. She had no doubt she was typing to a real person, but he wasn’t a billionaire and he couldn’t come sweep her off her feet.
I’ve been invited to a party. I want to take a nap, but I think I should go.
