Grand Republic Conference

a group of teens get into a LOT of trouble at a state conference. Fair warning: this one's a little longer than most, but it hadto be a single story. Rated for mild violence, mild sexual content.

Grand Republic Conference

 

            The bright, May sunshine beamed down warmly on the tightly-packed van, as it rolled leisurely up the country highway, following the curving floor of the long valley between the high, rolling, Green Mountains.  The blue sky was flecked with wisps if fleecy, white clouds, which did nothing to block the glorious light on this Friday afternoon.

            “Settle down,” Lt. Col. David Mason warned from behind the wheel, his usually-soft, gravelly voice sharpened, as he concentrated on the road.  Lt. Col. Mason was a strong, older man.  His shiny, bald dome, generously bordered by a fringe of thick, straight, iron-gray hair, was hidden by the blue service cap that matched the dress uniform he wore.  A neatly-trimmed mustache fringed his upper lip, beneath a pair of sapphire eyes that could be needle-sharp or sparkling like sunshine on clear water.  Despite the heat of the afternoon, he wore his dark blue service jacket, resplendent with ribbons and badges, over his crisp, sky-blue shirt and dark blue tie.  A pair of silver maple leaves on the epaulettes of his jacket proclaimed his high rank.

            Beside him, Cpt. George Pettit, similarly attired, save for rather fewer ribbons, and a pair of silver bars atop each shoulder, turned in his seat.  “At ease!” he barked.  “Pete…,” he added warningly, fixing his 13-year-old son with his bright, hazel gaze.  Like Mason, Cpt. Pettit had a neatly-trimmed mustache, but his was gingery-brown, matching the thick waves that covered his head beneath his service cap.  His eyes were framed by a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.

            In the second back seat of the van, between 15-year old Paul Koenig and 16-year-old Jeremy Chambers, Pete Pettit was abruptly silent at his father’s use of his name.  He squirmed, nudging the other boys to silence.  In the first back seat, 20-year old Scott Mason’s glare matched Pettit’s, and echoed the disapproval in his father’s voice, as he looked over his shoulder at the three younger boys.  Beside him, 16-year old Johnny Koenig looked at his younger brother in disgust, his upper lip dramatically curled.  Tucked in the corner of the front seat, I sat behind Mason, the only girl in the van, and the only one Pettit wasn’t glaring at, since I’d been keeping out of the boisterous talk of my male companions, watching everything with my large, clear, moss-green eyes.

            I was excited to be going to my first State Conference as an Air Cadet.  I’d been a cadet for almost a year, and I’d worked hard to earn the right to attend this annual event.  My dark brown hair was cut into a very short, cute, pixie style, which allowed the tiny, gold balls in my earlobes to shimmer in the light; a round, dark blue beret, puffed out so that it was familiarly called a “blueberry,” was perched atop my head, cocked to one side, so that the shiny, tri-colored badge of the Air Cadets rested neatly above my left eye.  Like the officers in the front seat, I wore my service uniform, but without the service jacket; my colorful array of ribbons and shiny badges was affixed to the breast of my sky blue shirt, with a dark blue, triangular tab pointing down between the rounded ends of my Peter Pan collar, in lieu of a tie.  I sat carefully, with my knees together, so the dark blue skirt, which fell just an inch below my knees when I stood, wouldn’t ride too far up my lap, over my “nude” pantyhose, and I kept my feet, encased in spit-shined, black, leather Oxfords, firmly planted on the floor of the van, beside my matching, black, leather shoulder bag.  I was 17.

            The five boys were similarly dressed, except that they wore dark blue trousers and black socks, and their pointed, sky blue shirt collars were open at the top button, revealing a curve of snowy-white t-shirt at each throat.  Atop their regulation haircuts, each wore a long, rectangular flight cap, cocked to the side like my beret, and each wearing the tri-colored badge that marked us all as cadets; the adult members of the Air Cadets wore shiny, silver badges on their headgear.  Scott, the eldest, would cease to be a cadet on his next birthday.  He was tall and strongly-built, with thick, straight, sandy hair, and ice-blue eyes.  Johnny was tall, thin, and wiry, with heavy, black curls, and a beaky nose protruding between his amber eyes, making him look rather like a bird of prey.  The impression was increased by the long, thin neck that rose up out of his collar, on which his head swiveled and bobbed like a bird on the hunt.  His brother, Paul, had Johnny’s height, but tended to hunch his shoulders, and stoop a bit; his coloring couldn’t have been less like Johnny’s, as Paul had a pasty complexion, peppered with a constant array of red pimples, and his pale, grey eyes glinted out from beneath bangs of whitey-yellow candy-floss hair.  Jeremy didn’t have the height of the other boys, but I thought he was the cutest of the group.  He was about three inches taller than she was, and well-built, without being too bulky.  His chestnut hair was straight, and he wore it very short on the sides, but with a bit of longer hair in wispy bangs across his forehead.  His bright, hazel eyes tended more toward brown, but with gold and amber flecks.  He had high cheekbones, a strong chin, and a perfectly proportioned nose.  Pete, the youngest of the boys, would look like his father one day, with the same ginger-brown hair and warm, hazel eyes; he still had the round, cherubic face of childhood, but the glint of mischief in his eyes told that he was no angel.

            The back of the van and the third bench seat were crammed with suitcases, garment bags, briefcases, and the six cadets’ field packs.  There was barely a space, carefully preserved during the packing, for Mason to see the road behind them in the rear-view mirror.

            “Sorry, Dad,” Pete said sulkily.

            “Sorry, Sir,” Scott promptly corrected.

            Pete’s eyes flashed, but he echoed, “Sorry, Sir.”

            Pettit nodded his satisfaction, and returned to the view out the front windshield.

            I understood why the boys, usually very serious in their roles as Air Cadets, were rowdier than usual today.  We’d been given a half day at school, so we could meet the van at our headquarters building at noon.  It had taken a while to jig-saw piece all of the baggage into the back, and then we’d needed to change out of our ordinary school clothes into our uniforms.  I’d been given the use of the small restroom, while the five boys had all changed at once in the back office, which was the only place large enough that had a door.  Getting out of school early was a treat in itself, but the State Conference was an exciting event.  True, most of Saturday would be spent in a series of classes, but there was a banquet and reception scheduled for Saturday night, followed by a cadet party.  Friday night was free time for the cadets; the adults had a reception after dinner, and there’d be several hospitality suites afterward.  There was one hospitality suite for cadets, strictly non-alcoholic, but it’d only be open until ten, when we all were required to go to our rooms for the night.

“Di, you’re stayin’ with Carla Krispe, aren’tchu?” Mason asked, taking the stem of the fragrantly sweet pipe from between his lips.

“Yessir,” I replied.  “I’m s’posta be in with her, Sarah, an’ Natalie.”

“Good,” he said around the pipe, which he’d returned to his lips in order to keep both hands on the wheel.

“D’ya have those reports?” Pettit asked, glancing at me over his left shoulder.

“Yessir,” I replied again, leaning forward to retrieve a large, brown, battered, hard-sided, leather briefcase, with brass clasps and a brass plate engraved with my last name �" my father’s, actually, as it was once his �" from between the two front seats.  Balancing it on my lap, I snapped open the two clasps, snick, snick, and raised the lid.  A brass bar on each side noiselessly locked the lid open at 90 degrees.  Inside, I had everything I needed to use the case as a travelling office, except the typewriter, which stood in its tan, tweed-covered, metal case, in the space next to where my briefcase had been.  In the pockets inside the lid, manila folders held a variety of commonly-needed forms, several paper-bound reference manuals, a supply of carbon paper, and the requested reports.  I carefully checked them against a hand-written checklist that had come down from the Admin Office at the state capital.

“Admin summ’ry, pers’nel report, finance, testing, supply, public affairs, mission summ’ry.”  I looked up, my face radiant.  “Yessir, ev’rything Colonel Hines asked for.”

“Excellent!” Pettit replied, smiling approvingly.

“Fairbanks, you got those notes fer my presentation?” Scott asked, leaning across Johnny to peer at the hand-written tabs on my folders.

“Yessir,” I replied, selecting a folder, and handing it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the folder.  He sat back in his seat, opened the folder, and started studying the notes I’d typed up for him.  As a high-ranking cadet officer, he had to teach one of the afternoon classes on Saturday.  Almost immediately, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and it was clear that his entire world was reduced to the papers in the folder.

“Chambers,” Johnny said, glancing behind me.  “Let’s have a cadence.”

Jeremy smiled, and began in a sing-song voice, “Everywhere we go �" oh.”

He paused, and, except for Scott, we echoed back, in the same sing-song, “Everywhere we go �" oh.”

“People wanna know �" oh,” Jeremy sang, and we echoed him. 

“Who we are,” he sang next.  The cadence continued, line by line, with Jeremy singing first, and Johnny, Paul, Pete, and me responding:

Where we come from,

So we tell them,

We are the Air Force,

Mighty, mighty Air Force!

We’re not the Army,

The backpacking Army,

We’re not the Navy,

The deck swabbing Navy,

We’re not Marine Corps,

The jar head Marine Corps,

We are the Air Force,

Mighty, mighty Air Force!

            In the front seat, Pettit’s rich, baritone voice joined in on the two final lines.

            “Keep it down,” Scott muttered into his folder, but he waited until the entire cadence was finished.

            “Yessir, we chorused in exaggeratedly hushed voices.  Every face in the van, even Scott’s, beamed with camaraderie and organizational pride.

I rechecked my files, and then closed the briefcase; I stowed it back in its space beside Mason’s seat.  Pettit and I exchanged a look that confirmed that, as far as admin was concerned, everything was in good order.

The entire drive took about two and a half hours.  Although we were on some of the more important highways, we didn’t take the Interstate, on the far side of the mountains, to the east.  Our route passed through picturesque towns and villages, with beautifully preserved and maintained Victorian and Georgian houses and public buildings, quaint shops and country stores and churches with high steeples and colorful windows. They passed neatly manicured village greens, with lacy, white bandstand gazebos, bordered by brightly blooming gardens of spring flowers.  We passed picture-postcard dairy farms, with large, white farm houses, larger, red, hip-roofed barns, tall grain silos, and herds of brown or black0and-white cows grazing behind straight, well-maintained fences of barbed wire, just along the grassy shoulders of the road.  We passed through lushly wooded areas, the oaks, maples, tamaracks, and birches resplendent in their bright, green, spring foliage, against the dark green sentinel pines and spruces, with underbrush of honeysuckle, serviceberries, junipers, bittersweet, and woodbine, many of the tangled branches sporting small, humble blossoms, in preparation of the profusion of berries that would feed birds and bears later in the summer.  We passed swampy areas and ponds, with cattails beginning to show their furry, brown blooms, and clusters of milkweed along the banks, while the dark leaves and pink and white blooms of water lilies floated on open stretches of clear water.

Trying to be quiet, Paul, Pete, and Jeremy lapsed into deep slumber in the back seat, and Johnny was, uncomfortably for me, snoring on my shoulder.  Scott kept studying his notes, so I watched the scenery, and let my mind drift.  Finally, the view outside my window changed.  Seeing the first large, solid government building roused me back to full awareness, and I looked up, gazing over Mason’s shoulder, out the front windshield, as the great, gleaming down of the State House came into view above the brick, marble, and granite buildings that housed the many agencies and departments that made up the core of state government.  The afternoon sun, reflected dazzlingly from the west side of the impressive gold leaf dome; I always tried to see it when I visited the capital.  Moments later, the van stopped beside the curb, in front of an imposing, five-story, brick hotel, liberally adorned with native white marble trim.

“Rise and shine!” Pettit called from the front seat, pitching his voice to fill the van with rich, baritone nots.

I shoved Johnny to an upright position, as Scott closed his folder and handed it to me. 

“Wha…?” Johnny muttered blearily.

“Wake up, Koenig!” Scott barked in his ear.  Johnny snapped wide awake.

Looking over his left shoulder, Scott barked, “Chambers!  Pettit!  Koenig!  Atten-hut!”

The three boys all startled awake, their eyes wide and staring as their brains strove to catch up with their bodies.

In the driver’s seat, Mason chuckled, a warm, rattly sound.  “Pile out!” he said with the ring of command.  “Unload and get inside.”

Mason and Pettit climbed out the front doors, and Scott slid open the van’s large, side door.  As I paused to return Scott’s folder to its place in my briefcase, a small gust of fresh, mild air blew through the van, displacing the rank odor of sweaty, sleepy teenagers that I hadn’t noticed building up around me on the long ride.  Even in the center of the city, the air was sweet and clean, and I enjoyed a long, cleansing breath.  Then, snick, snick, I latched the briefcase, and clambered out of the van, careful not to catch my legs on anything that could snag a run in my hose.

Cpt. Pettit and Scott quickly unloaded the back of the van, passing bags to Johnny, who passed then on to Jeremy, and then on to Paul.  Pete organized the baggage into eight piles.  Holding my briefcase in my left hand, with my small shoulder bag hanging from my left shoulder, I stood beside Lt. Col. Mason, careful to stay to his left, and watched the process; in the field, I did my share of the work, but when we were dressed up, I was always at my commander’s side, or stationed at a desk somewhere.  It was the way he liked to run things, and, since I was usually the only female in the group, when we travelled, it was his way of keeping me safe from inappropriate contact.

As soon as the van was empty, we each collected a pile, and we went into the Grand Republic Hotel.  I fell into my place, based on relative rank, behind Jeremy, and in front of Paul.  This was one of the exceptions, where I couldn’t stay at Mason’s side, because higher protocols commanded the order.  Making sure everyone stayed together, and nothing got left behind, Pettit brought up the rear, carrying my typewriter, along with his gear.

Mason led us through the crowded lobby to the reception desk.  The large, elegant  space, bordered by white marble columns, which framed gilt=framed portraits hung on royal blue walls, pattered with delicate sprays of silver and white ivy, was awash in a sea of dark blue service jackets and sky blue dress shirts.  All heads were bare indoors, except for the few of us who wore the old-style blue berets, which were worn indoors and out; I saw only two other blueberries moving through the crowded space, and determined to get the newer female flight cap before summer camp.

At the desk, a female receptionist, wearing the hotel’s prescribed uniform, with a royal blue blazer over a white blouse and a maroon necktie, asked me, “Name?”  Her nametag identified her as Miss Norris.

“Fairbanks,” I replied.  I’m in the room with Staff Sergeant Krispe.”

“Krispe,” she repeated, running her manicured fingernail down a list in her book.  “Already checked in.  Room 324,” she said after a few moments, reaching into the corresponding pigeon-hole on the wall behind her, and pulling out a key.

Cpt. Pettit and Pete accompanied me to my room, Pettit still carrying my typewriter; their room was a few rooms down the hall.  I inserted the key in the lock, and turned it.

Snick, click.

The door unlocked, the knob turned, and the latch opened.  I swung the door open on silent hinges, into a surprisingly dark room.

“Carla?” I called, stepping into the room.

The bright, incandescent light from the hallway spilled into the darkened room through the open door.  It revealed a large figure lying in the nearest bed, the spread pulled up to the shoulders, apparently with its back to me.

Hrunt-runf!

The figure snored, fast asleep.

“Carla?” I called again, stepping closer to the bed, my arms laden with my suitcase, briefcase, and field gear.  Cpt. Pettit and Pete stood just outside the door.  “Sgt. Krispe,” I tried again, rising my voice a bit.

Hruft-rumf-urf-ug.

The figure snored, snuffled, and stirred.  It jolted into an upright posture, the bedspread falling to its waist.  My eyes locked in confused terror on a broad, muscular, very naked, very male chest, with a downward-pointing triangle of dark, softly-curled hair from just below the shoulders to just above the inward dip of the visible belly button.  I froze for several seconds.

“Who’re you?” I blurted.

At the same moment, he demanded, “Who the heck’re you?”

I gulped.  “Cadet Fairbanks, Sir.  I’m lookin’ for Staff Sgt. Krispe.”

“I’m Krispe,” he snapped angrily.

“N-no,” I stammered.  “Cadet Carla Krispe.”

“I’m Staff Sergeant Charles Krispe,” he replied, softening, but still clearly annoyed.  “She’s my daughter.  Up in room 501.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed.  “I-I, the desk said I’m in this room.”  A ball of lead settled in the pit of my stomach, and I broke out in a cold sweat.  The sweet, musky odor of his cologne wafted into my nose, mixed with a warm, male scent I’d never experienced before.  I was rooted to the spot.

“Sorry, Sergeant,” Cpt. Pettit said, stepping into the room, and grasping my right arm just above the elbow.  “Mix up at the desk.  I’ll help Cadet Fairbanks sort it out.  Sorry to wake you.”

Krispe peered at Pettit, evidently registered the bars on his shoulders, and finally pulled the deep red, quilted bedspread up over his bare chest, breaking the spell that bound me.  I wobbled, but Pettit’s hand steadied me.

“It’s fine, Cap’n,” Krispe said gruffly.  “Happens.”

“Yeah,” Pettit agreed, pulling me away from the corner of the bed.  I stumbled after him, all the way back to the cool, bright light of the corridor.  Pettit pulled the door shut with a soft click.  I swallowed several gulps of fresh air, as Pete stared at me, his eyes wide.

“Whoa!” he breathed, and his tone told me the story would spread through the entire hotel by bedtime.

“You okay, Di?” Pettit asked, more urgently than I could understand.

“Yessir.  Sorry, Sir,” IU replied, avoiding meeting his eyes.

We paused to deposit Pete and the Pettits’ gear in their room, with strict instructions not to leave the room until his father returned.  Then, we returned to the reception desk, and approached Miss Norris.

“’Scuse me,” Pettit said, smiling invitingly.  “There’s been a mistake.  This young lady’s s’posta be with Carla Krispe.  You gave ‘er the key to Charles Krispe’s room.  Sposta be with his daughter, in 501.”

Norris frowned beneath perfectly penciled eyebrows, which matched her perfectly coifed, short, wavy, auburn hair, as she accepted the key to room 324.  She looked at her ledger, and then pointed to the entry for room 324:

Krispe, C.

Fairbanks, D.

“No, sir, Miss Fairbanks is in room 324,” she said. 

Her fingernail glided down to the entry for room 501:

Krispe, C.

Jones, S.

Larson, N.

Peterson, A.

            “Room 501 is full, Sir, and all of its occupants have checked in.”  Her voice was very cool and precise.

            “Diana, d’ya have yer confirmation?” he asked me.

            “Yessir,” I replied worriedly, and pulled the confirmation letter, on embossed hotel letterhead, from my shoulder bag, after setting my suitcase and briefcase at my feet; my olive-drab field gear was slug over my right shoulder, covering half of my blue and white nameplate, and making the frog clasp on the back dig uncomfortably into my skin.

            “What’s the trouble?” Lt. Col. Mason asked, walking over to us as Miss Norris frowningly read the confirmation.

            “They put ‘er in with Charlie Krispe, ‘stead o’ Carla Krispe,” Pettit replied, glancing up.

Mason frowned.  “That won’t do,” he stated, looking at the receptionist.  “Made

'er reservation myself, more’n a month ago.”

            “This confirmation is dated April second,” Norris told Pettit, glancing out the corner of her eye at Mason.  “The reservation was changed on May sixth.  D. Fairbanks to share a room with C. Krispe.”

            “Carla Krispe, not Charles Krispe,” Pettit said, his voice rising in frustration.

            All around us, voices stilled, and the silence rippled back through the crowd, following a wave of hasty murmuring.  The hotel manager looked up from a stack of papers he was signing, and then quickly rose from the desk and stepped up beside Norris.  The tag on his blazer read, “Edward Hoskins, Manager.”

            “Is there a problem?” Hoskins asked, pointedly addressing Norris.

            “Yeah,” Pettit said, anger simmering beneath his carefully controlled voice, before Norris could speak.  “You people moved a 17 year old girl into a room with a 40 year old guy.  She was s’posta be in th’ room with ‘is daughter.”  He stressed the last word.

            I stood between the two officers, trembling, fighting to hold back tears.  The silence of the crowd, punctuated by small gasps and whispers, was stifling.

            “Sir, I’m sure we did nothing of the sort,” Hoskins said, his neatly clipped words dripping with patronizing disdain. 

He took the confirmation letter from Norris by the smallest bit of edge, his face and gesture suggesting a man picking up a badly soiled diaper.  He read the paper, his brows rising impossibly high above incongruously narrowed eyes, his nose wrinkling with displeasure.

“I … see,” he said, at length.  He flipped pages in another ledger, which contained notes penned in several hands.  He found May sixth, and read a short paragraph of emerald green cursive.  “Ah,” he said, after reading it several times, and rereading my letter.

“Please accept the hotel’s apologies Sir, Sir,” he said, glancing from Pettit to Mason and back again.  “There has been a misunderstanding.  We will move Miss Fairbanks to room 501 immediately.  We will send up a cot within the hour.”  He sounded rather perturbed.

“A cot?” Pettit asked, his anger still simmering dangerously close to the surface.

“George,” Mason said warningly, so only Pettit and I could hear.

I heard Pettit swallow hard, and saw the afternoon shadow of stubble ripple on his flushed, red neck, as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“You won’t be chargin’ 'er an’ th’ other girls full quad price fer five in th’ room,” he stated through carefully clenched teeth.

Hoskins’ eyes widened.  “No.  No, no, of course not,” he said, rather nervously.  “Um, half rate for everyone in that room.”

“Half the group rate,” Mason said, decidedly mildly.

Hoskins blanched, flipped the notes ledger to the current page, and wrote a note, signing it when he finished.  “Adjust it, Miss Norris,” he said, reaching for the spare key to room 501, and ringing for a bellhop.

“Cot and extra towels to room 501,” he snapped at the harried young man who responded to the bell.  The bellhop nodded, and rushed away without a word.

“Show’s over,” Mason announced in his voice of command.  “All personnel, carry on.”

Instantly, the room hummed with a forced show of normalcy.  Mason, who had already dropped his bags in his room, picked up my suitcase, and Pettit picked up my briefcase; he was still carrying my heavy, portable typewriter.

Walking silently between the two officers, I went to the small but elegant elevator, and rode up to the top floor.  We found room 501 at the far end of a long hallway, just out of sight around a corner, where the corridor jogged to the right, ending at the fire escape door.

I inserted the key in the knob, and turned, praying this would go better than last time.

Snick, click.

The door opened, and a flutter of female voice abruptly cut off.  Four pairs of eyes stared at the open door.  Their faces looked startled.

Recovering herself, a very short girl, wearing orange Hawaiian-print, cotton shorts and a baggy, olive-drab t-shirt emblazoned “DRIULL INSTRUCTOR,” her long, curly, black hair cascading down her back in a ponytail, her chestnut eyes flashing angrily, stepped toward me.  “Whadda y’ want?” she demanded.

“Di!” Sarah, at the far side of the room, gasped in amazement.

I was a single pace inside the room.  The hostile reception startled me.

“Cadet Fairbanks, Staff Sergeant,” I replied, recognizing the angry girl as Carla Krispe.   “This is my room.”

“No, it’s not,” she began.  Suddenly, her demeanor changed completely.  “Sir!” she said smartly, and then, “Sirs!”  I knew that my escorts had stepped into view behind me.

“Cadet Staff Sergeant Fairbanks is bunking with you, Staff Sergeant Krispe,” Lt. Col. Mason stated.

The blood drained from her face.  She glanced at the two double beds and the three other girls.  “Sir?” she asked, hesitantly.

Rattle, rattle, rattle.

The sound of something metallic rolling along the carpeted highway announced the arrival of the bellhop, with the folding cot.

“Ya needed a cot?” he asked.

“Right,” Mason said briskly.  “In here, wherever it fits.”

In the room, the girls scrambled to move shoes and bags that littered the floor.  Seemingly oblivious to them, the bellhop, whose name tag read, “Kenny,” wheeled the cot straight across the room, unfolding it into an unlikely gap between the air conditioning unit and the television stand.  It was apparently a familiar task, because he did it surprisingly quickly and easily, and even left a narrow passage between the cot and the foot of the nearest bed, allowing access to the small bathroom.  He removed a stack of clean towels that were folded into the cot, placed them in the bathroom, and left without a word.  Pettit stopped him in the doorway long enough to press a tip into his hand.

“I don’ understand, Sir,” Carla said, looking at Mason.  “I invited Amy Peterson t’ room with us?”

“After Fairbanks was confirmed in your room,” he replied, a note of warning tinging his voice.  “You had no right t’ give away her bed.”

She looked pale, but determined to stand firm.  “Dad said I could invite Amy,” she insisted.

“You didn’ tell me the space was a’ready taken,” her father said, fully dressed in olive-drab BDU pants and a brown t-shirt, his feet bare, stepping into the doorway, beside Pettit.  “Sorry, Dave,” he said to Mason.  “I didn’ know ‘bout this ‘til the young lady woke me up.”

Mason walked over and dropped my suitcase on the cot.  He took my briefcase and typewriter from Pettit, and placed them neatly on the desk next to the television stand.  Responding to a flick of his eyes, I set my field gear on the floor the air conditioner, and laid my shoulder bag on the cot.  Then, conscious that I was still in uniform, I stood at attention next to the cot.

“At ease,” Mason murmured, and I shifted to that position, beginning to regain my bearings.

In a louder voice, Mason said, “Gentlemen, let’s let these ladies have some privacy.  The three men left, closing the door quietly behind them.

Click.

Alone with the other girls, I relaxed. I dropped my beret on the cot, sat down, and started taking off my shoes.

“Fairb,” Carla started.

“Drop it, Carla,” I said evenly, putting the Oxfords under my cot.  “Y’ only rank me by three weeks, wi’ th’ same stripes, an’ we’re all off duty ‘til breakfast.”

Ignoring her angry stare, I pulled a pair of bubble-gum pink jeans and a sleeveless, white, pullover sweater with small, pink polka-dots out of my suitcase, along with a pair of pristine white, canvas tennis shoes.  I went into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me.

Click, snick.

When I was done changing, I went back into the room, my uniform and pantyhose neatly folded.  I laid them in my suitcase, zipped it up, and slid it under the bed.

Carla was sitting cross-legged at the head of the farther bed, her fists clenched.  Her pretty, elfish face was twisted into a deep pout.  I rolled my eyes.

“Di!” Sarah exclaimed, giving me a tight hug, which I gladly returned.

Sarah was my best friend in the Air Cadets.  She was small, cute, and sensible.          Her long, straight, brown hair fell smoothly down her back, a rolled-up, red bandana tied under her hair as a headband.  Her light, hazel eyes sparkled gold and green in the low light of the hotel room.  She wore a pair of snug, dark blue, twill parts, and a blue-and-gold plaid cotton shirt, with the sleeves rolled up military-style above her elbows.

A moment later, Natalie, with an inarticulate little scream of delight, threw herself on both of us, and we had a group hug.  It set us all laughing, and I felt worlds better.

“Sarah, Nat, hi!” I laughed, releasing them both.  I bent to pull my slim, black, patent leather, tri-fold wallet from my shoulder bag, and slid it and my room key, with its large, plastic tag, into the front right pocket of my pants.

“You look cute!” Natalie gushed, looking me up and down.  “Shows yer curves perfectly!” she added.

Natalie was tall and curvy, her naturally-curly, fiery red hair, which absolutely refused to stay in any style, tumbled riotously down her back, curly tendrils framing her heart-shaped face.  Her wide eyes, the rich azure of the summer sky, glowed with approval, above a sprinkling of freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks.  She wore jeans, with sparkling rhinestones scattered down the outside of each leg, along the hem, and encircling her slim ankles.  Her crisp, white, short-sleeved blouse was open two buttons at the neck, still within bounds for socializing.

“Hi Amy,” I said to the willowy, blonde girl, who stood between the two beds.

“Di,” she said sulkily, and threw herself face-down on the bed, next to Carla.

I arched my right eyebrow for a moment, and then shrugged.

“Okay,” I said, collecting Sarah and Natalie with my eyes.  “Let’s go get dinner, an’ have some fun.

Sarah, Natalie, and I found our way to the dining room.  Our room rate included dinner Friday, breakfast and lunch Saturday, the banquet Saturday night, and breakfast and lunch on Sunday.  The waiter gave us the menus, we placed our orders, and we were soon enjoying delicious food.  I had the chicken Masala, with mushrooms, asparagus, and garlic mashed potatoes.  Sarah had the beef tips and gravy, broccoli, and a baked potato with butter, sour cream, and chives.  Natalie, always conscious of her figure, had a garden salad with grilled chicken breast and light ranch dressing.  We asked the waiter to please let us have three ginger ales, but to put the soda in wine glasses; he was happy to play along.

Later, as we were leaving the dining room, I literally ran into SSgt. Krispe, Carla’s dad, as he was stepping out of the elevator.  His strong arms kept me from falling.  I saw in his face that he was as aware as I was that I’d seen his bare chest, in his bed, only an hour or so earlier.  I quickly backed up, and he readily let me go.

“Sorry, Sergeant,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush.

Surprisingly, his smile was friendly.

“No problem, Cadet.  Happens.”

He went his way, and we took the elevator to the third floor.  Natalie wanted to see whether any of the boys wanted to hang out until curfew.

Two adult officers, a man and a woman, both grey-haired and vaguely familiar, in uniform, were patrolling the third floor, where all male cadets had their rooms. 

“Where’re you three goin’?” the male officer, a First Lieutenant Adams, asked sharply.

“Justa see some friends,” Natalie said, belatedly adding, “Sir.”

“Hospitality suite’ll be t’morra night,” he said, blocking our way.  “Males on three, females on five.  Off y’ go.”  He pointed to the elevator.

I grabbed both friends’ hands, and pulled them back.  Sarah followed readily, and we both looked worriedly at Natalie.  She was fiery, but not stupid, and she quickly yielded, following us into the empty elevator when the doors opened.

Back in our room, we all changed from our cute clothes to the shorts and t-shirts we’d brought for pajamas.  Carla and Amy were watching television, both also dressed for bed.  Although it wasn’t much past eight, I laid down on my cot.  I pulled a paperback book from my bag, and started reading.  Natalie sat near the lamp, at the head of her bed, and set to work touching up the purple nail polish on her toenails; by regulation, we could only wear clear on our fingernails when we were in uniform, so she didn’t bother painting those.

“Whatcha readin’?” Sarah asked, apparently bored with the sit coms Carla and Amy were reading.

“Firelord,” I replied, holding up the cover for her to see.

“Oh,” she said, clearly disappointed.  Despite her sensible nature, Sarah preferred reading steamy romances to historical fantasy.

Twice, Natalie wandered into the corridor, but, each time she found two adult members, in their uniforms, patrolling the corridor.

Near midnight, Amy found Anaconda in the movie listings for midnight.

“I love free HBO,” she gloated.  She and Carla were pretty much over their snit.

I shuddered.  I’d had a deep, visceral fear of snakes since I was a very small child, and accidentally stumbled across a nest of baby copperheads.  I was lucky I’d escaped unbitten, and I’d never forgotten the mother snake chasing me all the way to the back door.  I couldn’t even watch a movie about snakes.  I suppressed an involuntary whimper, turning it into a cough, determined that Carla wouldn’t see my fear.  I burrowed into my cot, pulling the covers high, and pretended to be asleep.

Tap, tap, tap.

In a quiet moment of the movie, a barely perceptible tapping sounded at our door.  The other girls heard it, too, and Carla scrambled out of bed to see who was out there.  She opened the door, and stifled a gasp.

“Shh!” a male voice whispered.  Carla pulled someone into the room, and shut the door very softly.

Snick.

“How’dja get past ‘em?” she demanded in a loud whisper, gesturing toward the corridor.

“Fire escape,” the large, sandy-haired boy in the jeans and olive drab t-shirt, stenciled with “ARMY” in large, black letters, replied in a similar whisper.

“Gabronski!” Carla barely suppressed the explanation.  “How?”

“They’re unlocked, no alarms,” he whispered triumphantly.  “We’re makin’ a pizza run.  Want anything?”

“Pizza?” Amy put in.  “Yeah!”  She reached for her purse.

In a few minutes, Gabronski slipped out again, five bucks from each of us in his pocket, promising to return soon.

“Leave it unlocked,” he whispered.  Carla nodded and set the lock.

It was nearing two in the morning when Gabronski and four of his friends slipped quietly into our room, carrying a stack of pizza boxes and several six-packs of Coke.  The food finally ended the hostilities, and we all wolfed down the pizza and Coke, laughing and talking in whispers.  To my delight, Todd Nilsen was one of the group.  Todd, already 18, was tall, with a man’s massive build.  Thin, straw-gold hair fell in light bangs on his round, pale, cherubic face, above his faded denim eyes.  Todd and I had started dating about a             year, since the first weekend training camp I’d attended as an Air Cadet.  He sat beside me on the cot, but he behaved as a perfect gentleman the entire evening.  Only in his eyes could I see how much effort it took for him not to be affectionate, but there were no other couples in the group.  We had to keep things light.

The boys slipped away just before dawn.  They took the empty pizza boxes with them, to toss into a dumpster at the foot of the fire escape.  Gabronski took two dozen empty Coke cans in a trash bag he pulled from our waste basket, to redeem at the same 24-hour grocery where he’d bought them; they were worth a nickel apiece.  After they left, we all fell asleep, exhausted.

At the first cadet class the next morning, Natalie found out from Gabronski that the officers had patrolled near the elevators all night, but that they’d never discovered the open fire escapes.  They’d allowed the boys to move from room, even after hours, as long as they stayed on the third floor; they’d never noticed how popular the rooms at the far ends of the corridor were, or at least had never gone around the corners to check the doors.

Between the two morning classes, we had a 15 minute break.  I went back to our room for a few minutes; the elevator was empty when I stepped into in.  The doors opened on the third floor, and a male cadet stepped in.  I recognized him as Karl Branson.  He was a little younger than me, but already taller, with the sort of cuteness that promised to become rugged good looks in a few years.  His strawberry-blonde hair was straight and fine, but thick, and he wore it just as long as regulations allowed it.  His dancing, chicory-blue eyes lit up when he saw me.  He’d been trying to coax me into a date since the Christmas party, and I had to admit that I was tempted.  Although I liked Todd, we were often awkward together.  Our mothers were both dead set against us seeing each other, too, though neither would say why.

“Hiya, Di,” he said, smiling widely, despite our uniforms, and my higher rank.

“Hi, Karl,” I replied, smiling warmly.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked.

“Goin’ back down,” I replied, stating the obvious.  “Triangulation,” I added, naming the maps course I’d signed up for.

“Ah,” he said.  “Uniform basics,” he said, his expression drooping.

“Sorry,” I said sympathetically.

The elevators opened to the crowded lobby.  Karl put a hand on my arm, and I paused.  The doors slid closed, and he pressed the button for the basement.

“Huh?” I asked, meeting his eyes.

“Just ride a little, please, Di?” he implored.

“I guess,” I shrugged.

The hand on my forehead slid down to clasp my hand, and a frisson of electricity ran up my arm and down my back.

“Karl?” I asked.

He laced his fingers with mine, bent down, and pressed a light, warm kiss to my lips.  Butterflies fluttered in my belly.  He stood up and looked into my eyes.

A nagging worry made me ask, “Karl?  How old are you?”

He grinned playfully.  “Fifteen.”

“Two years,” I thought.  Two years wasn’t that bad.  I’d gone to the Halloween dance with Tony Muskavitz, and he was three years younger than me.

He bent and kissed me again, as the doors opened on the basement corridor.  He reached over and pressed the top button.  The doors closed, and the elevator started upward with a small jolt.

Karl was very close, enough that we bumped together at the jolt, and he put his arms around me.

“So y’ don’ fall,” he whispered in my ear, his warm breath causing a pleasant, tickly feeling.  I could smell the clean scent of his soap.  His breath, as he kissed me again, his lips slightly parted, was cool and minty.  The embrace and the kiss lasted all the way to the fifth floor, the small elevator creaking and banging its way up the stately, old hotel.  When the bell dinged, we jumped apart, but there was no one in sight.  Karl pressed “B”, and we kissed again, only with our lips, all the way down, uninterrupted. 

After another jump apart in the basement, we were finally interrupted on the second floor, where a distinguished gentleman, who might have been an Arab diplomat, I thought, stepped into the small car, and pressed the button for the lobby.  The elevator was already set to go up to the fifth floor, and we rode in silence.  The swarthy, bearded, black-haired gentleman exuded an exotic, spicy aroma, which filled the tiny compartment like a tangible presence.  Carla and Amy squeezed into the elevator on the fifth floor, and Carla glared at us. 

“Fairbanks, Branson, why aren’tchu in class?” Carla demanded.

“On my way, Sergeant,” I replied correctly, and then added, “Why aren’tchu?”

“Insubordinate,” she snapped.

Neither of us replied, and Amy gave a little snort of contempt.  I rolled my eyes and shook my head.  I noticed the foreign gentleman holding back laughter, which made my feigned indifference to Carla and Amy easier.

I didn’t see Karl again until the cadet party, after the banquet that evening.  The banquet was very fancy, with white cloth covers on the tables, gold-rimmed chargers for the snowy, white plates, and crystal water goblets.  We had the choice of prime rib or broiled haddock; I chose the fish, which was served with a rice pilaf and asparagus.  We were seated together by unit, with eight people per table, which worked out perfectly for our squadron; Lt. Col. Mason, Cpt. Pettit, Scott, Johnny, Jeremy, Paul, Pete, and I all sat together, and I found myself protectively placed between the two officers.  Several formal speeches were given during dinner, and a number of awards were presented.  Despite my excited anticipation of the banquet, I was bored.

Afterward, everyone went to change clothes.  The officers changed into formal dress uniforms, with many of the women opting for gorgeous evening gowns.  The cadets changed into casual clothes for the cadet party; Sarah, Natalie, and I opted to repeat our cute outfits from the night before, since no one had really seen them.

“All set?” Pettit asked, dropping by to check on me before the party.

“Yessir,” I assured him, grinning.  I’ll be fine.

“We’ll be just down th’ hall,” he reminded me,

I bit my lip to keep from laughing outright.  “George,” I said conspiratorially, “I promise: I’ll be fine.”

He blew out a breath between his teeth, and ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair, absently tousling it.  “Di, the Old Man’d kill us both if ‘e ‘eardja call me that!”

“You an’ Pete take me to dinner on th’ way home at least once a week,” I replied.

“He’d still kill us.  You’ve ‘eard th’ rumors.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” I replied with a sigh, “but none of it’s true.  Not even if I was old enough.”

“You know, an’ I know,” he said, “but people talk.”

“Okay,” I conceded.  There’d been rumors that the divorced Captain and I had been having an affair, and that was dangerous, even though Mason and my mother knew all about it, and that it wasn’t true.  There was a good reason he never, ever drove me home unless Pete or at least two other cadets were in the car with us.  “Go t’ yer party, Sir.  I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding.  He went down the elevator first, and I waited for the next trip down.

As soon as I walked into the ballroom where the cadet party was in progress, Sarah and Natalie grabbed my hands.

“Todd’s lookin’ for ya,” Natalie gushed excitedly.

“Karl’s lookin’ for ya, too,” Sarah said, much less enthusiastically.

“Both of ‘em?” I asked nervously.

“Uh huh,” they chorused, both heads nodding emphatically.

“Oh, boy,” I sighed.  I knew I was in trouble.

We made our way across the crowded dance floor.  Cadets were mingling, but very few were dancing, despite the music, the faceted, silver disco ball, and the strobing black light.  On the way, we collected big, red Solo cups of fruity, fizzy, non-spiked punch.  Although we knew almost everyone there, we didn’t say more than “Hi” to most of our fellow cadets.

We found an empty table against the back wall, but we had hardly sat down when Sarah said, “Uh oh.”

Looking up, I saw Todd and Karl bearing down on us from different directions.  I gulped.  “This is gonna be bad,” I told my friends.

“Whadju do, Di?” Sarah asked, but it was too late. 

Karl walked behind Natalie to my chair, leaned over, and kissed me.

The next moment, Todd reached us.  I hardly had time to register the incredulous anger on his face.  Todd veered around Natalie’s chair, grabbed Karl by the collar, yanked him away from me, and punched him in the gut.

“Oof!” Karl gasped, but he didn’t yell.  “What the heck?” he demanded in a confused and angry undertone.

“Yer kissin’ my girlfriend,” Todd hissed, pretending to have a friendly arm around Karl’s shoulders.

“Yer girlfriend?” Karl growled.  “Seemed like she was kissin’ me this mornin’, not you.”  He squirmed, but Todd had a firm hold, and he couldn’t break away without making a scene that would get all of us in a lot of trouble.

“Di?” Todd asked, still angry, but sounding hurt.

“Yeah,” I admitted.  “A little, in th’ elevator, durin’ mornin’ break.”  I was close to tears.

Sarah and Natalie quickly struck up a noisy chatter about clothes and cosmetics, masking our disagreement.

“You…,” Tod gulped, but couldn’t finish.  He glared at Karl instead.  “You little creep!” he spat.

“Todd,” I began.

“Shut up,” he cut me off.

Knowing I deserved that, I shut up.

“Let’s get some air, Todd told Karl, dragging the younger boy to the fire escape door in the corner, which was ajar.  Knowing it’d be better to go along than to get into a physical fight in sight of the several chaperones, Karl went along.  I followed, Sarah and Natalie on my heels.  Together, we stepped out onto the steel mesh of the fire escape’s first floor landing.

Like many old buildings, the hotel’s first floor was actually one flight above street level; there was a white marble porch, with wide, smooth steps, at the front entrance.  Here, the fire escape was a good ten or 12 feet above the hard-packed clay and scraggly grass at ground level.  I was fervently grateful that it wasn’t the fire escape near our room, which ended on a concrete pad, designed to support the huge garbage dumpster that rested there.  A fight on grass wouldn’t be quite as dangerous as one on concrete.

Sarah pulled the door nearly closed behind us.

“Todd, don’t.  I’m sorry,” I pleaded.

“Talk t’ you later,” he growled.  He punched Karl in the gut again, causing the smaller boy to double over.  Karl stumbled back against the steel railing.

Suddenly, Todd grabbed Karl by the collar of his shirt and the back of his trousers, heaved upward, and dumped Karl over the railing to the ground below.  Before my brain could register what had just happened, Karl bounced once, and then rolled over on the scruffy grass.  He lay still.  I heard Sarah gasp, and then Natalie screamed.

“Urg, ow, urf,” Karl groaned.  My heart started beating again, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“You idiot!” I choked, pounding Todd’s broad, muscular chest rather ineffectually with my fists until he grabbed my wrists, and held me still.

“Cut it out,” he hissed.  “Chaperones.  I didn’ kill ‘im,” he added.  The anger was gone from his voice.  He released my wrists just as the first officer chaperone darted out the door.

I didn’t see her pass me, as I was beating on Todd, but Sarah was kneeling beside Karl, who was sitting up near the foot of the iron stairs.

“What’s goin’ on?” Major Walewski demanded, coming through the door in a pair of khaki trousers and a white guyabera shirt, with the color unbuttoned.  His thick, black hair and bushy mustache looked like he’d just had a run-in with a light socket.

“Um, uh,” I faltered.

From the ground, Karl said, a bit weakly, but gamely, “Nothin’, Sir.  Bein’ stupid, tryin’ t’ walk th’ railin’, an’ I fell.”

“Are y’ hurt, Son?” Walewski asked, concern overlaying the anger in his voice.

“Yessir,” Karl replied.  When Walewski appeared, Todd hurried down the steps of the fire escape, and now he helped Karl onto his feet.  “Thanks,” Karl muttered, and then looked at Todd, and said, more smartly, “Thank you, Sir!”  I’d forgotten that Todd was a cadet first lieutenant, meriting the honorific.

“All o’ you cadets gitcher butts back inta th’ party,” Walewski growled, as Todd, Karl, and Sarah climbed back up the steps.  “You sure y’ fell, boy?” he added, peering at Karl.

“Yessir.  Showin’ off fer the girls,” he added, giving Sarah a weak smile.

“Right.  No more o’ that,” Walewski said, following us inside, and shutting the door.

As soon as there were no adults in earshot, Karl said, “Sorry,” to Todd.  “I kissed ‘er, ‘cause I never kissed a girl, but she’s too old fer me,” he admitted.

“Two years,” I said.

“Yer 15?” Todd demanded.

“Uh,” Karl said, looking guiltily at me.  “I mighta lied about that.  I, um, I turned 13 last month,” he confessed.

“Thirteen?” I choked.  Even if I didn’ have a boyfriend, Id’a never kissed ya, if I knew that!” I spat, humiliated.

“Well, y’ do have a boyfriend,” Todd said grumpily.

“Do I?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m over it,” Todd huffed.

The party ended at ten, which was also when the cadet hospitality room closed, and we were all sent to our rooms.  Because so many officers were attending the evening festivities, they decided that guarding the fifth floor elevator was sufficient, leaving the third floor, where the boys had their rooms, largely deserted, aside for cadets.  On the ride home Sunday afternoon, I heard all about how the boys from our unit spent Saturday night.

After the party, Scott, Johnny, and Jeremy were in the room they shared with Paul, who had gone to play cards in a room down the hall.  Before long, they were bored, and Johnny went to look out the window.  It was a mild night, so he pushed up the heavy, wood sash, making the counterweights in the wall thunk, clunk as they descended.  As he leaned out, gazing at the flood-lighted, gold dome a few blocks away, he realized that the window was 30 or 40 feet up from the sidewalk.  It was now nearly midnight, and there were no pedestrians passing the front of the tall, old hotel.

“Hey, Scott,” he said musingly, from the window, “got any rappelin’ gear in yer pack?”

Scott, idly flipping through channels with the remote control, as he lay stretcher across one of the beds, said, “Yeah, I got my stuff.  Why?”

“Take a look at this?” Johnny replied, staring down the front of the building.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Jeremy asked, setting aside the black, leather Oxfords he’d been polishing for over an hour.

“Take a look,” Johnny repeated musingly.

Scott and Jeremy bent over his shoulders from either side, thrusting their heads out into the warm, night air, scented with fallen apple blossoms, which littered the pavement along each side of the tree-lined street.

“What?” Scott asked, perplexed.

“Straight down,” Johnny replied.

They looked straight down the wall.  Suddenly, Jeremy said, “Yeah…,” dragging the syllable out until it vanished in a breath.

“Footholds,” Scott murmured.

“Uh huh,” Johnny agreed.

“Good way down,” Jeremy said.

“Yup,” Johnny said.

All three boys turned to survey the room.  They sat in a row on the floor, their backs against the wall and the open window, surveying the room’s furnishings.  They sat for a good quarter of an hour, each considering and discarding scenario after scenario in his mind.

Suddenly, Jeremy stood up.

“What?” Scott asked.

“There’s a Coke machine in th' hall,” Jeremy said, going toward the door.

“Yeah, get me one, too,” Scott said.  “There’s change in my trousers.

“No,” Jeremy said, opening the door and looking out.

“Huh?” Scott asked, mildly disappointed.  “Fine, I’ll get it myself.”  He stood up.

“How much rope y’ got?" Jeremy asked, standing in the open doorway, gazing at the Coke machine across the hall.

“Uh, a lot,” Scott said, rummaging in his trousers for the pocket with the change.

“Nuff t’ get from ‘ere t’ th’ ground?” Jeremy asked.

“Easy,” Scott confirmed, glancing at his field gear, around which was slung a large coil of strong, light, nylon rope.

“Give it here,” Jeremy said.  “An’ set up the gear.”

“’Kay,” Scott agreed, perplexed.  He picked up the rope and carried it out into the corridor, where Jeremy was examining the Coke machine.

Curious, Johnny got up, and joined them in the corridor.

“Whaddaya think?” Jeremy asked his friends.

Understanding dawned in Scott’s eyes.  “Oughtta work,” he agreed.

Johnny watched as Jeremy and Scott started tying the end of the long rope around the bulky machine.  Suddenly understanding, he went into the room, and pulled the rest of the rappelling gear from Scott’s pack.  In a very few minutes, the three friends were ready.

“You go first,” Johnny told Scott.  “Yer heaviest.”

Scott shrugged.  A minute later, he was easing himself down the front of the Grand Republic Hotel.

When Scott was halfway to the second flood, Johnny eased himself onto the rope, which was strung tautly from the Coke machine through the open door, across the hotel room, past a bathroom and two double beds, and over the window sill of the open window.

“Holdin’ great!” Jeremy called quietly out the window, after checking the knots on the rope around the Coke machine.

“C’mon out,” Scott called back.  “Beautiful night for an easy descent.”

“Right,” Jeremy agreed.  He eased onto the rope, and down the face of the building.

Cre-e-e-eak, groan, r-r-r-ch!

Unheard by the three boys, the Coke machine began the make loud noises of protest

Suddenly, it crept forward several inches, gouging the Berber carpet of the corridor.

“Easy on the rope,” Scott cautioned, mistaking the downward jolt as a mistake by one of the boys above him.

Creak, rattle, thump, bump, ri-i-ip!

The Coke machine bumped and jolted another foot across the corridor.  Hanging below the window, all three boys uttered startled expletives.

Pop!  The power cord was jolted out off the wall outlet.  Thump, bump, creak, rattle, crash!  The Coke machine bumped and jolted across the width of the corridor, and slammed against one side of the room’s doorframe.

Scott, Johnny, and Jeremy clung to the swaying rope for dear life, as they dropped foot by foot.  They didn’t know what was going on at the other end of the rope, and expletives poured from their lips in the dark, quiet night.

Crunch-sh-sh, bang, rattle, thump, rattle, bang!

The Coke machine got free of the door jamb, and jumped and jolted across the hotel room.

On the second and fourth floors, hotel guests who weren’t part of the State Conference started calling the night clerk to complain about the loud party on the third floor.  The night clerk, knowing those rooms were part of the conference, started looking for the officer in charge.

Thump, rattle, creak, ri-i-ip, bump, BANG!!

The Coke machine slammed to a halt when it came to the window, which was, fortunately, narrower than the door into the corridor.

Scott, Johnny, and Jason stopped dropping.

“Climb!” Scott said urgently.

At the top of the rope, Jeremy started climbing.  He was below the floor level of the second floor.  Scott, at the bottom, considered jumping the final dozen feet or so, but a black, wrought-iron fence, topped with a row of wicked-looking, closely-spaced spires, was directly below him, and a matching fence made a protective square around the nearest apple tree, directly across the sidewalk, and he wasn’t sure he could miss them.

Jeremy climbed the rope.  Below him, Johnny started to follow; Scott decided against jumping, and started climbing, as well.

“Oh, crap!” Jeremy hissed, his head clearing the window sill.  “We got a problem.”

“No kidding,” Scott shat back irritably.  “Get inside, an’ pull us up.”

“Can’t,” Jeremy said.  Inside the hotel room, he heard several angry, agitated voices, some of them using language even the three frightened boys hadn’t dared utter.

“Can’t?” Scott demanded.

Johnny came up close behind Jeremy.  “We’re dead,” he declared.

“What the heck?” Scott spat, climbing as fast as he dared.

The three boys started at the red and black front of the unplugged Coke machine, their knots still tightly in place, pressed tightly against the open window.

“Oh, crap, it’s Dad, Scott groaned, hearing Lt. Col. Mason’s voice inside the room.

A moment later, the front doors of the hotel opened, and nearly all the officers, resplendent in formal uniforms, tuxedos, and evening gowns, poured onto the sidewalk, along with the hysterical night clerk, and a handful of other hotel staff.

The shouting on the sidewalk was a babble of indistinguishable voices to the three dangling cadets, until one low, gravelly voice boomed, “Scott Anthony Mason, what in the Devil’s name do you think you’re doing?!”  Each word was clearly enunciated, and the watching mob grew silent.

Scott gulped.  Johnny and Jason looked at him with fear and sympathy.  “Sorry, Dad, Sir,” he choked out, glancing down.

“Getcher tails down here, as far’s that rope’ll go, this instant!”

“Yessir!” the three mortified cadets chorused.

As quickly as they dared, they rappelled back down the front of the hotel, until they were clustered near the bottom.

Creak, scree-e-e!

Above them, they heard the window frame protesting.

“Clear out!” Mason snapped at the hushed crowd.  “Might come down.”

The officers suddenly recovered their sense of military order, and quickly escorted the civilians well away from the area below the window.

Just then, the night maintenance man hurried up with a long, aluminum, folding ladder.  He and Mason set it up just below and in front of the end of the rope, which extended two rungs down.  Gingerly, first Scott, then Johnny, and finally Jeremy eased onto the ladder, released the rope, and climbed down.  With the weight removed, the window stopped creaking. 

The next morning, I was just putting on my collar tab, ready to go downstairs for breakfast, when there was a knock on the room door.

Rap, rap, rap.

Carla, closest to the door, opened it, after looking to be sure we were all decent.

“Good morning, Sir,” she said.

“Mornin’ Krispe,” Pettit replied gruffly.  “I need Fairbanks.”

“Here, Sir, I responded, walking to the door.  “Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” he acknowledged.  “Not good.  Pack up.  We’re headed out/”

“Sir?” I asked, confused.

“Now,” he said grimly, and his usually sparkling eyes were dark and dull.

“Yessir,” I replied.  “Ready in two.”

He waited at the door, while I put my toilet kit and tennis shoes into my suitcase, zipped it, and settle my blueberry on my head.

“Di?” Natalie asked hesitantly.

I silently shook my head.

When I picked up my shoulder bag, he stepped into the room, slung my field gear over his right shoulder.  He picked up my suitcase and my unused typewriter.  Mechanically, I picked up my briefcase, and followed him without a word.

Unsurprisingly, Pete was waiting in the corridor, his flight cap in his left hand.  His eyes were wider than usual as he fell in beside me, following his father.  I looked a question at him, but he shook his head without a word.

“Colonel settled the bill,” Pettit remarked, as we waited for the elevator.

I stared, but his closed expression kept me from asking questions.

We hurried across the lobby as soon as the elevator doors slid open.  Cadets and officers stared, and some whispered and pointed.  I was more anxious by the minute.

“Sir, is everyone okay?” I ventured uncertainly.

“Yes,” he replied, neither turning his head nor breaking stride.  I glanced at Pete, who shrugged.

Outside, mine was the only gear left to stow, and it was quickly loaded.  Pete climbed into the back seat, taking the end spot.  Scott was in my usual seat, against the window.  Frowning uncertainly, I buckled myself into the end seat.

The first hour of the ride passed in absolute silence, apart from the background noise of the van and the world rushing past outside.  I studied what I could see of the two officers’ faces.  Whenever I chanced a look over at Johnny or Scott, a flick of the eye directed my gaze back to frontward.

Finally, Mason pulled up to the drive-through window at a McDonald’s.  He ordered eight egg McMuffin breakfast meals, individually bagged, six with orange juice, and two with coffee, black.  He handed the bags to Pettit, who gave them to Johnny to distribute.

After the food was gone, the atmosphere in the van lightened.  Little by little, Scott, Johnny, and Jeremy told their story.  No one dared to laugh.  I took it all in, my mind a-whirl.

Lt. Col. Mason dropped each cadet off at hope, starting with the Koenigs.  He even dropped Scott off, along with gear for both father and son.  Finally, with only Pete left behind me, he drove me home.

“Are you okay, Diana?” Mason asked, cutting the engine in the spot behind Mom’s car.

I narrowed my eyes, studying him for a few moments.  “Yessir,” I finally replied.  “Are you?”

He sighed, and slumped back in the driver’s seat. 

“We heard about Nilsen and Bronson,” Pettit said quietly.

“Oh,” I replied.

“You were there,” he said.

“Yessir,” I admitted.

“Did he fall on his own?” he asked.

I considered for a long minute.  Finally, I said, “He told Major Walewski he did, but no, no he didn’t, Sir.”

“Nilsen?” he asked?

“Yessir,” I said very quietly.

“Over you?”

I blinked back the tears that stung my eyes.  “Yessir,” I whispered.

“Is it over?”

“Sir?”

“The fight.”

“Yessir.”

“You an’ Bronson?”

“Yessir,” I said, and then added, “He lied t’ me, said ‘e was 15, but ‘e jus’ turned 13.”  I spat the last three words.

“Uh huh,” Mason said.

“I shouldn’ta done it, anyway,” I blurted.  “It was my fault.”

“Uh huh,” Mason said again.  He lit his pipe.  The sweet fragrance swirled into my nose.

“You an’ Nilsen?” Pettit asked.

“Okay, I think, Sir,” I replied.

“Bad idea.” Mason sighed, looking at me worriedly.

“Yessir, maybe,” I admitted, meeting his penetrating, sapphire gaze.  “What’re y’ gonna do, Sir?  Sir?”  I asked, looking first at Mason, and then at Pettit.

“Mothin’,” Mason said firmly.  “Nothin’.  He told Walewski ‘e fell, an’ that’s the end of it.”

I studied both their faces.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Didja learn somethin’ from all this?” Mason asked, studying me in turn.

I took my time answering, thinking over the events of the weekend.  Finally, very seriously, I said, “Yessir, I think I did.”

“Good enough, Diana,” he said, his voice conveying satisfaction.

Pete helped haul my gear into the house.

“Whoa,” he said, staring at me.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

I shut the door behind him, and went to change and unpack.

Author's Note

Please let me know if you find typos; it helps me, but don't go hunting. :)
Initial impressions and constructive criticism welcome.
Yes, I know it's long. :)

Reviews

[Karen Redburn]

I love the way I can picture each character you describe, Debbie.

The lazy country highway, mountains against wispy clouds. You have such a way with descriptive language and it sets every scene so well.

Noticed a couple of typo's: "echoes" should be echoed, sorry not able to paste sentence, computers acting up.

"Fathered" I think you meant faltered.

Pizza and boys, more teenaged angst, I see :)

Fights over the pretty girl, and pop machines that dance across the floor lol. You did get up to some mischief!

Great story, fun reading about your (mis)adventures, my friend, thank you for the share!

[Debbie Barry]

Thank, Karen! I'm so glad you enjoyed it!

Most of it really happened, though I fiddled with some things. I heard about the soda machine later.

I heard the rumors about an affair, but the officer and I never actually discussed it.

The fight happened, except it was a little different. The cause was real. I was awful!

Thanks for catching the typos!! Fixed and uploaded.

Thanks for the great review. I know it was a long read, and I'm really pleased that you liked it!

[Karen Redburn]

Not a problem, I enjoyed the story!

[Debbie Barry]

Awesome! (((hugs)))

[Diane]

Hrm. The story is great. Almost like i have heard it before. haha
Again great read!

[Debbie Barry]

Thanks, Diane! Yes, you've heard the raw version a bunch of times. I'm glad you enjoyed the written version.

[Mrudula Rani]

Dear friend, I did enjoy reading Grand Republic Conference. Just want to bring few things to your notice.
1.The warm may sun beamed warmly
2.Watching every thing with large, clear, Möss- green eye... sounds better if you said my large, clear...
3.Suddenly for a minute you stopped talking in first person, instead I thought he was cutest... you Diana thought he Was..
4. I close the fish should read I choose the fish

[Debbie Barry]

Thank you, my friend! I made the changes, and I'll upload them as soon as I post this. I appreciate the help!

What did you think of the story itself?

[Mrudula Rani]

You are welcome. Your stories are always very wholesome and a pleasure to read.

[Debbie Barry]

I'm so glad you enjoy them. :)