The Cadet (21 page)

The wives hovered in the background like ghosts, keeping out of sight, yet just noticeable as chaperones.

Dressed in formal mess-dress, Rod pulled at his collar, thinking that the gym had suddenly gotten hotter. He stood near the gym entrance along with the rest of his classmates in the flight.

The door swung open and in stepped some of the prettiest girls the cadets had seen. Wearing long gowns, white gloves, jewelry, and with their hair up, they looked as though they had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. The young women looked from side to side as they walked slowly into the gymnasium, uncertain as what to expect.

“Man, oh, man,” Sly said. He wavered and clenched Rod’s arm. “I don’t care about the contest anymore. What’s this say about the others if these are the losers?”

“Just wait,” Fred said. “It has to get worse.”

Rod drew in a breath. The memory of Barbara was still strong. Yet she was a thousand miles away, and these young ladies were here, now. Although through their correspondence Rod felt he knew Barbara better then he’d ever known Sandy, it had only been a one-night stand, and not even a sexual one at that.

And just as Sandy’s letters, Barbara’s missives were becoming more and more infrequent.

“Look,” Fred said. He dug an elbow into Rod’s side. “Thar she blows! The beached whale in the yellow dress. She looks like she just rolled off the candy truck.” He nodded at an overweight girl who had walked in with the second group.

“Quiet.” Disgusted, Rod said. “Do you want them to hear you?”

“Gentlemen!” Mrs. McComas’s airy voice came over the stage band. “Over here, cadets, and greet your guests. Remember your manners.”

Fred said in a stage whisper, “A hundred and fifty smacker-oos are on the line. But not for you, Rod!”

Rod, Sly, and the rest of the flight walked stiffly to the group of young women. Girls kept entering the gym, and congestion built up around the door.

Rod stepped up and held out his arm to the young women. “Good evening. I’m Cadet Third class Rod Simone. May I escort you into the ball area?”

The girls hesitated, taken aback by Rod’s immaculate appearance; they were the first non-military people ever to see the cadets in their formal wear.

From behind the first row of young women, the heavy-set girl pushed forward. Dressed in a long yellow dress that draped to the floor like a tent, her brunette hair was piled on top of her head. It was the overweight girl Fred had zeroed in on from across the gym. And she was even larger up-close than from a hundred feet away.

She smiled and took Rod’s arm. “Thank you, Cadet. I’m Wendy Shelby.”

Rod swallowed. “Do you live in Denver, Wendy?”

“My family’s from Denver; I’m a sophomore at Colorado Women’s College. I love your accent. Are you French?”

“Not any more. It’s a long story.”

Wendy looked around the gymnasium as they moved from the entrance. Her eyes wide, she took in the decorations, the low ceiling, the military uniforms. “This is beautiful. The building didn’t look like a ballroom from outside.”

“It’s not,” Rod said. “If you were here 24 hours earlier you would have been in the middle of a basketball game.”

“Hey, Rod!” Fred walked past, on his way to escort the women into the ballroom. He slapped Rod on the back and whispered, “It’s not too late to join the pool!”

Wendy waited until Fred passed. “What did they do with the basketball hoops?”

Rod pointed straight up. “They pulled them into the ceiling. If we’re lucky, they won’t fall. But then again, if things are dragging maybe they will, and stir up some excitement.”

They reached the reception line. A captain with silver braids on his right shoulder stepped out to meet them. He bowed slightly at the waist. “Good evening. May I have your names please?” They complied, and the captain turned to the line. “General and Mrs. Stillman, may I present Cadet Simone and Miss Wendy Shelby.”

It seemed as if every medal on earth was being worn by the officials in the receiving line. Compared to the officers with their polished silver pilot wings, silver braids, and ornate rank insignia, Rod’s own uniform looked desolate.

It took five minutes to complete the handshakes and greetings before they finally made their way through the line. In addition to greeting the Commandant and his wife, all the officers, including the Dean, the Director of Athletics, the AOCs, the Director of Admission, and their wives, were lined up in a gauntlet. Rod could tell that Wendy was flustered by all the attention. He felt a swell of pride that the entire senior USAFA leadership would show up for their first formal ball.

Rod steered Wendy to the tables at the back wall. He poured her a glass of punch, and they watched from across the gym. One by one the cadets lined up, took a young lady by the arm and escorted her to the receiving line. The stage band played a popular Mary Martin song low in the background.

Wendy took a sip of punch and stole a glance at Rod. “This is like a fairy tale.”

“Excuse me?” Rod put down his glass.

Wendy nodded at the receiving line. “The decorations, the band, the officers, the cadets—it’s something you read about in
Life
, or
The Saturday Evening Post
. We just don’t do things like this in Denver.”

“This isn’t Denver. This is the United States Air Force Academy.”

“It still isn’t real. Like I said, it’s a fairyland.”

Wendy turned, and for the first time he saw that she had incredibly beautiful brown eyes. They seemed to look deep inside him. He flushed, embarrassed that she might know what he was thinking, and that he had stereotyped her because of her weight.

She murmured, “You said the ballroom wasn’t here 24 hours ago, and I’m sure that by tomorrow night it will be a gymnasium again. It’s like a Broadway performance, set up and choreographed. But it’s a wonderful stage show, one that should never end.”

Rod blinked, still mesmerized by her eyes. “Choreographed?”

She placed a fleshy hand on his arm. “Oh, I’m sorry, Rod. I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just that this is so impressive. You cadets in your uniforms, the music, the way that you escorted me into the ballroom.” She smiled warmly. “I was very nervous when I showed up, but everything makes me feel right at home.”

“We’re trying to get off on a good foot with the community.”

“You’re doing a great job.”

“Thank you.” He looked around as several couples strolled their way, arm in arm. “Wendy, it was a pleasure meeting you. We’re supposed to greet the rest of the ladies and not dominate anyone’s time. If you excuse me, I need to go back to the entrance.”

“I’ll see you later tonight?”

Rod smiled. “Of course. Good evening.” He put down his drink.

The stage band started playing a swing number and the dance floor was suddenly crowded with cadets and young women.

As Rod started to walk off, three of his classmates nudged each other when they saw that Wendy was all alone.

At the far end of the room, Fred apologized to the girl with whom he was ready to enter the receiving line; leaving her behind, he straightened his tie and walked briskly toward Wendy.

Like an unsuspecting, overloaded cargo freighter wallowing in the open sea, Wendy sipped on her punch while four torpedoes zeroed in on their target.

Rod’s face suddenly grew warm. This wasn’t right. He didn’t care if he was supposed to mingle; he had to do something.

He quickly walked back to Wendy. He touched her elbow. “Wendy?”

She turned, still oblivious to the oncoming onslaught. “Yes?”

Now that he had her attention, Rod eased her away from the hors d’oeuvres. “I was wondering if you could tell me a little more about Colorado Women’s College. I’m not from Denver, and I don’t know anything at all about your campus.”

Fred and the other cadets pulled up short, scowling. Wendy strolled next to Rod, not cognizant of the aborted attempt to get her onto the dance floor.

They spent the next two hours walking around the ballroom, talking with some of his classmates and Wendy’s girlfriends from CWC. Rod never asked her to dance, and he noticed that she didn’t seem to mind.

Once, Rod caught a glimpse of Fred out on the dance floor with his partner. A half-dozen cadets lined the wall, watching their classmates dance. When Fred’s partner turned around, he put his hands up in the air and pointed down, motioning for his classmates to take a vote. Like Roman citizens judging gladiators at the Coliseum, the cadets voted thumbs up or thumbs down. Jeff Goldstein wrote the results on a piece of paper.

One by one, some of Rod’s classmates showed their desire to be judged. Sometimes they had to quickly bring down their arm and run fingers through their hair if their dance partner spotted them with their hands in the air.

Rod walked Wendy outside as the stage band played their last song. The air was filled with the smell of diesel fumes as the drivers started their buses. Air brakes groaned, and the ground vibrated from the engines.

They stopped before a bus with a CWC placard in the front window. The driver rotated the door open as they approached.

Wendy held out her hand. “Thank you for the wonderful time. I enjoyed myself.”

“So did I.” Her hand enveloped his.

“You’ve led such an interesting life. France, California, and now as a cadet.” She paused and her brown eyes softened. “You can look me up if you’re ever at CWC.”

Rod smiled. “Thanks, Wendy. I will.” He led her to the door. “Good night.”

“Good night, Rod.” Lifting up her dress, she stepped up the stairs. She grasped the pole at the front and turned to Rod. “And thanks for not taking me out on the dance floor. You were such a gentlemen, especially by keeping those cadets at bay.”

Rod wavered. “Excuse me?”

“I may be overweight, Rod, but that doesn’t make me unaware of what’s going on. I know not all of your classmates were participating in that little contest, but it doesn’t take much to guess that I would have taken top honor. If you can call it that.” A lithe girl in a long blue dress brushed past Rod and made her way up the steps. She smiled at Rod as she passed.

Wendy stepped aside, then held on to the pole with both hands. “It gives me faith knowing that there are real gentlemen here. You’re a good man, Jean-Claude Simone. Thank you for a wonderful evening.” She disappeared into the bus.

Stunned, Rod backed away. He searched for her through the darkened glass, but couldn’t make anyone out. He held up his hand in a small wave, then jamming his hands in his pockets, turned and headed quickly back to the dorm.

O O O

Shouts and laughter still punctuated the night. It was cool, and the stars blazed as Rod walked across the campus. He tried to make sense of what had happened tonight. Wendy had known all along.

A whistle interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey, Rod!” Fred and Sly trotted up. “Look at this!” Sly flipped a stack of bills. “A hundred and twenty-five bucks! My down payment on a new set of golf clubs!” He’d already outlined all the bills in red as a good luck charm, and it wouldn’t have surprised Rod if George Washington or Abraham Lincoln sported either a red goatee or glasses.

“I thought one fifty was in the pot.”

Fred’s face clouded over. “Five guys didn’t pay up.”

“Why not?”

“Changed their minds at the last minute.”

Sly pocketed the cash. “Did you see my partner?”

“I thought she wasn’t bad looking,” Rod said.

“That was the first one,” Sly said. “The next one won the prize.”

“Man was she ugly.” Fred made a face. “Lucky there were no mirrors around, otherwise we’d be sweeping up broken glass for the next month.”

“Ouch,” Sly said. “Makes me queasy just to think of her.” He punched Rod on the shoulder. “This money could have been yours if you would have gotten your date on the dance floor.”

“Yeah,” Fred said. “After you made that run on her, everyone thought you’d re-entered the pool. But what gives? Didn’t she want to dance?”

Rod shrugged, “We didn’t get around to it. And actually, she was very nice.”

“Come again?” Sly cocked his head. “All you needed to do was to call your classmates.”

“Yeah. We could have gotten a crowbar to roll her out to the dance floor,” Fred laughed, “or a wheelbarrow.”

Rod looked at them sharply. “Grow up. Our classmates were right to pull out of your contest—and I’m glad I didn’t enter.”

Suddenly, the loudspeaker at the edge of the quadrangle clicked and the sound of taps started playing across the campus. Without another word, the three started sprinting toward their dorm in a mad dash to reach their rooms before taps ended.

***

Chapter Eighteen

“I’ll Be Home”

Christmas, 1956

Air Force Academy Construction Site

Colorado Springs, CO

If we had no faults of our own, we would not take so much pleasure in noticing those of others.

—Duc de la Rochefoucauld,
Maximes
, 31

Rod climbed out of the passenger side of the jeep and stepped into six inches of newly fallen snow. He steadied himself on the hood as he scrunched around to help Hank get out of the vehicle. Despite it being Christmas, he wished he was anywhere else besides here with his father, touring the permanent Academy site.

Hank McCluney grunted as he used his cane to swing from the jeep. “I suppose you aren’t having much of a vacation. We should have gone back to Southern California, let you see your friends.” He hesitated. “But I’m glad we finally have some time together.”

Rod kept to himself as they walked. There wasn’t anyone he wanted to see in Southern California, not after a year and a half. Although his friends were back from college, their families would want them to stay at home over Christmas, not out visiting even if he had returned. And although he and Sandy had broken up over a year ago, he couldn’t bring himself to discuss that, or much of anything else with his father. Hank was still the same old black and white guy, unyielding in his opinions, no matter what Rod or anyone else thought.

Hank didn’t even know about Barbara. If her family hadn’t made plans to visit relatives in Oregon over the holiday, he’d be with her now in the Bay area rather than being here, with his parents. He’d spoken to Barbara over the phone just last week. Rod ached to see her again, but it looked as if they might not be able to get together until next summer. He didn’t know if he could stand being away for so long.

So Hank was right, it wasn’t much of a Christmas vacation. The only consolation was that he didn’t have to stay at the Academy as he did last year.

Tinged with snow, the Rampart Range jutted up a mile to the west. A blanket of white covered the construction site. The sky was blue, free of clouds as sunlight reflected off the snow from last night’s storm. Rod squinted from the glare.

Puddles of water began to form by the piles of metal girders as the sun heated the steel. If it weren’t for the crusted layer of unbroken snow, there would be no way of knowing that just twenty-four hours ago blizzard conditions existed.

Hank limped toward the north end of the construction site. Rod walked beside him, stepping along the outline of the dirt road.

Melted water from the site streamed underneath the snow. When the construction crew returned, the area would be covered in mud.

They stepped around iron rebar that protruded from the ground. Demarcated by orange twine, signs were posted around the site: DANGER! CONSTRUCTION AREA!

Rod edged up to a giant excavated pit that ran east-west, toward the mountains. At the bottom of the pit were long rows of concrete footers, the basis for the immense foundation work. The footers stretched a quarter of a mile toward the Rampart Range. Water pooled at the bottom.

Hank hobbled up. Next to the pit were piles of lumber, concrete trucks, huge earth diggers the size of houses, temporary aluminum-sided buildings set on logs that served as construction headquarters, and pick-up trucks used for hauling workers. Snow covered everything, masking even the dust that had permeated the area.

Rod looked over the piled up material and said, “Do you think they’ll finish on time?”

Hank looked startled, as though he suddenly had to recalibrate his thoughts. “They’d better! It has to be ready by July of ’58 so your class can move in.”

“They still have a lot to do,” Rod said. “Eighteen months isn’t a long time.”

“It’s more time than it took to build the Pentagon. Plus, we’re further along in the project than General Groves was back in World War II.” He pointed to the east-west pit. “That’s where your dorm will be; it will be six stories high when it’s finally complete, and so large I predict someday pilots will use the cadet area as a checkpoint, maybe even do low flyovers.”

Rod turned to the east to see another massive pit, this one running north-south.

Hank stepped up beside him. “That will be the academic building. It will be nearly as large as the dormitory.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way to slow down building the academic building, is there?”

Hank looked at him curiously. “I thought you liked taking classes.”

“I’d rather fly,” Rod said.

“That will happen soon enough. You’ve already got your private pilot’s license, and you’ll have to graduate before taking Air Force pilot training.” Hank pointed his cane northeast. “Can you see our house?”

Rod spotted the building right away. Built next to an arroyo by a grove of trees, their unfinished brick home contrasted against the snow, five miles away. It looked lonely, almost forlorn on the prairie.

Rod folded his arms. “How does mom like living in the country? You’re pretty secluded from everyone out there.”

Hank balanced himself with both hands on his cane. “It has its advantages. With all the space we have she’s taken up skeet shooting. Don’t laugh. Mountain lions were spotted in Pine Valley, and this is her way of keeping safe when I’m not home. And we have enough VIPs visiting to keep us busy. She enjoys entertaining, even though the house isn’t complete yet.”

“So what’s going to happen in eighteen months, when the Academy’s finished and you’re out of a job? Your house is pretty far from Colorado Springs.”

Hank shifted his weight to his good leg and turned to look back at the mountains.

A lone prairie falcon circled high overhead, watchful for any game scurrying around the snow covered ground. It looked majestic circling in the clear blue sky.

“We’ll be all right, lad. The Academy’s been my life—our life—for the past ten years. I’m building a university, and a self-sufficient town with its own water supply, power generating plant, hospital, commissary, elementary school, base exchange, community center, and chapel. What more could anyone want to accomplish?”

Rod drew in a cold breath of air. He instinctively knew that his father wasn’t doing this because his son happened to be in the first graduating class; this was Hank’s way of making a difference, a meaningful contribution to history. It was exactly what Barbara had gotten excited about.

Everything else—the education, the heritage, the cadre of Air Force officers, the bonding, and the common experience of cadets—were all just icing on the cake. His father may be betting that the Academy will produce graduates with the same devotion to duty and unwavering commitment as himself. Making a difference.

Maybe there was more to his father than he realized.

Rod felt a chill. He felt that for the first time he’d seen what made his father tick, and why the man was so focused on seeing this project come to fruition.

But despite the revelation, Rod remained silent. He couldn’t bring himself to open up to him; his father had disappointed him too many times in the past, from demanding what planes he should fly to lecturing him about Mr. Delante.

Hank spoke quietly. “Captain Justice writes you’re doing well at the Academy.”

Rod’s head jerked up. “Captain Justice? He writes you?”

“Once a month. Like clockwork over the past 18 months.”

Rod shook his head and muttered.

“Say again, lad?”

Rod turned to view the growing Academy campus. “Justice doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He is always yelling that we can’t do anything right.”

“He cares very much about all of you. He’s a good man, and an outstanding officer.” His father hesitated for a moment. “He said you met a girl in San Francisco—”

“How did he know that?”

Hank shrugged. “All I know is that the Air Force pays their AOCs to produce the finest officers in the world. I imagine they do whatever it takes to know their cadets.”

“I guess so.” Rod drew in another breath. He never knew that Justice even cared about him. But it wasn’t as though he could bother his dad with something as trivial as … as his and Fred’s growing differences. Or how wonderful Barbara was.

After a minute Rod said, “Fred’s father took us to dinner in San Francisco.”

Hank didn’t say anything, but Rod noticed his face grew tight.

“He tried to talk Fred and me into getting out of the Air Force,” Rod said. “He said that we could do a lot better if we didn’t pursue a military career.”

“What do you think?”

Rod thought for a moment. “He had some good points, but they all seemed to be based on making money, and not much else.”

“If that’s the most important thing in your life, then he’s probably right. Anything else?” Hank said with an edge to his voice.

“At first he made a lot of sense. Especially when he pointed out that the Air Force doesn’t really reward you for all your hard work. He said that they’ll expect us to think that because we did a good job, then that should payment enough. And if we’re lucky, we’ll get promoted.” Rod looked at his father. “Mr. Delante said that you were a general when you were 35, and that Fred and I would be fortunate to be majors by that age.”

Hank was quiet. He turned away and was silent for a long time.

He was quiet for so long that Rod thought that his father had forgotten about what Mr. Delante had said. It was a weird silence, the only sound being the wind blowing over the mesa.

Moments passed and a prairie falcon wheeled overhead, as if a hand traversed a clock.

Still looking away, Hank spoke in a low voice. “At least you’re not in a war, lad. That’s the only reason I became a general so fast. I’d rather your promotions come slowly during peacetime than have you rise quickly in a conflict.” He breathed heavily. “Early promotion means you’re filling another man’s position, a man who died. And a hell of a better person than George Delante will ever be.”

Hank turned. He seemed a changed man; his face was red and his eyes blazed. Rod couldn’t think of when he’d seen the old man so upset.

“Don’t listen to Delante,” Hank said. “You can’t trust him.”

Rod took a step back. “But he bought me dinner, paid for my hotel room. He didn’t expect anything in return!”

Hank slammed his cane at the ground. “He always wants something in return. Do you remember that trip we took to Washington, D.C.?”

Rod felt flush. “Of course I remember!” He felt his heart race. Finally! He’d wondered about it all these years, yet never brought the subject up. “Who was that … that woman you were with?” He’d caught his father with a prostitute! How could he ever forget? His breath quickened—

“That woman! What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I saw you with her in the hallway.”

Balancing on one leg in the snow, Hank pointed his cane at Rod. “That was nothing.”

“She had her hands all over you!”

“There’s a reason for that. It was all because of George Delante—”

“Everything’s his fault! Aren’t you responsible for anything that’s ever happened to you?”

Hank slammed his cane against the ground. “I said stay away from the Delantes, do you understand me?”

“Screw the Delantes. They don’t mean anything! Tell me about that woman!”

“She was a pawn! A setup.” Hank’s voice echoed across the snowy construction site. “They’re bad news—all of them. Even that young Fred. Stay away!” He raised his cane.

Rod felt a cold wind whip through his body; his heart beat so fast the blood pounded in his ears, and he was short of breath.
What right does he have to tell me what to do? He still thinks I’m a boy … and he’s not even my real father!

After that insincere buildup and trying to relate to him as a caring father, Rod could plainly see the old man was too mired in his ways to ever change. Ever. All he does is lecture, blame others; he wouldn’t even answer a simple question and admit he’d been caught with that prostitute.

Rod balled his fists and felt the tendons in his neck tighten. He wanted to strike the old man, push him down in the snow, and pummel him with his fists. He’d taken boxing at the Academy, and he knew that Hank wouldn’t be a match for him. He’d never struck his father before, but Rod had never felt so angry. He flexed his hands and drew himself up, but Hank stood his ground, not backing down.

Rod breathed deep, pulling in the crisp air. They didn’t say anything to each other, merely glared … and the moment passed away.

Hank slowly lowered his cane as they both knew who the victor would be.

Rod turned and stomped to his parent’s house on the far ridge, five miles away in the snow, but much, much closer than the fifteen miles he’d run in Southern California to get away from his father, four years before.

“Rod! Wait, I can explain.”

Rod never looked behind, leaving the old man to drive back on his own.