Home: Part 37

What follows is a work of fiction. Nothing here is either true or relevant. Read at your own risk. Expect nothing, and that's exactly what you'll get. Oh: This could go on for a while.

July 1974

 
I'd watched Narcie dancing for at least an hour. The band was loud, forcing voices to be even louder as they sought relevance in the large room that was filled with so much military flesh and blood that even walking to the bathroom was a challenge. Narcie seemed to pace her dances evenly, never lingering too long with any one man before sitting on a bar stool by herself, away from the crowd and noise and cigarette smoke. She moved well. Her head bobbed smoothly to the music. Occasionally she closed her eyes and let her partner guide her, letting him lead so he could think he was controlling her. Her brown bangs were wet with sweat from her forehead, and at just the right time during a song she would flip her head back so the bangs lifted away from her eyes.

At some point the crowd thinned. Earlier I had merged into a group that seemed more interested in my status as a civilian more than anything else. That interest waned with each bottle of beer, and soon I was alone in a large booth. I'd been staring at Narcie. She smiled at me, picked up her bottle of San Miguel, and weaved through the dancers. She sat in the booth across from me.

"You alone," she said more than asked. "Your friends leave?"

Her short skirt had risen high on her thighs, which glistened with sweat. 

"I suppose they did," I said. "I'm not sure why."

"Ships are leaving tomorrow," she said.

"They are?"

"Yes. Maybe your friends have to get to bed early."

"That could be."

"You thirsty?"

"You want a drink?" I asked.

"Give me twenty pesos. I'll get us beer."

Twenty pesos was a lot of money for two bottles of beer, but I handed her a bill anyway. She walked to the bar, and she returned with four bottles. She didn't offer me the change, and I didn't ask for it.

"You dance?" she asked.

"Not really," I said.

"What's your name?" she asked, and I told her. "My name is Narcie," she said.

"Marcie?"

"No. Narcie. You have a place to stay tonight?"

Surprised at the speed of things, I said that I did. "Not far from here," I said.

"You want to take me home?"

"Your home?"

She laughed. "No, your home. The hotel."

Her skirt seemed to have risen even farther up her thighs, and I was curious. "How much?"

"You buy me dinner, too?"

"Of course," I said.

She nodded. "Good. You get me cheap, then. Come on."