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If you care even the slightest, you’ll call the instant you get this.
Your loving wife, Brooke
Mitchell dropped the letter, letting it fall to the floor.
“What’s the matter this time?” Sweeney asked.
“Same old stuff. Wants to dump the kids on my parents so she can hobnob in the Hamptons. But because of the nasty old war she’s having trouble getting them there.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“One thing about Brooke, she never changes,” Mitchell said.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“What can I do? I still think answering her e-mails and letters would be a mistake. That’ll only encourage her to continue her tirades. And there’s really nothing I can do until the war ends and the Lincoln makes its way back to Norfolk.”
“You’re probably right. Until we return to the States, there’s not much you can do. Look, it’s really none of my business, but if I were you I know the first thing I’d do when we get home.”
“What’s that?”
“Find a good divorce lawyer.”
“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that, Worm? Unfortunately, it’s not an option. If I even appear to be thinking about doing anything he perceives as halfway threatening to his precious little girl, Brooke’s father’s going to have me hung out to dry. File for divorce and he’ll make sure my military career’s over. Shortage of pilots or not, I’d never see a Hornet cockpit again. Or the cockpit of any plane, for that matter. He’s got friends on the board of every major airline. Not only will I be kicked out of the Navy and unable to fly fighters, I’ll be blackballed from any chance of a commercial pilot’s job.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do about your situation?”
“Nope. I’m stuck. I’m the fool who had to have his trophy wife. Nobody held a gun to my head and made me marry her. And one thing’s clear. Divorce is out of the question.”
“You know, sometimes I wish we’d run off with those showgirls we met in Las Vegas last year. The dark-haired one really took a liking to you. She was dead serious about her interest in dashing Navy pilot Bradley Mitchell. After that weekend, we should’ve turned in our resignations. We could’ve taken off for Mexico like they wanted.”
“Geez, I hadn’t thought about them for quite some time, Worm. To tell you the truth, I barely remember that dancer’s name. Gwen . . . I think. But I definitely remember that face of hers. Those two were absolutely gorgeous. Gwen was every bit as pretty as Brooke when I first met her. I’ve got to admit I was tempted to take her up on the offer to accompany me to my room that night. But bad marriage or not, I’m still a married man with two small children to consider and a vengeful wife at home ready to pounce on even the slightest transgression. So there really was no other answer I could give. Sadly, I had to tell her no.”
“Thank God I’ve no such issues. Lisa turned out to be as good in bed as she was as the lead dancer in the Riviera’s topless review. Wow, that woman was something. Too bad we only had the weekend. Those two were dead serious about providing us with some long-term lovin’. We made a big mistake, Blackjack.”
“But throwing away our careers in the middle of advanced fighter training to run away with a couple of showgirls? You know we couldn’t do that.”
“I don’t know,” Worm said. “I’m beginning to wish we had. Right now we’d be romping naked in the surf on some isolated beach in Baja, each clutching an incredible woman with one hand and a stiff drink with the other. We wouldn’t have a care in the world.”
“Worm, you’re probably right. Even so, I can’t believe you’re bringing up Mexico and drinking in the same breath. After what happened when we went to Tijuana a few weeks later to celebrate our graduation, I’d think you’d never want to talk about Mexico again.”
“Now that you mention it, I believe I’m still a little hungover from our sordid adventure south of the border,” Sweeney said.
“That really was one lost weekend. But at least something positive came out of it. We might’ve never come up with a good handle for you if it weren’t for that trip. After a two-day stint of evil deeds and drunken debauchery ‘Worm’ was the only thing anyone could call you. The way you bravely downed the last drink and the worm that went with it.”
“What’s so brave? I was so drunk I couldn’t stand up. You think I’d have considered doing anything that stupid if I’d have been even halfway sober? But at least the worm didn’t stay in my stomach for long.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t believe it when we reached the border and you leaned out the window and threw up the contents of your stomach, worm and all, on that custom agent’s shoes. Let me tell you, that guy was pissed. For a while I didn’t think they’d ever let us back across.”
“And the legend of Worm was born,” Sweeney proudly said. “But legend or no, I’m telling you, Blackjack, as soon as we’re stateside I’m heading straight for Vegas. Got to see if sweet Lisa’s still interested in sharing the Worm’s bed. Hopefully nothing’s changed, and between our unending bouts of lovemaking she’ll be eager to hang on every word of the daring exploits of a Navy pilot fresh from the wars. If Lisa’s serious, I’m going to have to think long and hard. After the past few days, I’m tempted to give up the Navy and look for greener pastures. And if I were you, I’d consider coming with me.”
“You know I can’t. I love my kids too much to ever do anything like that. And besides, aren’t you forgetting the vow I took to never again set foot in Las Vegas? Don’t you remember what happened? While you were in your room romping in the sheets with Lisa, I was in the casino losing my shirt at the tables.”
“And that’s how the legend of ‘Blackjack’ Mitchell was born,” Sweeney said.
“That’s right. Remember what the dealer told me as he took the last of my chips? I was one of the best blackjack players he’d dealt to in some time. And possibly the most unlucky person he’d ever met. Considering the money I’d lost, I didn’t think it was funny. But you and Lisa got quite a laugh out of it.”
“Well, you know what they say, Blackjack . . . lucky at love, unlucky at cards.”
“If that were true, I shouldn’t have lost once.”
“Next time, take Brooke with you so the gambling gods can get a good look at your luck at love. Once they take a gander at what you’re up against, you’ll probably win every
hand.”
“No chance,” Mitchell said. “I’d never get Brooke within a thousand miles of Las Vegas. It’s far too crass for her tastes. Having to rub elbows with the common people they let into those places would never do. You know how she hates having to subject herself to the masses. She needs to surround herself with her equals.”
“There’s no doubt rubbing elbows with us ordinary folk is something Brooke would find disgusting. Remember how she acted when you brought me home for dinner?”
“How could I forget?” Mitchell said. “I was so embarrassed.”
“She made no effort to hide her displeasure. How dare you bring some simple farm boy from Kansas to share your table?”
“Unfortunately, you’re right, Worm. After meeting you, she spent the week in bed recovering from the ordeal.”
“Don’t feel bad, Blackjack. She’s not the only one that’s happened to. Lots of women have needed a week in bed to recover from their adventures with the old Wormman. Most take at least that long to get the smile off their face.”
“You wish,” Mitchell said. “And Brooke sure wasn’t smiling.”
“Well, Brooke or no Brooke, it’s time to hit the ready room.”
Mitchell got up and headed for the door. Sweeney was right behind. As they did, the computer sounded, indicating the section leader had received a new e-mail. Both pilots heard the machine’s announcement.
“Let me guess,” Mitchell said.
Sweeney glanced at the screen. “It’s from Brooke.”
Mitchell shook his head. Both turned and left the room.
