Page 14 of Grunt: A Marine Romance

“No, princess, I wasn’t. Otherwise there would be no room for Banjo.”

The valet handed Bret his keys and a leash. Attached was a tan, smooshy-faced dog, around thirty pounds, with a goofy smile. Bret slapped a five-dollar bill in the valet’s hand.

“You’re bringing your dog? I’m not sure the hotel up there will allow it. What is he, anyway? I hope he’s not a pitbull.” Selena loved dogs. She even owned a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel but she had to stay with her mother during the season. Selena wouldn’t dream of bringing her to work.

Banjo sniffed Selena. “He’s a pug/lab mix. Got him at the base shelter. Great dog. And what have you got against pits? Some of them are amazing. I’d probably have rescued one myself but we aren’t allowed to have one on base. Anyway, I’m not staying in the hotel. Get in, Sel. I’ll put a tarp over your bags so they don’t get too many dead bugs.”

Gross. The thought of slimy insects smashed over her luggage made her ill. But she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it because she didn’t want to endure Bret’s teasing.

He helped Selena into the truck and hoisted Banjo in next to her, and the mutt scampered to the back seat. The fresh scent of new leather tickled Selena’s nose. She stole a glance at Banjo, now making himself comfortable by turning in circles on the seat until plopping down. She wondered where they’d be staying, if not at the hotel. For all Selena knew, Bret could have a girlfriend in Marin.

Bret climbed into the front seat and they were off.

“Are you hungry? We can stop at In-N-Out.”

Memories of a fifteen-year-old Bret egging on Selena to cram the rest of her Double Double Burger Animal Style in her mouth hovered in her mind. Before In-N-Out’s were all over California, Bret and Selena once drove two hours away to find Bret’s favorite burger. Winning a competition meant a greasy reward they’d never be allowed to eat during training.

“I have my dinner packed,” she said, pointing at the cooler resting between her feet. Back then Selena could eat anything and not gain an ounce.

“I don’t even want to ask. Cooler?”

“Uhm yeah. My nutritionist has a chef prepare my meals for me. It’s vegan and gluten free. But super yummy.” She reached between her knees, prying the lid open and pulling out a clear plastic container. “It’s this amazing quinoa grilled vegetable salad with lentils and lemon basil vinaigrette. Wanna try?”

Bret turned his nose up. “I’ll pass. Thanks.”

He pulled into the drive-through and ordered a few burgers. When he received his food, he unwrapped a plain burger and tossed it to Banjo.

Back on the road, they were both silent. The music coming out of the car speakers grew louder, now that Bret had turned up the stereo volume. Eddie Vedder’s deep voice belted the song “Black.” Sitting there next to Bret was surreal, especially without the buffer of mindless banter to keep Selena’s awkwardness from settling over them. He was right there, inches away from her. Years ago, she might’ve placed her hand on his thigh. Bret stared ahead, navigating the road with a determined expression on his face. She wondered if that precise focus was something he’d developed overseas, maybe driving a tank through dusty streets bordered by dilapidated homes. Or maybe that was just some image she’d picked up from a movie somewhere. She knew nothing of what he’d experienced in Iraq. She wanted to ask about his life. But none of her questions seemed the right one to lead with.

Banjo had finished his burger and rolled around in the back seat, tan hairs shedding everywhere. Selena brushed herself off with the back of a hand and focused on her healthy salad. The tiny grains tumbled off the fork, and she pouted, almost wishing her hands were clutched around a foil-wrapped Double Double instead.

There would never be a perfect moment, so Selena reached over and lowered the music. “So what are you really doing here? I thought you never wanted to dance again.”

He sighed. “Like I told you in the audition, my buddy, Landon Pierce, was killed in Iraq. He had volunteered to go on a patrol, a patrol that I had been scheduled for, and his Humvee was hit with an IED.”

Selena gasped. “Oh Bret, that’s awful, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, it sucks. It should’ve been me.”

Bret paused and Selena couldn’t think of a single comforting word to say.

“He had a wife and two young kids. When Benny wrote, I figured the show would be an easy way to make a bunch of money in a few months. Then I can help Pierce’s family out.”

A few months? Selena had assumed there was a chance he would become a regular dancer. That he’d be around for the next few years. At least. “Why only one season? It’s a great lifestyle—you only have to work for fifteen weeks twice a year. Dima and I stay on the show so we can afford to compete. We want to win Blackpool within the next two years.” She paused, realizing that Bret probably didn’t want to hear about her and Dima’s competition plans. “You can raise money for other Marines—if you like it. You should stay on the show.”

“No, I can’t. This is a one shot deal for me. I had to get special permission from the Marine Corps. I’m still under orders for two more years. After that, I’ll have twelve years in—I can retire at twenty so I’ll just reenlist for eight more.”

Selena lowered her head. “But I’m sure if you wanted to, they could make an exception.”

Bret shook his head. “That’s not how it works. The military doesn’t make exceptions. And I don’t want to. I’m just doing this for Pierce. Otherwise there’s no point.”

Her voice increased a notch, as she tried to hide her anger. “It’s hardly pointless. We do good stuff, too. Charity work, fundraisers, that sort of thing. Dima and I even started this program where we teach under-privileged kids how to dance. It’s awesome. I’ve met with sick children and wounded warriors. It’s not all tanning salons and talk shows.”

Bret laughed. “The whole thing is ridiculous. ‘Stars.’ How is starring in your own sex tape ‘star’ material? Or popping out a hundred kids? My buddy died defending the freedom of these buffoons for them to turn around and make assholes out of themselves on camera. These reality stars are pathetic. I’d rather live my life than watch people live theirs.”

This show, her life, was clearly nothing more than a joke to Bret. “We’ve also trained Olympic athletes and Grammy winners. And I’m a reality star—so are you saying I’m pathetic?” She could feel her body heating up. “You trash the show but want to use it for money. Where’s your integrity?”

“All the money I make will go back to helping my buddy’s family. So, yeah, I know I’m doing the right thing. What do you spend your money on? How much is that obnoxious ring on your finger?”