The Other Side of Midnight

When Fraser had ordered the drinks, he turned to Larry and said, "I've been hearing about some of your exploits from General Terry--both in the air and on the ground."

Catherine was staring at Larry, her mind spinning, trying to adjust. "Those medals..." she said.

He was looking at her innocently.

"Yes?"

She swallowed. "Er--where did you get them?"

"I won them in a carnival," he said gravely.

"Some carnival," Fraser laughed. "Larry's been flying with the RAF. He was the leader of the American Squadron over there. They talked him into heading up a fighter base in Washington to get some of our boys ready for combat."

Catherine turned to stare at Larry. He was smiling at her benevolently, his eyes dancing. Like the rerun of an old movie, Catherine remembered every word of their first meeting. She had ordered him to take off his captain's bars and his medals, and he had cheerfully obliged. She had been smug, overbearing--and she had called him a coward! She wanted to crawl under the table.

"I wish you had let me know you were coming into town," Fraser was saying. "I would have trotted out a fatted calf for you. We should have had a big party to celebrate your return."

"I like this better," Larry said. He looked over at Catherine, and she turned away, unable to meet his eyes. "As a matter of fact," Larry continued innocently, "I looked for you when I was in Hollywood, Bill. I heard you were producing an Air Corps training film."

He stopped to light a cigarette and carefully blew out the match. "I went over to the set, but you weren't there."

"I had to fly to London," Fraser replied. "Catherine was there. I'm surprised you didn't run into each other."

Catherine looked up at Larry, and he was watching her, his eyes amused. Now was the time to mention what had happened. She would tell Fraser, and they would all laugh it off as an amusing anecdote. But somehow the words stuck in her throat.

Larry gave her a moment, then said, "It was a pretty crowded set. I guess we missed each other."

She hated him for helping her out, for making them fellow conspirators against Fraser.

When the drinks arrived, Catherine downed hers quickly and asked for another. This was going to be the most terrible evening of her life. She could not wait to get out of there, to get away from Larry Douglas.

F

raser asked him about his war experiences, and Larry made them sound easy and amusing. He obviously didn't take anything seriously. He was a lightweight. And yet in all fairness, Catherine reluctantly admitted to herself that a lightweight did not volunteer for the RAF and become a hero fighting against the Luftwaffe. Irrationally, she hated him even more because he was a hero. Her attitude didn't make sense to her, and she brooded about it over her third double scotch. What difference did it make whether he was a hero or a bum? And then she realized that as long as he was a bum, he fitted neatly into a pigeonhole that she could deal with. Through the haze of the liquor she sat back and listened to the two men talk. There was an eager enthusiasm about Larry when he spoke, a vitality that was so palpable it reached across and touched her. He seemed to her now like the most alive man she had ever met. Catherine had a feeling that he held nothing back from life, that he gave himself to everything wholeheartedly and that he mocked those who were afraid to give. Who were afraid, period. Like herself.

She hardly touched her food, she had no idea what she was eating. She met Larry's eyes, and it was as though he were already her lover, as if they had already been together, belonged together, and she knew it was insane. He was like a cyclone, a force of nature, and any woman who got sucked up in the vortex was going to be destroyed.

Larry was smiling at her. "I'm afraid we've been excluding Miss Alexander from the conversation," he said politely. "I'm sure she's more interesting than the both of us put together.

"You're wrong," Catherine said thickly. "I live a very dull life. I work with Bill." The moment she said it she heard how it sounded and turned red. "I didn't mean it like that," she said. "I meant--"

"I know what you meant," Larry said. And she hated him. He turned to Bill. "Where did you find her?"

"I got lucky," Fraser said warmly. "Very lucky. You're still not married?"

Larry shrugged. "Who'd have me?"

You bastard, Catherine thought. She looked around the room. Half a dozen women were staring at Larry, some covertly, some openly. He was like a sexual magnet. "How were the English girls?" Catherine said recklessly.

"They were fine," he said, politely. "Of course, I didn't have much time for that sort of thing. I was busy flying."

Like hell you didn't, Catherine thought. I'll bet there wasn't a virgin left standing within a hundred miles of you. Aloud, she said, "I feel sorry for those poor girls. Look at all they missed." Her tone was more biting than she had intended.

Fraser was looking at her, puzzled by her rudeness. "Cathy," he said.

"Let's have another drink," Larry cut in quickly.

"I think perhaps Catherine's had enough," Fraser replied.