The Other Side of Midnight

"Thash not so," Catherine began, and to her horror she realized she was slurring her words. "I think I want to go home," she said.

"All right"--Fraser turned to Larry--"Catherine doesn't drink as a rule," he said apologetically.

"I imagine she's excited about seeing you again," Larry said.

Catherine wanted to pick up a glass of water and throw it at him. She had hated him less when he was a bum. Now she hated him more. And she did not know why.

The next morning Catherine woke up with a hangover that she was convinced would make medical history. She had at least three heads on her shoulders, all of them pounding to the beat of different drummers. Lying still in bed was agony but trying to move was worse. As she lay there fighting nausea, the whole evening flooded back in her memory, and the pain increased. Unreasonably she blamed Larry Douglas for her hangover, for if it had not been for him, she would not have had anything to drink. Painfully Catherine turned her head and looked at the clock beside her bed. She had overslept. She debated whether to stay in bed or call a pulmotor squad. Carefully she pulled herself out of her deathbed and dragged herself into the bathroom. She stumbled into the shower, turned the water on cold and let the icy jets stream against her body. She screamed out loud as the water hit her, but when she came out of the shower, she was feeling better. Not good, she thought carefully. Just better.

Forty-five minutes later she was at her desk. Her secretary, Annie, came in full of excitement. "Guess what," she said.

"Not this morning," Catherine whispered. "Just be a good girl and speak softly."

"Look!" Annie thrust the morning paper at her. "It's him."

On the front page was a picture of Larry Douglas in uniform, grinning at her insolently. The caption read: "AMERICAN RAF HERO RETURNS TO WASHINGTON TO HEAD UP NEW FIGHTER UNIT." A two-column story followed.

"Isn't that exciting?" Annie cried.

"Terribly," Catherine said. She slammed the paper into the wastebasket. "Can we get on with our work?"

Annie looked at her, surprised. "I'm sorry," she said. "I--I thought since he was a friend of yours, you'd be interested."

"He's not a friend," Catherine corrected her. "He's more of an enemy." She saw the look on Annie's face. "Could we just forget about Mr. Douglas?"

"Certainly," Annie said in a puzzled voice. "I told him I thought you'd be pleased."

Catherine stared at her. "When?"

"When he called this morning. He's called three times."

Catherine steeled herself to make her voice casual. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You asked me not to tell you when he called." She was watching Catherine, her face filled with confusion.

"Did he leave a number?"

"No."

"Good." Catherine thought of his face, of those large, dark teasing eyes. "Good," she said again, more firmly. She finished dictating some letters and when Annie had left the room, Catherine went over to the wastebasket and retrieved the newspaper. She read the story about Larry word for word. He was an ace with eight German planes to his credit. He had been shot down twice over the Channel. She buzzed Annie. "If Mr. Douglas calls again, I'll talk to him."

There was only a fractional pause. "Yes, Miss Alexander."

After all, there was no point in being rude to the man. Catherine would simply apologize for her behavior at the studio and ask him to stop calling her. She was going to marry William Fraser.

She waited for another call from him all afternoon. He had not called by six o'clock. Why should he? Catherine asked herself. He's out laying six other girls. You're lucky. Being involved with him would be like going to a butcher shop. You take your number and wait your turn.

On the way out she said to Annie, "If Mr. Douglas calls tomorrow, tell him I'm not in."

Annie did not even blink. "Yes, Miss Alexander. Good night."

"Good night."

Catherine rode down in the elevator, lost in thought. She was sure that Bill Fraser wanted to marry her. The best thing to do would be to tell him that she wanted to get married right away. She would tell him tonight. They would go away for a honeymoon. By the time they got back, Larry Douglas would have left town. Or something.

The elevator door opened at the lobby, and Larry Douglas was standing there, leaning against the wall. He had taken off his medals and ribbons and was wearing the bars of a second lieutenant. He smiled and walked up to her.

"Is this better?" he asked brightly.