0 comments/ 20695 views/ 4 favorites Pin-Up By: cyanskye She allowed her hand to trace the edge of the black photo album. Bettie Page vamped on the emblem embossed into the leather. She couldn't decide which he would like better the pictures or the story behind them. ************************************* She walked through the shopping district, putting off the inevitable stop at the grocery store. The early fall air reminded her of wintergreen peppermint. It had just the right mix of warm and cold with its mouth filling warmth and tantalizing cold waves with every inhalation. A mannequin beckoned from one of the boutiques. She pondered the outfit – a vintage dress of deep red silk. Ten minutes later she was walking down the sidewalk with shopping bag in hand and the poor mannequin was left to hide behind some brown wrapping. To celebrate her new purchase, she decided to treat herself to a latte and took a detour towards the coffee shop. The line at the order counter was short. A young man leaned behind the Formica as two teenage girls tried to simultaneously flirt and order. Directly ahead of her stood a tall woman with short dark hair. Bettie Page vamped with a whip, peeking out from under the edge of her white t-shirt. With a sigh of disgust, the woman turned and muttered under her breath, "God, were we really that silly when we were that age?" She laughed and made a casual reply as she gave the woman a quick look. The woman was about her height and probably her age, with short cropped hair, Roy Orbison glasses and that tattoo. "So, what's that?" The woman asked. Silently, she pulled the red dress from the bag. "Sweet!" the woman commented as she slid the fabric between thumb and forefinger. "You know, my studio is just a couple of blocks from here. A pic of you in that dress would be a nice surprise for boyfriend? Girlfriend?" She laughed. "Maybe one of each." She raised her eyebrows in exclamation. "Would you really have the time?" The photographer assured her the entire afternoon was open, as was a nice bottle of Grand Marnier. Both women laughed and coffees in hand walked down the sidewalk to Bettie Page Studios. The studio stretched the length of the storefront. Painted bright white it glowed with afternoon sun spilling through the plate glass window. Cameras were scattered around the room, on tables, on tripods. Lights hung from the rafters and looked upwards from the floor. "I do more formal stuff out here. We are going to the back studio. That's where the fun happens." The photographer smiled mischievously. She followed the other woman down a dark hall. To the left, she noticed a kitchen and a small office. Stairs at the end of the hallway led to living quarters, so her hostess said. At the end of the hallway, through a brick archway, the photographer stopped and with a sweeping motion signaled her to enter. Windows also lined one wall of this room, but the exposure was to the west and afternoon sunlight filtered by large trees cast deep shadows. Several furniture groups were set up as little vignettes. There was a white chaise lounge with a reading lamp in one corner, a dining table with a slate top and four black chairs sat on an exotic embroidered rug. Between two of the windows at the back, a four poster bed with its black satin spread and pile of pillows invited...something. "What a wonderful studio," she had been here before, any number of times but today would be a first. They both knew it; it was the reason they neither one called the other by name. "I have been doing a series of pin-up inspired photos most recently," the photographer said. As if to prove her legitimacy, she motioned to a row of prints, hung on a floor to ceiling bulletin board. "I think you and that red dress would be a lovely addition." She leaned closer to examine the photographs as the woman spoke. They were amazing reproductions. Each of a different woman, vamping for the camera in dresses, hiked up to show stocking tops or bending to reveal breasts that threatened to fall from the precarious perch of a push up bra. As she turned to compliment the woman on her work, the photographer leaned forward and kissed her. The woman's lips were soft and warm and tasted of coffee and cream. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Neither touched the other, save for their lips. She could smell the woman's perfume and wondered if her's was as pleasing. At last, the photographer stepped back offering a shot of Grand Marnier. The women clinked glasses and drank. "I hope you don't mind. You have such a lovely mouth." She turned and walked to an equipment table and began to assemble a camera. "So, are you interested? I think we'll need two maybe three hours. I would like to shoot you on that chaise and if you're game, on the bed." The photographer winked. "Well, I know this may sound predictable, but, I have never done anything like this before." She barely kept a straight face as she spoke. She held it together long enough for the photographer to turn and look her way, then both women broke into a gale of laughter. "Yes, well, that's what the alcohol is for," the woman smiled and poured two more glasses of liqueur. "Now let's have a look at that red dress." She walked behind a Japanese screen imprinted with doves and began to undress. T-shirt and jeans slipped off to reveal black and beige boy shorts and a matching bra. "Very nice," the photographer leaned against the screen. "It's almost as if you knew you were coming here" She smiled and turned to face the woman full on. Her breasts, supported by the thin fabric, rose with each breath. "I like to be prepared." The photographer laughed. "Pull on the dress and let's start on the chaise." She did as instructed. As she sat. The white velvet was cool against her bare legs. The woman knelt down and offered her a pair of red stilettos. Silently, she raised her left foot. The woman slipped the shoe on and held out the right. Again, she held up her foot and felt the soft leather as the shoe covered her skin. Then, slowly and still silently, the photographer slid her hand over her calf and past her knee. She leaned back on her arms and looked to the ceiling as the strange fingers slid closer to her panties. Her legs were spread apart, shoes flat on the floor. Her back arched as the fingers tickled the lace at the edge of her thigh and she exhaled slowly. "Perfect," the photographer whispered and quickly slipped her hand away. "Don't move." The woman stood, then arranged the fabric of the red dress so it rose up over one thigh, the panties peeking out. "Tip your head back, and let your mouth fall open, like your waiting for...a drop of something to fall into it." She sat, positioned on the chaise, and did not move. It was not easy, the woman's words and kiss and fingers had started something. She felt a tickle just inside those boy shorts. And with each click of the camera, she felt her nipples harden. "Now, stand and straight legged, bend over the back of the couch." The photographer stayed behind the camera. Again, she did as she was told. The photographer moved closer. Her fingers undid the first few buttons on the front of the dress and then they slipped inside her bra. She stood still as the woman gently lifted her breasts from their silky confines. Her nipples throbbed and the photographer deliberately grazed the back of her hand over the left. It jumped in response. "Mmm," was all the woman said before moving behind and hiking the skirt up and over her ass to reveal the black and beige panties. She felt her clit clench in anticipation of that dangerous hand but it never arrived and she stood, her sex throbbing as the photographer returned to her cameras. More clicking. More tingling. She felt her breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps. "Now, lie back on the chaise." The photographer brought the tiny glasses of Grand Marnier with her and sat on the end of the couch. "You know we didn't discuss price." She sat, back to the chaise, legs crossed. "You are actually doing me a favor. I need two really good shots to finish up this show. All I'll need then will be your signature on the release. You get the finals." The photographer held her glass up. "You're going to put these in a show?" she smiled. This is one gallery opening her husband might want to attend. The photographer nodded yes and they tapped glasses. The sweet orange liquid slipped down her throat and warmed her from the inside, making her head...and her inhibitions delightfully dizzy. Slowly, she leaned back into the chaise and let her legs slide out in front, nudging the photographer from her perch on the edge of the couch. The woman stood for a minute and looked her over, head to toe. She felt the woman's brown eyes focus first on her lips, which she parted slightly. Then they moved to her exposed breasts. Her nipples ached and she squeezed her arms together causing the flesh of her breasts to swell voluptuously. The woman smiled and her eyes continued, gazing across her abdomen, covered with the silk of the dress before coming to a stop at the edge of the hem. The photographer raised her eyebrows in a question. She didn't need to hear it aloud. Slowly, she took her hands and slid the fabric over her thighs to reveal pale soft flesh and gradually, her panties, now damp with unknown anticipation. "What are you willing to do for the camera?" the woman asked. "I can just start taking pictures, if you like." "Give me one more shot." The photographer complied and asked again, "you like?" She smiled and replied, "I like." The photographer turned and moved to her camera. But this time, as the lens came into focus, she grasped each breast and squeezed. As her hands moved across her abdomen, she let her fingers draw the fabric up and over the top of her panties. At last, she took her right index finger and making a perfect 'o' with her lips, slipped the finger inside. Once moist, she slid it under the lace of her panties and again made that delightful 'o' as her body responded with tiny shutters of excitement. She felt weight at the end of the chaise. Opening her eyes, she saw the photographer, hands clasped under her chin, kneeling in a pose at the far edge. The camera, unattended, continued to click as frame by frame, the woman crawled closer and closer until the woman knelt between her parted legs. She leaned back and held out her hand to the woman. The photographer placed the fingers into her mouth all the while, keeping her eyes on her subject. Breathing now in short gasps, she leaned back. The camera clicked happily as the photographer slid down to her belly and gently pulled the black and beige panties over her ass and down her legs. Dropping the panties to the floor, the woman returned to her study and cautiously leaned forward. She held her breath, anticipating the first touch. It was excruciatingly gentle, nearly a whisper, as the photographer's tongue slipped against the tender flesh of her. Her mouth moved closer, each lick a little more firm until at last, it reached her clit. She exhaled and moaned. The photographer continued to lick her, in time to the camera's clicking at first matching it lick for click. But eventually, the licking came quicker and her moans more frequent as the woman brought her closer and closer. At last, the licking almost frantic, she burst with an orgasm so strong she called out his name. The photographer stopped then, laying her head against her thigh. Smiling at the camera she laughed. "We got that shot, doll. Time to change." Her legs shaking, she followed the woman behind the Japanese screen. On a chair, she saw a ruffled white blouse, a pair of white anklet socks with little lace ruffles around the cuffs and a pair of black and white saddle shoes. "Nothing else, just the shirt, socks and shoes. No bra, no panties." The photographer moved away and she slipped the dress off; pulled the new clothes on. Bare assed she walked across the room, her pussy aching with anticipation of what might happen next. Her bare breasts rubbed the sheer fabric of the blouse. "Sit on the edge of the bed, legs apart." The photographer repositioned her camera, adjusted the lights. "Can you do this?" Quietly, she thought for a few seconds then replied, "Yes." With the camera snapping, the photographer slipped her jeans off and walked to the bed. She stopped, standing this time, again between her legs. "Do what you want." Slowly, she raised her hands and touched the woman's breasts over her t-shirt. They were large and firm. Finding the nipples, she squeezed and felt her own respond. The photographer breathed quietly, leaned forward and offered a nipple. She took it in her mouth, allowing her tongue to lap at its firmness. She sucked and the woman sighed. She took the nipple in her teeth and the woman moaned. Next, she let her fingers trace a line down the woman's abdomen and giggled when the photographer's pelvis shifted. She slipped her fingers into her mouth then deliberately slipped them between the woman's legs. Her pussy was soft and warm, hidden behind a layer of cool cotton. She smiled a devilish grin at the photographer, leaned in and with her teeth, pulled the panties half way down the woman's legs. The photographer gasped and she liked how that sound made her feel, her own sex swollen and pulsing again. Leaning in, she let her tongue begin the slow licking motion the woman had used earlier. The first lick was a surprise. The woman was moist, her taste salty and sweet. Different from her man's taste yet nearly similar. She continued, licking deeper, quickly then slowly in that maddening way he used on her. The photographer shifted again and she grasped the woman's hips, pulling her steady. She covered the other woman's sex with her mouth, sucking and tonguing. Techniques she was familiar with from a different angle. The photographer grasped the back of her head, pushing her firmly closer and she obliged, attacking her clit with the broad of her tongue. The woman cried out as the orgasm washed over her. "Did we get that shot? I think he'll like that one" she sat back on the edge of the bed, all smiles. The photographer did not respond for several seconds. "Yeah, I think we did. Now, let's give him one for the road." And with that the photographer had her move to the center of the bed. "Kneel, legs apart. Oh, and why not try this." In the photographer's hand lay a crystal phallus. "I want some posed shots first, and then you can do what ever you like." She took the organ. It was cold in her hands. She placed it against her cheeks, flushed from the last set of photographs. The glass chilled her skin, leaving a ghost sensation as she moved it away. The camera snapped as she held the phallus against her cheek again. She coyly held it like a lollypop and slid her tongue the length of its shaft. Another shot and she puckered her mouth and placed the crystal to her lips. Moving the phallus down her body, she spread her legs more and arching her back, held the crystal dick at her opening. She began to smile but instead, made a pin-up 'o' with her mouth, slightly covering it with her left hand. The photographer burst into gales of laughter. "That's it. That one's for the show! Now, finish him off, honey." She laughed as she lay back on the satin bedspread. The photographer moved closer. Under the focused eye of the camera, she slipped the crystal inside. It was cold against the heat of her desiring flesh. Slowly, she pumped it in and out, surprised at how her body responded. Her breasts were full, her clit ached and her belly shivered and still, she moved the dick inside her. At last, she could stand it no longer. With her left hand on the crystal, pumping inside her faster and faster, she began to finger her clit with the right. The waves crashed over her as she forgot the camera, the other woman's mouth and the taste of her's on the other woman. She cried out and fell exhausted in a heap on the satin bedspread; drifting off to sleep in a cloud of liqueur and satisfied contentment. Voices from the front of the shop woke her gently. The camera sat silent on the bed table. She was alone in the room. Discreetly, she placed the crystal phallus on the table next to the camera and quickly, she stepped behind the screen and pulled her clothes back on. As she walked towards the front of the shop and the voices, she wondered if the past few hours showed on her face. The photographer sat at a desk with a young couple. Wedding photos of the two were scattered across the desk, the young woman critiquing her figure in each one. The photographer looked up, "If you'll excuse me?" The woman stood and met her at the door. "I'll have the proofs for you in a week. We can make some choices then, say Wednesday afternoon?" "Or, you can bring them to dinner on Friday. Pete said you were both free." She stepped outside. "You won't show him until I get our copies, right?' "Of course not. I know how those two guys compare notes. Let's keep these quiet until they are finished." The photographer laughed. "See you on Wednesday then. Bye Bettie. Give Pete my best." She laughed as she considered just how Bettie might do just that. ****************************** Dinner had been a success. They always had such a good time with Bettie and Pete. She picked up the photo album and walked from the office. He was waiting in the bedroom and it was time for some dessert. Pin-up Girl Introduction: This is a period piece set during World War II. There is no sex. The language may sound stilted, but this was my attempt to match the speech patterns of the time. ***** "Are you doing what I think you're doing?" "Buzz off, Jimmy." "Hey Lefty! Is Tommy choking the chicken again?" Lefty reached across the space between the bunks and yanked Tommy's blanket off. "If he is, he don't got a woodie." "Are you disappointed, Lefty? Do you want to see me with a woodie?" "You callin' me queer, city boy?" Lefty stood up, but Tommy's bunk-mate Jimmy smacked him on the head. "Knock if off. Tommy's in love." "Will you two can it?" Tommy complained. "You guys have your pin-up girls. I like this picture. I used to deliver papers to the guy who drew it. I helped him build a shed behind his house." "She's cute, but I like some of the Elvgren girls better," Jimmy said. "Betty Grable for me," Lefty yawned, getting as comfortable as he could back in his bunk. "Now pipe down. The Krauts are quiet tonight. Let's get some sleep." At mail call the next day, the clerk yelled, "A letter for you, Tommy!" Tommy hurried back to the barracks. The letter was from the artist. ***** Dear Thomas, Of course I remember you, young man. You were the only paperboy we ever had who took the time to get off his bicycle and walk to the door. You were a fine handyman in high school. Now you're a man away at war. Time flies. Normally I refuse requests for information on my models. They are all fine girls from good families, and I will not jeopardize their future. However, as I know who you are, I shall write to the young lady and tell her about you. She will have your address, so if she feels contact is prudent, she will initiate it. You were a nice young man then, so I assume you're a good man now. God bless you for your service to humanity by fighting this evil. Regards from a fellow patriot, Theodore Baxter ***** Tommy immediately wrote a polite letter of thanks, and then daydreamed about his pin-up girl. A few weeks later at mail call, the clerk pulled an envelope from the satchel. "Whoo-wee! Pink. Must be from a lady. Thomas Hamilton, this is your lucky day." Amid catcalls, Tommy retrieved the letter and dashed off to his barracks to read it. ***** Dear Thomas, Theodore Baxter wrote me a letter. He included a picture of you from the local newspaper. He says you are an airman stationed in England. You look quite dashing in your uniform. I refer to Mr. Baxter as my Uncle Ted, although we are not related. He and Father are friends. Mr. Baxter is an artist and, as such, uses what he calls artistic license when he draws. His portrait flatters me. I am an ordinary girl. I work for my father, the doctor in our town, as his nurse. Father knows Mr. Baxter to be a gentleman, so when Uncle Ted wanted me to model, Father agreed. I'm telling you this to try to say I'm a proper young lady. I don't normally write to boys I don't know, but Uncle Ted spoke highly of you. You must be very brave. If you wish, we can become pen pals. Sincerely, Diane Miller ***** "Diane." Tommy experimented with the name in his mouth and mind. "Diane. Pretty name." He pulled out his box of plain white stationery. ***** Dear Diane, It was with great satisfaction and pleasure that I received your letter, and with some embarrassment that I read your comment on my photograph. I wore my dress uniform for the ceremony. Most days, I do not look like that. Your modesty is refreshing, but I suspect false. I delivered Mr. Baxter's newspaper every day for years and did work around his property. He allowed me to see some of his models and his drawings of them when he invited me into his studio on Fridays to pay me. His drawings are quite faithful to his subject matter. I trust you are as beautiful as the artwork indicates. It would be an honor to have you as a pen pal. Mail delivery to the base is fairly regular now, much better than it was a year ago. The tide of the war has turned. If it is God's plan, bravery will not be a problem much longer. Soon it will be lights out, so I must close. Thank you for your letter. Sincerely, Tom Hamilton ***** Tommy sealed it and put it under his pillow for safe-keeping. He would post the note in the morning. He took one more quick glance at the picture of Diane before darkness in the barracks. ***** Dear Tom, What name shall I use to refer to you? Uncle Ted called you Tommy, but you signed your letter Tom. I don't wish to upset you by using an incorrect name. A virus bug is going around the local school, so Father and I are busy. We see patients as usual in the morning, but after a hurried lunch we go to the school and examine children the teachers feel may be falling ill. After that we have office hours until people stop coming by. Uncle Ted said you shoot machine guns from an airplane. That sounds quite dangerous. The reports we get on the radio and in the newspaper say things are going well for the Allies. I do hope that means you and your friends will be safe soon. Warm regards, Diane ***** "Safe?" Tommy mused. He re-read Diane's letter a few times and studied the drawing once again. He almost understood why a buffoon like Lefty or a ladies' man like Jimmy didn't think she was special. Diane's cheekbones were a bit high for some people's tastes, her blue eyes somewhat large. She seemed to have a modest-sized bosom and small hips. Her long, wavy blond hair and her legs were the features all the guys agreed on. In the drawing her hemline was lifted scandalously high, but her full petticoat preserved her modesty. She was exquisite. Physically, she was all Tommy could imagine wanting in a woman. The British pub lasses were nice, but a little cheap for his tastes. He was one of the few men on base who didn't spend all his pay and leave time trying to get in their knickers. Some nights he was tempted. It was anybody's guess if he'd make it back from the next mission, so why worry about the future? His buddies didn't. But Tommy was a quiet one, a good lad, and absolutely deadly when shooting at Nazi airplanes. ***** Dear Diane, Thomas is my real name, of course. I tried to get my family and friends to call me Tom when I got older, but Tommy stuck. You may use whichever name you prefer. Being safe now will not keep the world safe. I shoot German planes down before they can shoot us or drop bombs on our Allies. You and your father expose yourselves to disease. Those activities are not safe, but they help to keep people safe. When the war is over, I want to buy some land, build a house, and start a business. I shall be glad to return to civilian life. Do you plan to work with your father until he retires? Please continue to write me. I shall endeavor to answer you promptly. Best regards, Tommy ***** The two exchanged letters on a regular basis for months. Tommy wrote several times a week, and Diane answered each one immediately. At times, they had two or three different letters and responses going at once, due to the slow travel of international mail. Two weeks passed since Tommy's last letter. Diane waited for the postman every day. Today was no different. Nothing but things involving the doctor's work. She took the mail into the office. "Father?" "Yes?" "You were in the Army." "Yes." "What was war like?" Dr. Miller looked up from the patient charts on his desk. "I prayed a lot." "Were you afraid for your life?" Dr. Miller took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "You're worried about that boy." Diane blushed. "He seems very nice. Uncle Ted spoke quite highly of him. It's his second tour of duty." "He must be brave. One tour of duty as a medic in the trenches was enough for me. When they let me come home, I did. I saw horrors I will never forget. The automobile accidents around here are nothing." "Tommy is a belly gunner on a Flying Fortress." "That's a big airplane. Much better than the fly boys had in my day. The belly gunner may be the most important man up there. He is the one who keeps the Messerschmidts off them so they can fly home." "It sounds horribly dangerous." "Sit down, Diane." His daughter took the patient chair next to the desk. "Dear, war is dangerous. In a way, airmen have it better than most. They don't die of gangrene in field hospitals or come home ruined by mustard gas. They either return in one piece or they don't at all. Your Tommy has only seven more missions to fly. Am I correct?" "When he wrote his last letter it was seven. It should be five now. Father, I'm scared." The doctor watched his only child blot a tear. The last time she did that in front of him was when her mother died nine years earlier. She took it hard, but by the time the funeral ended and the family left for the evening, she was changed. At twelve, she developed the mindset of a determined mature woman. Diane was one of the strongest people he knew. "You believe you're in love with him, don't you?" "You must think I'm silly." "Diane, the last thing I would ever call you is silly. You're a fine young woman and an excellent nurse. Since Mother passed, you're the only reason I keep my sanity. Everyone says you're the prettiest girl around here. Our patients love you. You are intelligent. You need to think." "What if he doesn't come home?" "I will not lie to you. He may not, but you can't change that, so there is no point in worrying about it. Instead, you should think about what may happen when he does come back. This young man is lonely now, thousands of miles from home, facing death. When he's back home, he'll be re-united with his family and his old friends. Things will be different for him." "He hasn't written a word in any of his letters about the drawing Uncle Ted made." "I suppose that means he's polite, Diane. I wouldn't want my daughter meeting him if he behaved inappropriately." "Meeting him?" "You intend to, don't you, regardless of what I say?" Dr. Miller chuckled. ***** Dear Tommy, The mail service is quite frustrating. I feared the worst when your last letters were delayed. I am glad to know you are safe and well. By the time this letter reaches you, you should have only three or four missions left. I do hope they go well for you. Have you had an opportunity to think about your future as a civilian? You mentioned starting a business. What would you like to do? Things are going much better here. Father and I survived another round of the flu, and so did our patients. We delivered twins this morning, the first babies in town fathered by a veteran of the Pacific Theater. I pray daily for this awful war to end. Write to me when you can. Fond regards, Diane ***** Tommy read Diane's letter again after he finished packing Lefty's and Jimmy's things to send home to their parents. Everything but the pin-ups. Someone in the barracks would want them. He polished his dress shoes again. He would be in no mood to deal with them in the morning before the memorial service. ***** Dear Diane, I also pray for this terrible war to end. A bomber and a fighter airplane did not return from the last mission. We suffered casualties on some that could fly home, and there is considerable flak damage on many of our airplanes. We took out the landing strips on two German airbases, so the fighter airplanes we didn't shoot down probably ran out of gas. It was a horrible day for both sides. God willing, I'll be stateside six weeks from the date I write this. Your town is not far from my parent's home, which is where I will live for the short term. When I am established, would you allow me to call on you? Warm regards, Tommy ***** "Father? I don't know what to do." Diane poured the doctor a second cup of coffee. "About what?" "Tommy will be home in about a month." "Good." She sat at the table and fidgeted while her father read his newspaper. Eventually he folded it and set it aside. "You want to go, don't you?" "To meet him?" "Why yes, of course, to meet him. I've been around the block a few times, young lady. I know you quite well. You will always question yourself if you don't go." "But what if the things you said are true? What if he's lonely now, but won't be when he returns? He may have a girl waiting for him." "Perhaps you should ask him. It won't do for you to get your heart broken, child." ***** Dear Tommy, It was with great sadness that I learned of your losses. Doing what you do must be even harder when you grieve for friends. I did not know them, of course, but I shall pray for them as I do for you. You asked in one of your letters if you might call on me when you return. I indicated that you may, but I must ask you a question: Is there a young lady waiting at home for you? It would be improper for me to see you under those circumstances. I trust you understand. Your friend, Diane ***** ***** Dearest Diane, You do not know me, but I am a man of honor. I would never have written you, and quite possibly would not have saved your picture, if someone were waiting for me at home. There was a girl of whom I was quite fond in school. However, she refused to see me after I enlisted. She felt, as I now do, that war is an abomination. I have had no contact with her since I left for basic training. Shall I assume that you have no suitors? From your letters, it seems as though you would barely have time, being so devoted to your father's work. When I return, I should like to call on you, if that is acceptable. It may take some time to arrange transportation, but if you would allow it, I shall make plans. Hopefully your friend, Tommy ***** "Father, may I be excused from work two Saturdays from now? It would be the twenty-third." "I suppose, but why?" Color rose in Diane's cheeks. Dr. Miller grinned. "Oh, I know why, don't I? That's the day Tommy comes home, isn't it?" "Yes. I thought I would go to the bus station in the city. He's supposed to arrive at two in the afternoon." "Shall I drive you there? I'll stay in the shadows, but I should like to see this young man of yours myself." She blushed more. "I suppose that's only proper, isn't it? Perhaps I would be more comfortable with you there. You can swap war stories with him." "There won't be much of that, I imagine. Men don't always like to talk about what they saw and did in war. You must be sensitive to that. Do not press him to tell you about it. There are things I cannot bear to think about even today, although it's been over a quarter century since I last wore a uniform." "Do you think I should go, Father? Am I being foolish for wanting to meet him?" Dr. Miller thought for a moment. Then he picked up the receiver of the telephone on his desk. "Mabel? Dr. Miller here... I'm fine, thank you. Could you connect me to Theodore Baxter in the city? His number is Melrose 4251... Yes, I know there's a charge... Thank you, dear." "Baxter residence. Who is calling?" "Stan Miller. How are you, Ted?" "Stan? Good to hear from you. I'm well, thank you. How is that dear daughter of yours?" "She has a dilemma. That's why I rang you." "Oh?" "You're the culprit, you old dog. Diane is in love." "Father!" Diane whispered urgently. He waved her away. "Your old paperboy has stolen my daughter's heart. Her face lights up every time she gets a letter from him. She perfumes her stationery. I believe this is serious," he chuckled. Baxter said, "Tommy is a fine young man. If Diane were my daughter, I would be pleased for her to have him as a suitor. Trust me on this, Stan." "What of his family?" Dr. Miller asked. "Hard-working people. Tommy's father was wounded at Verdun. His mother volunteered at the hospital they sent him to when he returned to the States. When he recovered from his injuries, he married her and moved here. They own Hamilton's Hardware Store a couple blocks from me. Tommy is their only child. The father wanted him to work at the store when he was a lad. Tommy refused to take the easy way, so he got a paper route. He knew his father would pay him more than he was worth." "A good boy, then," Miller remarked. "I would be proud if he were my son," Baxter answered. "He's a sensitive young man, very polite, but very driven. He was good at delivering papers, he's smart and good with his hands, he's won medals as a gunner, and I imagine he'll be successful when he returns home. He knows how to work to get what he wants. If he sets his sights on your Diane, well, I hope you learn to like him." "Diane set her sights on him. She's cross with me now for saying it, but it's true. Do you think she should meet him?" Baxter laughed. "Tommy has been writing to me. He's quite anxious to meet her. I think it's a splendid idea." "She wants to greet his bus when it arrives," Miller said. "I offered to drive her there, be introduced, and then take a powder if things seem proper." "I have a better idea," Baxter laughed. "Mr. Hamilton, Tommy's father, already invited me to join him and his wife at the bus station. Why don't you two come to my house for lunch? Then we can join Tommy's parents." "You never did fool me, Baxter. You pretend to be a hard, critical, academic type, but you're an old softie," Miller chuckled. "Stan, Diane is like my favorite niece. I would let Tommy live in my house if he needed to. They would make a lovely couple." "Then it's settled. Diane and I will see you for lunch on the twenty-third. I should ring off now. Small-town doctors don't earn the money you artists do." "You're right about me being a romantic, but very wrong about the money. So long, Stan." Dr. Miller put the receiver back on its base. "All right. You and I shall have lunch with Ted and then join the Hamiltons to welcome Tommy home." "I never thought of his family. I don't know that I'm ready to meet them. Now I'm not sure this is wise." "Theodore Baxter would not steer us wrong, darling. He says Tommy is like a son to him. You know your Uncle Ted loves you. It's time you had a life of your own." "What are you saying, Father?" "I'm saying it's been years since you've spent time with a man who wasn't ill other than me or Ted. I think you would be foolish to pass up the opportunity to meet this boy and learn if you have real feelings for each other." ***** Dear Tommy, This note will most likely not reach you. If it does not, you will be in for a surprise. I had a lovely talk with Father tonight. He telephoned Uncle Ted in my presence to inquire about you. I could not hear what Mr. Baxter said, but apparently it was quite positive. To make a long story short, Father, Uncle Ted, and I will join your parents at the bus terminal to greet you upon your arrival. If you do not receive this letter, our meeting will be a big surprise. If you do get to read it, look for the excited girl. Your dearest friend, Diane ***** "Father, shall I start your eggs?" "Good heavens, child, I haven't even finished my first cup of coffee. Why are you in such a rush? This is the first Saturday we've taken off for months. We have plenty of time to get to the city." "I'm sorry. I'm just so excited." "Put the eggs back in the icebox, and sit down." Diane brought her coffee cup to the table and sat opposite her father. "Dear, Ted and I spoke on the telephone last night while you were in the bath. The Hamiltons are very anxious to meet you. Apparently Tommy sings your praises in his letters to them. Ted says they're fine people, and I can imagine what he tells them about you, so you have nothing to worry about." "I have everything to worry about, Father! You yourself told me he may be different when he gets home than he was during the war. Four years have passed, so he may be different than he was when Uncle Ted knew him. He may not like me at all." Pin-up Girl "Then he's a fool," Dr. Miller said. "Put on one of your Sunday dresses. We'll have breakfast at the diner." When Dr. Miller steered his aging Buick into Baxter's driveway, Ted was waiting for them. "Stan, you old goat! How are you?" He shook his friend's hand warmly while he spoke to Diane. "You look more lovely every time I see you. You must let me draw you again." He hugged his "niece" and accepted her kiss on his cheek with a smile. "Uncle Ted, please tell me I'm not making a fool of myself," she said. "It's never foolish to follow your heart. Now come inside, you two. Lunch will be ready in a few minutes." The bus was late. Dr. Miller, Baxter, and Phillip Hamilton discussed hunting to pass the time. Diane chattered nervously with Mrs. Hamilton. "My dear, please, call me Thelma. My son is a gentleman. He spoke of you often in his letters, but it was Mr. Baxter who told us you were a pin-up girl. I think it's wonderful. Your image probably brought happiness to many brave young men." Diane blushed furiously. "Have you and Mr. Hamilton seen the drawing? It's really nothing naughty." "We sell calendars at the store. The drawing of you is in a frame near the cash register. My husband liked it anyway, and when Mr. Baxter told us you were Tommy's girl, we had to have it." "Tommy's girl," Diane repeated quietly. She liked the sound of it. The bus station loudspeaker crackled to life. "We have received a telephone call from the station down the road. The bus had a flat tire, but they're underway. Estimated arrival in five minutes." "Five minutes till I see my boy," Phillip said. "It's been much too long." "I know I'm going to cry," Thelma confided to her new young friend. "Phillip hates that, but you watch. He'll have his handkerchief out too." Diane hung back with her father and Uncle Ted when families swarmed the bus. She thought she recognized Tommy from the newspaper picture when he came down the step, and was certain when she heard Thelma shriek. Tommy eventually worked free of his parents' embrace long enough to look around. That's when he saw her. "Diane?" She ran to him. "I didn't expect to see you here." "I couldn't wait," she replied. "I wrote you to tell you I was coming, but I was certain you would be on your way home before the letter got to England." Tommy dropped his bag on the ground and fished in his uniform coat pocket. "I wrote a letter too. If I hadn't come home it would have been sent to you." "What does it say?" "Something I was afraid I'd never get to say to you in person." He pulled her to him and kissed her. "Open it." ***** My dearest Diane, If you receive this letter by post, I am gone. My soul will not rest until I say how I feel about you. Your sweet words have given me comfort when my spirits were low. Your smile has been my light. Had I survived, I would have come home and attempted to persuade you to be my wife. I will always love you. Tommy ***** Tears flowed freely down Diane's cheeks. She kissed him, long and full. "I can be persuaded."