19 comments/ 27997 views/ 23 favorites Don't You Need Somebody To Love? By: calibeachgirl A romance by Calibeachgirl dedicated to all the veterans All rights reserved, 2012 Thanks to my copy editor estragon, a graduate of the United States Army, Vietnam, class of 1969. Saturday, February 15, 1969 Angelina put her few flowers on the grave and braced herself against the rainy cold wind. He had died on Valentine's Day, destroying the holiday for her but it didn't matter, she had avoided any chance of a new romance. After the second year, her friends began a concerted effort to find her a new love and yet, three years later, she was still alone. It was a long slippery walk up the hill back to her car, and the inside of the car got wet as she got back in. She sat there, her tears all but washed away by the rain and when she started the little Volkswagen, the saddening, jarring sound of the radio startled her. She turned the radio off, the Beatles fading away to be replaced by the whoosh, whoosh of the wiper blades. Without the rain, the tears flowed freely and she waited and waited for them to finally stop before pulling away from the curb near the graves and leaving the cemetery. Driving down the road, she stopped at the same Italian grocery as she did every Saturday to get her food for the week. Prosciutto, provolone, crusty bread, spaghetti, olives and for Sunday breakfast, two cannoli... they all went into her basket. "Buona mattina, Signora Vozzini..." said the short man behind the counter. "Today, for you, I've some special cookies, my treat." Smiling, Paolo Silvestri put a small bag into her basket. "Here, let me take that for you." She shyly handed the basket over to him and as he rang up her purchases, he quietly slipped in a Toblerone chocolate bar into her sack. His heart broke every time he saw her and yet, even he, the neighborhood's repository of troubles, had no idea what to do with her these five years. He wished his son were back from Vietnam. He was sure the boy could bring the young widow out of her self-imposed exile and back into the sunshine. "Ciao, Signor Silvestri, grazia per il canolli." The heartfelt statement, the voice young, soft, feminine, definitely thankful.... Just as she did every Saturday, she took her bag and walked out of the store and slowly drove to the empty home. Sunday morning, Angelina went into her small kitchen and ate her canolli, enjoying the sweet ricotta cream as it rolled around her mouth. Once, she would have been in church, listening to the priest talk about the love of God and his mercy for sinners but since Phillip's death, the idea of going to church faded away with her memory of him. The knowledge that she was forgetting the sound of his voice, the scent of his body, the twinkle in his eye was just as frightening as the race every month to make her share of the mortgage payment. She took her fine dark auburn hair, a gift from her Irish mother, looped it behind her ear, and sat up straight in the chair. She was home... home, where all things were familiar... and predictable. It wasn't that she didn't want to meet with her friends, it was just... so daunting, even after all this time. A restlessness and hunger filled her; for a brief time, she had considered joining the church group for young singles. She sighed, sitting at the kitchen table all alone. Angelina closed her eyes again. Home was the same small house she had shared with her cousins since her husband had died, leaving her unable to continue living in their apartment by herself. She yawned, wanting to return to her bed. Her bed... empty, frustratingly empty. In an age of women's liberation, she was a throwback to a different time, a time when women were women and men were men and both knew their place and liked it that way. She looked at her empty bed. A wave of despair washed over her. She had only been married for such a short time. Guiltily, she pushed the traitorous thoughts away, the memory of her husband filling her mind. He had been a good man, kind and generous and more importantly, he had loved her, promising everything that she had wanted... a home, children, someone to hold at night. The problem was he had never made her heart race; his kisses never left her breathless and wanting more. They were comfortable... that's how he had described it. She wondered what she had done wrong. They had been engaged and he never wanted to make love to her until they were married. 'Respect,' was what he had said... he respected her too much. She remembered their last moment together... he had left her on the front porch of the apartment house with a pleasant but less than exciting kiss on the lips, and then he was gone... forever. Her face reddened, thinking about it. Marrying him had not been exciting but it had been better than the alternative. Wednesday, March 12 "Giacomo!" Lieutenant James Silvestri's mother ran and threw open the screen-door to let her son in. She grabbed him close, her arms around him and her kisses on his face. "O Dio... O Dio..." she said, quietly, thanking her God for his safe return. "Mama," was all he was all he could say, everything else blocked out by the woman's quiet sobbing. Whatever he would have said never was, as his father walked into the living room and dropped the dishes he was carrying to the table, their shards flying across the floor. "Jimmy! My God, when did you get home?" "Last month, but I wanted to wait until I was out before coming home." "You're out? Completely?" "Yes, Papa. I'm out." "Thank God," his parents both said, "Thank God." "I'd like to wash up, if that's OK," he said, still holding his duffelbag. Inside, buried beneath everything else, were his four medals and he knew they would go from one hiding place to another, this time the bottom of his closet. "It's OK that I stay here, right?" He never thought to ask. "If it's not...." "Mio ragazzo, certamente." The woman hugged her son again. "You change and come to eat. I'll make spaghetti or do you want lasagna?" "Mama, whatever you make is fine." He left the kitchen and went into his old room, dropping his duffelbag onto the floor and dropping himself onto his bed. It had been two years and as he stared up at the ceiling, his mind drifted back to the war.... ...running, running, running, through the dark jungle, bullets flying, blood flowing, then water, water everywhere as black-clad figures rose from holes in the ground and threw grenades and disappeared.... ...he startled awake, covered in sweat, his hands twisted up in the covers and he finally let out a long, wet gasp. "Damn...." On the radio, Hendrix was making love to his guitar as riffs from 'Watchtower' riffs filled the room. There was a knock on the door. "Jimmy, you OK? I heard...." "You heard nothing, Papa, OK? Nothing." 'Damn it,' he thought, 'now this. Just go away, Papa....' "All right, if that's the way you want it but if you want to talk...." The man, suddenly old, stood in the bedroom doorway, watching his son lying there. "I'll keep that in mind, Papa. Is it time to eat?" He wasn't really hungry; he just wished his father would leave him alone. There was nothing to say, nothing at all. "In a while. Your mama is going to town in the kitchen. Between that and calling everyone... there's going to be a party before the night's over, just you watch." "Papa, I don't want...." "Look, I know but your mama...." "Damn it. All right, for her but not too much, OK? I'm not into it right now." "OK, Jimmy, I'll do what I can but you know your mother." "Yeah, yeah, won't take no for an answer." He got off the bed and went to his closet, finding his clothes from before still hanging, silent sentinels standing guard over his boyish dreams. 'Fortunate Son'... KMET-FM, again... 'ah, shit' he thought, 'what did they know, anyway?' He finished changing his clothes, turned off the radio and went into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he pulled out the lemonade he knew his mother always made and poured a tall glass. He missed the lemonade most of all, forced to drink warm to hot water, stinking of the chlorine pills, all those months 'in-country.' He poured a second glass. "Hey, stranger, you got one for me?" Nancy from next door stood in the back doorway, wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and smelling of grass. 'When did that start?' he wondered. Last time he remembered, it was still illegal. Once, he had a crush on her and used to sit in his bedroom with the lights off, hoping to catch a glimpse of her at night. While it never happened, it did keep his interest for many months until he finally gave up, realizing that she was more interested in boys with cars and money. It came as no surprise when she became pregnant following her senior prom. That alone shattered his last dream and he left for college ROTC. If he had to go, he knew, it was better to be an officer. What a mistake that was. Two purple hearts had changed his mind in a hurry. "Sure," Jim replied, opening the freezer to get some ice. "How've you been?" "Still working at Safeway, at least I'm finally off the night shift. That wasn't my bag." Nancy appraised him. How he had changed from the boy who had left home three years ago. She liked what she saw but there was something hidden, something that he was keeping to himself, something dark. "That's good." He wondered what she wanted. All the time he was over there, she never wrote once. What did he expect, anyway? She liked to have a good time and he didn't fit in with her idea of a good time... never did, never will. She was light-years past anything he had ever known in college. She tried several times to start a conversation but what she considered important he had no interest in... he had thought having a child would have made her grow up but the reek of the grass and the lack of a bra made it seem otherwise. "I've got to take care of something," Jim said. "I'll see you later." "Yeah, that'd be cool. You know where to find me if you want anything." He left her in the kitchen and went back into his bedroom, locking the door. He closed the drapes and lay in the dimness, wondering if coming home was such a good idea. What did they say? You can't go home, again. And they meant never. 'Come on, come on, now touch me, babe....' Knock, knock, knock.... "What?" he asked, not really caring. "Giacomo, there's people here. Your aunt Gina is here." "OK, mama... give me a minute, will you?" 'Jesus, Aunt Gina....' "Giacomo, thank God you're home. I said a rosary every day for you." "Thanks, Aunt Gina. I guess it worked." He walked over and gave the elderly woman a hug. He actually did like her; he just wasn't in the mood for a party... not now, maybe not ever. "God damn war... do you think it's worth it?" his cousin Little Gina, asked. No answer. "I'm glad you're back. I missed you." "Three years out there and now I'm back and now I've got to start all over. How do I put it all behind me? A lot of my friends didn't make it back... maybe they were the lucky ones." "I don't know." He poured a finger's worth of bourbon into the glass, swirled it around and drank. 'God, Papa must have kept that bottle since my high school graduation.' He survived the evening, mostly friends of his parents and some relatives that were able to come. By ten o'clock, though, he excused himself and went to bed, tired of it all. 'Time to break on through to the other side....' Saturday, April 5 Three weeks later, he was at his father's store, once again greeting people as they came in to finish their purchases for Easter Sunday but his father knew when there was no one there, Jim retreated into his own world. Signor Silvestri put his son to work dusting the wine bottles in the crowded aisles, occasionally calling him to help at the deli counter. Shaking his head, he wondered what he was going to do with him. Things were so different from when he had come home from the European war. There were parades and honors and people were glad to welcome back their warriors from a battle that everyone agreed had to be fought. This war, he thought, so different. He thanked God his son had somehow come home in one piece, physically, at least. Angelina walked in, the small bell on the store's door announcing her arrival and she approached Signor Silvestri, basket in hand. "Buon giorno, signora. Sta bene?" he asked, truly interested in the young widow. "Si, si... do you... is that your son? I heard he had come back." She turned and looked at Jim, who had ignored her arrival and continued putting up boxes of spaghetti. "Yes, that is Jimmy... well, I guess he's Jim, now. Jim! Come here, there's someone I'd like you to meet." He waved his arm to his son, hoping that his son would show some sign of life. Jim slowly walked toward his father and the young woman standing next to him. She was pretty in a down-home sense, he thought, and probably already married. Unconsciously, he looked for a ring and found one. He stiffened, his heart beating an irregular beat in disappointment. 'It figures,' he thought, 'all the good ones were picked up while me and my friends were slogging through rice paddies half a world away.' "Jim, this is Angelina Vozzini." For some reason, his father seemed to think that explained everything. "Hello, Signora Vozzini. It's nice to meet you." Jim looked once more at her ring and slowly started to back up toward the aisle he had just come from. "Please, my friends call me Angie." She put out her hand to shake his and he hesitantly took it. She saw a sexily shaped mouth and white teeth beneath a growing mustache that mirrored the darkness of his hair. "Your father said you just returned from...." "Yes, been back about a month." He frowned, the pained expression on his face telling more than he could with words alone. He didn't want to talk about it... not to her, not to anyone. "Are you...?" Her voice dropped off, hesitantly questioning. "Out? Yes. I'm done. Well, it's been nice meeting you. Have a nice day." He walked back to the wine bottles, wondering why he had been so brusque with the woman. She had done nothing to him and yet, he couldn't help feeling he had been rude. 'Ah, the hell with it,' he thought. 'It won't make any difference, anyway, she's married.' Silvestri looked at his son walking away. "I'm sorry," he said. "He's not used to...." "Signor Silvestri, it's OK. I'm sure that as he feels more comfortable, he'll be all right." "You are most kind," the tired man said. It had been almost a month and his son was still mostly silent unless he was forced to speak with someone. At home, he either went for long walks alone or stayed in his room, listening to the radio. He wondered how long it was going to last. That night, he dreamt of her and her creamy pale skin and the Doors kept flying through his mind. 'Come on baby, light my fire....' Each day soon became a routine that he did without thinking, almost sleepwalking through it... boxes on shelves, bottles on shelves, sandwiches made, pizzas baked, floors swept. One Saturday morning, while he was cutting off dried end-slices from the deli meats in the case, Angelina came in. "Good morning," she said, watching him slice the cold-cuts. "Good morning," he answered, keeping his eyes on the slicer. He had a healthy respect for the machine, knowing it could cut his finger off as easily as a piece of salami. She waited until he had taken the smoked ham back to the case, hoping he would at least turn around and face her. "I was wondering... if you'd like to have... that's OK, never mind." She turned and left the store, leaving him standing there wondering what had happened. He shook his head, confused. Angelina walked as quickly as she could down the sidewalk toward her car. For a second, she glanced back at the store, seeing him standing in the doorway watching her and then she got into her car and drove away. Jim stood there, still shaking his head. 'Why am I so interested in a married woman? Nothing good can come from it.' "Que fai?" his father asked as Jim went back into the almost deserted store. "I... I don't know. She just ran out... besides, what's the difference? She's married, anyway." "No, she's not. She's a widow... been one for five years, now. Jeesh, Jim, you've got to get it together. I want to leave the store to you, you know that but...." "But what, Papa?" 'You want grandchildren, don't you?' Jim was frustrated at everything that had happened in his life; this just the latest bump in the road. Bump? It was more like a mountain. "You've got to snap out of it. Ever since you came home, you... Jim, you've changed. Maybe you could see someone, talk to someone. Father Flannigan, maybe...." "Nah, it's all right." 'God,' he thought, 'Flannigan? You've got to be kidding. He's plunging headlong from the eleventh century into the twelfth.' Jim spent the rest of the day working quietly, thinking about what his father had said. The nightmares had not stopped although they weren't as common as they had been. Still... at least once a week, he was back in the jungle fighting an enemy he couldn't see. How could he talk to someone when he couldn't explain it to himself? 'Who'll stop the rain?' he wondered. That night, he took the phone book and looked for her name. 'How hard can it be? 'Vozzini' wasn't exactly 'Smith', after all.' Calling 411, he still came up empty. 'Doesn't she have a phone? How can she not have a phone?' He resolved to be nicer to her the next time she came into the store. Saturday, May 17 "Aren't you going to get a haircut?" asked his mother. "No. I like it this way." Jim ran his fingers through his longer hair, most traces of his military cut now gone. "There's almost enough to comb." He touched his three-day-old stubble, wondering what a beard would look like. Anything to lose the military look, he hoped, even if he didn't have any plans to become a hippie. 'Tune in, turn on, drop out.' "Jim, it's time to go," said his father, putting his coffee down getting up from the breakfast table. "Be right there, Papa." Jim bent over and kissed his mother. "Love you, Mama." For once, the ride to the store seemed to take forever. He glanced over at the speedometer, convinced his father was coasting. "Papa, you trying to save gas?" "It's 27 cents a gallon! Money doesn't grow on trees, you know." "Say, I've been meaning to ask you... does... ah, forget it." The man's grip on the steering wheel tightened. Jim could see his father's knuckles turn white as the man quietly fumed. Ever since coming back, his son would start to say something and then change his mind in the middle of it, exasperating him. All morning, as his father listened to KTYM out of Inglewood for the Italian hour, Jim anxiously waited for her to come in. He almost cut himself twice, looking up every time the door bell jingled while the announcer gave the soccer scores from the old country... "zero e zero, uno e quattro," the man droned on . It was late afternoon when she finally appeared... with a man who looked just a few years older than her. 'What the hell?' he thought, at once being both jealous and angry at himself. He watched them carefully walk through the aisles crowded with food from the floor to almost the ceiling. They were comfortable together, he could see, standing close like lovers would. It was more than he could take. "Papa," he called, "take over here, will you?" He lowered his voice. "I've got to go to the bathroom." Without waiting for a reply, he walked into the storeroom's bathroom and closed the door, waiting until he was sure they had left. 'Damn, damn, damn...' Don't You Need Somebody To Love? A tear went down his cheek as he realized that he had waited too long and she had found someone else. 'Way to go, idiot.' There was a loud knock on the door. "Hey, I need some help out here." Jim had no choice but to leave; he flushed the unused toilet, washed his hands and went back into the front of the store. Angelina and her companion were gone, he saw, replaced by a crowd of people wanting their groceries rung up. The rest of the day dragged on after his discovery. It couldn't end fast enough and all he wanted was to go home and close his door behind him. Tomorrow would be another day and fortunately, the store would be closed for Sunday. His father was too tired to go in seven days a week. He had to find something else to do, somewhere else to be, unsure if he could survive seeing her coming in each week with someone else. It would eat through him, he knew, until there was nothing left but the husk of an empty man. If he wasn't there already. Sunday, May 18 His mother stood in his doorway. "Giacomo, it's time for church." "You go on ahead, Mama. I'm... I'll be along, maybe later." "Father Flannigan asked about you." "I hear you, Mama. I'll see you later." He rolled over, turning his back toward his mother, ending their short conversation. An hour later, the room was quiet except for The Ventures. 'Hawaii,' he thought, 'full of prostitutes so eager to take my money. How much like their sisters in Saigon, just the faces are different.' He wondered if Angelina would writhe beneath him like they had. "Missed you at church," his father said. "Well, Papa, I guess so." "I saw Angelina. She asked about you." "That's nice, Papa." Jim folded his hands beneath his head. 'Will this day ever end?' "Lunch is in an hour. Your mama's...." "I'm not hungry. I'll make a sandwich later; maybe peanut butter or something, I don't know." "Son, you've got to...." He didn't know what to say. "What, Pop? What more I gotta do? I go to the store. What more do you want?" 'Damn it, why can't you leave me alone?' His father slowly closed the door and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. He shook his head as his mother looked inquisitively at him. She put a bowl of spaghettini in front of him. "Mangia," she said and started to cry. Angelina walked out onto the Redondo Pier and watched the old men fishing. As the breakers rolled in, she saw the shiny patches of oil come with them that would eventually coat the sand. She used to walk along the beach until it became a constant chore to scrape the tar from her feet. Offshore, she saw the tankers sitting low in the water, waiting their turn to offload their black cargo. She took a deep breath, filling her senses with the tangy salt air that traveled all the way across the Pacific from China. She wondered how long it took to happen. On the horizon, there were a line of black clouds and she realized that the storm would arrive before the day was over. Turning back, she almost fell into one of the old fishermen leaning against the railing. "I'm sorry," she said, hurrying away from him, for some reason afraid of his nearness. The man watched her running away on the dark planks of the pier, wondering what had caused her to fear him. He pulled his coat tighter against the rising wind and decided it was time to go home. He looked at the three miserable fish in his bucket and shaking his head, threw them over the railing back into the sea. 'Jumpin' Jack Flash; it's a gas, gas, gas....' Sunday, September 7 Jim and his father drove over to the Dodge dealership and looked at the shiny bright red Challenger R/T before them. "I don't know, Jim. That's a lot of money." Even as his father spoke, Jim touched the car, his hand running easily over the paint to the long side window. "It's only money and besides, I've got it. Didn't spend any of it over there." "Still..." "I'm buying it. It's too cool not to." He looked around for a salesman but there weren't any around. "Maybe they don't think I have the money... dumb fuckers." "Jimmy!" "Ah, Papa, what the hell, you know? I want this damn car. Wait a minute, I'm going to find someone." He walked toward the line of windowed offices at the back of the showroom. "HEY!!! Any of you assholes want to sell a fucking car or what?!!!" Suddenly, there were three red-faced salesmen rushing to him, mumbling apologies. "I want this car," he said, pointing at the red car, "and I'm willing to pay cash. Let's talk." Two hours later, Jim drove off the lot and onto Manchester Boulevard. He punched the gas and felt the car push him back into the seat as the smoking tires spun. For a moment, he checked the rear view mirror, embarrassed, wondering if there were flashing red lights in his short-term future. Amazing, to be scared of a fuckin' traffic ticket.... Hitting the brakes, he turned right onto Sepulveda and headed back toward Culver City and home, a wide smile finally on his face. Pulling into his parents' driveway, he honked the horn and raced the engine. His mother came out onto the porch, wiping the flour from her hands on her apron. "C'mon, Mama, time for a ride... let's go to the beach." The woman stood there, shocked at what seemed a living, fire-breathing thing from space. Leaving the car running, Jim got out of the car and taking his mother by the hand, led her to the Challenger and sat her down in a bucket seat for the first time in her life, making sure that she was buckled in. "We're going to have some fun, Mama." He took the car onto Culver Boulevard and headed west toward Playa del Rey and the beach. Chapter 7 – Monday, September 15 "Angie, are you coming for breakfast?" "I'll be there in a minute. I just have to put this away." She turned back to her open closet and hung her sweater back up. Its brown color was all wrong for the day. "Angie!" "Coming!" Ever since her husband had died, she had been living with her two cousins and sometimes John could be a real pain in the... Her face reddened at her thought. Without their help, she would have been living in a dingy apartment somewhere rather than in a nice house close to the beach. Sometimes, she wished he wasn't her cousin. He was everything she wanted in a lover, a husband, but that would never happen, no matter whatever else did. She thought about Signor Silvestri's son. He was an enigma to her and yet she felt herself attracted to him. But, she realized, he had that beaten 'puppy dog' look to him and she wondered if it would ever go away. "Angie!" Angelina hurried out of her bedroom and into the small kitchen. The smell of slightly burned bacon and eggs greeted her as she sat down. Picking up her now cool cup of coffee, she took a sip and put it back down. Was she THAT late for breakfast? She looked at the kitchen wall clock. It was after eight and she knew she was going to be late to class at the university. Wolfing down her food, she kissed her cousin on the cheek, ran out of the house, returned to grab her books, and drove away toward Westchester as fast as she could up Lincoln Boulevard. Arriving late caused her to park so far away that she might as well have parked on the street. She swore several times as she checked her watch every few minutes, knowing that she would probably miss most of her early morning physics class and decided to head directly to her 9 a.m. Inorganic Chemistry class instead. That afternoon, after doing her homework, she drove over to the county library where she worked evenings, putting books back on the shelves, and wondered if she would ever find another man to love. Wednesday, September 24 Jim was sitting on the lawn waiting for the noon concert to start, absentmindedly pulling up blades of grass. While it wasn't the reason he had come back to the university, it was a way to pass the time. The day in - day out routine was starting to drive him crazy and he needed to get away from the store if just for the afternoon. He felt slightly guilty leaving his father there all alone but then, his father had had to take care of the business all these years by himself, anyway, so what difference would one more day make? He watched the girls walk by, wearing their shorts and tight T-shirts. He had missed the blondes of Southern California. All the girls in Vietnam had long, shiny, straight black hair and were short. Here, the girls were tall and sure of themselves, living in a world where it was safe to walk down the street and not worry about where the next meal was coming from. 'Hey, Joe, love you long time....' He subconsciously reached for a Hershey bar that wasn't there. 'Children having children,' he thought, 'or, did they just look like children?' He didn't know. Not that long ago and not that far away.... 'Long as I remember... the rain kept coming down....' He saw the band setting up near the Fine Arts Center. Fifties music was just what he needed... something as far away as possible from the music he associated with Vietnam. He opened his paper bag and took out the submarine sandwich he had made at the store and settling back on the grass, took a bite as a slight breeze came in from the Pacific. A shadow covered him, blocking out the sun for a moment and as he looked up into the hazy sky, he was surprised to see Angelina standing there, the sunshine giving her a bright halo... like an angel. "Hi," she said, looking down. "Mind if I sit with you?" Without waiting for an answer, she sat down, keeping the sun behind her. "Sure, please do. What brings you here?" For a moment, he couldn't hear what she said, the band was so loud, but then realized that she had not said anything in response. "I've been back, wondering if I should start a Master's or not," he said. "GI Bill, you know. I was thinking Civil Engineering, maybe." "Did you go here?" she asked, watching his eyes as they seemed to look into her soul. "Yes, before... well, before. These guys are loud. Would you like to go somewhere else?" He was already moving. "OK. How about the Lion's Den?" she asked, not really knowing any other place. He stood up and extended his hand to her, helping her up from the ground. "Turn around," he said, the words finding themselves hard to say, his voice a soft rumble as he moved behind her. "What?" "Turn around." She moved, obediently. She felt his hand brushing her bottom and bit back a small gasp of surprise. He was just brushing away the grass and dirt but she couldn't deny that the casual touch was disturbing. Was it her imagination or did his hand linger for an extra caressing second? She turned around and looked at him over her shoulder. His scent filled her senses and she suddenly felt weak-kneed and quivery inside. "Am I clean?" she asked, more to cover the silence between them than because she cared. "Oh yes," he said. His hand moved over the roundness of her bottom again and this time, unless she had lost all sense of perspective, his touch was definitely a deliberate and lingering caress. Her face grew hot as the warmth spread from her bottom forward and upward. Angelina sucked in a breath and floundered for something to say. "Good. I'd hate to walk around with dirty jeans." As soon as she had spoken, she felt like screaming. Had such a stupid comment really come out of her mouth? The comment brought a final slap. "All finished." He put his half-eaten sandwich back into his bag and they walked quietly to the Student Center, close but not that close. "Would you like a soda?" he asked. "Maybe... a candy bar? What are you eating, anyway?" "Nothing... thank you, a soda would be nice." Jim walked over to one of the vending machines and soon returned with two Cokes. "Here," he said, cutting his sandwich in half with his switchblade. "Have half, I've plenty," he said, a more intimate action than he thought. "Thanks," she replied, taking the food from him, looking closely at him, trying to imagine what he was thinking behind those dark eyes. "What are you taking?" he asked, wondering what she was doing at the university. 'She has to be at least 23,' he thought, 'if she got married five years ago.' "I'm studying biology. I'd like to be a biologist. I've always liked science and my cousins...." "Your cousins?" he asked. "Yes, I live with them... I need to have a degree. I don't want to work at the library all my life. Those books suck the life out of you." "I'll bet it's pretty quiet in there. That would drive me crazy." "Me, too. I like to talk. Civil Engineering, huh? Want to build bridges and stuff?" 'That would be fun, but I think it's going to be more like water treatment or something. I spoke to one of the professors and he said that if I complete the program he could get me a job at Hyperion down by the beach. Good money, even if it does smell." "Oh?" "Yeah, you know... the sewage plant." "Oh," she said, her voice quietly disappearing as she understood what he was saying. He could tell his answer did not meet with her expectations. Another disappointment... why not? What more could he expect? "Thanks for walking me back to my car. I didn't realize it was so late." She stood next to the Beetle's open door, leaning against the car. "That's all right. I...." he stammered, suddenly at a loss for words. "I'll see you, then." She got into the car, closed the door and rolled down the window. "Yeah, see you." As he watched her drive away, he cursed himself for letting her go without even getting her phone number. It had been months, now. He shook his head and began the long walk back to the parking lot to get his new car, pulling his windbreaker tight against the cooling afternoon breeze. Los Angeles, while warm, was still a long way from the humidity of Southeast Asia. Friday, September 19 Jim picked up the two gallons of Italian Swiss Colony Chianti, put them on the low shelf and went back into the storeroom to get another one. At three dollars a gallon, he thought it should sell better, and considered moving the jugs closer to the front door of the store. He remembered reading something about impulse buying in 'Time' magazine. "Don't forget, I've got another interview this afternoon at three," he told his father, "and I've got to be there on time. Dr. Johnson said he'd help me find some more financial aid, something about returning vets and engineering." "All right, Jim, I'll call your mother and she can come in to help me." "I'll go pick her up after the lunch rush." He returned to the front of the store, bringing out more boxes. Half the time, his mind was obsessed with Angelina and the rest of the time, he was wondering if he should have left the Army. He thought back to her reaction when he told her about Hyperion. He was disappointed. 'It's a good job, an honest job. It isn't like I'm actually shoveling the stuff. Damn it!' "I've found you several financial aid packages that will work. This one is the best but I've applied for all three just in case. With your GI Bill and these, you should be able to continue without spending any money of your own, except for transportation. This is a good program and Dr. Anderson has said he'll get you a position there after you've finished." "Thank you," Jim said, hoping he was doing the right thing. For a moment, he felt guilty, leaving his parents to run the store without him: should he take the Hyperion position? He scowled, not really knowing what to do. "Is there something wrong?" asked the guidance counselor. "I'm not sure what to do," he replied. "I feel like I'm leaving my parents in the lurch." "Well, I have to know what you're wanting to do. Call me next week and give me your decision." The counselor put down the paperwork he had been holding. More silence. "Uh, thank you. I'll let you know." Jim walked out of the counselor's cramped office, more frustrated than ever. What to do, he had no idea but he knew he had to make a decision soon... for more things than he wanted to think about. Later that afternoon, he was back at the store, waiting for the store to be empty. "Papa?" he called out, trying to find his father. "Yes, Jim? What?" His father walked toward him, putting his large knife down and wiping his hands on his white apron. "I was thinking... about school, you know. I could get financial aid along with my GI Bill money and..." Jim quit speaking, waiting for his father's reaction. Just then, Angelina walked in. "I forgot to give you my phone number," she said, handing him a piece of paper. "Call me." And, just as quickly, she was gone. Both men stood there, watching her walk away from the store and down the street, her tight jeans causing a new-found nervousness in both of them. Paolo Silvestri looked at his son and shook his head. "Jesus Christ." Jim was shocked. He had never heard his father speak that way, even when he had joined the Army. What had happened? "Better not lose that piece of paper, son. At least now, you've got someone to ride around with you in that car of yours." Jim didn't remember what he did for the rest of the afternoon, other than driving his father home in the old truck they used to make deliveries. For once, after dinner, he didn't retreat to his bedroom and instead, stayed with his parents to watch 'I Dream of Jeannie'. What he couldn't figure out, though, was what they were going to do when the Major began to age and she stayed young. 'After all,' he thought, 'then what?' He laughed, surprised he was worrying about something so damn stupid. "Good night," he said, getting up, not feeling like staying for Johnny Carson. "What are you going to do?" asked his father. "About?" He knew what his father wanted to know, he just didn't know how to answer. "You know." There was almost the hint of desperation in the man's voice. "Don't worry. Good night, Mama, Papa." He turned and went into his bedroom. As good as he felt, though, his night was filled with one long nightmare after another and he woke up covered in sweat somewhere after three in the morning, his blankets tangled up and his mother sitting on the bed, holding his hand, hoping he would awake by himself. For some inexplicable reason, Angelina was running into a rice paddy, chased by VC and he could do nothing to save her as the ground shook and the muddy water flew in great explosions and then she disappeared. "Mama, what are you doing here?" he finally asked, embarrassed that she had to come to his room. Had he been that loud? Was this what life was going to be like? "Giacomo, please see someone. This is hurting you. You need some help." Jim looked at his mother, both angry and sad that his problems were so obvious to his mother. "I'll do something, I promise," he said. "Please, for me." Thursday, October 9 "I'm not sure how this works," Jim said, looking closely at the psychologist sitting on the other chair. "I thought there'd be a couch or something." "Would you be more comfortable lying down? I can get a couch for next time if you'd like." "No... just... never mind." He stared out the window, listening to the traffic down below on Wilshire. "I see that you were a lieutenant with the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment... that was the Blackhorse Regiment, wasn't it?" "That's right... tanks and armored personnel carriers. We went into Cambodia often enough, nice to have the added protection." "Lieutenant, we can talk about anything you'd like. I'm here to help you." Jim was quiet, unsure whether this was such a good idea or not, but he had promised his mother to see someone. "I thought I'd have to wait." Don't You Need Somebody To Love? "You were lucky, I guess. The VA finally expanded its services and I'm new so there weren't any ahead of you. Thought of anything?" Jim was silent for a moment. How to explain his problem without looking weak was something he wasn't sure how to do. "I can't sleep, I'm nervous and there's this girl...." "What do you want to talk about first?" "There's this girl...." It was late, later afternoon when he finally left the VA hospital and drove home, heading south on Sepulveda. He passed the store and then stopped at the light, looked back at the store and pulled across the street to park in front. "Papa! I'm back!" Jim walked through the store, looking for his father and then found him near the back, talking to Angelina. She looked up and gave him a smile that brought warmth to his heart and heat to his body. "Hello," she said, ratcheting up the fire in his soul. "Hi. I, uh... would you like a sandwich? Today's special, free." That evening, Jim dived into the Pacific, his body easily breaking through the waves coming in and as he rose to the surface within moments he broke into a practiced crawl. The nearby swimmers were familiar ones. Men, like him, who, for reasons of their own, swam on a regular basis in the chill. He had gone there as soon as he was able and although he hadn't swum since he had been surfing in high school, he quickly got back into the discipline of his youth. He had forgotten how good the water could feel while he was 'in country'. The tension in his life began to melt away as his arms plowed forward through the cold water of the California current. It had its healing effects on his body... if only he could get it to heal his soul. The nightmares that had routinely plagued him since coming home were still there. After cheating death, he had struggled to live, to cope with his new fear of dying before finding someone to love. The dreams continued to torment him every night, forcing him to relive those horrifying days over and over, cruelly reminding him of the frustration and fear that kept him from a single night's peaceful sleep, from finding someone to love. His actual fear took place in a rapid series of maddening events but in his dreams, the events were slow-motion horror. The roar of shells impacting his tank, skidding and spinning, jerking the vehicle around out of control, had all but deafened him for a long time. He had to admit, though, that there had been a positive aspect to his experience... it had caused him to rethink his values, his life's goals. He wanted the forever kind of love that only a one-woman relationship could provide. Two days later, Angelina came back to the store and purposely looked for him among the narrow aisles. She found him down on his knees, replacing an electrical outlet below the shelf kickpanel. He sensed her there and looked up. "Hi," he said, glad to see her again but still shy. He stood up and wiped his hands on his apron. "Little electric problem," he said, knowing how stupid the obvious sounded. She just nodded her head, looking down at the floor and the exposed wires lying there on the linoleum. "I was wondering," she asked, "if you'd like to come for dinner some night?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Sure... sometime." "How about tomorrow night?" "I could do that." "Good. Here's my address," she replied, handing him a piece of paper. "Say, seven o'clock?" Angelina's attention focused on her sauce bubbling in the pot. After stirring it, she lifted the wooden spoon and sipped the concoction and then decided to add a little more oregano. She selected what she wanted and added a teaspoon to the sauce and then stirred with a clean spoon. She left it to simmer a while and turned to the oven where she'd begun a roast an hour earlier. Closing the oven, she returned to the spaghetti sauce. She needed to check the seasoning again. Just as she lifted the spoon to her lips, a shriek from her cousin startled her and a small animal ran through the kitchen. The sauce from her spoon flew into the air and then splattered against her pink blouse. Her cousin, Maria, was next through the doorway. "Where did he go?" she asked, staring at the red stains spreading on Angelina's blouse. "What? What was that?" Angelina responded, her fingers now on the splattered sauce. "A dog! It came in when John opened the door. Just scooted past him before we could stop him," Maria explained. "Where did he go?" "I don't know. He must have gone through there." She pointed to the door that led to the bedroom hallway. "Your blouse is ruined," Maria sadly said. "Let me stir that and you go change." "What about the dog?" "Don't worry. Let John take care of it." Angelina went into her bedroom to change her blouse. She was worried about the little puppy. "Can you get a hot dog out of the fridge and give it to him? I think he's more scared than anything else." "All right, but he's got to belong to someone." Jim knocked on the door, a pure white box of See's candy in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other, petals bouncing as he rapped a staccato beat. The front door opened almost immediately, as if she had been waiting for him at the window. "Jim!" she exclaimed, opening the door wider and stepping back. "I'm so glad you came." "Uh, these are for you," he responded, holding out the candy and flowers to her waiting hands. "I hope you like nuts and chews." "Thank you. I made spaghetti and a roast. I hope you like it." At that point, he thought, he would like anything she made, even mud pies full of dirt. In the background, he could hear a small dog whining. "...and so, I ended up in the Army and then the war. You can see it on TV now, at dinnertime, from the safety of your own home, like entertainment. Imagine that, eating dinner with your family and watching your neighbor's boy get killed halfway around the world and I still don't know for what." Angelina listened, saddened by what he was saying and not really knowing what to do about it. For a moment, he had a distant, dark look in his eyes and then, like a light bulb turning on, it disappeared and he was a different person. While Angelina's two cousins ate with them, it was obvious that they were just there to serve as chaperones in case the dinner did not go as planned. Angelina nodded her head toward the door, silently urging them to find an excuse to leave. John looked at his watch. "Damn! Look at the time. C'mon, Maria, we're late. Nice to have met you, Jim, but we've got to be going." "Uh, yes," Maria said. "Time to go. Jim," she continued, nodding her head in his direction. Jim found himself sitting on the linoleum floor, holding a piece of hot dog toward the little stray dog while Angelina was on her knees next to him. He paused in his movements, admiring the young woman next to him. She looked up, catching him staring and he hoped she didn't notice the heat in his cheeks. She took the hot dog from him and broke it into smaller pieces and then held out one to the puppy. "Here, sweetie, have a bite." Her voice was soothing, lilting, hypnotizing. He figured she could cast a magic spell with that voice. The puppy must have agreed because he moved toward her on his belly, his tongue out slightly. "That's right," she said. "I won't hurt you." Jim glimpsed at the dog, obviously a mutt. The dog kept its brown eyes focused on the piece of meat in Angelina's hand. While the dog concentrated on eating, Jim reached out and held it, quickly stroking it to reassure it of his friendliness. The puppy was so starved, he scarcely noticed Jim's touch. "If you finish feeding it, I'll go warm up some milk. He'll need something to drink," Angelina said, rising and leaving him alone with the dog before he could protest. As the dog gulped down the food, Jim looked around the laundry room. Not much to see, he noticed, just a washer and drier and an ironing board leaning against the wall. She returned, carrying a cereal bowl and sat down on the floor beside him. "I think he is starved," she said softly, watching the puppy chew. "Yeah." He moved the dog so it could drink the milk. The puppy began gulping the liquid so fast, Jim was afraid it might choke itself. "What are you going to do with him?" he asked. "Take him to the pound, I guess." "Oh, no! They'll put him to sleep," Jim replied. "You want to keep him?" "Oh... I didn't think about that. Oh, my." She shifted on the floor, looking at the brown and white dog, now lying on the linoleum, its eyes closed. "You could keep him. It would be fun. Everybody wants a puppy." Saturday, October 11, 1969 The late Santa Ana winds blew through Los Angeles. Jim stood in the dry warmth outside Angelina's house, waiting for her puppy to finish its persistent inspection of the front yard plants. He put his hand to his freshly-shaven face. The beard was all gone, what little there was since his father had been adamant about it. "Scaring the customers," he had said. His hair was shorter, too, cut at the same time by the same barber he had been going to ever since he could remember, reading the same comic books even now. He felt like yawning and put his hand to his mouth, to his chagrin accidentally pulling on the dog's leash, causing the dog to land on its bottom as it was pulled backwards. He had been awake since two in the morning with a knot in his stomach, lying exhausted on a damp pillow. Finally, he got up and started pounding away on his old Smith-Corona in the nearly dark room. "In Country," by James Silvestri... whether it would ever be published or not, it deserved to be written, if only for himself. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget that insane, deadly year in Vietnam. Unwillingly, his mind drove him back over and over until he thought he could no longer withstand the dreams that plagued him. Jim thought about Nixon's secret plan to bring everyone home yet everyone was still there... still fighting... still dying... and as far as he was concerned, still wondering what the hell was going on. The pile of scrunched-up paper had littered the corner of his room, threatening an avalanche on his bed. He had taken another sip of his watered down Southern Comfort, the ice all melted, the alcohol diluted, the drink warm to his lips. Just like being there; he remembered the liquor bottle under the parachute cloth ceiling beneath the corrugated roof of the hootch, heated by the sun till one sip burned all the way down. He heard the front screen door slam and, turning, saw her smiling face as she stood in the doorway. "Thanks," she said, taking the leash from his hand. "C'mon, boy," she called to the dog, still unable to give the puppy a name that she was satisfied with, "time to come in, now." Pulling the dog away from the shrubs, she walked back onto the front porch and went inside, taking the squirming puppy with her, his paws making scratching noises against the living room's hardwood floor as she dragged him into the laundry room. Jim slowly walked to his Dodge and ran his hand over the Challenger's bright red finish. He had waited all day for this dinner, the anticipation tightening his mind while he was at the store, causing him to work slower than he normally did, not wanting to cut himself absentmindedly on the meat slicer, something that still frightened him every time he approached the machine with its whirling blade. His father still was pushing him to work at the store, even more so since he had discussed working at Hyperion after earning his Masters' in Engineering. It wasn't fair, he thought. Why shouldn't he have the right to work where he wanted? Why should his father expect him to be a grocer just because he had chosen to be one? He had to admit, though, that working at the sewage plant wasn't the most glamorous occupation to have and wondered what Angelina thought about it. He was almost afraid to ask her directly. What if she had the same attitude his father did? Maybe it wasn't such a good idea, after all. He shook his head, wondering what to do. Jim heard the front screen harshly slam again and saw Angelina's cousins approaching. "John, Maria," Jim said, nodding his head to the two. He opened the passenger door for Maria and pulled the seat forward so she could get into the back, followed by John. When he bought the magnificent car, he had not planned on having riders and the back seat left much to be desired. After Angelina sat down, sliding her hands down over her dress, he carefully closed her door and, finally getting in, turned the key, listening to the Hemi rev up, the car twisting with the torque. He backed the car onto the street and headed down toward the beach on Culver. The car filled with her perfume, the jasmine scent going to his mind, his heart, his soul. "This is some car you got here, Jim," John said, still trying to get his seat belt on as the car accelerated quickly toward the beach. "Thanks." Most of the time, when he drove, Jim was silent, listening to the engine battle for supremacy with the radio and tapping his fingers on the wheel to the beat, but he realized that this personal quirk, picked up during the war, could cause a misunderstanding. He turned down the radio, forcing down John Fogarty and the strident, heavy beat of his "Green River" until it was drowned out by the horsepower under the hood. "I needed something when I got back and this seemed to fit the bill. After everything else..." As he spoke, though, he was looking at Angelina, wondering if she appreciated how much she was something he needed. "You find it changed much?" John asked, his question sincere, wanting to know the man that his cousin seemed so infatuated with. He looked up into the car's mirror, hoping to glimpse the man's eyes in its reflection. Jim shrugged, looking back. "It seems more crowded since I left... I remember...." He slowed down, not wanting to shout over the low rumble of the Hemi and felt the change in the seat back as the car decelerated. Angelina pushed a wayward strand of hair from her face and smiled as the wind from her open window continued to blow into the car, bringing more of her perfume toward him. For a quick moment, he compared her to the small-breasted Asian women that sometimes haunted his dreams at night... when they weren't full of death and despair. Thinking about them made him irritable and he tried quickly to remove them from his mind, wondering what it would be like to make love to Angelina. His face reddened, flushed with his X-rated thoughts about her. He glanced in her direction, half of his attention still on the road as the car quickly sped west down Culver toward the Pacific. "There's this antique store I'd like to see, if that's all right?" she asked. "It's in El Segundo, a couple blocks off Main." She looked carefully, hoping he did not mind the last minute imposition. "Oh?" he asked. "What are you looking for?" He tried to concentrate on the road but his eyes kept glancing toward her, drinking in everything she had to offer. 'Too busy thinking about my baby...' filled the car, Marvin Gaye's smooth voice bringing him back to his driving, the road suddenly turning bumpy the nearer they got to El Segundo. "Vaseline glass..." she said, shyly smiling, knowing it sounded strange. Vaseline glass... it sounded funny, but what else could you call it? 'Yellow-green glass'? "Vaseline glass?" Jim laughed. "Can't you go to the drugstore?" There was a chuckle from the back seat, probably Maria. "Don't laugh. It's just called that because of the color. You know, glass has color because of the minerals they mix into it, iron for red, copper for blue and green... to get the color for this glass, they mix in uranium." "Uranium? You've got to be kidding. Isn't it dangerous?" Visions of radioactive glow completed his thoughts, making him feel unsettled. "It does set off a Geiger counter but it's not dangerous. It's been around since the Depression. My grandmother gave me some. It's fun, you'll see." He nodded his head, his dark eyes trying to give a hint of understanding. "You and your glass," Maria said. "I'm hungry." She shifted on her seat to emphasize her feelings. Angelina looked toward the back seat. "We'll get there when we get there," she said, embarrassed at her cousin's outburst. She stared down at the floor of the car, wondering if inviting her cousins for dinner was such a good idea after all. But, she considered, they had insisted, saying she didn't really know Jim, after all, and who knew what he might expect afterwards; after all, he had been to Vietnam.... As hard as it was parking on Main Street, the antique store two blocks over had plenty of room and Jim soon found an open space for the Challenger near a tall palm tree that reached for the sky. Inside the store, he wrinkled his nose, the smell of old and forgotten furniture and slightly moldy books overwhelming him. Even the open spaces of Southeast Asia had a mellower odor than the store. Suddenly he sneezed, the furnishings triggering an allergy he was unaware of, his head pushing forward in reaction, his hand moving to his mouth. He walked over to the window and looked out onto the street, watching his car sitting there, so different from the staid and dull looking automobiles surrounding it. Behind him, he could hear the two girls excitedly speaking about an old china doll resting on a Victorian sofa. "Want a smoke?" John asked, tapping and offering his pack. "No, thanks, I don't smoke anymore." He had thought about it. Cigarettes were common enough over there, grass, too. But, he soon realized, if he was going to survive hell, he needed to keep a clear mind. Angelina and Maria approached from behind them. "Look," Angelina said, holding out a small mostly transparent yellow-greenish glass plate. "See, Vaseline glass." Jim tentatively held the dish, amazed that someone would have used uranium to color dishware but then thought about the time it was made. He handed the dish back and after she put it back into the paper bag, they got back into the car. "So," he declared, "who's hungry, now?" He looked at his hand, wondering if it would glow in the dark like the numbers on his watch. "The Velvet Turtle? I've never been here," said Maria as she got out of the car. "I think you'll like it. It has a piano bar and the food is quite good." Jim checked the lock on the car's door and then took Angelina by the arm, leading the way into the restaurant. "The roast beef is very good." Jim looked up from his salad, the Green Goddess dressing glistening on the lettuce. "I'm glad you could come, tonight. It's been a long time since I've gone out to a restaurant." "You're welcome. This is nice. I haven't been out since...." She stopped talking, not wanting to bring up ghosts from the past and yet, she wondered, would she ever be comfortable thinking about her husband, now gone for five years. "This is nice," she continued, looking for a way to change the thoughts in her mind. "I'm glad you asked." He swirled the garlic sauce around his plate. He wanted to take their relationship to the 'next level'. The 'next level'... he heard someone say that, once. He wanted to go so much higher than the 'next level'. Sunday, October 12, 1969 The Knights of Columbus were lined up in front of the church, their swords out and at attention, while the priest walked up the main aisle and toward the sacristy, blessing the people with holy water. The first altar boy, carrying the tall cross, walked ahead and eventually put it into its stand and Columbus Day Mass started. Jim sat three rows back with Angelina and his mother, watching his father in his tuxedo and cape holding his own sword high and then, as one, all the men sheathed their swords and returned to the front pews, kneeling together.