The Caine Mutiny by Herman Wouk Page A

Army and Navy officers with their girls. Just before the ten o’clock floor show Roland Keefer came rolling through the smoke and din. His hair was disheveled, his paper collar wilted, his eyes bloodshot. He was towing a fat blonde of about thirty-five in a pink satin dress. Her features were not clearly visible through her make-up.
    “Hey, Willie! H’ya, fella! How’s the old mainspring holding up tonight?”
    He giggled happily and inspected May. Willie stood and introduced him. Keefer greeted May with respectful, suddenly sober politeness. “Hey, whaddya think of old horse-face Keggs?” He dropped back into hilarity. “Went to a concert, I swear he did. They give him a free ticket at the officers’ club. He wanted me to come. I said ‘Shinola on that!’ ” He pinched the blonde’s arm. “We make our own concert, hey, sweetie?”
    “Don’t be fresh,” said the blonde. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friends?”
    “This here is Tootsie Weaver, folks. Tootsie, this fella comes from Princeton.”
    “How do you do,” said Tootsie, in her best Senior Prom manner.
    “See you, folks,” said Keefer, dragging Tootsie off as she seemed settling herself to be sociable, “we got drinking to do.”
    “Don’t forget,” called Willie, “five demerits for every minute you’re late after midnight.”
    “Son, you talking to the human time clock,” shouted Keefer. “Bye-bye.”
    “Keefer has odd tastes,” Willie said as he sat.
    “Maybe he thinks you have,” said May. “Order me another drink.”
    The floor show ran its usual course of comic master of ceremonies, girl singer, and knockabout comedy team in funny clothes. “With us tonight,” blared the master of ceremonies after the last act, “are two great entertainers who delighted audiences here at the Tahiti for many weeks last March. May Wynn, the lovely singer who just finished a triumphant run at the Krypton Room, and Willie Keith, who is now in the service of his country.” He pointed and clapped his hands. The pink spotlight swung to the couple. They rose reluctantly and the crowd applauded. When the servicemen saw May the handclapping became stronger. “Maybe we can induce this charming couple to give us a number. Don’t they look nice together, folks?”
    “No, no,” said Willie, and May shook her head, but the applause grew.
    “Mozart!” shouted the hat-check girl, and the audience, having no idea what the cry meant, took it up all the same. “Mozart! Mozart!” There was no escape. They walked to the piano.
    May sang deliciously, with sweet sadness in her tones. There was something in the performance that hushed the customers, a note of farewell and regret for passing love that cut through the fumes of tobacco and alcohol and touched all the men who were soon to leave home and fight-and even those who had intelligently arranged to remain behind were touched, too, and felt vague pangs of shame. Tootsie Weaver, squeezed in a corner of the bar, put a heavily perfumed handkerchief to her eyes.
    May stumbled during the last strains of the song. At the end there was a storm of hand-clapping. She hurried back to her seat without bowing. The three-piece dance orchestra struck up, and couples jammed the floor. “First time I ever blew up like that,” she muttered to Willie.
    “It was wonderful, May.”
    “I’m ready to fight now,” said the girl, draining her flat drink. “I don’t want to see you any more.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “Don’t call me again at the candy store. I won’t come to the telephone.”
    “Why? Why?”
    “Let me put it another way-will you marry me?”
    Willie pressed his lips together, and looked down at the glass in his hands. The trumpeter blew deafeningly into the microphone and dancers joggled their table. May said, “Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t expect you to. This is all my fault. You played it straight when you told me your pedigree over the pizzas. I was having a wonderful