“A beautiful woman in a convertible has to be wearing sunglasses.”
“Put on your sunglasses,” April said.
“Please,” the man said gently. He leaned against the car and stood over Claire, his back to April, and April understood that she was not to speak again. Her part in this was done; he would close the deal in his own way. He said something in a low voice, and Claire took her sunglasses from her purse and slipped them on. Then she handed him her hat. A gust of heat blew over the lot, rattling the pennants, as April walked toward the showroom. It looked cool in there behind the tinted glass. Quiet. They’d have coffee in the waiting area, old copies of
People
. She could give her feet a rest and catch up on the stars.
The Other Miller
F or two days now Miller has been standing in the rain with the rest of Bravo Company, waiting for some men from another company to blunder down the logging road where Bravo waits in ambush. When this happens, if this happens, Miller will stick his head out of the hole he’s hiding in and shoot off all his blank ammunition in the direction of the road. So will everyone else in Bravo Company. Then they will climb out of their holes and get on some trucks and go home, back to the base.
This is the plan.
Miller has no faith in it. He has never yet seen a plan that worked, and this one won’t either. His foxhole has about a foot of water in it. He has to stand on little shelves he’s been digging out of the walls, but the soil is sandy and the shelves keep collapsing. That means his boots are wet. Plus his cigarettes are wet. Plus he broke the bridge on his molars the first night out while chewing up one of the lollipops he’d brought along for energy. It drives him crazy, the way the broken bridge lifts and grates when he pushes it with his tongue, but last night he lost his will power and now he can’t keep his tongue away from it.
When he thinks of the other company, the one they’resupposed to ambush, Miller sees a column of dry well-fed men marching farther and farther away from the hole where he stands waiting for them. He sees them moving easily under light packs. He sees them stopping for a smoke break, stretching out on fragrant beds of pine needles under the trees, the murmur of their voices growing more and more faint as one by one they drift into sleep.
It’s the truth, by God. Miller knows it like he knows he’s going to catch a cold, because that’s his luck. If he was in the other company they’d be the ones standing in holes.
Miller’s tongue does something to the bridge and a thrill of pain shoots through him. He snaps up straight, eyes burning, teeth clenched against the yell in his throat. He fights it back and glares around him at the other men. The few he can see look stunned and ashen-faced. Of the rest he can make out only their poncho hoods, sticking out of the ground like bullet-shaped rocks.
At this moment, his mind swept clean by pain, Miller can hear the tapping of raindrops on his own poncho. Then he hears the pitchy whine of an engine. A jeep is splashing along the road, slipping from side to side and throwing up thick gouts of mud behind it. The jeep itself is caked with mud. It skids to a stop in front of Bravo Company’s position, and the horn beeps twice.
Miller glances around to see what the others are doing. Nobody has moved. They’re all just standing in their holes.
The horn beeps again.
A short figure in a poncho emerges from a clump of trees farther up the road. Miller can tell it’s the first sergeant by how little he is, so little the poncho hangs almost to his ankles. The first sergeant walks slowly toward the jeep, big blobs of mud all around his boots. When he gets to the jeep he leans his head inside; a moment later he pulls it out. He looks down at the road. He kicks at one ofthe tires in a thoughtful way. Then he looks up and shouts Miller’s name.
Miller keeps watching him. Not until the first sergeant shouts
“Put on your sunglasses,” April said.
“Please,” the man said gently. He leaned against the car and stood over Claire, his back to April, and April understood that she was not to speak again. Her part in this was done; he would close the deal in his own way. He said something in a low voice, and Claire took her sunglasses from her purse and slipped them on. Then she handed him her hat. A gust of heat blew over the lot, rattling the pennants, as April walked toward the showroom. It looked cool in there behind the tinted glass. Quiet. They’d have coffee in the waiting area, old copies of
People
. She could give her feet a rest and catch up on the stars.
The Other Miller
F or two days now Miller has been standing in the rain with the rest of Bravo Company, waiting for some men from another company to blunder down the logging road where Bravo waits in ambush. When this happens, if this happens, Miller will stick his head out of the hole he’s hiding in and shoot off all his blank ammunition in the direction of the road. So will everyone else in Bravo Company. Then they will climb out of their holes and get on some trucks and go home, back to the base.
This is the plan.
Miller has no faith in it. He has never yet seen a plan that worked, and this one won’t either. His foxhole has about a foot of water in it. He has to stand on little shelves he’s been digging out of the walls, but the soil is sandy and the shelves keep collapsing. That means his boots are wet. Plus his cigarettes are wet. Plus he broke the bridge on his molars the first night out while chewing up one of the lollipops he’d brought along for energy. It drives him crazy, the way the broken bridge lifts and grates when he pushes it with his tongue, but last night he lost his will power and now he can’t keep his tongue away from it.
When he thinks of the other company, the one they’resupposed to ambush, Miller sees a column of dry well-fed men marching farther and farther away from the hole where he stands waiting for them. He sees them moving easily under light packs. He sees them stopping for a smoke break, stretching out on fragrant beds of pine needles under the trees, the murmur of their voices growing more and more faint as one by one they drift into sleep.
It’s the truth, by God. Miller knows it like he knows he’s going to catch a cold, because that’s his luck. If he was in the other company they’d be the ones standing in holes.
Miller’s tongue does something to the bridge and a thrill of pain shoots through him. He snaps up straight, eyes burning, teeth clenched against the yell in his throat. He fights it back and glares around him at the other men. The few he can see look stunned and ashen-faced. Of the rest he can make out only their poncho hoods, sticking out of the ground like bullet-shaped rocks.
At this moment, his mind swept clean by pain, Miller can hear the tapping of raindrops on his own poncho. Then he hears the pitchy whine of an engine. A jeep is splashing along the road, slipping from side to side and throwing up thick gouts of mud behind it. The jeep itself is caked with mud. It skids to a stop in front of Bravo Company’s position, and the horn beeps twice.
Miller glances around to see what the others are doing. Nobody has moved. They’re all just standing in their holes.
The horn beeps again.
A short figure in a poncho emerges from a clump of trees farther up the road. Miller can tell it’s the first sergeant by how little he is, so little the poncho hangs almost to his ankles. The first sergeant walks slowly toward the jeep, big blobs of mud all around his boots. When he gets to the jeep he leans his head inside; a moment later he pulls it out. He looks down at the road. He kicks at one ofthe tires in a thoughtful way. Then he looks up and shouts Miller’s name.
Miller keeps watching him. Not until the first sergeant shouts
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