The music of Bob Marley greeted them as they completed the last of the steps, and a low wall invited them to pop their heads over it to take in the spacious resort deck, with its pools, lounge chairs, palm trees, and food laid out on long tables. In addition, servers wearing bow-ties moved among the guests offering fare from their trays. White uniformed officers mingled with the local heavy hitters, who, by the looks of them, were mostly elderly. Sprinkled here and there, however, were what appeared to be a few bored college-age granddaughters in cocktail dresses, disappointed at the lack of Coral Sea officers anywhere close to their own age. One loud matron grabbed the captain as soon as he appeared and introduced him to a distinguished looking gentleman in white trousers and blue blazer complete with ascot. The heavies seemed to be enjoying the forced fun with their newfound island friends — smiles all around. However, Wilson and Billy, along with most of the pilots, were thinking the same thing: Find a can of beer, fast.
“There’s my girl!”
At the sound of his voice, Jen Schofield walked up to her burly husband. Ten years older than his wife, and with a shock of white hair and goatee to match, Mike Schofield could be characterized as a biker — the big, rotund, loud, and uncouth version. He had served on destroyers as an enlisted man in the early 80s, and when he got out, had gone into the automobile sound business. It came as no surprise that he made a fortune selling the best systems to Norfolk area sailors. Annie smiled shyly and then yelped as he enveloped her, lifting her off the ground.
“Ha, haaa…. Welcome ashore, sweetie!” Mike boomed.
“Put me down!” Annie said under her breath, and when he did, she quickly scanned the crowd to see who, if anyone, had noticed the display. As she straightened her blouse, Mike moved in for a kiss.
Mike finished and then offered his meaty hand to his wife’s boss. “Hey, Jim! Good to see you!”
“You too, Mike. You know Billy Martin?”
Mike squeezed Billy’s hand in his vice-like grip. “Ha! ‘Billy’ Martin! You guys have the best handles! How you doin’, man?” Annie watched the men, no longer as a senior fighter pilot but as a demure wife giving her husband the stage. Not that she had much of a choice when Mike was around. Larger than life and completely comfortable in his skin, he was a good husband and father to their eight-year-old son. Wilson knew Mike was the right guy for Annie. Knowing her when they were both lieutenants, Annie had confided once that her boyfriends could not deal with the fact Annie’s job was way cooler than theirs. She could overlook the white hair and beer belly of a man who could accept her for who she was and still treat her like a woman.