The loud matron had the admiral, captain, and CAG cornered as she presented them to more St. Thomas A-listers. In this situation, the squadron COs and XOs were the de facto junior officers, and as they had learned over the course of their careers, knew to hit the bar and buffet table early, and in that order. They made small talk with some of the civilians, mostly retired businessmen from the eastern seaboard who made fortunes in clothing, or investment banking, or real estate. All of them peppered Wilson and the others in uniform with questions about the ship, incredulous that they could actually fly high performance airplanes off it. They asked the usual questions about how high and fast the planes could fly and sincerely thanked them for their service. Wilson nodded and smiled. “It’s our pleasure,” he told them.
Heads turned to the steps leading to the pool deck when a middle-aged man appeared. He was of medium height, with receding hair slicked back into curls, wearing a blue blazer and peach shirt open to reveal layers of gold chains against his brown, leathery skin. Conversation stopped, however, because of the stunning woman who accompanied him. Tall, with flowing brown hair and a brick-house figure spilling out of her too-short dress, she towered over the man in her five-inch spikes.
For a moment, all the assembled men were slack jawed. “Whoa!” muttered Billy.
With a satisfied smile, the man led her down the steps while the matron rushed over with the admiral in tow. The man looked important, enjoying the attention from everyone, and the girl was clearly an armpiece, dutifully offering obligatory saccharine smiles at each introduction. Almost a full head length above her companion, she surveyed the crowd, bored and uninterested.
Amused, Annie broke the silence. “You guys never seen a trophy wife before?”
Billy answered, “That is an accoutrement, and if she is his wife, she’s number four or five.”
“That’s what you red-blooded American men are fighting for!” Mike boomed, too loud as usual. “Me, I’ve got my honey right here!” He pulled Annie close to him, almost causing her to lose her balance. Wilson watched her give him a look to calm down, which he playfully ignored.
“Think she’s a pro?” Wilson offered to anyone.
“If she is, she’s not from around these parts,” Mike answered. Annie turned to her husband and raised an eyebrow.
“And how would you, know?” she asked him with a half playful, half withering look.
“Hey, I was once a sailor on liberty in Saint Thomas, and I don’t remember her — or anyone that looked like her. Not that I was looking! And I’m not looking now! Actually, I’m not sure I was ever here! Ah, what were we talking about?” Mike guffawed at his own infectious humor.