next to him. Having been made the center of attention, Wilson sensed he was at a disadvantage. He wanted to continue the conversation, though, so he played along.
“Where did you meet him?”
“At work — Ruby Redds, in North Richland Hills. I dance there.”
“Do you?”
“Yes! Have you been there, Mister Hero?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, you do look familiar. Maybe I’ve seen you in Austin, or Houston.”
“Don’t think so, but tell me, why are you here with…?”
“Marvin… he needed a girl on his arm, so I said fine. He flew me down on his private plane to stay in a deluxe suite at this here resort and sun myself all day by the pool. And all I have to do is walk in with him and walk out with him. That’s it.”
Wilson gave her a look, skeptical.
“It’s not what you think. You spectators can look all day long, but no touchin’ and that goes for my rich friend over there. He stays on his side of the room, and he gets nothing, and if he comes over to me, he’ll be singing soprano in the shower.” She giggled, then added, “He don’t care anyway, he just wants you guys to think he’s gettin’ it. Look at him, talking to those important men about investment banking… or about frackin’.” She gave Wilson a devilish smile.
“What’s your name?” Wilson asked.
She smiled. “Mysty, with two ‘Ys.’”
Wilson smiled back. “No, your real name.”
She looked out to sea and hesitated, but was still very much in charge of the conversation.
“Mary Martha. And you, Officer Wilson?” she answered, after a look at his nametag.
“Jim. Nice to meet you, Mary Martha. Mary is my wife’s name.”
Mary Martha cocked her head. “I don’t see a ring on your finger, Mister Husband.” She turned away in mock disapproval.
Wilson felt his hand. She was right. He had left his ring in the stateroom. He pointed to the carrier across the water. “It’s on the ship.”
“Um, hummm,” she sniffed. “Just forgot. I get it. You told me you’re married, but I see no ring. Guess you’re holding out for somethin’ better to come along tonight. I understand.” Then she changed the subject.
“Where’d you get that Navy Cross?”
Wilson snapped his head and looked at her in amazement. She had correctly identified the Navy Cross ribbon on his chest, something that no civilian had ever done — with any of his ribbons. Maybe Mary Martha wasn’t a brainless bimbo after all.
“Iran… a few years ago. But how did you know it was the Navy Cross?”
“My cousin got one. He was a Marine. Long ago, when I was in high school. Two thousand four, I believe. He died.”
“Iraq?”
“Yeah, a place called Fallu’jah