Whisper in my ear Volume 2 of 3

By John Henry Hardy

It's the 1960s, and cultural and political unrest is sweeping across America. In the midst of this turmoil, three young Americans find themselves on a path that sends them to join the war effort in Vietnam; Dion Murphy, a handsome football player from Georgia; Cathy Addison, a pretty young nurse from Minn

• Language: English
• Publisher: Global Summit House
• Release date: Sep 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781956515404

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Whisper in my Ear

Volume 2

John Henry Hardy

Copyright © 2021 by John Henry Hardy.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ISBN: 978-1-956515-41-1 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-956515-42-8 (Hardcover Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-956515-40-4 (E-book Edition)

Added volume to LCCN : 2021917940

Book Ordering Information

Phone Number: 315 288-7939 ext. 1000 or 347-901-4920

Email: [e-mail]

Global Summit House

www.globalsummithouse.com

Printed in the United State of America

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 1

The alert room trailer on Da Nang airfield was quiet except for the ticking of the clock and the labored breathing of tired men. The rhythm of those discordant sounds entwined and echoed softly across the room like a siren’s song, lulling the men to sleep. The radio operator was dozing, and the watch commander sat catnapping at his desk. One F4 Phantom crew was asleep on a brown sofa with their feet crossed at the ankles and their heads resting against the soft leather crown.

Only Norman Coddington, the pilot of the first alert crew, was awake. Dan Carruthers, the Radar Intercept Officer, was sitting next to him at the table with his arms folded across his chest. Dan’s eyes had begun to blink and then slowly close, and his head gradually bowed until his chin touched his chest. But their alert status haunted his dreams, and he bolted awake until he realized no one else was scrambling out the door. He glanced at the clock again and mumbled incoherently when he realized only a few minutes had ticked away since his last false alarm. A few moments later his eyes would close again, and Norman would chuckle each time the RIO repeated the comical routine. Then he too looked at the clock and saw it was exactly 9:45 p.m. Their watch would end at midnight, when two other F4 alert crews would relieve them.

The ennui made the night seem endless, and for the umpteenth time he checked his helmet and oxygen mask that were lying on the table. Then he cradled his head in the crook of his right arm, trying to get some rest. They had not flown a single sortie all evening, but he knew the VC were skilled night fighters, and if and when they attacked it would be very late in the evening or in the wee hours of the morning, when staying awake was a daunting task for most Americans.

He heaved a sigh. If only he too could sleep—but he couldn’t because he couldn’t stop thinking of Barbara Mandera, the only woman he’d ever loved. Although he first saw her at the officer’s mess on the evening of her first day in Da Nang, they had not been formally introduced until his friend, Dion Murphy, hitched a helo ride in from Camp Muir on Hill 55 and invited Cathy, Barbara, and Norman to dine at the Stone Elephant Officers’ Club. There Dion introduced him to the Filipina beauty, and when she shook hands with the handsome fighter jock, their eyes held for a moment.

At first blush, he didn’t seem particularly interested in her beyond their brief introduction, which was a ploy he used to incite a woman’s curiosity. Every man Barbara had ever met immediately took a keen interest in her. But he didn’t, and although he was polite, she was rather disappointed.

Barbara had blushed, not quite knowing how to address the slight, but she couldn’t deny the tantalizing feeling in the pit of her stomach. For the first time in years, she’d met a man who was not doting over her, and she was instantly smitten. After they shook hands, she couldn’t take her eyes off his handsome face.

Norman looked back at Barbara, and for a moment he felt as though she were staring into his soul, since no woman had ever stared at him so openly and so brazenly. It was beginning to make him feel self-conscious and somewhat nervous.

Gosh, he is so handsome, Barbara thought while nibbling at her lower lip and keeping her eyes focused on his. And we’re well matched too, not only in looks but also in height. Most men who accosted her were shorter than she was or barely as tall, and the few who were taller were not nearly as handsome as this man. She was overcome with a mystic aura she hadn’t known since her childhood sweetheart had been killed in action while fighting the Japanese on Luzon.

She had pleaded with Enrique not to join the guerrilla band, but their country needed every man who could pull a trigger. He saw it as an opportunity to prove his mettle, and he soon left the safety of the village. They had been lovers, even though he had just turned sixteen and she was fourteen. One night, after not hearing any news from him in more than a month, the guerrilla courier who collected the Intel her mother gleaned from the Japanese officers, informed her that Enrique had been killed in action. Even though she was very young, the news of his death had proved to be very painful. But she somehow had managed to keep her emotions hidden from everyone.

Now that wonderful feeling of so long ago was again tugging at her heartstrings. For a moment, she couldn’t help but feel it somewhat besmirched the memory of her first love, but her impulsive fascination began stirring the embers of adoration within her soul as the charisma of the handsome marine officer held her spellbound.

Norman finally turned away and began engaging Dion in conversation, but she kept on ogling him. He realized he was casting a hypnotic trance over her, and at that moment a strange and pleasant sensation began nestling in the pit of his gut. Fascination prodded him into looking back at her again. He gazed into those glowing brown orbs and thought, Time to take charge. Then he lustily moved his stare from her eyes and focused them on her ample breasts.

Every woman Norman had ever scrutinized so salaciously had blushed and turned away, but she never wavered. Suddenly the pleasant sensation in the pit of his gut turned into a captivation he could not ignore.

Her radiant brown eyes had seized his soul. Norman felt a sudden rhapsody he had never known before, and it was scaring the hell out of him. She was beautiful and bewitching, and the timing was so right because it had been several months since his last affair in Corpus Christi. He had been feeling very lonely, and now he was feeling ever so vulnerable. His composure continued to wither beneath the gaze of her hypnotic stare. She was giving him a dose of his own medicine, but she didn’t know it.

Yet her scrutiny never faltered, and he couldn’t break the trance nor quell his own uneasiness. Her dark-brown eyes never even blinked as they unabashedly gazed into his blue ones and seemed to hold them hostage; she more than met his stare-down challenge.

Norman felt his pulse suddenly throb in his throat, and he swallowed hard; there was something different about this woman that could spell real trouble. The feelings her audacity was inciting brought back memories of a chat he’d had with Dan when they were eating lunch one day in Corpus Christi, and Dan’s wife, Pam, was visiting her folks in Iowa. He told Dan he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t out fooling around with all the gadabout women in downtown Corpus. Variety is the spice of life, he’d remarked.

It’s because I love my wife, Dan had instantly replied.

The RIO’s succinct response piqued Norman’s curiosity. The RIO had opened a door to a world he had never known, but which he now found rather intriguing. Now this woman seemed to be holding that mysterious door wide open, rekindling his allure of what lay beyond.

It’s the marriage trap! something screamed inside his head. The voice sounded like his mother, who always said those words whenever he brought home a woman who didn’t measure up to her expectations. Yet his face flushed when he sensed something forbidden, and yet exciting, lying beyond those cool, dark eyes.

It was as though his mind was taking him back to his teenage years, when he liked girls for what they were, and sex was a curious and captivating adventure.

For him, the chase and seduction were always the ultimate thrill, and it made him feel like a tiger that had run down its prey. However, he was glad he wouldn’t have to woo this woman or win her away from someone else, and he couldn’t ignore the lure of the implicit promises her eyes were making.

Norman Coddington, lady killer and pilot extraordinaire, was unknowingly stepping through that intriguing door the RIO had implanted in his heart and into the enchanting world of love.

It was his first taste of love’s hypnotic potion, and it left him eagerly wanting to venture on to her web, spellbound and mystified by what was happening to him. He was too weak and unwilling to fight such a riveting fascination, and like all those who fell in love for the first time, he’d never heard that enchanting door quietly close behind him forevermore; there was no going back. Norman was falling in love, and like a child emerging into adulthood he could never return to Toyland or to the forlorn world of those who had never loved at all.

In the magic of the moment, her haunting eyes and salacious stare began wrapping their silken strands of warmth and love around his heart, much as the black widow stung and then wove a cocoon around her hapless mate that lingered too long on her spidery web. Her love sting was emotionally paralyzing him, and yet somehow he knew it was meant to be. Although he had been raised with the notion love was taboo, and like Adam he was being tempted by this real-life Eve and he bit into her forbidden fruit without hesitation and found its taste so appealing he could not help but swallow it. He immediately fell under her trance, and instantly the unfettered, free-wheeling, carefree lifestyle of bachelorhood slipped away.

Yes, he had stepped through that fascinating and mysterious door into a wondrous new world, and when Barbara saw him blush and noticed his slight trembling she knew her flirtation was more than just taunting his curiosity.

Then he saw her angelic smirk, but he had no inkling of what she was thinking as she batted her eyelashes several times; Someday I am going to marry you.

She kept her eyes focused on his, and then clasped her hands behind her back as she tilted her head and parted her lips ever so slightly, as though they were about to kiss. The gesture gave her a look of surrender and helplessness, and she seemed to be swooning in light of his awestruck stare.

Norman’s mouth fell open, and his excitement mounted when he saw her lips part. He knew it wasn’t just her beauty that was stirring his desire; it was her persona too. It was mutual love at first sight.

Barbara quietly took a deep breath to regain her composure before anyone else caught on. However, she was unaware of Cathy’s impish grin and barely heard her whisper, You better not ever tease me again about the time I first saw Dion in the Da Nang airport!

Dion heard his name mentioned and looked at Cathy with an inquisitive expression, while Norman and Barbara were still hypnotically entranced by one another. Cathy nodded toward Barbara. Dion glanced at her and then at Norman and winked at Cathy as they sat down to order dinner—and to watch Cupid zing his arrows into the hearts of two people who were obviously fascinated with one another.

They’re a perfect match! Cathy joyfully thought.

Norman just sat there intrigued, his eyes darting between the three of them as they made small talk until suddenly a thought as searing as a hot poker came burning through his psyche and destroyed the magic of their enthralling trance.

She isn’t white! a voice screamed inside his head. It was his mother’s voice again. In spite of the distance between them, she still held a powerful sway over some aspects of his thinking, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

Regardless of Barbara’s charm and beauty, Norman knew she could never fulfill his mother’s concept of a suitable mate for a snobbish Bostonian. Subconsciously, he was still struggling for his mother’s approval while consciously despising the turmoil her past abuses had inflicted upon him. However, he could not ignore the chemistry shaking the foundation of the racial bias his mother had instilled in him, and it cast serious doubts about his ever obeying her edict of finding a mate who met her notions of wealth and social standing.

Her threats to disinherit him were a valid concern, especially if his dad ever preceded her in death. But ever since he’d become a marine, he had begun to reassess his ideas about women in general. He was aware it had a lot to do with the ones he met in the American military, particularly those who worked in the medical field.

His first visit to the hospital to visit a fellow pilot, who was wounded during aerial combat, had proven to be a nightmare. Nurses, doctors, medics, and corpsmen were rushing about in what looked like a mass of confusion, shouting at anyone who got in the way of their race against time, which was as crucial to their patients lives as it was for the life of fighter pilots engaged in aerial combat.

Norman had noticed a nurse rapidly walking alongside a gurney in triage, and as it approached he could see she was trying to keep a man’s intestines from spilling out of his abdomen by applying pressure to both ends of a bloody towel, while the corpsman was hurriedly wheeling the patient toward an OR. The sight of the protruding intestines resonated strongly and fearfully within him, and Norman literally sucked in his breath and walked away. It took everything he could do to keep from puking because he’d never seen anyone with their viscera protruding from their stomach.

This should be a scene in a war movie and not reality, he softly whispered. Other medical professionals were treating men with wounds so hideous it stunned him, and Norman couldn’t look at them. Legs and arms had turned into bloody, bandaged stumps, and he was even more horrified at the sight of a kid who looked to be all of eighteen years old with a splintered leg bone protruding through his skin. The movement of his leg was being restricted by a splint made from two pieces of a wood from an ammo crate that were bound together by several combat bandages. He could tell they had been hastily applied by another hero while they were still under fire.

The sight of blood soaking into bed linens, and nurses and corpsmen quickly inserting IVs, made him thankful he had chosen to be a naval aviator and not a medical worker. Norman just didn’t have the stomach for the kinds of things they had to endure. He suddenly came to understand why the director of nurses at Da Nang Hospital was known as the Iron Butterfly. To his shame, he had to admit she had a brand of courage akin to what a soldier needed to face the enemy in battle, which also made her a soldier, albeit a different kind of warrior. As he stood there awestruck and watching them feverishly trying to save as many lives as they could, he had to admit it took more professional knowledge and skill to keep a human being alive than it did to kill them.

As a pilot, he never saw the havoc his ordnance wreaked upon soldiers and civilians, but the medical personnel on both sides did, and they were left to undo the carnage, if at all possible. Those harrowing scenes engendered a special reverence he now felt toward all medical professionals, and he vowed he would never again go into a hospital after a firefight or a major battle unless he was a patient.

Now he understood why combat nursing battered women so emotionally. They had to keep those feelings inside, and therein lay the crux of their own wounds. Like the other soldiers here, Norman came to realize a caregiver’s race did not matter to their patients, because they were usually the only human beings left on earth who could comfort them during their most trying hours.

They are truly angels of mercy, Norman thought as he watched them. It was overwhelming. He had recently discovered he did not handle emotions well—at least not as well as he thought a man should. The tragedy of war was awakening his compassion, and when he saw and heard a nurse lovingly ease the dread of a young man slipping into eternity, he suddenly realized his lifelong struggle with his mother’s demands was what had skewed his attitude toward women in the first place.

Norman straightened up in the chair, glad to see no one else in the ready room was awake to see the tear he was brushing away with his sleeve. The mantle of anger and hatred enshrouding his manhood against the onslaught of his selfish mother was slipping away, exposing the soul of a vulnerable human being who cared more than he was willing to admit.

He admitted to himself that he’d fallen in love with Barbara Mandera the day after they were introduced by Dion. His F4 was on final approach at Da Nang, when he suddenly felt a strong and impulsive desire to see her again; he had to know where she was and whom she was with. Barbara wasn’t a Caucasian, but he no longer gave a damn.

There was a purpose in his step now, an anxiety equaling anything he had ever felt in combat—a new kind of elation, and it was wonderful. He no longer cared what his mother thought about women of other races or cultures.

I hope I didn’t blow it, he anguished. She’s probably out with someone else. There certainly were an endless number of men she could choose from, and he cursed his foolishness at not seizing the opportunity the day before when her dark eyes had flashed as she smiled and stared back at him. They had stared at each other for a long time, but then he lost his nerve and didn’t ask her out. His mother’s fierce desire to be the most noted socialite in Boston had kept him from making a date with her because she wasn’t a suitable mate—as far as his mother was concerned.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Against his mother’s stern warnings, he had fallen in love, and at the moment he did feel vulnerable but not weak. The love dwelling within his heart made him feel bolder, and in fact it was more exhilarating than the vainglory he had been pursuing for years. Norman knew what Barbara’s looks meant, and his heart seemed to be on fire as he again cursed his stupidity. Just the thought of her was strangely adrenaline-charging. He pitched his flight gear on the wooden chair and slammed the door shut while his helmet was still rocking back and forth. He zipped past the other rooms in the Q and encountered men who looked familiar, but he didn’t greet them. His heels sank deeply into the hallway carpeting with each hectic step; the main entrance door seemed to swing open effortlessly under the impact of his weight and momentum. He quickly hailed a cab.

They drove past the naval administration headquarters building known as the White Elephant and another called the Gray Elephant Hotel. In his anxiety, he slipped the driver a sawbuck to step on it, and when they reached the hospital he anxiously flung open the double doors leading into triage and looked at the schedule. But Barbara wasn’t on duty nor was she at the Stone Elephant Officers’ Club where Dion had introduced them. So he hailed another cab and sped back across the Han River Bridge to Da Nang East Compound, where he’d come from just fifteen minutes before. No luck there either.

She was out on liberty somewhere—and with someone else, no doubt—and there was only one place left he could think of where a round-eyed female might dare to venture after work: the officers’ mess.

Yeah, he sighed to himself. She’ll be safe there all right—in a pig’s eye. In his present state of elation, he wanted to chuckle at the remark but he couldn’t. At the officers’ club he spied hordes of men crowding around several Caucasian females and the cute black woman named Amy Lou James, all of whom were obviously enjoying the undivided attention and the antics of a dozen or so drunken fools who were trying to impress them. The elation he’d felt for the past forty minutes was suddenly dispelled when he spotted Barbara near the end of the bar surrounded by a crowd of half-lit officers, all of whom were pawing at her and vying for her attention.

On her right stood a ruddy-faced navy captain with a drink in one hand and the other locked around her waist, and to the left and behind her stood several army and Marine Corps colonels who were blocking her escape from the barstool.

The captain probably escorted her into the club, Norman reasoned, after convincing her she would be safe with him. But now he was half stewed and could no longer hold his own against the group of rowdies, who were trying to pry her from his grasp. She was practically being forced to fend for herself as she kept constantly removing the pairs of roving hands clutching her at every opportunity. But her defensive moves didn’t discourage any of them.

A line of junior officers formed a ring around the space claimed by the senior officers, and although some of them were quite soused, they knew better than to interlope into a superior officer’s domain. They reminded Norman of a litter of suckling pigs crowding around a mother sow, each vying for a tit to suck dry. But they were the runts of the litter and never stood a chance of getting even a drop of milk; they kept on sucking around anyway.

Ordinarily Norm would laugh at their buffoonery, but not tonight. Actually, he was getting a little pissed just watching them. He had to devise a plan to get her away from them somehow, without getting into a fight. He sat down directly across the bar from her and watched the fiasco. Barbara tried several times to get off the stool, but the throng kept her hemmed in. Their touches were getting bolder with each gulp of their drinks. It was obvious things would soon get out of hand.

Barbara looked about anxiously and finally spotted him. She looked relieved. He raised his mai tai toward her and then nodded before taking a sip. She shot him back an exasperated look and mouthed the words, Where the hell have you been? He made out the other words she impatiently mimed too: Get me the hell out of here!

Norman bowed his head slightly in an affirming gesture and set his drink down. Her plea and the expression on her face made him feel as though they already had an established rapport, a mutual agreement of sorts, suggesting they already were a couple. And he knew there was no backing down. He’d made a commitment to her, and now he had to come through.

He swallowed hard. Those guys were all senior officers, but one way or the other he had to be her hero or he might lose face with her forever. He beckoned to one of the three Vietnamese bartenders and whispered something to him and flashed a double sawbuck. The man smiled and nodded as Norman stuffed the twenty-dollar bill into the man’s shirt pocket. The bartender quickly reached below the counter and handed something to Norman before walking from behind the counter and disappearing into the crowd. As he did so, Norman began working his way around the bar and got as close to Barbara as he could without starting trouble. She watched his actions as best as she could in light of the situation, wondering if he could get her out of her predicament without any blows being struck. Fights happened a lot in here, especially over women. Then suddenly the lights went out, and Barbara screamed.

Sober men hit the deck with their hands covering the back of their heads, anticipating the blast of a grenade or the raking fire of an AK-47. It was too late to run, and they couldn’t see the exit anyway. In the sudden darkness, something slammed into the outer ring of young lieutenants who were surrounding the stool she was sitting on, and the entire line, including two of the three colonels, went sprawling to the floor. A beam of light shattered the darkness near Barbara as she was sliding off the stool, just as the army colonel who was still standing to her left slid his right hand down to her buttocks. But instead of feeling her alluring derriere, he felt a sharp jabbing pain in the small of his back and collapsed.

The navy captain, who was still holding her firmly about the waist, was leaning backward trying to see what was happening but was suddenly blinded by a bright light shining directly into his eyes. As he closed them and started to turn away, Norman’s right fist caught him directly over his left eye. The captain’s legs buckled, and his kneecaps jammed against the lower counter as he released his grip from around Barbara’s waist and seized the edge of the bar to keep from falling. Suddenly the beam of light went out, and it became pitch-black again. Barbara felt a powerful arm encircle her waist as Norman yanked her off the barstool, tipping it over.

It has to be Norman, she thought, as he felt for her hand in the darkness. She stumbled over the colonel lying on the floor. Her right shoe came off and the barstool landed on top of him. With brute strength, Norman kept pulling her toward the door, but it hurt her arm, so in the darkness he quickly locked his arm around her waist and turned the flashlight on and they began veering around the tables and chairs. They couldn’t help but stumble over some of the prostrate figures lying on the floor, and yet Norman managed to stay on his feet. He could hear men cursing as the fleeing pair stepped on their arms, fingers, and legs. The tips of his flying boots struck several of them in the ribs as the bewildered crowd pressed against them, trying to follow the beam of light as it searched for the exit. Many ended up bumping into each other or stumbling over those still taking cover on the floor.

As they neared the exit, a hand suddenly became visible in the beam of the flashlight. Norman placed the flashlight in it, and a moment later they were being herded through the open door by a horde who thought they were fleeing for their lives. Barbara felt the fresh air brush against her cheeks and breathed a sigh of relief.

The lights inside the club suddenly flashed back on, and the Vietnamese bartender quickly skirted around the men lying on the floor and those who were getting up or were already standing. Once back behind the counter, he quickly placed the flashlight back on the shelf and took the crisp new twenty-dollar bill out of his shirt pocket and stuck it in his wallet.

The buzzing in the club sounded like a swarm of angry hornets.

Chairs and tables had been knocked over. Men stood and flexed their aching fingers and knuckles. Half-empty bottles of beer were dripping onto the carpet, and liquor glasses were laying on their sides, smashed by the onrush of feet, their ice cubes scattered across the floor. The colonel who had tried to put his hand on Barbara where it didn’t belong was sitting with his painful back resting against the bar. He kept massaging his bruised kidney with his right hand. When the lights came back on, he was amazed to find a stool lying across his legs and a shoe was the only thing left of the lovely lady. At first he thought a tremendous explosion had blown her to smithereens, and he suddenly felt sad. But then he picked up her shoe and examined it, looking about in disbelief and wondering aloud, If there wasn’t any explosion, what the hell happened to her?

As he continued gazing at the shoe, he became aware of someone cackling and spied the new MAG-13 commander, Colonel Lundine, who had watched Norman’s chicanery and remained in his seat. His sweating pate glistened intermittently in the glow of the lights each time he bent forward and then backward, laughing so hysterically that tears were streaming down his cheeks. The scene looked hilarious to him, especially since he knew what had happened to the colonel holding onto the high-heeled shoe.

The army colonel let the shoe drop to the floor and wondered what the hell the MAG-13 commander found so goddamned funny. He surmised there must be something mentally wrong with the crazy bastard.

The navy captain who’d been Barbara’s escort was standing at the bar with the whitened knuckles of his hand still clutching the rim and his bent knees pressing against the lower part of the bar to keep him from falling. Throughout the ordeal, he’d retained a grip on the stem of his martini glass, except now the gin and dry vermouth had splattered out from the impact of Norman’s blow and soaked into his uniform, and the olive had popped out and rolled to the other side of the countertop; he seized it and plopped it back into the glass. He never noticed Barbara was gone, and he didn’t feel his left eye swelling shut as he raised the glass to his lips and realized it was empty.

He got a disheartened look on his face and finally collapsed. Colonel Lundine again roared with laughter as the captain landed on his arse and then passed out before falling flat on his back.

Most of the young lieutenants were now standing, but one or two struggled just to stay up on all fours. Several lay prone and motionless. The more sober patrons tried helping them and the navy captain to his feet, although not one of them had the slightest clue as to what had happened.

***

Norman chuckled, remembering the whole affair, and raised his head and looked again at the clock in the alert trailer. It was now nearly 2200.

It was love at first sight for both of us. He chortled, although he wasn’t sure when he’d actually admitted it. Maybe it was that Sunday morning in a Saigon hotel room when he finally worked up the courage to tell her.

He awoke early, but the booze he drank the night before made him forget where the hell they were for a moment, and he anxiously looked about, hoping no one saw her naked body as they had fallen asleep atop the dingy white sheets. But of course no one else was in the room. He was never concerned about those things before. In fact, he used to gloat whenever other men gawked at the beautiful women he dated. But now, for some reason, he didn’t want them leering at her even when she was fully clothed: the thought irked him.

She was fun, smart, and sexy, and he enjoyed every moment of her company. Usually he became bored with the same woman after such a long time, yet this woman was fulfilling something deep within his soul he did not fully comprehend. Barbara always gave him her rapt attention, and yet she could put him in his place, albeit gently, because she refused to be taken for granted. It was a key element in their relationship—her demand for his respect as well as his love.

Within his family, the snobbery espoused by his mother meant no family member was ever to apologize to anyone for anything. It was beneath the dignity of their social status. Quite simply put, a Coddington was never wrong. But they could express their remorse in other ways, such as inviting the slighted party to one of their elaborate dinners, or maybe sending a gift, depending on who they were. But there were some people his mother would never invite inside their home as guests under any circumstances, nor would she give them any kind of gift no matter what the situation.

Those were the ones she considered the peons—the blue-collar workers and those of other races and such. Her extravagant dinners always worked on the well-to-do socialites, and they were awed and fascinated by the splendor and romance of her family’s lifestyle and the elegance of the family home.

Its finely carved set of double wooden doors with their brilliantly polished brass knobs and door knockers opened into a huge foyer, and beyond that was an extensive parlor. An eye-catching, lustrous, wooden dance floor, with lush Oriental carpeting around the perimeter, was the focal point of his mother’s interest, where she could observe what expensive clothes a lady was wearing or with whom she was dancing. Chefs and caterers paid rapt attention to each guest’s every wish, serving them foods that would tempt the most discerning palate. Exquisite desserts and the finest wines and liqueurs abounded on the fine dining tables placed at the east end of the room; each was adorned with place settings of the most exquisite china. The dining utensils resting on the elegant dinner napkins were of the finest silver. The music director and his ensemble would be seated on a dais at the far west end of the hall.

A splendid staircase with lush carpeting and finely carved newel-posts and banisters on either side led up to a promenade protected by an elaborate balustrade upon which guests could lean while viewing the dancers and other celebrants below. The inside walls lining the promenade led to the bedrooms, baths, and other private areas of the home on the second floor. A door leading to the servant’s quarters above the carriage house was at the far end.

Yet, in spite of Norman’s mother’s impressive facade and gracious demeanor, Norman knew his mother was a bitch. One of her cardinal rules was that you never apologized to an underling, which included virtually everyone.

Never say you’re sorry. It’s a sign of weakness, she would harp, because if you do, people will use it to exploit you.

But that’s exactly what his mother always did—she exploited people for her own vainglory, and Norman learned her lessons well.

Once, after they had had an argument, Barbara refused to see him again until he apologized for his rudeness. He tried to stay away from her to get even, and he did—for just one day because he couldn’t stand being without her.

Barbara frequently whispered the words I love you to him, and the words tugged at his heartstrings. Those words had never passed his mother’s lips as far as he could recall, but now this woman kept whispering them tenderly. It further awakened within him a state of mind he’d never experienced until she pulled him through that door of fascination and love.

He sat up slowly so as not to awaken her, and when he cocked his head to gaze down at her, the sudden throbbing pain of a hangover ensued. He winced as he bent over to kiss her lightly on her forehead and felt a sudden twinge of anxiety when he recalled the stares of a thousand lusting men watching her every move. It became important for him to know how many men had seen her naked like this, but he was afraid to ask.

In this new world of love, he was a neophyte, and he knew he didn’t have the skills to cope with his insecurities. Other men learned to deal with those feelings when they were dating during their teenage years, but he hadn’t, because he had never let anyone get close to him: at least until now.

He reached over and gingerly grasped the nearly empty bottle of Scotch and took the last swig. The uncut liquor tasted so horrible it contorted his face and burned the delicate lining of his mouth and esophagus as it flowed downward. A moment later, a pleasant warmth engulfed his innards as the liquor settled into his stomach. It was strangely sobering, and it made him remember the previous night.

It had been he who’d polished off most of the Scotch. She never took more than one or two drinks. They were making love when she suddenly but gently pulled his face toward her lips and warmly whispered, I love you. Tell me you love me too.

Her soft brown eyes stared into his startled blue ones as she waited for him to respond in kind. He knew what she wanted to hear, but he was afraid to say the words. Her searching, begging brown eyes darted back and forth between his, but he wouldn’t utter a single word.

Her inquisitive stare sent his mind reeling back to his freshman year in prep school when he’d had a crush on a pretty blond cheerleader. It was his first awkward attempt at asking a girl for a date, and she’d said no. My parents don’t allow me to date yet, she told him. They say I’m too young.

But he was a Coddington and wouldn’t take no for an answer, and before she could move, he seized her cheeks between his hands and kissed her. She slapped him in response. It was his first kiss ever, and it was exciting, but her rebuke had proved to be an extremely difficult moment for him. The love he somehow didn’t deserve at home he now felt he wasn’t worthy of among his peers either. Over time he built an emotional wall around his heart, and the rebuff by the pretty cheerleader firmly cemented those defensive blocks in place.

Rejection was so painful.

But sex was another story. It was wonderful, and since he would never consent to a commitment, he never got hurt again.

But the woman lying asleep beside him loved him and wanted him. Still, though, he feared commitment. It pained him to know he was hurting her deeply. His distress was dwarfed by the anguish he felt in knowing he loved her too, but he just wouldn’t say the words. He could only stare back at her: love was taboo in his family, which put his inheritance at risk.

The awkwardness of the moment had destroyed the magic and he’d lost his erection. When she turned her head away he’d seen tears glistening on her cheeks. Then she’d turned on her side so he could no longer see her pain. There was a strange, sad, and unfamiliar sensation gnawing at his gut. It was agonizing. And then suddenly while he was pressing against her he uncontrollably blurted out, You know I do!

Norman