A Summer Sunday in Savannah

"The haircut was the only mandate---and that won't take five minutes. How are you getting to Tybee?"

"A cab."

"That's a very expensive cab ride. I'll be happy to drive you out there; I live on that side of town. I'd like to change---have to get that haircut---and I'm going to need lunch. There's a really good fresh fish place---barely more than a shack---on the way. How's that sound?"

"It sounds workable."

Victoria completed the novel before they landed in Savannah; it was all she could do to conceal from those around her the emotional impact of the experience. She knew it was good before she got to the last three chapters; in those chapters Mike had reached out from the pages and grabbed the reader by his or her vitals. All she could think to herself as she reread the last few page was...wow!

"Shit!" She exclaimed.

"Pardon me?"

"God you baited the hook early...trolled it gently and then blew me out of the water in the end! I was so sure I knew where you were going...it almost disappointed me and then---smack! I felt like a moth drawn to the flame...so sure that I knew how to avoid being singed...consumed...and in the end...shit!"

"You liked it."

"Damn Mike, you have to have some idea of how good this is."

"Victoria, I always thought it was some of my best work but keep in mind how close I personally am to the story."

"I generally hate war stories but this is and isn't just a war story. This is Joseph Conrad stuff---only a hell of a lot better since you don't fall into the tedious hand wringing and moralizing that he tended toward. This needs to be published; I do know my craft, my young friend; this has the potential to make "Heart of Darkness" look sophomoric."

Victoria and Mike exited the airport baggage claim area and headed the short distance to his car on foot. In short order they were headed East on Victory Drive toward Mike's home and ultimately Tybee Island. They pulled into a small strip center.

"Victoria, they have decent beer on tap next door; it happens to be a Ranger bar but it's quite nice inside. I'm getting a haircut. 'Shouldn't take ten minutes."

It took less than that; Mike rejoined Victoria at the bar next to the barber shop. Victoria was half way through a pint of Guinness. The bartender greeted Mike by name and made a joke about his duds. Mike made the introductions, ordered a half pint and the three of them chatted about nothing more ominous than the heat. Soon they were back in Mike's car for the ten minute drive to his home.

"Medal of Honor."

"Say what?"

"The bartender---and owner---is a Medal of Honor winner. I went to the library and read his citation. Critically wounded, he saved an entire platoon of men against impossible odds. Reads like something out of a Sergeant Rock comic book."

"He seemed very mild mannered and certainly quite literate. I liked him a lot."

"He's a gentle soul, a true humanitarian who has held more troubled young soldiers' hands through the night than you could shake a stick at and one of the most amazingly well-read men I've ever known. As my grandmother is fond of saying, 'he's good people'."

As they drove slowly along the tree lined street to Mike's house, he spoke. "What don't you see?"

"No 'For Sale' signs?"

"Exactly! This is off the tourist beat and away from the historic district but it is where many of the most permanent denizens of General Olglethorpe's little experiment live. I actually bought it from a Colonel who wanted to buy one of the old free standing historic homes and restore it. Lore has it that it's been owned by an unbroken chain of military people assigned here---and none of them ever left the city, they just moved to something bigger or whatever. I'm not sure I'd mind staying here...if I could find a job. Sadly I'm not excited about making paper or sugar and that's about the extent of the major industry in the area."

"You don't have to live on the base?"

"It's a post, not a base, the Air Force and Navy have bases, Marines have camps---which the Army used to have---the Army has posts. With the buildup for this war there isn't room on post. My grandfather left me the grand sum of ten thousand dollars which I put down on a slum when I was in college. I fixed it up, sold it for a profit, bought another place in Charlottesville, same deal, then this---my favorite of the three. It's a tad small for a family but then I don't have one! Make yourself at home."

Mike returned after changing in under five minutes. "Are you hungry?" He asked.

"Starving! How far is this place with the fresh fish?"

"Five minutes."

It was in essence a large shack with oil cloth table clothes. It also served in short order some of the best fresh seafood Victoria had ever enjoyed. The menu prices were absurdly reasonable.

"Mike, I want to publish your story. I made a few notes but looking back on them they're almost meaningless. I'd like an editor who I respect a great deal to give it a look. Well, actually, there are two people I want to give it to. One is the editor I mentioned; the other is one of the most respected book critics in the country."

"Okay, well, I have more than one copy, obviously, I can let you take them back with you."

"Where are the copies?"

"In the trunk of my car. I also have the entire work on media."

"What kind of media?" He told her.

"That's exactly what we use! But there's more! The editor I'm referring to is...my daughter; the book critic is my sainted mother. Both of these fine ladies are sitting anxiously awaiting my arrival at a beach house on Tybee---which is how far?"

"Fifteen minutes?"

"Quick potty break after all that sweet tea and let's get moving!"

Over the years many people both famous and less so have discovered the old beach town allure of Tybee Island. Savannah itself was built on the high ground as its founders had recognized the potential threat from Atlantic storms. Roughly half an hour east of the city through salt marshes and barrier islands Tybee had resisted abject modernization to a great degree. Victoria and her family members had rented an old beach house on the water for the week. Victoria was the last to arrive.

The matriarch of the family, Victoria's mother was a handsome lady in her middle to late sixties. Mike met her first as the other women were down at the ocean's edge enjoying the vista.

"Mom, this is Mike Carson an exceptionally talented young writer who was kind enough to share a cab with me and drive me out here. Mike, this is my mother Cornelia Baker."

"Welcome Mike!" Cornelia exclaimed, shaking his hand and beaming graciously.

"My pleasure, Ms. Baker."

"Please call me Cornelia. I'm guessing, based on the haircut and the muscled frame that you are in the service? 'Stationed out at Hunter?"

"Very perceptive, Cornelia. For another six months I am Captain Mike Carson."

"You also have the unmistakable look in those gorgeous blue eyes that says you've served in combat?"

"Yes ma'am. I came back about six months ago."

"Thank you for your service, Mike; thank you for your sacrifice. Welcome home." Cornelia said as she hugged him.

"That's means more than you know; thank you." Mike replied, his eyes slightly moist.

"Victoria is decidedly an East Coast liberal but not a completely obnoxious one. My other daughter, Virginia is, however, rather radical and very typical of the East Coast academic community. If she tries to bait you or engage you in conversations you'd rather avoid put her in her place---we all do so on a regular basis. My granddaughter Vanessa shares none of those bad tendencies with her aunt."

Mike met Victoria's sister Virginia next as Vanessa had walked down the beach on her own. As warned, Virginia came off as a proselytizing 'true believer' intent on engaging Mike in a combative dialogue intended, he assumed, to either irritate or convert him. He was as polite as the situation allowed but had no intention of letting the woman ruin what was turning into a delightful Sunday.

"Virginia! Enough! We're not going to do this. You don't know who I am or what my beliefs are but I get the idea that we probably disagree on a number of issues. I don't want to talk about the war or my role in it. Suffice to say that I am proud to wear the uniform of the United States Army and proud to have served in combat. I am proud to be a citizen of this country. You won't change that; you'll irritate me but you won't accomplish anything more than making someone else dislike you. I have no more of a direct line to the political leadership than you do so save the message for the op-ed pages or the captive audience of the university classroom. I love this country; if you don't, run for office and try to change it or leave. It's a beautiful day in one of the most picaresque spots on the planet. Let's enjoy it."

"Fair enough." Virginia replied, quitting easier than he had anticipated she would.

"That was too easy." Mike replied.

"The icy glare from my mother and sister coupled with your polite but very direct admonishment had the desired effect."

Mike and Virginia engaged in a remarkably friendly academic discussion and avoided political discourse. Mike had not heard Vanessa enter the cottage; he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to meet the youngest of the Baker-Simms women. Common sense said he should not have been surprised; her mother at just shy of fifty was a striking woman. Her grandmother in her seventh decade showed the gentle aging of good genetic code.

Subconsciously he had expected that Vanessa would be an attractive young woman. That proved to be an understatement. In that split second of first meeting Mike tried to take it all in...to absorb every subtle nuance of the captivating creature standing so close to him. Words escaped him; his respiration increased. And then she spoke.

"Mike? Vanessa Simms. First, thank you for your service..." She smiled benevolently and hugged him.

As he unconsciously allowed his arms to stray around her tall, lean frame he desperately hoped that it would not be their last embrace. The hug ended far too quickly from Mike's perspective.

There is a point toward the end of the movie, "Sleepless in Seattle" at the top of the Empire State business when Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan first meet when each quizzically considers the other as if trying to picture the future. Anyone who had ever been in love has been there. Thanks to some combination of pheromones and serendipity each considers the impossible possibilities. Mike and Vanessa were practical, well grounded folk not easily tempted by simple infatuation or physical attraction. Rationally neither would have admitted to a belief in 'love at first sight' yet in that instant neither could deny the almost over powering attraction. Eyes moisten, vision become distorted, a flush of perspiration is not uncommon and breathing become irregular as each thinks to themselves, "sweet Jesus, is this the one?" Fortunately for Mike, Vanessa recovered first since he was still, recalling a term from the book "Watership Down" completely "tharn".

"So, Mike, mom tells me you've brought some work for me?"

"I apologize for interrupting your vacation together; your mother can be a very persistent woman."

"She's also a very perceptive woman and as good a judge of writing talent as I've ever met with the possible exception of her mother. I've not seen her this excited about a piece of fiction in some time. You made her day."

Mike and Vanessa continued to chat cordially. Mike hung on her every word; Vanessa did not miss it. She found herself flirting ever so subtly which was not her nature. At some point as the baking heat of the afternoon became almost uncomfortable, Mike recovered his manuscripts from the trunk of his car ultimately providing one for each of them, even Virginia. He excused himself on the pretense of checking his office "in box" and unpacking. It was agreed that they would all meet again for dinner. Vanessa hugged him again as did her mother and grandmother. Mike drove back toward town regretfully.

He drove over to the Army post headquarters and checked his schedule for the following day. It was light and his boss, as was his nature, was not one to load his in box up with things while he was on leave. He reviewed a few things, left a note for his secretary and the chief of staff and returned home to unpack and review the wonderfully outrageous events of the day. As was his custom when he had been gone from the office for a few days he called his boss at home to let him know he was back in harness.

Mike and the old colonel had a very close and warm relationship; he had been a regular guest at the Chief's home and felt genuine affection for the senior officer and his wife. The colonel invited him to dinner that evening, a not uncommon occurrence. Mike told him he had other plans and gave him a brief recap. The colonel was genuinely excited for him.

"Mike, you're a hell of a writer; I hope this works out. I'd hate to see you wasting away in some corporation when you should be using your gift. If it does you might just decide to stay in Savannah and nothing would please us more since you know we're going to retire here. And exactly how old is this young lady who is going to edit your book?"

"Just about the perfect age I would think, sir."

"Well as you saw on the calendar it's going to be a pretty light week. I'm going to take a couple of days off to deal with some personal business---nothing serious, just house renovation stuff---so don't even think about burning any midnight oil at the office. The old man is on leave as is most of the staff. Take whatever time you need."

In the interim, the Baker-Simms clan had closed the doors and windows and cranked on the window air conditioners. Each settled in to read Mike's novel. They had planned to drive back up the road to Thunderbolt and procure fresh jumbo shrimp for dinner; they never got around to it. None, not even Virginia could put it down. Several hours later they all looked at each other and smiled. Virginia, the resident academician and a noted professor whose specialty was attempting to teach college students to write spoke first.

"Son of a bitch!"

"You hate war stories Aunt Ginny." Vanessa observed.

"That I do but I'll make an exception in this case. It's so much more. You know how caught up I get on a character's 'voice'; it an almost impossible concept to teach in the classroom. The authenticity...the argot...the pace of the dialogue...Jesus! I felt like I was right there! The pictures are painted with such startling clarity and depth. The last three chapters shook me to the core."

It was typical of Virginia to have the first word; following her normal impudence each turned toward the matriarch for her opinion. Cornelia was always short and to the point even in her published reviews.

"It's as well crafted as anything I've ever read. Powerful prose yet sublime and delightfully nuanced. It demonstrates impeccable character development and is unnervingly vivid in its narratives. It will sell; it will sell a bunch. Even the anti-war crowd in New York and Los Angeles will be unwilling to tear it down." She turned toward her granddaughter.

"I need to go through it again from an editor's perspective; I need to go through it with Mike. It's the voice thing. Early on I would have been tempted to change a word or phrase but as you observed, Aunt Ginny, to do so might damage the tone and identity of the characters as expressed in their speaking style. On first blush it's an exceptional piece of work. I'm hesitant to even suggest a change until I've had time to reread and ask Mike some questions. Which reminds me, didn't we invite him to dinner? And what exactly do we have for dinner?"

"Damn! We were supposed to go get shrimp." Victoria observed. The phone rang. Vanessa answered it; it was Mike.

"How'd it go?" He inquired.

"It went very well; you've got an astounding piece of fiction on your hands. We need to talk. What didn't go well is we never got out to buy the shrimp."

"I'm just getting ready to leave the house; I can take care of the shrimp. Have you got the ingredients for a salad or whatever and some wine?"

"That we do have along with Pecan pie and we'll certainly reimburse you for the shrimp purchase."

"Not an issue; 'see you in about thirty minutes."

Mike also brought a giant boiling pot and the secret ingredients to a traditional low country shrimp boil. The Baker-Simms women were an animated group who genuinely enjoyed each other's company. As the only man on the premises Mike was almost overwhelmed by their rapid fire exchanges. Each had specific points concerning his novel that they wanted to address and clarify. It was a peel-your-own dinner and soon the newspaper covered table was covered with shrimp shells. Clean up was handled in short order; Vanessa and Mike drifted out toward the water's edge.

"Mike, when can you and I sit down together and go through an essentially page by page review?"

"Certainly not tonight, Vanessa. The next few days look light but I need to get in bright and early in the morning after being gone for a week. I should be able to slip out of the office tomorrow by 1600---four o'clock."

"That'll work for me; it'll give me time to go through it again and organize some comments. To save time I can drive up to your place if you'll give me directions. How's four-thirty sound?"

"Perfect! And now, I need to pass on coffee and desert and get my butt home; it's been a long and quite amazing day."

To Mike's surprise, Vanessa moved in and kissed him; he felt her arms slip around his waist. He reciprocated. A magic kiss...soft, warm, moist, promising...hinting at the possibilities...her warmth next to him coupled with her feminine essence was intoxicating...brain altering. The kiss ended too soon, he sensed, for both of them.

"That was far better than Pecan pie and coffee laced with brandy and chicory."

"Thank you." Vanessa whispered, still holding both of his hands. "I really enjoyed meeting you and reading your work...tomorrow then."

Mike could think of nothing other than Vanessa as he made the drive home; he was still thinking about her when he arrived at the office the next morning, a few minutes before the Chief strolled in. He brought him up to speed.

"Congratulations, Mike! I'm damned proud of you. Now feed this old romantic's heart and tell me the important stuff----the girl?"

"Oh, yeah...pretty special, sir...very special."

"When do I get to meet her?"

"I'm not sure, sir; we've only known each other a few hours."

"Look, I'm taking a couple of days off as I told you. Why don't you see if you can coax the whole gaggle to our house for dinner...say...Wednesday night? Let me confirm that with Angie."

"Sir, you know what kind of trouble you get in when you offer up your wife's amazing culinary talents without clearing it first."

"It's all part of the game; she loves to entertain---as do I---and enjoys meeting interesting new people. I'll get back to you to firm things up."

Mike left the office a little after four, arriving home just past four-thirty. Vanessa had already arrived and was sitting on his front porch apparently still making notes. She had completed the transition to beach life; she was wearing cotton shorts and a simple blouse. Mike was quite sure that she was the most beautiful woman who had ever graced his old porch swing. She grinned and came to her feet; she hugged and kissed him much as she had the night before but added a hint of probing which aroused him instantly. He doubted that she could have missed his physical reaction. She stepped back and observed him in his class 'A' summer uniform.

"Wow! You cut a pretty impressive figure in that uniform. Please take the time to brief me on what all those things mean over the pockets...after you've gotten comfortable, of course."