Danish Pastry

So Irene and I had sex, kissed, had a tearful goodbye and off I went.

One month later I was back in Germany in the military hospital, but I didn't know it because I was in a coma. When I came out of it, Irene was sitting by my bed holding my hand.

She brought me up to date on how I got there. Six of us were in a vehicle when we were hit. Four of the six died almost immediately. The driver and I survived, but just barely. They had discussed amputating my left leg below the knee, but apparently weren't prepared for the condemnation in all four of the languages Irene spoke that convinced them to wait and let me make that decision.

After I was given my options, I chose to keep my leg even though it would be one long mass of scars and disfigurement and I would walk with a limp for the rest of my life. Irene smiled when I told the battery of doctors. She took my hand and announced, "He can still dance with a limp, but he can't dance with one leg." I had no idea where that came from because we hadn't danced more than a dozen times. I looked at her. She leaned down, and said, "I have plans for us to dance for a long time." Then she kissed me.

I was in rehab for another month. Irene was there for every PT session, encouraging me and holding me up when I needed it.

I was scheduled to return to CONUS (Continental United States) for more hospitalization, rehab, and evaluation as to whether my injury would prevent my staying in the Army.

It took a long time, but I was able to convince them to let me stay in Germany for rehab and evaluation.

It took three months and my successful passing of the Army's Annual Physical Training Test for the board to approve my continuation on active duty.

I was given another staff assignment at USAREUR Headquarters. Two months after that, Willy was my best man when Irene and I were married in Copenhagen. In his broken English, her father told me he was glad I didn't "ga vaek".

We spent two years in Germany. We wanted more, but she was required to return to Denmark for two years. There were no jobs for me there, so I went back to the states. We had been apart for three months and I flew to Copenhagen to spend a few days with her.

I hate surprises, but thought I'd surprise her. Bad idea. I knocked on the door of her apartment and it was opened by a man.

I knew enough Danish to know that "Ah gud" meant "Oh my God".

We stood looking at each other for a full thirty seconds neither of us knowing what to say. Finally, I asked, "Hvor er Irene?" As I asked him where Irene was, I tried to move around him into the apartment, but he blocked me.

"Hun er her ikke". (She isn't here.)

"Hvor er hun." (Where is she?)

I had pushed my way into the room and looked around. He got in front of me still trying to block me, all the while he was speaking in a mixture of Danish and English, neither of which I listened to because I wanted to get to Irene and talk to her. The bedroom door was open and I headed for it. He beat me to it, closed it, and stood there. I knew it was the bedroom door because I was there when she moved in.

We heard movement in the room, he looked over his shoulder as if trying to see through the closed door into the room. When he did that, I shoved him aside, opened the door and went in just in time to see the bathroom door close and I heard the metallic click of a lock being engaged. I knocked on the door. "Irene! Irene! Come out." No response. "Irene, you have 10 seconds to come out and talk to me." I started counting. The man was still jabbering away and I still ignored him. When I got to ten she still hadn't responded, so I turned and headed for the front door. I picked up the carryon bag I had brought and dropped when the door opened and I saw the man.

An hour later I was at the airport. The same plane I had flown in on had been cleaned and serviced and was getting ready to load and fly back. I had been in Copenhagen less than three hours. The only seat available was in Business Class, but I didn't care. I handed the ticket agent my credit card, got my boarding pass, went through immigration who, without really looking at me or my passport, stamped it and I was on my way to my gate.

Fifteen minutes later, I was boarding the plane and my phone rang. It was Irene. I ignored it.

I let myself into my apartment, went straight to my bedroom and collapsed on the bed. I had crossed the Atlantic Ocean twice, and discovered my wife cheating since the last time I had slept, so was asleep immediately.

I woke, still dressed, including my shoes. I got undressed, took a shit, shaved and showered, neither of which I had done since before I left on my short trip to Denmark.

My phone had an even dozen messages from Irene. I deleted all of them without reading them.

Three months previously, when I returned to The States, I was sent back to the Pentagon and the same job I'd had the other time I was there. Aside from my one command assignment in Germany, being an action officer seemed to be my "niche" in the army. I had been working on my Master's Degree parttime and only had another year or so before I had it.

I showed up in my office the morning after my return from Denmark, to the surprise of my office mates. I knew I was going to get the third degree from everyone, so I made a general announcement and told what happened. I received condolences from everyone then we all went to work. I dove into mine trying to compensate for..... for.... I don't know what for, but I needed the distraction.

Two days later, I got out of the elevator in my building, turned toward my apartment and was met with a barrage of Danish. Loosely translated, I was called an ungrateful, uncaring, bastard who didn't have enough faith in his wife to give her the chance to explain what happened and only a worthless dog fucking son of a bitch could be that low. That was the only part I understood, because she also cussed me in the other languages she spoke, so I had no clue what she was saying because I don't speak them. Neither did the dozen other people who had their heads stuck out their apartment doors curious about what was going on in the hallway.

When she wound down, she threw her passport at me. It hit me then fell to the floor. "Now, you son of a bitch," she said in English, "look at that." I picked it up. She came to me, grabbed it out of my hands, opened it and searched through it until she found the page she wanted then shoved it at me and pointed to a stamp. "What do you see?" As anyone who travels knows, whenever you enter a country and go through immigration, they stamp your passport with the date you enter. They also stamp it when you leave. What I saw was a stamp saying she entered Great Britain three days before I arrived in Copenhagen. She made sure I saw it, then grabbed it out of my hands, found another page, shoved it at me and pointed to another stamp. "And now what do you see?" It was a stamp showing she left Great Britain just the day before. She took it yet again, found the most recent page and shoved it back at me. It showed she entered The United States that day. "So, rend mig dit rovhul (fuck you, asshole) I'm going home and I never want to see you again!"

She went back down the hall to my apartment, picked up the suitcase and backpack that were sitting in the hall by the door, stormed past me to the elevator. All the while I was trying to get her to stop and talk to me, but she wouldn't. Even waiting for the elevator, I was literally begging her to talk, but she ignored me. When the elevator came and the doors opened, she stepped just inside, dropped her bags and stood in the door blocking me from entering. I tried stepping over the bags but she shoved me back just as the door closed. I rushed down the five flights of stairs, but by the time I got all the way down, she was nowhere in sight.

Now what do I do, I thought. She made her point really well. It couldn't have been her in her apartment if she was in England; but who was and why were they there?

I tried calling her many times and left a message each time, apologizing profusely and literally begging for her to talk to me, but no luck.

I called Willy and told him my situation. He told me that he thought European women were different from Americans to a certain degree. While some American women might try to cut your balls off, for the most part, they might just cry and carry-on when they were mistreated, misunderstood, or neglected. They would hate you and carry a grudge, but if his wife, Sophie was an example of European women, you're best not to fuck with them or you might hope the least they do is cut off your balls. "Remember, Irene flew from England just to show you were wrong, and I'd be willing to bet she isn't finished with you. My advice is to sit quietly for a while and see what happens. If you're lucky, she'll cool off and forgive you. Your biggest mistake was the same one most men make; you immediately thought the worst and didn't give her a chance to explain. That's two strikes, right there and you may or may not get a third. After all, she doesn't know anything about baseball and the three-strike rule."

"I'm thinking about going after her."

"Do that at your own peril. It's still fresh on her mind and you just might make it worse. Let her sit on it for a while."

"She might not like me waiting. She might like it better if I act immediately."

"She might.....then again, she might not. You pays your money and takes your chance. Good luck either way. You know I'll be here to help you pick up whatever pieces are left."

And I knew he would. He'd been there for most of my life.

A month went by and no word. I assumed that if she were going to get a divorce, she would initiate it in Copenhagen because that's where we were married.

Then I remembered something. It took me three days, but I was able to arrange for a single Lily of the Valley to be delivered to her apartment in Copenhagen.

A week went by. Then another. And another. No call from Irene. I tried calling her, but she neither answered nor responded. I went to the JAG (Judge Advocate General) Office. They are the military attorneys. They couldn't represent me in a divorce, but maybe they could give me some advice. The Major I talked with told me that since we were married in Denmark, any separation or divorce action or procedure would have to be from there.

I sent Irene an email, since she wouldn't answer my calls, telling her that I was okay with whatever she decided to do; that I just needed to know what it was.

Two more weeks and no response.

The third week was different. I rarely received any mail. Like lots of other people, I did everything online. Weeks could go by without any mail, other than advertising, appearing in my mail box. But came the day I received a notice of separation and divorce petition. The original was in Danish, but a translated copy was included. There was also a hand written note from her:

"Phillip, I have given this a lot of thought and concluded that our marriage was a mistake.

And you made no effort to find the truth about who was in my apartment. You just assumed that I was there with him and that hurt me deeply.

Sign the papers and it will be over.

Irene"

I guess the Lily of the Valley didn't carry much weight. I signed the papers and sent them back.

It wasn't long after that I was called into my boss's office.

"Captain Parker, General Thompson is being promoted to three stars and is being sent to Italy. He needs a new Aide. He has seen you and your work and would like to talk to you about the job. What do you think about that?"

"Uh... I don't know what to think; or say."

"You can say that you aren't interested."

"To be honest, I don't know that I'm not."

"In that case, he wants to talk to you tomorrow morning at nine. Make sure you wear a clean uniform." He smiled when he said that. He always said that when one of us was going one-on-one with a General Officer.

The interview went well and a month later I was flying to Italy as the Aide-de-Camp to newly promoted Lieutenant General William G. Thompson. I was also newly promoted... to Major. That promotion came as a surprise. Relatively junior Captains were rarely promoted to Major; unless, of course, a Three Star General had something to do with it.

General's Aides have little social life that doesn't include accompanying the General, and often the General's wife, to the many functions they are required to attend. We had been in Italy for four months and I hadn't had a single day, except Sundays, when I wasn't doing something for the General.

The military is a small world and if you stay in it long enough, you tend to see the same people over and over through the years. In Italy, I ran into two officers I had known at SHAPE. General Thompson was lunching with some dignitaries in a private space at the Officers Club, and I was eating in the main dining room nearby.

The two officers came in, saw me, sat and we had lunch. We were rehashing our days at SHAPE and were asking about others we had known there.

"You know that hot Danish Captain who worked in your office is back there, only she's a Major now and married to an American named Parker... the lucky bastard," said one of them. The two of them looked at each other.

"Holy shit. That isn't you, is it?"

I nodded.

"You mean you're married to her?" Asked the first.

"I was, but we're divorced."

"Well, kiss my ass." There was a pause before he spoke again. "Just out of curiosity, is she really as hot as she looked?"

"Jesus Christ, Tony," said the second officer. "What kind of question is that to ask a man of his wife?"

"He just said they're divorced, so why can't I?"

They debated it back and forth without coming to a conclusion. Finally, the first one, Tony, looked at me. "Well Phil, are you going to answer?"

I chuckled. "Sure. Think of the hottest possible woman you can imagine, and I can almost guarantee she isn't as hot as Irene."

"Fuck. Then why did you divorce her?"

I told them the story.

"When did you see her last?"

"About eight months ago."

"Does she know you're here?"

"Probably not. I was at the Pentagon when we last saw each other."

"Then next week will be a surprise for her."

"Why's that?"

"Because she's part of a team coming here for three days to brief the staff."

"What team?"

"The advance team for the NATO exercise in three months."

"That briefing is not on General Thompson's schedule," I said.

"It's just for the planners. He'll get briefed when the details are finalized."

We ate in awkward silence for a long time. Lots of thoughts going through my mind. First was, should I try to see her.

We finished lunch just as I was told the General was finishing his lunch and would be ready to leave. I went outside to make sure his car and driver were ready, then went back inside as he was saying his goodbyes.

Back at the office, I asked the Executive Officer if he knew anything about the briefing. "We just heard about it. They sent an 'info only' paper just to let him know it was happening. I was going to see if he wanted to meet the briefing team just for shits and giggles. It's always good for public relations."

"Do you have a list of the team members?"

"Yeah, right here."

"May I see it?"

"Sure, but why all the interest?"

"My ex-wife may be one of them."

"Uh oh. That can't be good," he said as he handed me the roster. Her name was the second on the list as the Deputy Team Leader. Major Irene Parker.

"I handed the list back. "Thank you."

"Uh... are you going to see her?"

"There's no reason to, so probably not."

"Want me to alert the general?"

"Nah. Just let me know if he decides to meet them. Then I'll tell him."

The briefing team arrived on Monday. They were scheduled to meet with General Thompson's planning staff at two. General Thompson told his exec he would pop in and say hello at 2:15. The exec told me and I went in to see the general and handed him the list of team members. "I think I should tell you that one of the members of the team you're meeting this afternoon is my ex-wife."

He looked at me then at the list. "I assume it's the one whose name is also Parker?" He grinned as he asked. He had a mischievous streak in his personality that I had yet to fully appreciate. "My first question is are you on good terms?"

"I don't think so. She hasn't spoken to me in months."

"That's probably normal. Next question is she competent at her job?"

"She was when I worked with her." So, for the next few minutes, I laid out my relationship with her.

"Well, would you like to accompany me to the meeting?" He asked with a grin. "Some people are impressed if you work for a Three Star; maybe she will be."

I laughed. "I doubt it, but I'll open the door for you when you go in."

At preciously 2:15, I opened the door to the conference room. The gatekeeper stood at attention and yelled "Attention."

The General strode in with me immediately behind him. I stood by the door as he walked through the room to the head of the table. His staff was on one side of the table and the briefing team on the other. He sat at the head and asked everyone else to sit. They all sat immediately except Irene. She was just a second slow because she was looking at me. Even during the couple of minutes the general spoke, I saw out of the corner of my eye, that she was looking at me.

When he was finished, he asked the briefers to introduce themselves. They each stood, gave their name, rank, country and job on the team. When it was Irene's turn, she stood, gave her information and sat.

At which time, The General said. "Ah. Major Parker. I understand you are acquainted with my Aide, who is also Major Parker."

She stood again. "Yes sir. We are acquainted." Then she sat quickly.

He finished his remarks, wished everyone success, said he was looking forward to seeing their report and he stood to leave. When he stood, they all did. The gatekeeper opened the door and the general strode out with me behind him.

In the hall, he turned to me. "You can certainly pick them, Phil. She's very attractive."

"Yes, sir. She is. I only wish I could have a 'do-over' with her."

"So, you still have feelings for her?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Then this might be an opportune time to feel her out."

"I don't know, sir. She was pretty upset the last time we saw each other."

My daily routine was to drive to his house in my car in the morning. His driver would meet us there and take us to the office. In the evening, the driver would take us back to the house, take the car to the motor pool and I would get any instructions I needed in preparation for the next morning. Then I would take my car and go home. Things changed on the evenings he had social obligations; that happened at least three evenings a week. I always left several changes of clothes, including formal wear, at the house in case there was an unexpected change in plans.

That particular evening, The General and I spent a few minutes chatting before I got in my car and headed for the Officers Club and dinner. In the lobby there was always a chart of the evening events. The top item on the chart was a reception for the visiting SHAPE Team.

I turned around to leave. I figured I could have hot dogs in my room. The chart was just inside the front door so I only made it inside by a couple of steps and it was the same couple of steps to get back out the door; but I didn't make it.

"Phil."

In the moment it took for me to turn around, I went over in my mind everything that happened and it all boiled down to me having made a very bad assumption. Everything else was a result of that, so the entire blame was mine. I could even understand her not accepting my apology. I turned and there she was. "Hello, Irene."