Lady Behind The Wall

"Please don't hold what happened with me against him. As I said, it wasyou he was making love to in his mind. Only you. I was just a vessel for his love for you.

"He's a fine man and he's waiting for you; only now he's waiting in fear. The next time you speak to him or write to him, if you tell him I told you what happened please make it clear to him that you understand and accept it – because you love him and I hope you want him to be happy. Please don't task him with it, now or ever. He deserves your love and will give you his heart, if you'll have it.

"Anyway, please think about what I've said before you talk to him about this. Be gentle with him. He deserves at least that much. I envy you more than you know.

"Sincerely,

"Cleo Mahfouz."

Ronnie read her friend's face. "Is something wrong?"

"No. No, I don't think so. But I need to think this through." Still holding the letter, Deirdre left the table and went back to the hangar, lost in thought.

Ronnie caught up with her there and guided her to her bunk. She didn't say much as Charlene, one of her students, worked on her hair. She did the best she could to make Deirdre's hair look like it had gotten a real haircut instead of having been hacked off by a combat knife. When the work was done, Deirdre looked up at Ronnie.

"How do I look?"

"Glad to have you back with us. Charlie cut it back to shoulder length and layered it a little bit, but you'll need a real salon to make it any better. What were you thinking about?"

"This. Read," she said, handing Ronnie Cleo's letter. She read it carefully.

"Honey, I don't know what to say."

"I do. The trouble is, I need to talk to him and we don't have any phones."

"We could try sneaking into the operations center tonight," Ronnie volunteered. "I could stand lookout while you called him."

"No, that would just get both of us in trouble. I'll have to think of something." Ronnie watched as Deirdre settled onto her bunk, obviously not wanting to talk about it.

After lights out, it was not required that the inmates stay in the hangar, just as long as someone knew where they were in the event of a middle-of-the-night call into the field when the unit was standing down for a day, as the Fire Foxes were tonight. At midnight, Deirdre got up and shook Ronnie awake enough to tell her she was going to take a shower. Ronnie grunted acknowledgment and went back to sleep.

Wearing just her smoke-eater's coat and carrying clean underwear along with her towel and soap, Deirdre walked the hundred yards to the communal showers that served the camp. She wanted to see how good a job her student had done with the inadequate tools she'd had.

It wasn't as awful as she expected. Charlie had rounded the hair and had even managed to layer it a little near the bottom. The real difference, Deirdre reflected, was in the weight that was no longer there. She made a mental note to congratulate her pupil.

"Well. I didn't expect company at this hour."

She turned and saw a man standing inside the door of the shower shed, dressed in the baseball cap and leather A-2 jacket that was almost the uniform of the civilian pilots flying the converted warbirds that spearheaded the aerial assault on the fire. Bits of flying gear stuck out of his pockets: sunglasses, flying gloves, a notebook– and the antenna of a cellphone. A plan blossomed in her mind.

"Nor did I," Deirdre said, turning to hang her towel on a hook. "What do you fly?"

"Whatever's to hand," he replied as he began to strip. "Mostly it's Invaders, and sometimes Catalinas because I have a seaplane rating, but today I was flying a Marauder."

She stopped in the midst of unsnapping her coat. "Were you the one who responded to the distress call from the team building the fire break at Reeback's Run when the fire crowned?"

"Yes, me and two Air Guard Herky-Birds. We managed to stop it before it got to the Army boys putting the dam in. There was one 'dozer that almost didn't get out in time, so while the Herks dumped on the fire I laid retardant down ahead of it. The fire looked to be going out when I had to leave to get another load. I heard the guys on the cat made it clear all right."

Letting the coat fall open, Deirdre stepped close and pulled his head down for a long kiss. When they came up for air, he asked, "What was that for?"

"I was one of 'the guys' on that bulldozer, pal. Ten of us, plus an Army catskinner. Your airdrop saved our hides. Thank you." She hung her coat up and picked up her bar of soap. "Want to scrub my back, flyboy?" She swayed into the showers and turned one on. A minute later the shower next to her came on while she was washing her hair. A minute after that, she felt his warmth behind her as soap began to lather her back. She purred and leaned back into him.

As she anticipated, he took advantage of this to bring the soap around to her breasts. She wriggled her buttocks against him, feeling his erect penis against her ass. One hand kneaded her left breast while the right trailed a line of suds down her belly to her crotch. She sighed and didn't resist when questing fingers parted her sex and began to pleasure her. He found her love button and pinched it gently. She moaned and thrust against his hand, feeling her female oils ooze out of her slit. She leaned forward, rested her hands on the planks on either side of the shower pipe and looked back over her shoulder at him.

"Fuck me," she whispered. "Right now!"

She gasped as she grabbed her hips and took her, his cock sliding past her cunt lips, aided by the soapsuds dribbling down. Three strokes and he was all the way in. She balanced against the wall as he began to move in her, scarcely noticing her passivity. She moaned, whispering things that she knew aroused most men, silent tears mixing unseen with the running water.

"Oh baby, you're so big... oh yeah, that's good, you're filling me right up. Mmmmm. Yeah. Fuck me, baby! Fuck me! Harder! Like that! Yeah! Give it to me!"

Her partner responded like a trained dog, shoving all the way in before pulling out so just his cockhead remained in her, then ramming forward again without subtlety, bulling her, using her cunt, not making love but only fucking her. She made the groans and grunts men expect, wanting him to finish so she could move on to the final step of her plan.

"Unh! Unh! Uh! Yes! Like that! Don't stop! Give it to me! Yeah! Yeah! C'mon, baby! Give it to me! I'm almost there! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

She felt his cock swelling as he changed from deep-stroking to the short penile jabs that mean the male is about to climax and responded to his expectations appropriately, though she was nowhere near orgasm herself, nor did she want to be.

"Oh yes! Oh yes! It's coming! Give it to me! C'mon! Oh! Oh! O-h-h-h-h, Y-E-E-E-S-S!"

The pilot groaned as he shot his sperm into her and she clamped down with her cunny. When he withdrew from her, she turned around and embraced him under the warm spray and kissed him lightly.

"Oh, that was good. You were good, stud. Thank you."

"Likewise," he said. "You're great. Maybe sometime we can try it in bed."

She smiled coquettishly. "Maybe."

As they were dressing, she asked casually, "Hey, would you mind if I borrowed your cellphone for a couple of minutes? I'd like to call home."

He tossed it over. "Sure. Help yourself."

"Thanks." Buttoning up her coat, she walked out of the showers, dialing as she went.

*****

I'd talked with Cleo and Tasha separately about what I'd done the night I'd gotten sloppy, falling down drunk. They'd done their best to make me feel better; that each understood why what happened had happened; that they didn't think I was a cheatin' ol' hound dawg. I still felt like shit, though, and I'd hardly slept since I'd woken from Cleo's hangover cure-induced sleep. Frankly, what they thought wasn't a tenth as important as what Deirdre was going to think about what I'd done. How was I going to tell her? Would she forgive me? Could she forgive me? Should she?

The house phone shrilled. I looked at the clock. I wasn't on call tonight; who could be calling at quarter of one in the morning? Billy Ray, one of the journeymen, had the duty. Perhaps he had run across something he couldn't handle by himself. I picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"John, darling?"

My heart plummeted right down to my feet and kept on going. "Hello, Deirdre." I paused.

"Darling, I have to tell you something. After I'm done, you may not want to have contact with me any longer, and no sane person would attach even the most infinitesimal iota of stigma to you were you to make such a decision." I took a deep breath. Better to just tell it slam bang and get it over with.

"Three nights ago *"

"I know all about your having Cleo on the living room floor, John."

I sighed. "Then I must presume you'll not want to be with me any longer. I'm sorry, Deirdre."

"Don't you dare hang up on me!" she said. "I called to tell you that it'sokay. I understand what happened. I even understand why it happened. Cleo sent me a letter explaining the circumstances.

"When I was in college, I took a course on human sexuality. I wanted to try and understand what makes me tick, and what makes men in general tick.

"One day our professor brought in a German woman who'd been in Berlin when the Allies were bombing it flat to talk about her experiences. They were being bombed around the clock and you never knew if the bomb with your name on it was falling that very minute, she said.

"When the raids were heavy and the bombs were exploding close and the fear was really intense and you didn't know if you'd be alive to see the next day, people in the air raid shelters would fuck each other, sometimes total strangers even. It was how they coped with the pressure of not knowing if you'd survive. It was an affirmation of life and living.

"That's what happened to you, my darling. That's all. You didn't cheat on me; you can't cheat on me because we aren't truly a couple yet; we can't be until I'm free. Yes, I think of you as my lover and if Cleo is right you think of me as your lover, too. Your being so afraid of losing me is the most awesome gift you've ever given me. Even though you've never said so, it means you love me as much as I love you. Don't beat yourself up over what happened, darling John. It's all right. There's nothing to forgive. In fact, you may have to forgiveme."

She paused and my heart rose back to where it was supposed to be. She went on.

"We don't have any phones here. None, nada, zip. Nobody does but the fire command staff."

"Then how is it you are *"

"Hush, darling. After I read Cleo's letter, I knew I had to talk to you about it. And," she gulped, "in order to get the use of a cellphone, I seduced one of the pilots. I'm sorry, darling, but that's how much I wanted to talk to you about this. I did what I had to, to get my hands on a phone."

"Does he mean anything to you?"

"No. The only interest he had for me is this phone. I saw the chance and I took it."

"Then we'll just forget about it. I understand about doing what you have to do in a survival situation. It never happened."

"Thank you, my very dear. ButIwon't forget about what happened the other night. As I said, no one has ever given me such a declaration of love as you did, and I will always cherish it. Go to sleep, my darling, and have happy dreams. I love you." Click.

I slowly hung up the phone and returned to bed. I fell into a sound sleep almost at once. Everything was all right again.

I spent the next day in the field, working cheerfully as part of the Marion & Pickens gang, finishing the installation of the oil furnace and water conditioning system the owner had specified for this house. I returned to the office at 3:30. Before starting on the paperwork that's the bane of any small contractor's life, I picked up the phone, called the newspaper and got hold of the reporter who'd interviewed me about the Fire Fox patch story.

My request was simple. He didn't promise an instant response, but said he'd try. I gave him my email address and asked him to forward the information as soon as he had it.

By the time I arrived home, my inbox had the reporter's reply. I smiled and rubbed my hands.

*****

Four days after Deirdre had spoken to John, Sergeant Carter counted noses as the Fire Foxes came off a 48 hour stint on the fire line without a break. The Fire Boss had thought the blaze was contained, but a wind shift had sent it south to threaten a vacation community. The best efforts of the smoke-eaters and the flyboys had been just good enough to keep it from burning 200 homes to ashes. They were beat. She came up short by one firefighter.

"Where's Talliferro?" she demanded. Deirdre spoke up.

"Cap'n Anson came and took her to speak to the C.O. of the National Guard engineer battalion, ma'am. The Colonel heard about our wild ride down Reeback's Run the other day and wanted a full report. She was senior, so the Cap'n took her to make it. I think the Colonel wants to put that catskinner corporal up for a medal; the Soldiers Medal for noncombat valor, most likely. She's a witness and the Army likes to get eyewitness reports while they're fresh, ma'am."

"Wish she'd told me first," Carter grumbled. "Platoon, dis-MISSED! Not you, Little Fox." She beckoned Deirdre to follow her to the old Quonset hut that served as the guardroom-cum-living quarters for the prisoner escorts. There was a box three feet by a foot and a half by a foot and a half with a UPS Overnight sticker addressed to Deirdre on it sitting by a desk.

"This was waiting when we got back. What is your John up to this time? That thing's huge!"

Guard and con quickly got the box open. There was a manila envelope on top of everything. Carter took it, ripped the flap off and pulled out several sheets of paper. She scanned the top one and handed it to her charge.

"Dear Deirdre:

"According to the TV, you guys and gals fighting the fire don't have much in the way of amenities. I hope these will be helpful. There's an inventory for Sergeant Carter or whoever will have to inspect it, but I mostly sent only things that would pass muster at Camp Jackson.

"The foodstuffs will keep without refrigeration. I figured no one would object to packets of Gatorade given the hot work you're doing. There's nothing about that on the TDCJ list.

"I also took the liberty of including some bags of panties and bras from a nearby mill that makes them. They're supposedly seconds, but I can't find anything wrong with them. I don't know what your laundry situation is and I thought they might come in useful. The panties are small, medium, large and extra-large, and the bras run from 32B and C to 38B and C. The lady at the mill store said between them there ought to be something for everybody. If I'm wrong, you can always trade the rest to another platoon. There's a bag of one size fits all tube socks, too.

"There's a package specifically for you in here, darling, of bras and panties and Army surplus socks in your size. Your sizes I don't need to guess at, the way I had to for the other women.

"The envelopes, paper and pens are as specified, and there are two rolls of stamps in the box as well. Ask Sergeant Carter to take charge of them and issue as needed. There is a box of dark chocolate bars for her as well, which she ought to keep in the freezer so they don't melt.

"Keep what you can use and spread the wealth around, and know I'm thinking of you. Especially you, Deirdre, but the rest of the Fire Foxes too. Enjoy the goodies.

"John."

"Well, he may be romantic but he's not a fool," Carter said as she read the inventory. Deirdre bridled at the backhanded compliment but kept her mouth shut as the sergeant went on. "Beef jerky in individual packets small enough to tuck into a pocket. Packets of Gatorade in the one quart size that will work with the canteens. Five-packs of gum in assorted flavors. Bags of hard candy. Rolls of compressed sugar candies ditto. Energy bars. Single serving packs of nuts. Bags of raisins. All very sensible."

"Then you'll let us have them?" she asked.

"Considering the trouble he went through getting them here, it's only fair I should. I'll have to justify it to Anson, but as she took off with Talilferro without telling me, I don't feel too bad about not checking before we pass these out. It's easier to get forgiveness than permission, anyway. Maybe next time John will send some bubblegum along with the chocolate bars. Bubblegum doesn't make you fat!"

*****

I continued to send a box , none as big as the first one, every third day out to the fire base along with my regular letters to Deirdre. The people at the local UPS outlet asked what I was doing, and I told them; it wasn't a secret, after all. Emily posted the fire base address on the company bulletin board along with a list of things we knew would be useful to the firefighters. She also said her church bulletin had asked for prayers for the smoke-eaters, and she had asked the congregation to contact her if the Lord moved them to help the people fighting the fire. So far, a dozen families had asked for the things list and the address, and had sent boxes out marked, 'Any Fire Fox' or 'Any Fire Fighter.'

I was packing up another box, this one including some things Deirdre had specifically requested, when my reporter acquaintance knocked on my door. I let him in and offered him a drink, which he took; a small one just to be sociable.

"Do you know what you've done?" he asked.

"Nothing that I'm aware of, apart from sending my girlfriend these care packages," I said. "Is that a crime or something?"

"Crime? Nothing of the sort! But you might be interested in reading this article that went out on the AP wire from a reporter at the fire command base today." I took it and read.

"Forest fires are dangerous things, no doubt about it. But they can bring out the best in the American people, the part of our national character that says we should help our neighbors when things get tough.

"It all started with a package that a man named John Middleton sent to a lady friend, a firefighter working the Grand Canyon fire. He mentioned it to his office manager. She sent a package and mentioned it to her pastor. He sent a box and put a request for prayers in the church newsletter. Families in the church sent packages to the fire base for the smoke-eaters and told their friends. The friends shipped things and told friends of their own about what they were doing.

"Now the fire command base is being inundated by a steady flow of care packages from across the country, along the lines of the 'any serviceman' presents adults may remember sending to 'the boys' in World War II, Korea, Vietnam, and Desert Storm. From having little to do when they are off the line and few creature comforts, the firefighters now have treats that the rest of us take for granted because we can get them so easily. From chocolate bars to crackers, from waterless hand cleaner to changes of socks, the people fighting the worst wildfire the Southwest has seen in decades have tangible proof their labors are appreciated by the American people. So much has come in that a dozen people have been detailed simply to sorting and distributing anything that isn't addressed to a specific person.

"Many people around the world and even here at home are fond of claiming that Americans are heartless. Something like this – ordinary people helping people they will never meet, simply because it's the right thing to do – makes me proud to be an American."

"So it's all my fault?" I asked.

"Not exactly, but you're the Good Samaritan who showed people what they can do to help when they can't go to fight that fire themselves. I thought you ought to know, that's all." He set down the glass, shook my hand, and left.