was only twenty-five years old) had been a disc jockey in his home town, Schenectady, New York. He wanted only to return safely to—in order of their importance— his beloved records, his beloved MG convertible, and his beloved Annabelle Tyler whom he’d been dating since high school. He did not appreciate Naval chains of command or Naval reprimands or Naval operations. He knew he had a job to do and he knew he could not do it without Cotton Hawes’s complete co-operation. Perhaps the Admiral would have been delighted were Hawes demoted to Torpedoman First Class. The JG didn’t much give a damn about the Admiral.
“You’ll have to watch that stuff,” he said to Hawes. “We can’t have you sleeping through another kamikaze attack.”
“No, sir,” Hawes said. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m a heavy sleeper.”
“I’m assigning a seaman to wake you whenever General Quarters is sounded. That should take care of it.”
“Yes, sir,” Hawes said. “Thank you, sir.”
“How the hell did you manage to snore through that ungodly din, Cotton? We almost had two direct hits on our bow!”
“Mike, I can’t help it,” Hawes said. “I’m a heavy sleeper.”
“Well, somebody’ll wake you from now on,” the JG said. “Let’s come through this damn thing alive, huh, Cotton?”
They came through the damn thing alive. Cotton Hawes never heard from the JG after they were separated at Lido Beach. He assumed he’d gone back to jockeying discs in Schenectady, New York. And whereas the seaman had temporarily foiled the further attempts of Japanese pilots to sink the boat, the victory over Morpheus was at best a shallow one. Cotton Hawes was still a heavy sleeper. He attributed this to the fact that he was a big man, six feet two inches tall and weighing 190 pounds. Big men, he maintained, needed a lot of sleep.
The telephone continued to tinkle somewhere in the far distance. There was movement on the bed, the creaking of springs, the rustle of the sheet being thrown back. Hawes stirred slightly. The distant tinkle was somewhat louder now. And then, added to the tinkle, came a voice fuzzy with sleep.
“Hello?” the voice said. “Who? I’m sorry, Mr. Carella, he’s asleep. Can you call back a little later? Me? I’m Christine Maxwell.” The voice paused. “No, I don’t think I ought to wake him right now. Can he call you when he…” Christine paused again. Cotton sat up in bed. She stood naked at the telephone, the black receiver to her ear, her blonde hair pushed back to tumble over the black plastic in a riot of contrast. Delightedly, he watched her, her slender fingers curled about the telephone, the curving sweep of her arm, the long length of her body. Her brow was knotted in a frown now. Her blue eyes were puzzled.
“Well,” she said, “why didn’t you say you were from the squad to begin with? Just a moment, I’ll see if—”
“I’m up,” Hawes said from the bed.
“Just a second,” Christine said to the telephone. “He’s coming now.” She cradled the mouthpiece. “It’s a Steve Carella. He says he’s from the 87th Squad.”
“He is,” Hawes said, walking to the phone.
“Does that mean you’ll have to go in today?”
“I don’t know.”
“You promised you’d spend the day—”
“I haven’t even talked to him yet, honey.” Gently, Hawes took the phone from her hand. “Hello, Steve,” he said. He yawned.
“Did I get you out of bed?”
“Yes.”
“You busy today?”
“Yes.”
“Feel like doing me a favor?”
“No.”
“Thanks a million.”
“I’m sorry, Steve, I’ve got a date. I’m supposed to go on a boat ride up the Harb.”
“Can’t you break it? I need help.”
“If I break the date, the lady’ll break my head.” Christine, listening to the conversation, nodded emphatically.
“Come on. Big strong guy like you. You can take the girl with you.”
“Take her where?”
“To my sister’s wedding.”
“I don’t like weddings,” Hawes said. “They make me nervous.”
“Somebody’s threatened my future brother-in-law. Or at least it looks that way. I’d like a few people I can trust in the crowd. Just in case anything happens. What do you say?”
“Well…” Hawes started. Christine shook her head. “No, Steve. I’m sorry.”
“Look, Cotton, when’s the last time I asked you for a favor?”
“Well…” Hawes started, and again Christine shook her head. “I can’t, Steve.”
“There’ll be free booze,” Carella said.
“No.”
“Take the girl with you.”
“No.”
“Cotton, I’m asking a favor.”
“Just a second,” Hawes said, and he covered the mouthpiece.
“No,” Christine said immediately.
“You’re invited,” Hawes said. “To a wedding. What do you say?”
“I want to go on the boat ride. I haven’t been on a boat