Looking for Chapter 1?  It’s here.

This chapter contains mild physical violence, as well as a fair amount of psychological and/or emotional violence.  Content warning for STI shaming, as well as slut-shaming and racial insensitivity. 

The woman on the stage in the front of the room was the Secretary of the Air Force, whatever that meant. At the moment she was droning on about honor and service, but Carrie was imagining her sitting at a desk, typing up memoranda and collating documents. Maybe even answering the telephone. “Hello, U.S. Air Force. How may I direct your call?” She understood the position entailed much different responsibilities than a civilian secretary would bear, but Carrie needed the laugh. She sipped impatiently from her cocktail, wondering if it would be considered poor form to take her iPhone out and browse Pinterest. The wristlet that held it was an expensive new one by Vera Bradley; she’d bought it to wear to the ball, and it matched her dress. For an instant, she considered just doing it regardless of whether the other military wives at the table might judge her for it, or would judge her husband.

Sensing her boredom, Rick reached over and covered her hand with his, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry this is so boring.” His voice was a whisper.

Carrie looked up and smiled at him, suddenly self-conscious. She absentmindedly ran her finger around a stray brown tendril that escaped from her updo to frame her face. She twisted it around her finger like a young child might. The speech couldn’t possibly go on much longer, could it? The secretary was talking about something patriotic no doubt, but whatever the content of the speech, Carrie couldn’t relate. She couldn’t help but wish the speech could just be over right now, if only so she could finally eat dinner. And then have another drink or two at the bar, do some dancing, and then take Rick back up to their hotel room and fuck his brains out.

The room erupted in applause as the secretary stepped down from her podium. Carrie wondered if the applause wasn’t merely because she was finally done talking. Fucking windbag. Dinner was served in three separate courses, beginning with an organic mixed-green salad with English cucumbers, carrots, roasted roma tomatoes, feta cheese, and toasted walnuts dressed with a white zinfandel vinaigrette; and continuing with a main entree of boneless chicken breast topped with prosciutto, fresh basil, and asiago cheese with a roasted garlic marsala sauce, plus mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables on the side. Dessert was brandied cherry chocolate cake, but Carrie politely declined hers.

Dinner passed in relative calm, but the ambient elevator music playing through the speakers and the sea of men in military dress uniforms and their perfectly-clad and -coiffed stepford wives created a surreal atmosphere that made Carrie uncomfortable. It was like something Norman Rockwell would have painted, if Norman Rockwell had been in charge of designing propaganda for the Military-Industrial Complex. Carrie found herself relieved that all of the evening’s ceremony had concluded when she and Rick walked into the adjacent ballroom for the afterparty. She smoothed out the classy red gown she’d chosen for the evening and took in the veritable sea of opulent evening wear swaying in a very inelegant manner on the frames of the wives getting down on the dance floor. Carrie and Rick made their way to the bar, her heels clicking across the ballroom floor. A small group of airmen stood before them, placing their drink orders.

“What do you want?” Rick asked her as they waited. “Wine? Margarita? Corona?”

“I don’t care. Something strong.”

Rick pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his dress pants as the airmen vacated and he and Carrie reached the bar. He ordered his wife a margarita with an extra shot of tequila, and a draft beer for himself. While they waited for their drinks, Carrie turned to the entrance of the ballroom and watched in shock as a familiar couple walked in. Her eyes went wide and her breath left her lungs. Alan was tall, with short, dark hair and dark eyes, plus chiseled, masculine features that Carrie still found as attractive as she ever had. He wore the same formal dress as Rick, and linked to his arm was his wife Elisa. She wore a modest black dress with a simple braided style of bun atop her head and a haughty expression on her tired, weathered face. Carrie was frozen in place, unsure what to do. Standing on the opposite side of the ballroom, neither Alan nor Elisa had noticed her yet. She took an instinctive step back, quickly turning to face Rick once again. She forced a half-hearted smile as he handed her the shot and the margarita, noticing as she downed the former that her hand was trembling. Carrie’s entire body was rigid with tension, her heart thundering in her chest so forcefully she couldn’t ignore it. She set the shot glass down on the bar and began to drink the margarita.

Rick spoke: “Take it easy. The night hasn’t been that bad.”

She continued to smile, hoping Rick couldn’t tell she didn’t mean it. The pervading sense of doom she felt threatened to ruin her night almost before it had begun. The four hadn’t crossed paths yet, but there was no way the two couples were going to be able to avoid each other all night. Carrie hoped they had wandered off and gotten lost in the crowd. She wouldn’t have minded if they’d disappeared into the throng of people on the dance floor, even if it meant she would have to stay away from that location all night.

After a moment Carrie was unable to resist a quick glance around the room, hoping she’d find Alan and Elisa deep in conversation with another couple or otherwise occupied elsewhere. As she looked, Alan locked eyes with her and she watched his lips part in the same state of disbelief she’d just experienced.

Time stood still. All the sound in the room fell away. The band was silent. Hundreds of separate conversations suddenly went mute. A tornado of memories hung in the air over Carrie’s head along with the sudden, panicked realization of what was about to happen. At the absolute most, a scant one hundred feet of crowded ballroom separated the two couples. As Carrie and Alan stared at each other, Elisa and Rick needed to take only the briefest pause in order to register the situation, quickly following their spouses’ gazes until they realized the four of them were all in the same room once again. This is what they’d all been dreading for so long, and while Carrie had no idea what would happen next, she knew damn well it wasn’t going to be good.

Rick looked away from the other couple and down to Carrie, who managed to tear her eyes away from Alan a split second too late. Her expression was serene, her mouth turned upward into a sappy smile. A look of restrained affection – a less secure husband might have classified it as longing – remained on her face. Rick had seen it.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.” He took a step away from her.

“What?” Carrie threw up her hands in a shrug of feigned innocence.

“Your face. The look on your face.”

“I’m just surprised. You would be too, if you-know-who was here.”

He looked down at Carrie’s hand, clutching melodramatically at her chest. She took a deep breath. The grin had all but faded from her lips, but she was still gazing off in Alan and Elisa’s direction. As Rick thrust his beer into Carrie’s hand she snapped out of it just in time to see him close the gap between them and the other couple in only half the strides it should have taken him.

She called out to him. “Rick! No!” Carrie gave no thought to Rick’s beer or her margarita as she dropped both to the floor and ran after him in a broad whirl of red dress and brown hair. As she grabbed him by the dress blues he swung his arm back, throwing her off of him. He lashed out, propelling his fist at Alan’s face. The other man reached up with blinding speed, grabbing Rick’ fist with both hands. Anticipating the sheer force of the looming blow, Alan parried his opponent, using every bit of energy he could muster to send Rick’s arm off-course. In the end it didn’t matter as Rick sent his free hand sailing into the other man’s stomach. Alan was solid muscle without a bit of fat on him; that much Carrie knew from experience. Still, the punch left him doubled over and gasping for breath.

As Rick grabbed Alan’s lapels and pulled him back up, Elisa scrambled against the wall and out of their way. Carrie, meanwhile, leaped to her feet and tried to break up the fight. Alan returned Rick’s punch and Rick delivered another, fists burying themselves in abdomens and impacting against ribs. Carrie made use of her elbows and shoulders, forcing her way between them. When her black stiletto heel inadvertently came down on Rick’s patent leather dress shoe, he cried out and turned on his feet to face the interloper. Alan took advantage of this pause and shoved Rick backward. Then he fell to his knees, still desperate to catch his breath even as Rick tumbled into a woman in a slinky ankle-length cocktail dress and hit the floor hard.

“Is there a problem here?” asked a scowling military police officer. He was round-faced with a prominent brow.

“Too much to drink,” Elisa said without the slightest smile.

Carrie looked down at Rick, already rising to his feet. His lip was bleeding, but the look of hatred burned into his face was far more frightening. She bent down to Alan, letting her eyes meet his once again. She allowed herself only an instant to feel the familiar stirrings as she drank deeply of his gaze. “Are you okay?” she asked. For a moment, she almost forgot the room was packed with military personnel and their spouses. Worst of all, she almost forgot about Alan’s wife, and her own husband.

Alan blinked and nodded his head. After a second he answered in the affirmative. All the while, he held her gaze just as he’d done all those times in Korea. Carrie extended a hand and helped him up. The feel of his skin on hers sent a current of electricity through both of them and made the air around them come alive. She was flooded with memories: His smile. The way he smelled. The way his body felt against her. The way his cock felt inside her. The way he sounded when he came. She thought about the first time they’d been together. She thought about the last time. It occurred to her that even though Alan had made it to his feet, they were still touching. She looked down and realized he was the one holding her hand, and not the other way around.

That’s when Elisa launched herself off of the wall and grabbed Carrie by the hair. The younger woman writhed in her grip, turning her head to face her attacker even as she twisted Carrie’s brown locks in a tight, unyielding fist. “Get your hands off of him, you whore!” Elisa pulled her head even further back. Carrie fought against her, finally sending a knee up and into Elisa’s rib cage. She groaned, but managed to hold tight to Carrie’s hair. Then Carrie grabbed Elisa’s and yanked even harder.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” Carrie’s voice was colder than ice, infused with a steely determination that would have given any other woman pause. Elisa didn’t relent. Carrie released her grip on Elisa’s hair and quickly clasped them over her wrists, pulling with all she had. That’s when the round-faced military police returned, this time with three other officers who separated the two women by force.

“Take it outside, ladies,” said a blonde officer in full uniform. She was perhaps a few years older than Carrie, who disliked her immediately. She and her cohorts pushed Carrie one way and Elisa the other as Alan and Rick glared at each other without saying a word. They simply stood beside their wives, each silently acknowledging they’d been very lucky not to be the two discovered fighting. If there was an easier way to end a pair of military careers, neither one could think of it.

After a moment, Elisa broke the silence. “Let’s go, Alan.” It wasn’t a request. She turned to walk away from Rick and Carrie, her hand clasped tightly on her husband’s forearm.

Alan didn’t move. Instead, his expression softened, and he regarded not only Carrie but Rick as well. “Look, I know it isn’t worth much to you, but I’m really sorry about everything. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody, and I sure as hell didn’t mean to ruin your evening just by being here.”

“Man, fuck you.” Carrie looked up at her husband. She wasn’t expecting such a sharp rebuke. Instinct dictated she play the peacemaker and apologize to Alan on Rick’ behalf. But Rick wouldn’t have liked it if she did so she bit her tongue. Rick continued: “You better get out of here before I get really pissed.”

Carrie winced as she saw Elisa pull Alan by the arm. What a cold, unfeeling woman, even to her husband. Carrie took solace in the fact that, even when she was rendezvousing with Alan in an alleyway in Osan, she would never have humiliated him in public the way Elisa just humiliated Alan.

Once the other couple was gone, Rick spoke: “I can’t believe you’d just humiliate me in public like that.”

“Humiliate you in public like – “ Carrie let the words sink in, feeling anger boiling just under her skin. She tried to keep it there. “Humiliate you like what, exactly?”

“Oh, knock it off, Carrie! You really think I wanted to be reminded of what you did to me?”

“What I did to you? What about what you did to me?”

“You think I wanted to be confronted by those two, at the Air Force Ball of all places?”

“How is this my fault?” On some level she knew he was right, but she was unrepentant: “What, we’re just supposed to stay home for the rest of our lives in case God forbid we happen to run into the guy I fucked behind your back? I mean, Jesus!” Carrie’s hands were clenched into fists. “That was a long time ago! What do you want from me?”

“I want you not to act like you’re still hung up on him.”

Carrie turned on her heel and stormed away, stomping through the ballroom intent on the exit. Her emotions were frazzled, and she realized she was fighting off a panic attack. The edges of her vision started to blur, and she turned her head to see a young woman with strawberry blonde hair staring at her.

“What are you looking at, bitch?” Carrie snapped. As she spoke she realized that the blonde was the only person in the world who could push her from her panic right back into boiling-hot rage. Her name was Jamie, though Carrie always thought of her as the Singawhore. Rick met her while he was stationed at COMLOG Westpac and she was teaching abroad. Their romance had nearly destroyed everything. Carrie had never met the young woman – she’d only seen a picture or two – but she would have recognized her anywhere. Over the last few years she’d allowed Jamie more space in her mind than she should have. She knew the face, and she knew the shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair. More than anything it was the hair that made the connection in Carrie’s mind.

She stood on the arm of an enlisted man. Carrie wondered if he was married too. Probably. She wondered if his wife was in pain the way Carrie had been in pain. She remembered the humiliation, the abandonment, the isolation. It was all she could do to keep from calling her a homewrecking slut, though what she really wanted to do was give her a swift kick in the ribs the way she’d just done to Elisa. There’s still time, she thought with a tentative smile. The night is young.

Carrie turned and headed for the exit in a huff. As she did, she bumped into a woman in an elegant ballgown, making her spill her drink. Carrie didn’t apologize. She didn’t even slow down. She barely even acknowledged she had done it. Not so elegant anymore, she thought as she left the ballroom. There were a couple people in uniform milling about a large lobby that, beyond a few floor-to-ceiling marble columns, was essentially featureless. Three corridors forked off of the lobby, one leading to the elevators, another to the main lobby and the hotel’s entrance, and a third to some conference rooms and, to Carrie’s relief, the restrooms. She followed that corridor to another large lobby and her destination, the ladies’ room.

Inside, Carrie checked her hair in the mirror. As expected, Elisa’s assault had completely ruined it. She ran some water from the sink and tried her best to fix it. All she could do was comb it back with her hands, then smooth out the sides and rehabilitate her bangs a bit. She stood there for a moment, feeling her heartbeat speed up. Suddenly there were tears, but Carrie refused to acknowledge them. Instead, she focused on her hair. If she’d had some hairspray, or even a bobby pin or two, she might feel a little more confident.

She looked at herself in the mirror, trying not to focus on her ruined coif. What the hell? she thought as she noticed a dark blotch on the front of her gown. Some careless idiot spilled a drink all over me. Her evening was just getting better and better by the second. Carrie took a paper towel from the dispenser and wiped away the sloppy tears that ran down the sides of her face. Her makeup smeared and she decided to just wash it all off. When she was done she looked at her hair, her face, and her rumpled clothing and she felt like giving up. She wanted to say fuck it and just go upstairs. She wanted to take a long, warm bath and go to sleep before Rick even came up. If she did that, by morning she might have been able to force herself to forget everything that happened.

That’s when she remembered that their hotel room had no bathtub, just a large, glass-walled shower. And while it was admittedly a beautiful piece of architecture, it wasn’t what she wanted tonight. She stared into the mirror, made the most spectacularly fierce face she could manage, and decided that she wasn’t going to give up. The only thing she was going to do was return to the ballroom, have a few drinks, and have a good time. She might even manage to turn a few heads.

Wait. Might? Of course she was going to. She always did. And if it pissed off Elisa, or even Rick, that was too bad for them.

She smoothed out her gown and went to the door. As she pushed it open, Carrie found Elisa standing just outside the ladies’ room. Jamie was beside her. Carrie realized they weren’t standing there because they were waiting to use the restroom; there were several stalls and all were unoccupied. Anyway, the restroom door didn’t lock. They could have come in at any time if that was their aim. Besides, as far as Carrie could tell the two women didn’t know each other. No, it wasn’t some remote coincidence that had put the two women Carrie hated most in the entire world right in front of where she was standing. This was something else.

In spite of every instinct, Carrie buried the anger she felt toward both women, pressed forward, and attempted to walk around them.

She was foiled. “Listen,” Elisa began in the best attempt at a civil tone Carrie had heard her make all night. “I’m only going to tell you this once. If you ever see my husband again, you are to turn around and walk in the other direction. I don’t care where you are. I don’t care what you’re doing. If you see him, you will walk away. In fact, you will run away. He is poison to you.”

Carrie stood dumbfounded by what she was hearing. “You don’t control what I do anymore than you control what Alan does.”

“Don’t mouth off at me, young lady.” The civility was fading.

“Oh please! You know it’s true. How many times has he cheated on you since he left Korea? I’m guessing even if you knew, you couldn’t possibly count.”

“My marriage isn’t your concern.” By now all traces of politeness were long gone. Elisa stood over Carrie like a strict schoolmistress attempting to intimidate one of her charges into toeing the line. At the same time, Jamie moved from Elisa’s side to Carrie’s. Her disregard for the concept of personal space was jarring, and Carrie did her best to keep an eye on the little blonde homewrecker.

Elisa continued: “You may have had something with my husband once upon a time, but that’s ancient history now. And whatever promises he made you, whatever sweet nothings he may have whispered in your ear, I’m telling you now that they were all lies. Alan may have wanted you, but he didn’t care about you. He never did, and he never will.”

“Bullshit.”

“He’s never even mentioned you once since Korea.”

“Why would he mention me to you?” Carrie asked incredulously. “All that matters are the texts he sends me. If you want to see them, I’ll show you my phone.” This part was a bluff intended to gain Carrie some footing. Alan hadn’t contacted her at all. But if Elisa wanted a dirty fight, she was going to get one.

“You’re lying, sweetie. I know you are. Alan learned his lesson. He isn’t going to risk everything he’s got by texting you when I have expressly forbidden him from doing so. We’re both fortunate he didn’t bring home a nasty case of gonorrhea or chlamydia. He isn’t going to push his luck.”

Her words stung, but Carrie didn’t let it show. “Funny you should mention that. We used condoms every time. He said he didn’t want to give me whatever he caught from you.”

Elisa’s hand stung even worse. Carrie rubbed her cheek until the shock of the sudden slap faded. “I suggest you think very carefully about the situation you’re in,” Elisa advised. “There are two of us and one of you. There’s nobody coming to your rescue.”

To be continued.