A Duchess in the Pacific

Six

Get yourself a sweet Madonna, dressed in Rhinestone sitting on a

pedestal of Abalone Shell.

Going 90, I ain't scary 'cause I got the Virgin Mary

assurin' me that I won't go to Hell.

- Paul Newman's version of Plastic Jesus

It was now October. The unbearable heat and humidity of the island made Duchess ache for the cool crisp autumn of Massachusetts by the bay. On the bright side, she was grateful she wouldn't have to attend another boring Halloween party, in an uncomfortable costume, trying her best to be off-putting to the yuppy sons of her father's business partners, who always never seemed to take a hint. In that regard, she much preferred the company of the marines.

Duchess didn't see Andrew again after the day he came to get his stitches. But she had however become closer friends with John Basilone. He had come to be much nicer and far less handsy. Manny was right, he was an idiot. But Duchess knew he would never do anything to hurt her. He even apologized by giving her a can of cherries he stole from the Army supply. They got along much better after that.

She spent some casual minutes of the day speaking with him, JP and Manny. The rest of the days were spent helping the Corpsmen. They had actually come to require Duchess' fast yet precise hands. More men were helped than without her and Duchess' persistent attitude and intelligence proved to be helpful in saving men who otherwise would have died. It was hard work, but Duchess loved it. And although she was saddened each and every time they couldn't help someone, she still felt emboldened by the idea that she was finally useful. That her life wasn't just champagne and satin sheets. 

Of course the nights were always spent with none other than H company. And Duchess was almost always nestled into the crook of Sid's shoulder, or with her legs sprawled across Hoosier's lap, or sometimes simply leant slightly up against Leckie's side. Even as a child, Duchess was always comforted by the simple pressure from the mere presence of a loved one. Though, Duchess didn't know if she could say she loved H company or anyone else on the island, she was most definitely comforted by their newfound placement in her life.

And so that was exactly where Duchess was on that fateful October night. Lounging in the H company's foxhole until she would have to leave to go to the medical camp. There were plans for a night attack and from the looks on the faces of the men that surrounded her, Duchess suspected everyone was in for some Hell. On normal attacks, Duchess would wait at the camp, typically anxiously puffing on a cigarette she bummed from Hoosier, waiting for corpsmen to bring back the dead or wounded. And then she would get to work. But she had never had to work at night and there was a pit at the bottom of her stomach that was beginning to make her leg bounce. Once she noticed she looked up at chuckler, who smirked at her and winked. Duchess half-grinned and exhaled.

She listened for the next 30 minutes as the men chit chatted back and forth. She found herself studying their faces in the small light of the foxhole. First Leckie. His soft curly brown hair, puffing out at ever direction like a poodle. His blue eyes hardening with each day on the island. And his seedy grin that was becoming and less and less present. Still she would never forget it.

Next she shifted her eyes to Runner. His handsome slick dark hair, the way he peered out from underneath his thick eyebrows, and the flashy smile he had grown accustomed to showing Duchess. That smile she would never forget. Her eyes moved to Chuckler. He had curly hair too, not as much as Leckie's, but the top of his head was still tufted with gorgeous curls. His cheekbones lay high and rounded on his face. And Duchess always noticed how tall he was, especially to her. Looking up at him for too long would cause a strain in her neck, that's how much taller he was than her. She would never forget what he looked like from her angle of vision.