White Wolf

“Fuck this fucking bull shit. God, I hate this place,” I thought to myself in the overly packed, stuffy, obnoxious, opulent, shin-dig I was attending. I ordered two more rum and cokes as I tried my best to enjoy my own company away from vaudeville-like, fake riches. “Fuck these fake people. All the money in the world and they make a party to celebrate themselves for the sake of some ‘political win.’ What a load of bull shit. All of it. Fuck everything and everyone,” I thought.

“Stop being a sorry, mother fucking, woe is me asshole… Shit, I gotta stop being so negative,” I mumbled into my cold and burning drink. My back was still stiff and beyond inflamed. I kept drinking to numb the pain. It didn’t help. Nothing ever did it seemed. The hydro codeine and oxytocin weren’t helping either. Constant mobility work was needed every day and I was too lazy and too depressed that day to try to relieve and stretch my back; hence the brutal, lingering pain. Felipe grabbed my shoulder to force me to look at him and his disheveled air force dress uniform. I rolled my eyes and he said, “All alone as usual, eh?”

“Yep. What is it?”

“Come on! Enjoy this party.”

“Nah.”

“Maybe you should learn to enjoy people. Besides, when else would we ever be invited to another event like this? When else would we be here in Europe? When else would we marines and airmen be allowed a week long furlough? When else would we be here getting a taste of all the untapped European cunt?”

“You really are fucked up, man. You gotta work on that… Besides, we’re here for that bastard over there… To think people voted for his greedy ass and his party and that he is using us for some political power move. Fuck him!”

The Secretary of Defense for the US was talking with the French delegation just a few tables away from the bar. His obnoxious laugh made me want to clock him in the face with whatever glass was currently in my hand at the time.

“Fuck you and fuck your misery… And yeah, fuck him too,” Felipe said after finishing his beer. “Pinche Puta. Wouldn’t mind if someone shot him in all honesty.”

“Shh! Keep that down, Flea! You can’t say that shit with secret service around.”

“Come on! We’re all thinking it. At least we don’t have to give a speech later this week. Fucking sucks that we have to share the damn plane with him though.”

“So, what are you going to do for the rest of the week until Saturday?”

“Enjoy the red light district and enjoy immersing myself with the French on a carnal level.”

“You’re nasty.”

“And you’re a loner… Amigo, I like you LT, but you gotta enjoy the now. Stop living with the guilt of then. We’re alive because of you. Don’t blame yourself for what happened.”

“Yeah… I know. Still weird to call you lieutenant now.”

“Yeah, being an officer is weird for me… Alright… Now come on, let’s meet people.”

“I’d rather sit here and turn around and see you make an ass of yourself,” I joked back at him. I finished the glass of rum and coke and I started on another.

“Eight drinks in thus far and I’m only buzzed. Damn… Emotional trauma really numbs everything, but my fucking back,” I thought. Felipe then pointed towards the end of the bar pointing out a woman in a red dress. She sat just like me leaning with a malaise and ennui of all that was around her. A glass of red wine was perched in her unenthused left hand as she looked into nothingness with a bored look.

She was beautiful. Slicked back, platinum blonde, nearly white hair cut short with just a little bit of length going past her neck and a little cowlick hanging in front of her face. She had a strapless red dress that contoured beautifully to her body revealing a nice amount of leg and a cross-string closure with a slightly exposed back. She had a lean, well-defined, and fit figure overall. Skin as pale as snow and smooth like porcelain that was accented beautifully with her red lips and ruby studded ear rings. She also seemed tough and could take anyone in a fight despite her skinny frame. Her eyes were a hypnotizing, bright blue. Her expression was in a permeant serious look with hints of unhinged emotion being suppressed actively. She looked vaguely familiar. Like a face I saw before blacking out from a traumatic incident. I couldn’t figure out why at the time. I ignored that feeling. I just wanted to gawk at her and admire her beauty.

Felipe smiled and motioned me to go over. I asked him who she was. He surmised she was part of the German force who was also getting awarded just like I and the rest of the surviving marines were. He overheard her speak to some of them as she went to sit at the bar. I told him to shove it and the liquid courage forced me towards her. Felipe smiled, wished me luck, and walked away.

I slowly walked over and sat down two chairs away from her. I then thought about how disheveled I looked with my jacket and shirt all undone as the newly pinned medal on my chest swayed violently with every motion I made with my uninhibited body. She noticed me. I looked back at her not saying a word as I tried my best to look calm and relaxed. I nodded. She gave a slight nod back. She took a few sips and turned fully at me with curious eyes. She looked as if she was trying to see if I looked familiar or not. I wasn’t sure. I remembered being awarded in front of a few coalition forces outside of the marines, politicians and media, but I wasn’t sure if the German force, or any coalition force, was present at the time. I looked back at her with a slight grin. She pushed the one chair between us away from the bar. She placed her hand sensually down on the cushion with a small tap. I obliged immediately.

I asked her if she spoke English. She shook her head. I then asked if she understood English at least. She nodded. I smiled and half-heartedly told her my name, “Hi, I’m Jean Bowman.”

“Hi… Ilsa Reiner.”

“Ilsa? Pretty name.”

“Danke.”

“Not liking the party as well?”

“Ja.”

“Same here… Too much… Too much.”

“Hmmm.”

“Yeah,” I said not entirely sure what to say. I was not prepared to talk to her; especially someone this beautiful in my current state. I slurred out shakily, “You look… Pretty. Like… You are very pretty I have to say.”

“Danke… Das es so ist?”

“No… No. I’m… I’m sorry to bother. I’m making an ass of myself. I’ll leave.”

“Nein… Nein, Jean.”

“Okay,” I said whilst sitting back down feeling like a blubbering ass. Ilsa noticed the medal on my chest and made a slight dip her neck to get a better look at it. She then tenderly grabbed the medal on my chest and she smirked. I didn’t know what she was saying in that moment, but her eyes seemed empathetic. Her voice sounded gentle as her hand delicately held the swaying medal. I just smiled slightly only to go back to sipping my drink to hide into myself. She let go of the medal and sighed tiredly. I asked her, “Who are you with if you don’t mind my asking?”

She turned around in her chair and leaned both her arms back on the bar top as she scanned the room. I tried to follow her gaze and noticed the German force getting hammered with the Brits and Felipe at the champagne table as the ambassadors and whatever other wealthy elites talked amongst themselves. She nudged her head towards the direction of the German force. I asked, “Ah. You’re with them… Why aren’t you in uniform?”

“Die Uniform ist beschissen.”

“I understood that last word… I guess I understand,” I replied quietly. I don’t know what compelled me to vent to her, but I felt I had to in that moment. I took a long breath and said to her, “You know… I feel out of place here in mine. Like, I don’t belong, you know? Feel like a peacock. Like, yeah I was awarded this medal earlier, but I hate what it represents. Don’t get me wrong it’s an honor and all that, but I feel like it’s undeserved… Fuck, why am I even saying this out loud to you? I’m probably sounding like an ass… I’m sorry if I’m rambling and complaining. I’ll leave you be, miss.”

“Nein Jean… Est ist okay, ja,” she responded sweetly. “Okay?”

“Okay… I just hate this medal and all of this, you know,” I said tersely as I sipped my drink again. I unpinned the medal from my chest and held it. I looked at it with all the disdain in the world. “I don’t deserve it.”

She grabbed my right hand tenderly. Her touch felt like cool velvet. She delicately took the medal from my hand and re-pinned it. She said something again in German with a soft tone. I think what she said was something to the effect that I shouldn’t blame myself and that it’s okay to feel this way for she understands my pain.

At least that’s what I wanted to think she said.

My German is limited and I can barely speak a second language properly. My French was alright, but I had a thick Cajun accent when I spoke it. Plus my southern drawl was not helpful. So I figured my French was not worth it at the time. The bartender came by and she spoke fluent French to him asking for Chardonnay wine. Her voice sounded like a mix of honey and lavender as her words flowed effortlessly from her mouth. I was more and more attracted to this mysterious, multi-lingual beauty. Even though I didn’t understand a word she said I felt as if she had a good heart and she was willing to cut through the bull shit regardless of language. It was her straightforward empathy and unwavering tenderness with me that attracted me the most.

I then said to her, “Is it okay if I just sit her with you? We don’t have to talk. We just understand each other silently, if that sounds weird or makes sense?” She smiled as she took a sip from her new glass of wine. She replied looking at me directly with a coy and foxy look, “Ich werde es genießen, mit ihnen zu schweigen.”

I still had no idea what she said. She smiled at me so I figured it meant well. She didn’t leave my side as we both stared at each other every now and then enjoying the awkward company for the next ten minutes. I tried to detail every detail of her sharp yet warm facial features in my mind. I was on my tenth drink of rum and coke when I finally started to feel something. Warmth washed and cascaded itself all inside my body as my standoffish walls crumbled down into a vast ocean of confidence and emotion. The pain stopped on both physical and emotional levels.

I don’t know why, but I kept apologizing to her if I was being annoying whenever I felt uncomfortable in the silence. She kept saying it was fine. I just could not help myself but to look at her and enjoy her company. She looked back and felt the same, I thought. I felt as if there was a silent understanding between us. She recognized my insecurity with the medal and uncomfortableness with this party. I recognized her feeling uncomfortable as well and her wanting to not be fully alone at the party either. I felt as if she was only here out of obligation, but relaxed because there was an open bar that we didn’t have to pay for. I believe she understood the same feelings I felt for her in that awkward and tender moment.

We both slowly leaned into each other as the empty glasses kept getting replaced. Fifteen drinks in for me for the night in total. Her fourth glass of wine and four shots of tequila since I sat next to her. She then said to me in French to the best of my drunken, ignorant American knowledge, “I like you. You are sweet and weird… Come… Dance. Me and you. One song.” She grabbed my hands and we both swayed slowly into each other’s arms as a Louis Armstrong song was playing while being sung by a French woman. I ignored everything around me and looked at her. I think she was doing the same. She was nearly my height and nearly eye level with me. Her smile and red lips nearly melted me and nearly made me want to explode all over her. Just with a look from her I could melt away. My member engorged excitedly seeking an opportunity to present itself as she pressed her crotch against mine.

She noticed it and made a seductive, low growl and moan as her arms slowly rested around my neck and shoulders. Her body pushed up against my body. My arms wrapped around her lower back as we swayed. She smelled of roses and her warm breath felt nice on me. She whispered into my ear with a mix of French and German to the best of my knowledge, “Sie sind aufgeregt. Good… Je le veux. Je loge dans le penthouse au dernier étage. Come… Folge mir.” She kissed me slowly. I wasn’t sure how to respond, but I knew I liked it. I kissed her back.