Chapter Seven - Savage

His body ached from long hours of confinement in the New Delhi-bound Pan American Clipper. Savage couldn't sleep as the huge airship droned through the skies between London and their destination, India. Erika's head resting on his shoulder made him uncomfortable, but he envied her slumber too much to disturb her. He looked around the darkened cabin. It seemed everyone was asleep but him. He remembered how the plane had taken on an international flavor when they boarded in Teheran. The travelers became an oddly mixed group of Europeans mingled with strong-scented, dark-skinned people dressed in saris and turbans, speaking in languages unheard before by him. Now the cabin was silent except for the sound of engines propelling them through the night. His mind was disturbed. He wasn't thinking so much of their destination as he was of where their odyssey had taken them thus far.

From London they had flown to Germany for a series of concerts and to entertain U.S. Air Force personnel stationed at bases there. Then came a one-night, sell-out performance in Rome and two concerts in Paris. Opening night in Paris was turned into an international event with Premier General De Gaulle in attendance. Through Etta Rawlings, Savage was privileged to meet a number of celebrities, including Royalty, including the King and Queen of Siam.

Shifting to ease his aching back, Savage slid the plastic window shade up to gaze at the terrain below. He was unprepared for what he saw, having seen only images of it in textbooks and travelogues. For miles in every direction lay the awesome splendor of jagged peaks and mile-deep gorges of the Himalayan Mountains.
Flying above them as they were, he was able to sense their magnitude, the tallest range of mountains on Earth. With unbelieving eyes he drank in the unearthly beauty spread majestically in deep shadow. After what seemed long hours of savoring the magnificence below, the first light of day began to unfold. Looking now across the plane's interior and out another porthole across the aisle, he caught sight of yet another peak beginning to glow in the amber Dawn. He recognized his incredible good fortune, to happen only once in his lifetime, to watch the Sunrise on Mount Everest.

Gently he woke Erika and wordlessly bade her to share the spectacle. As she did, he watched her misty, moss-green eyes focus on the breathtaking performance that had been repeated each Dawn since the beginning of planet Earth, which few living beings were privileged to witness. Erika silently drank in the pink and amber rays beginning to illuminate the mammoth, icy pinnacle of granite straining Heavenward. Clutching Savage's arm, she reverently whispered, "Oh, my God."

He put his warm mouth to her ear and whispered, "How many people can honestly say,' I have seen the Sunrise on Mount Everest?'" He put his arm around her as together they watched the creation of another day.

India had no fascination for Savage. From the moment the giant airship touched down at New Delhi Airport he was anxious to leave. He stepped from the cabin onto the metal stairway that led to a scorching asphalt runway and was hit by a blast of hot air like an oven. In the few moments it took to make the short walk to the terminal he was nearly overcome with heat combined with the stench of excrement and unwashed humanity. Thank God they had only to endure a two-hour layover before pressing on to Bangkok.

The airline terminal was a cacophony of unintelligible gabble and unfamiliar sounds from shopkeepers hawking their wares. Savage spied what appeared to be a men's room and excused himself from the group. Once inside, he was nearly overcome by nausea and horrified to find no gleaming white porcelain toilets or urinals. It was incomprehensible that a purportedly major world terminal wouldn't have the barest sanitation. He reflected that even the poorest ghettos back in America had better than this. Disgusted at the thought of having to relieve himself here, he held a handkerchief to his nose and looked around for a stall. There was none. One was forced to drop their pants and straddle a deep hole that had been dug in the floor. He almost vomited as an ancient, ragged man squatted over a hole in the corner of the room delivering to the earth the remains of what had been in his bowels. The stench was made further unbearable with the swarming of flies. He couldn't keep the handkerchief over his nose and battle them at the same time. The ancient beggar seemed unconcerned at their numbers on his face, unblinking eyes, clothing and hands. Hoards of passersby walked beside the opened window that provided scant ventilation. They seemed unconcerned at viewing both men in their mutual defecation.
Erika reported that the Indian version of a Lady's room was not much improved over what Savage experienced and after a depressing layover in New Delhi they happily re-boarded the Pan Am Clipper for the extended flight to Bangkok.

The United States involvement in the Viet Nam War was intense at that time, 1966. Thailand's capital, Bangkok, housed exhausted Troops for rest and relaxation from the ongoing war. At the beginning of planning this tour, Etta insisted she be allowed to visit the Troops. She wanted to entertain them. Visit with them. Touch them. Let them know that their lives and efforts were not wasted. She had done the same in Germany, busing it up to remote Air Force bases in the hills surrounding Wiesbaden and Frankfurt. They had brought immeasurable joy to lonely men serving in remote outposts in foreign lands.

The dry heat of India contrasted the oppressive, steamy humidity of Thailand. They felt the humidity even in the relative luxury of the convoy of limousines bearing them to the elaborate entrance to the Ramah Hilton in the heart of the City. Grateful for air conditioning, they quickly signed the register and retreated to the peaceful isolation of their rooms.

By now it was understood by everyone that Savage and Erika's accommodations would be together. They were shown to a spacious room on the fifth floor that afforded a view of the city, such as it was. It was a view unlike any they had seen in their former travels. The Rama Hilton was the tallest building in Bangkok. All six floors of it. From their comfortable room they looked down on ramshackle cardboard shacks held together with whatever the inhabitants had managed to gather.

The fourteen-hour flight had numbed them. NO sooner had the bellhop left, when Erika said, "I'm exhausted. I've got to have a shower right away. It'll relax me. Thank God there's no show tonight. Shall we go downstairs for a drink later? I'll bet everyone winds up in the Bar tonight."

Savage smiled. "Good idea. No one will have the good sense to go to bed and rest. Give us one night with no performance and we'll turn it into an instant party."

"That's one of the perks of our business," Erika replied. "Glamour, glamour, glamour. Party, party, party." Dropping her forced smile, she groaned and said, "Oh, what I wouldn't give for a massage right now." She kissed him lightly on the end of his nose and asked, "Am I going to have to shower alone?"

"This time," he said with a wicked grin, "I'll just stretch out and relax until you're done. Take your time and leave the door open. I like to watch."

"Pervert," she said. She entered into the tiny bathroom and turned on the hot water. Savage lay on the bed and stared in fascination as she began taking off her clothes. He loved to watch her undress and she intuitively knew it. She enjoyed it. It gave her a delicious feeling of power to know that he was watching her as she casually unbuttoned a blouse or slid a bra strap off her creamy shoulder. She often did things in front of him that were made to appear innocent and natural. A flash of nipple here, a glimpse of pubic hair as her robe fell open. She could almost hear the catch of breath in his throat as he caught her in these "private" moments.

Erika was a born seductress. She loved the way men lusted for her. Especially Savage. She felt that sometimes she had more power over his arousal than he did. She could stimulate him at will and took delight in it. "Prick Teaser," they had called her during High School. She had thought it a derogatory insult then, because she wouldn't do the things the boys would ask for. But, Savage was different from any man she had previously known. She had willingly held his erection to her lips and said, "You're mine, you know. You're a part of Him but you belong to me. No one will ever please him or you as much as I." She had taken it with her mouth. How good it felt, amazingly silky and sensual, a different kind of intimacy. The strong veins pulsing, pushing against her tongue as she carefully explored his every inch. Whoever had circumcised him had done a masterful job. It was as if someone way back then had known this would be her preference and she wanted to thank them all. She vowed she would learn to take it all the way. She wanted it. She wanted to know the feeling of all of it at once; like smooth velvet to her tongue. She would learn to drive him wild with her mouth, as he did to her. In time she mastered the technique of granting fleeting, butterfly tonguing across the tiny opening. He writhed in pleasure at that while begging her to stop. It gave her a feeling of utmost power to control him like that. She practiced taking it to the base and then cupping his testicles in her hands and exploring them as well. Savage was so wonderfully responsive that she sometimes wanted to do this to him for hours. She had never enjoyed that so much with other men. Other men were not so playfully sexual as Savage. They took their sex seriously. He was truly one of the most sensual men she had ever known. Sex was more than an animal act. It was a game, a playful activity.

How she loved to play with him. Only him. She was falling in Love with him. She would groan in agony and beg him to take her. Lay her on the floor of the shower and take her, take her, take her. Sliding together on the sudsy floor until he poured himself into her and they lay in a gasping, laughing heap of united flesh. But he waited. It would pleasure him to hold off until later. There was a delicious agony in the anticipation. Sex was like having a gourmet meal. Half the enjoyment was in the anticipation.

Savage began looking through a stack of leaflets provided by the hotel. Where to go in Bangkok. From the looks of things, nowhere. He came across one that advertised massages. Hadn't Erika said she wanted one? That might be different. From all he had heard about the orient, it might turn out to be downright kinky. No telling what might happen if he played it carefully. Trouble was, he didn't know how Erika felt about third parties. He hadn't yet formed a plan before she came out of the bathroom. She was humming her French song. "Mmmm, I feel positively tingly." Her wet hair was combed straight back and her shoulders glistened with dewy moisture.

"Do you still want a massage?"
"Sounds wonderful. Are you volunteering?"
"Not exactly."

She laughed and threw the bath towel on the floor, standing before him naked.

"Just what did you have in mind?" she teased. He could see her large, pink nipples begin to respond.

"This brochure says all I have to do is dial down to the desk and they'll send someone up. A professional." Would she read his message properly?

She eyed him coyly. "A professional what?" She took the brochure from him and began to study it.

"Massage, of course," he replied, "But you never know what they'll throw in for a few extra bucks." In over his head now, he decided to go all the way. "How do you feel about three-ways?"

Her look was one of utter shock. "What are you suggesting?" was all she could think of to say.

"Don't get nervous," he said. "I'm just asking you. Lots of people are into three-ways. I just thought you might enjoy it."

She threw the brochure across the room and snapped, "You're depraved."

Savage lunged off the bed like a panther and grabbed her in his arms, pinning her to his chest. Before she had time to react he grabbed the back of her wet hair. Lifting her face close to his, he softly uttered through clenched teeth, "Don't ever say that again." His voice was a snarl. He then released her and stepped back to examine the expression of shock and fear on her face.

Confused by his outburst, she reached for her robe and slipped it on in a daze. Smiling slyly, he lay back on the bed without taking his eyes from hers. She forced a weak smile. "I'm sorry. For a minute I thought you were serious,"

His smile was like a Cobra. "I was," he answered.
She turned from him with revulsion. Her voice began to crack. She fought tears.

"You should know I don't go in for that kind of thing. How could you even suggest it?"

"How do you know you don't like it if you've never tried it?"

She tried to control her shaking hands. "Just drop it, will you?" Her voice quivered. Her stomach muscles were tightening into a knot. Savage rolled over on his stomach to hide the bulge of his denims. This verbal exchange excited him. He was a kindergarten boy again, teasing a little girl to tears. Exerting his male dominance.

"Poor Erika," he taunted, "doesn't she want to experience everything at least once? There are as many varieties of sex as there are flowers on this earth."

I don't want to talk about it," she yelled. She was regaining her composure. "Get someone up here for yourself if that's what you want. I'll go stay with Dianne or Judy. You'll have all the privacy you want."

She stood at the window looking down onto the jumbled city. It was as much of a mess as she felt inside. How dare he do this to her. Savage rose from the bed and gracefully walked to where she stood. Softly he stroked her damp hair and kissed her check.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I've been a bad boy. Don't be mad. I'm sorry. Don't punish me." He said it so pathetically and mournfully that she melted. He sounded like a frightened, small boy. Weren't all men, really? Of course she would forgive him. He hadn't really done anything, after all. He had only made a suggestion. She turned to him and put her arm around his neck.

"You really are a shit," she said, "you know that?"
"Yes, I know," he replied, "but I'm a fun one."

Etta turned down a plea to perform first at the Officer's Club. She instead insisted on appearing at the Enlisted Men's Club initially, a dilapidated old building in need of repair that served as a social center for the young soldiers on leave from the War.

"I'm here to entertain our boys," she fumed at Joel, "not to kiss ass with them blue ribbon brass who sit behind the lines and decide who's going to die for their country today."

The Club was packed with soldiers several hours before show time. Young men who hadn't had contact with someone from home in months sat on the floor patiently waiting. They were there throughout the day and into evening, holding places for one another, talking about which of her albums were in their collections back home.

By the time Etta and her entourage of musicians and backup singers arrived, the Club was filled to overflowing. Speakers were erected outside to accommodate those who couldn't gain entrance. The Club manager loaned his little office for Etta to use as her dressing room. She insisted that the three girls share it with her. Savage, Chuck and Josh had to use the Men's lavatory to change.

Although the concert was scheduled to begin at nine, it started almost an hour late due to the crush of men jamming the entrances and aisles. A small stage had been set up at the front of the Club. One lone, antiquated air conditioner did little more than push the dense, humid air around the room. Despite the sticky humidity the atmosphere was charged with excitement. Finally, Joel signaled for a drum roll and a roar went up as the girls, accompanied by their partners, sought to make their way from the back of the Club to the waiting stage. Hundreds of perspiring men dressed in olive drab fatigues were whistling and shouting their approval for the three beautiful girls from home.

Judy waved and blew kisses to her clamoring audience. Dianne did a few bumps and grinds and flashed a "V" for Marty sign. She was rewarded with another roar of approval.

Erika fought to hold back tears welling in her eyes. She smiled broadly, clenched Savage's hand for support and tried to shake as many outstretched hands as possible. They inched their way forward to the stage, shaking hands along the way. As they approached the stage, the house lights dimmed. A Corporal made a brief welcoming speech and the band launched into a medley of Etta's greatest hits. After generous applause the six young entertainers marched onto the stage to the tune of "Hey, Look Me Over." The event began.

Watching from the back of the darkened Club was Etta Rawlings. Professional that she was, she wouldn't allow herself to be seen until the group finished their opening numbers and received the ovation that was rightfully theirs. She was pleased with their professionalism. Even under these unpleasant surroundings they shined and their sound was remarkable. They were now standing with left arms extended skyward and their right arms outstretched toward her. She turned to the MP's who were ready to escort her through the enthusiastic throng and said, "Stick with me, fellas. These are my boys."

She stepped into the waiting spotlight with a radiant smile. In one chorus they rose to their feet giving Etta a standing ovation, screaming and cheering her as she made her way to the tiny stage. Her tight sequined gown sparkled over her ample bosom and she waved her feather boa in all directions as the MP's made a path for her through the cheering mob. Hands reached out for her from every direction. She, too, fought to swallow the emotion that swept over her. A group of young men in the front of the stage leaped to help her up the steps. Etta stood in the spotlight surrounded by her group, listening to the thunderous ovation and shouts of approval.
She was doubly thankful she had insisted on doing this - her personal effort for the stinking war. Joel watched Etta expectantly, waiting for her signal for the downbeat, but the applause and whistles seemed deafening and endless. Finally, Etta held up both arms, indicating that she wanted to say something. A hush went rippling in waves through the Club. When it was quiet, she stepped up to the microphone and said, "I haven't sung nothing yet, fellas."

There was an explosion of laughter followed by more whistles and shouts. Etta winked at Joel and the downbeat began. For the next two hours, the men in the Club and those outside were transported from the terror of war. Etta sang song after song for them and then left the stage to her group who performed with more energy than ever. Everything they did was overwhelmingly received. They felt like stars in their own right for the first time and had a wonderful time on stage. A feeling of fun and patriotism infused the air. Etta's closing number was "The Impossible Dream." She invited her audience to join in with her. It captured the feeling of all as they joined hands and swayed with the music, singing in full voice. For that moment they were united in a love of country and the desire to end the conflict. Time to get on with the business of living.

She was spent. The light drifting through the half-opened curtains of the VIP suite played on the white buttocks of the sleeping young man to her right. Etta raised herself on her elbow and allowed her gaze to envelop him as she inhaled another lungful of hashish.
"Almighty Christ," she thought, "he should be thinking about the Senior Prom, not about fighting this fucking war."

He made a sound and turned over in his sleep. His flaccid member fell to his side in mute tribute to the conquest he had won. Etta lay in the bed of her suite and silently tried to remember how many of them there had been over the years. Too many. She was a star. Stardom brought her more than she was capable of remembering. As much as she loved Joel and always would, he understood her overwhelming need for love. Love of all kinds, platonic and sexual. Etta was a victim of her abused and battered past. She walked a fine tightrope between being the loving earth mother Joel needed and becoming a carbon copy of her mother who took whatever moments of happiness from the arms and bodies of strangers.

Oh, yes, in the beginning she had been faithful to her husband but Joel seemed to know long before she did that it was only a matter of time before she reverted to her old, ingrained patterns.

Amazingly, he accepted this quirk of her nature as readily as he accepted her color, her lack of education, and her sometimes brusque and offensive humor. Where was Joel tonight? They maintained separate suites even when they traveled. It was a bargain struck so many years ago. Joel even maintained his own condominium on the other side of town from her luxurious palace perched high on a hilltop above Sunset Boulevard. It had been weeks since they had sexual contact and even then it hadn't ended with intercourse. Etta had taken him with her mouth. Her techniques drove him wild. Techniques she learned when she shared her life with Sally and Joe Hammond. Well, that was one fidelity she would save for Joel.

She might sleep with dozens of others, but she wouldn't give them the delights that were reserved for Joel. She turned to her right and allowed herself the luxury of staring at the young soldier who occupied her bed. In the moonlight he resembled a young, Nordic Viking. He lay beside her with long brown lashes resting on clear, young skin, an innocent smile playing on his mouth that had only minutes earlier brought her to orgasm. His body was thin, yet muscular, with definition that would have pleased an anatomy professor. She took another toke of her hashish and wondered. How many others have there been? What was this one's name? It didn't matter. "Lay a soldier, fuck the enemy" was her personal credo. The trouble was, she wasn't sure who the enemy was. And so she took them home to bed.

Bangkok was a huge success, a powerful emotional experience for everyone. They performed two concerts at the Enlisted Men's Club, both to overflowing crowds. It was only Etta's pressing schedule that prevented them from doing another. In the one remaining day left for sightseeing, the group managed to be up at five in the morning to board a chartered riverboat. It wound its way up the Chao Phrya River to the Temple of the Dawn, the most famous of Thailand's hundreds of Buddhist temples. The trip provided a glimpse of life as it was for the Taiwanese people who lived on the banks of the river. Along the stretch of winding, muddy water they saw thatched huts built on high pilings. The people bathed in the river, washed their clothes and brushed their teeth in it. Savage was surprised that the people appeared happy with their simple lives. No one in America could possibly live like that. The villagers waved at the chartered boat and smiled for the cameras. When they pulled up to a small dock, everyone disembarked to photograph a baby elephant. Judy volunteered to ride it. Screaming with laughter, her wide brimmed straw hat fell to the ground and the creature stepped on it, crushing it, which convulsed everyone with sidesplitting laughter.

Etta was in no mood for sightseeing. Although she needed the rest, she was determined on visiting a nearby hospital. She knew there were sick and wounded G.I.'s unable to make it to her performances. She wanted to visit with them personally, shake hands and give some words of encouragement. Having experienced hospital visits before, she felt it would be too graphic and depressing for the girls. She encouraged them to sightsee and have some fun. There was no need for them to carry memories of the sick, wounded and dying. So many beautiful young lives wasted. Her heart ached for every one of them.

A Captain Crowley greeted her and Joel and the head nurse. They were introduced to a staff of nurses who had pads and pencils ready, anxious for an autograph. When that was over, Etta looked directly at the Captain.

"I know you have men here who are mildly wounded and some who may not make it back at all. I want to see them all. Don't hide nothin' from me."

The Captain glanced at the head nurse who looked at the floor.

"I admire your intestinal fortitude, Miss Rawlings, but I have to warn you, some of the casualties are not pretty. You may not realize what you're asking for."

"I appreciate your concern, Captain. I've seen a lot of terrible things in my lifetime. I doubt there's anything that would shock me."

"Alright, then. I think Nurse Young here had better be your guide. She knows all the men by their first names and she'll be able to answer any questions you might have."

It was all that Etta had remembered, expected and more. For the most part the men seemed to have surprisingly high morale and were delighted to see her. She went literally from bed to bed in each ward, sitting with each man, asking what part of the States he was from. Most of their home towns she had played at some time or another and she shared silly experiences with them. Omaha. Her bus broke down there once and she had to get to the theatre on a fire truck. Port Arthur, Texas. That was where the auditorium was sold out but she wasn't invited to the party afterward because she was black. Connecticut. Montana. Portland. Maine. They came from all over and she shared stories with them all. Some of the men were being shipped back to the States to hospitals better equipped to deal with their injuries.
She sat at the bedside of one young man, barely twenty. He had narrowly escaped death when his platoon was ambushed by Viet Cong. Seven of his friends were killed on the spot. He was in shock. His entire body trembled uncontrollably as he clutched her hand and whispered to her, "I'm going to die here. I just know it."

"No, you're not," she replied firmly. "You are not going to die for a long time. You believe in what I say."
Impulsively, she took a ring off her finger and wrapped his hand around it. "Take this," she commanded, "wear it for good luck. I don't know when, but someday you're going to give this back to me."

She wanted so much to hold him to her bosom and smother the frightened boy with mother love. All she could give him was a damned ring! Joel and Nurse Young looked the other way as Etta wiped away her tears.