The girls were from the numerous Embassy staffs. The men were the crew of a “flying boxcar” from Rota Air Base in Spain that brought supplies to the vast number of American installations in Greece they were delayed in their flight home. A demure blouse, more suitable for a teen-ager than a would-be career woman, but this was the ‘50s. I was sitting there, opposite the door, dressed in the pink blouse that I saved afterwards, the blouse with the striped collar and ties on the neck and sleeves. It was his apartment, but he came late, straight from the office. Everyone else was going strong at that point, with glasses of this and that, well into the relaxed stage. I should have seen right away that he wasn’t the partying type, or maybe I did. I remembered, later, the moment he came into the crowded room.
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