Judi chewed her gum silently and looked sympathetic. "You heard from him lately? I mean, he's okay and everything? That cruddy Vietnam." She brightened, blinked her eyes, and dimpled as she saw the Cadillac convertible driver in the far right lane staring at them in speculation and open admiration.

Grace seemed unaware that Judi had switched her attention from Stan to the other driver. She felt her eyes misting as she thought again about Stan and what he must be going through over there. Finally she cleared her throat and said, "He's okay. Or at least he was two weeks ago. They were getting ready to go out on patrol and he said he wouldn't be able to write for a while. I haven't had a letter for five days now. Maybe," she crossed her fingers, "there'll be one tonight."

"Gee… I hope so, for your sake. It's bad enough being alone, but when you don't get any letters either, I just don't know how you stand it, honey. Why, I'd be climbing the wall within a week if I didn't have an occasional fella to talk to."

In spite of her sorrow, Grace had to fight back a grin. "Talk to," indeed! Her apartment was right next to Judi's. They shared a common balcony, and it was difficult not to overhear what went on in the next apartment. Not much talking went on when Judi had one of her boy-friends over. A lot of grunting and panting and moaning, maybe, but not much talk.

Grace knew she probably should move out of the apartment complex; to stay there was to imply that Judi's promiscuousness was acceptable. To move, though, was out of the question. The apartment had been Stan's and her only home; true, they had been married less than three months when Stan went overseas, but still it was his bed she slept in, his television she secretly shared with him during the lonely nights, his clothes in the closet. That made it bearable, that made life livable, even during those hot summer nights when the sound of hot sexual love making came from the apartment next door.