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There are very few things that I like about being a woman. My back aches, Joe calls me all manner of nicknames, and I feel awkward when I catch Skinny and Grant eyeing my rack. Still, the one thing I do like is the leverage I know have over the boys, and specifically, over my one. I'm lucky enough to know a very fine woman and after a year's time, we've traded back and forth on favors that I've lost count of where we stand.

Still, she's the expert. Joe's continued attendance at the Catscratch proves it. I hurry and hustle, ceasing my jog when it starts to hurt and slow down to approach Helen at the club. "Helen?" I greet with a demure smile. "Hi. Got an hour?"

Not that I make it my business to know the goings-on of a particular strip club, but I can't help but have a passing curiosity of the place. After all, Joe is fast becoming a regular customer at this rate and I just have one curiosity to be fulfilled. There's one woman to turn to and it's not hard to miss her. After all, she probably has the best figure of anyone on the Island.

Usually, I just have to follow Joe's eyeline.

Today, I caught up to Helen after writing a few paragraphs of the war memoir he had been struggling on, stuck on the Holland jump. It had been so peaceful and I want to get that sense down into words without foreshadowing what came next. "Helen?" I call out. "Helen, hold on!"