Employed 8 part 1

At this point,l'm about two-thirds of the way thru my three-year enlistment.
l should be heavy into my Army career as a Russian linguist, but l'm really
un-employed, actually job-hunting and not for work in the NSA, but in a combat outfit just like the ones l was trying to avoid.
Realizing that l wasn't going to find what l was looking for at Special Services,
l told the SFC there, that l had decided not to do the audition. He said he
hoped l'd find what l'm looking for. l visited Harry, my NSA supervisor and told him l'd been accepted as a back-up trombonist and was looking forward to playing in a band again. He wished me well. 

So a situatuon had been put in place that had Harry thinking that he'd heard the last of my whining and the young SFC going "Too bad, he seemed like a nice guy." l figured l'd stumbled into the ideal dodge; NSA thinks l went to Special Services and Special Services thinks l went back to the NSA. l went
home to 43rd street and got busy on the house. First, the sunroom. A couple of over-stuffed chairs went to the garage. The easel l built the week before
was moved in as well as a utility table found at the Catholic Charities store.,
four side chairs l'd found in the attic, a recliner from the master bedroom, and
a half-dozen house-plants, also from Catholic Charities.

In just a couple of days, l had the place pretty much as l thought it should be
and my house-mates all liked it,too.

One day, in the second week of my enjoying not being on anyone's roll call,
Ray returned to the house at lunch-time to get some reports he'd done the
night before, then forgot to take them to work. He was surprised to find me
home, in the middle of the day, in civvies and he asked me about it. Was l
taking some leave? When l shared some of why l would be busy re-arranging
much of our first floor, in the middle of a weekday, he pretty much lost it.
He called ME, HIS LAND LORD, a effing idiot for starts and then went on to acquaint me with some of the many ways the Army could visit upon me an
enormous amount of hurt when my plan (and my action) became known to them.
Well, it is absence without leave, (AWOL) and one of the first things we learned in Basic Training is that AWOLs will be prosecuted. If everyone goes
AWOL, you got no Army. lf you were AWOL in Basic Training, it could result 
in your being jailed for long enough to cause you to start basic training over
in a later class, your troubles will be just beginning. l defended the situation that l set up to remove me from the roll calls. l remember saying that l'd
probably stay lost until my enlistment ends. Ray went away talking to himself
and l got back to work in the sunroom.

After Ray left l was alone in the house and while l worked, much of what had
passed between Ray and l kept bouncing around in my head. He hadn't said anything that l didn't already know, but his excited state had set me to wondering if l had overlooked something that might trip me up. l had to realize that if things went wrong, l could wind up in the brig for a spell or
the Army might choose to discharge me less than honorably. But they have to catch me first. For that to happen, they'll have to look for me. Since Harry thinks he knows where l am and it's not AWOL. It's somewhere in the sixth
cav, waiting for my stand-by trombone to go to work. l suppose it's possible
that he might wonder, at some time, whatever happened to me and maybe, at some time, whatever happened to me and maybe make a call to sixth cav
personnel to find out. But l think he more likely to just forget me.

By the time that most of the housemates got home that evening the sun
room was showing it's new stuff and all hands applauded most of it. There
were a couple of minor changes made that brought it all together for us all.
Goldstein came in a little later and he liked the sunroom ok, but what really turned him on was the easel, sitting in place and loaded for use. When he
had firstseen the easel a week ago, he told me he'd like to be my agent
when l actually had paintings ready for sale. l explained that l intended to
paint, mostly, if not all non-objective and they may be difficult to sell. His
responce reminded me of the training in cold-call magazine subscription
sales that l got from Ben and Ted and l was glad to hear that "my future
agent" already knew that stuff.

After Dinner that evening, a few of us were watching TV, when the news got our attention; The Soviet Ambassador to the US, Evgeney Menchikov and his wife Tatiana and daughter Natasha were in residence at the Soviet Embassy
for a few days before visiting in South America and China.The wife and daughter, l must admit,were pretty attractive ladies. But l thought Goldstein
went a bit far when he proclaimed  that he WOULD GO IMMEDIATELY to the
Soviet Embassy to welcome Natasha and, of course her mother to America.
He wanted me to come along to be his interpreter and Herman Shultz, the
handsomest and most erudite gentleman in the house, to host the event.
Herman agreed to do it, in a tux (which he owns) and he advised Goldstein
and l to at least wear a coat and slacks, even better, a suit.

Goldstein and l jump into suits, brush our teeth, shine our shoes and we're
ready. Herman is looking great in his get-up and is waiting for us in his car.
It is less than a half-hour to the Embassy and we blew it all with pointless 
jabber. Not that it might have done us any good, but we had no plan,
Parked about a hundred feet from the Embassy's front door we walked into
the lobby. About 20 feet inside the front door was a large desk. A man wear-
ing a uniform like a bell captain might wear, sat at the desk, facing the front door. Long story/short:Two security guards joined the guy at the desk and
gently but certainly caused the three of us to find ourselves on the sidewalk
in front of the Embassy door's exterior,