Page 53 of When We Were Enemies
“You are. I swear to God, you are.”
The floor starts to clear, and reality returns with the flip of a switch. This is my least favorite moment—when the lights come on and all the dreams of the night evaporate. The strong-jawed hero who held you close transforms into a farm boy from Kansas with a dead front tooth and semicircles of sweat under his arms. And the girls who walked in with perfect pin curls and matte lipstick now have flat hair, wobbly legs, and faded lines on the back of their calves where they’d drawn nylon seams.
I already know what Tom looks like without the spell of music, but it still happens—the undoing. Though he stares down at me, transfixed,I can see his eyes are blurry from the drink I smell on his breath. And behind him, arms filled with her belongings and holding a uniform hat in her small, manicured hands, stands Pearl—watching us.
He finally loosens his embrace enough for me to break away. I step back, leaving him staring for half a heartbeat at a ghost. I don’t wait for his reaction or say a polite farewell. I rush off the dance floor and dive into the coatroom, his voice calling after me and my wrist still stinging from when he’d grabbed it earlier. I grapple past the girls giggling by the door and find my hat and clutch in my cubby, tears streaming down my face. I hold my breath and lean my forehead against the wall. I’ve gotta get myself under control and fast. The bus will be here soon and will be packed.
Mary’s not here tonight, so if I miss the 10:12, I’ll have to wait another half hour for the last bus of the night, and there’s no easy way to explain coming home that late from what papà thinks is a church function.
I dry my face and powder my nose to try to cover some of the obvious evidence of my heartbreak.
“Bye, Viv,” one of the girls says as she walks past.
“Yeah, bye,” another adds, and then another, giving me privacy for a moment longer. With a deep breath and another swipe of lipstick, I pin on my hat and slip on my tattered gloves that have been sewn back together too many times over the years.
“Hey, Viv. There’s a man out there wanting to talk to you,” Carly says, popping her head into the coatroom. She’s all dressed for her walk home.
“I don’t want to talk to Tom.”
“It’s not Tom, hun. I haven’t seen this guy before. He’s not military, but someone let him in, so he’s gotta have clearance of some kind. Seemed official.”
“I need one more minute.” I check my face, dress, hair, hat, and wish briefly I’d brought some cotton to pad the blister on my heel.
Hopefully Tom and Pearl are gone. They’re probably on their way to whatever lookout spot girls like Pearl go to with willing men.
“Thanks, doll,” Carly croons as I walk past. I look around for the mystery man. “I swear he was here. But if a fella can’t wait more than a minute to talk to you, might not be worth your time.”
Frank and the guys have already packed up and are ready for their drink at Nip and Sip across the street before heading home.
“See ya Thursday,” Carly says, squeezing my hand as we enter the alley together. “Call me if you need to talk before then, okay?” she whispers as we part ways.
My time is running out. I rush to the end of the alleyway. I get no farther than the sidewalk when a tall figure stops me.
“Miss Snow?” The mystery man steps out in a brown tweed suit and dark tie with a matching fedora. I let out a small yelp and then cover my mouth, embarrassed.
“Sorry to frighten you.” His lined face makes me certain he’s seen more in life than what Edinburgh, Indiana, has to offer. “I tried to find you inside but got shooed out by a stern, matronly woman.” I immediately know he’s speaking of Mrs.Portia.
“Yes,” I laugh into the back of my hand, no bus in sight yet. “Mrs.Portia runs a tight ship.”
“She’d be a right-fit yeoman; that’s for certain.” He has a city-like clip to his speech.
“You a sailor?” I ask, eyebrow raised.
“Eh, in my youth. Too old for that now.” He waves like he’s shoving those memories into the past where they belong.
“I was gonna say, we don’t get many sailors here.” I take a step toward the crowded bus stop, and he follows.
“I wouldn’t think so.”
The bus turns onto East Main Cross Street, and I pick up my pace.
“I’m sorry; this is my bus. I must go ...”
“Hold up one moment, Miss Snow, if you would. I’ve got something important to talk to you about.” He’s out of breath and struggles to match my pace.
“I can’t miss it. I’m sorry.” I’m starting to panic as the crowd on the street fills the bus to the brim.
“Forget about the bus. We’ll get you a cab. Give me a minute of your time.” He’s stopped now and searching through his coat pocket. He retrieves a business card and holds it out. “I work for MCA. We’re booking talent for USO Camp Shows, and I’ve been looking for some fresh faces like yours. I saw your moves on the dance floor, and that was a nice set onstage. There’s a casting call next month in Indianapolis. I want you there.”
