“Okay, then, just follow me,” he said.
Ibby tried to mimic him, but when she attempted the 360, she fell backward. T-Bone caught her by her arms. She let out a laugh as she looked up at him.
“You got a right nice laugh, Miss Ibby. You should laugh more often. Makes your face light up.” He pulled her up until she was standing.
She turned to face him. “Mind if I ask you something?”
He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Sure, what you want to know?”
“What was Vietnam like?”
T-Bone let his head drop until his chin almost touched his chest, then looked up at the ceiling. “Sure was an ugly time. Gone haunt me the rest of my life. That’s all I can say about it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He shook his head and glanced her way. “If there’s one thing Mama taught me, it’s that you got to dance even when there ain’t no music. You know what I’m saying?”
Ibby nodded sympathetically. “Is that why you play the trombone? Is it your way of escaping the pain?”
T-Bone took in a deep breath. “I’ve always liked to play, but after I came back from Vietnam, it took on a whole new meaning. They say music is good for the soul. It’s what saved me. When I play, I can just kind of crawl between the notes and forget.”
They stood in silence for a few moments. Ibby fought back the urge to hug him.
He looked up and caught her eye. “Maybe you should come hear me play sometime.”
“I’d like that.” She took his hand in hers.
“By the way, Miss Fannie hired me to play at your party. Didn’t she tell you?”
“No, she didn’t mention it.” Ibby shook her head. “I haven’t exactly had any input as far as the party goes.”
“Hope you don’t mind.”
“No. It’s probably the only thing about the party I’m happy about so far.”
Doll’s voice rang out. “Miss Ibby, we need you downstairs!”
T-Bone and Ibby looked at each other.
“Gotta go,” he whispered.
Before she could say goodbye, he’d scrambled out the window. A second later Doll opened the door to Ibby’s room.
“What’s going on in here? I thought I heard voices,” Doll said.
“Oh . . . that was my new Moody Blues album I was playing. Sometimes they talk instead of singing the songs.” Ibby pointed at the stereo.
“Talk instead of singing—now ain’t that something,” Doll said as she followed Ibby out the door, giving one last glance at the window. “You get some new sunglasses, too?”
When they got downstairs, they found Fannie in the front parlor, flipping through a pattern book.
“We need to pick out your dress for your party so Doll can get started on it,” Fannie said.
“Miss Ibby, come stand on this here coffee table,” said Doll. “This is a long dress, not like the short one I made you for Winnie’s party, and you growed so much I got to get all new measurements.”
When Ibby stepped onto the table, Doll took the measuring tape and placed one end on her waist and let the other end drop. “So Miss Fannie, what you’re telling me is that you want a full-length gown and not one, say, come up to here.” Doll pointed to just below Ibby’s knee.
“No, no,” Fannie said. “To the floor. This is a formal party. She should have a formal dress.”
“But Fannie,” Ibby protested, “I don’t think the other girls will be wearing long dresses.”
“This is a proper party, and you will wear a proper dress.”
Ibby picked up the LIFE magazine from the coffee table and flipped through it. “Look at all these women. They’re wearing dresses above the knee. Mod dresses. It’s the new style. Long dresses are so old-fashioned.”
“If it were a tea party, maybe. This is a formal party. After seven o’clock, you wear formal dress. End of argument,” Fannie said.
“Maybe fifty years ago,” Ibby shot back.
As Fannie and Doll argued about the dress, Ibby saw that The John Pela Show, a local Saturday show where teenagers from across the city came to dance to the latest music, was on television. Ibby watched the young women in miniskirts and go-go boots swing their hips around to “Tighten Up” by Archie Bell and the Drells. Trying to imitate them, she swiveled her hips, then slid easily into the dance move T-Bone had just taught her.
Fannie and Doll both stopped their bickering and looked at her.
“Why, Miss Ibby, where’d you learn how to dance like that?” Doll asked.
Ibby pointed over at the television. “From The John Pela Show.”
Doll eyed her. “That don’t look like no move I’ve seen on the Pela show.”
The phone rang in the hall.
“I’ll get it,” Doll said.
“I’m going to look like an idiot in a long dress,” Ibby complained to Fannie. “It’s my party. Let me dress the way I want. Look at those girls on the TV. They all have on short skirts.”
“Miss Ibby, it’s for you,” Doll said.