But not yet.
“You were pretty fantastic out there.” He places his hat on the counter and then picks it up again like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Well, thanks.” I put the cookie bits on a napkin next to the half-empty bottle of pop. “But I don’t think I saw you dancing.”
I know I didn’t see him dancing; he was glued to that back wall, watching my every move, but I’m not about to let on that I was looking.
“I wasn’t.” He moves closer to me, and my breathing begins to grow shallow. My pulse thumps behind my eyes and in my ears.
“Well, why not? Plenty of girls out there would be happy to dance with such an interesting fella.” He must’ve had plenty of offers.
“The girl I wanted to dance with was taken.”
Must be Barbara. All the men moon after Barbara. Probably helps that she keeps her hem two inches shorter than regulation, and rumor has it she doesn’t follow the rules about dating and drinking as closely as the rest of us.
Feeling the sting of rejection, I sweep the crumbs off the counter and into my hand and then take the last sip of my drink in one big gulp, forgetting my manners.
“You might be able to catch her now. The song’s almost over, and if I remember the lineup, there should be a slow dance next.” I point to the closed double doors and toss the crumpled paper and cookie crumbs into the garbage.
Tom takes his hat, folds it in half, and shoves it into his back pocket.
“I was talking about you. I wanted to dance with you,” he says, placing one of his hot, rough hands over mine.
My body responds with a subtle but delicious tingle between my shoulder blades and down my spine.
“I . . . I’d love to.” I’ve said these words hundreds of times to other GIs at the USO dances, but with this guy it feels different. I want to dance with him. His fingers close around mine, and he tugs ever so slightly.
“Let’s get out there, then.”
I’m blushing. Vivian Snow disappears, and once again I’m Viviana Santini, the shy daughter of immigrants. But he seems to like this shy girl as much as my stage persona.
“Excuse me; you can’t be in here!” Carly calls out. I retrieve my hand and peek around Tom to see the petite brunette wrestling her way through the kitchen doors.
“Vivian! Is that you? You should know better, hun.”
“No, it’s not Vivian’s fault, ma’am. I got lost looking for the latrine.”
Carly raises an eyebrow and looks at me to make sure his story checks out. I shrug and nod like I both agree with the soldier and have no idea what’s going on.
Carly stares up at Tom, resting her hands on her hips after putting down the empty tray.
“It’s on the other side of the hall, dear.” The tiny thirty-two-year-old says it like she’s the mother of this grown man.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says like a little boy caught shooting spitballs at the ceiling.
He walks toward the doors without another word but stops once he’s past Carly. Over her head, he mouths, “I’ll wait for you,” and winks as he finishes his exit from the kitchen.
I want to wink back, but I don’t want Carly to see, so instead I wipe the counter again. I’d like to claim I’m a terrible liar, but I’m shockingly proficient at the art of deceit. I have to be with a father at home who forbids his daughters to do anything or wear anything or go anywhere that might threaten his ideal of what it looks like to be a “good girl.”
The truth is I learned early on how to tell harmless lies in order to fit into modern life. I’ve always wondered if that’s why acting calls to me.
“Watch out for that one. I smell mischief.” Carly points to her nose and then to the doors.
“You smell egg sandwiches.”
“I smell mischief and egg sandwiches,” she says, placing the tray in the sink.
“That sounds pretty unsettling.”
“It is!” Carly laughs, loosening up.
The slow song ends, and my spirits drop, though I try not to let it show on my face. A jaunty swing number ramps up. It’s not the same as a sweet slow dance, but I wonder if Tom knows how to jitterbug.
The golden wedding band she’s never taken off glitters in the dim light as Carly places her tiny pale hand on my shoulder, abruptly very serious.
“Listen, hun; be careful, all right?” The faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes remind me that she’s seen more of life than I have. “We all know the rules, but I’m no fool—all the hometown boys are gone, and these polished-up young men in nice uniforms look like great husband material for you gals. But I see these boys when you all aren’t around, and most of them have girls at home, some of them wives. You’ve got a good head on ya, so we’ve never had this chat before, but when a guy pursues a girl like he has a fire under his hat that he can’t put out—usually that means he has his mind where it shouldn’t be. The nice boys don’t corner you in an empty kitchen. Remember that, okay?”
I’ve heard this warning before. I’ve even been the one to warn other girls when I’ve gotten intel about one guy or another. But Tom—I just met Tom. It’s not like I want to do anything more than dance with him.
“Thank you, Carly,” I say instead of all the other things I’m thinking. I fix a stray little curl that has fallen onto her forehead. “I’ll be extra careful. I promise.”
“You’re a real doll; you know that, don’t you?” she says. “Get back out there before the men storm the kitchen. At least four fellas asked me about ya after your set. You’re gonna have to endure one more hour of adoration, you poor thing.”
“I’ll go out there whether you flatter me or not, so . . .”
“In that case . . .” She takes a deep breath like she’s preparing for a long string of insults.
“I’m leaving! I’m leaving!” I call out.
As I spin through the doors into the hall, it feels like I’m already dancing. The cheerful timbre of the brass instruments urges my feet to move in time with the music. Emerging from the lights of the kitchen to the sparsely lit dance floor, I’m momentarily blinded.
“You sure know how to make a guy work for a dance, don’t you?”
I don’t need light to know who’s waiting for me a few steps away. Without any further conversation, he leads me onto the dance floor where my feet answer the call of the rhythm. Despite his lanky, tall frame, Tom moves gracefully, like he’s been dancing his whole life. He takes the lead, urging me into spins and twists and lifts with subtle flicks of his wrist. I immediately know that if I were smart, I’d heed Carly’s warning, walk out of this dance, and stay away from Tom Highward forever.
Instead—I keep dancing.
CHAPTER 7
Elise
Present Day
Holy Trinity Catholic Church
The inside of the church is tidy and well maintained but less spectacular than I expected. The walls are yellowed eggshell, and the stained-glass windows hold none of the wonder and majesty of the grand cathedrals of Europe or St. Patrick’s back in New York City.