“I was wondering if you were coming back for me.” A crooked smile stretches ’cross his face and my stomach muscles tighten. “Let me guess … You want to hear more ’bout that time I walked out of the poker game in nothin’ but my birthday suit?”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “Should’ve had a better poker face,” I tease.
He hops down from the table, crossing the room in a matter of steps. “I assure you, my poker face is top notch.” Then his hand is on my cheek. “We should do this again sometime.”
“What? Hide together?”
Stop, I tell myself. I don’t know why I’m engaging in banter with him, letting him touch me like this.
“I like hiding,” he says, and pulls his hand away, my cheek cold without his fingers there. “But I should go.”
Henry’s abruptness has me taking a tiny step to balance myself. “Um, yes, me too.”
We leave the back room, Henry whistling at the mess in Doc’s before we climb the stairs. On the main floor, I push him through the door leading to the apartments and casually walk through the reception area of the physician’s office, completely out of place in my flapper dress. Two Ma-aged women wait in wooden chairs, both reading Time. The older of the two peers over her magazine at me, apparently not pleased with my progressive attire. I exit, coughing to feign sickness.
Elm Street’s sun is blinding when I step out. I squint, finding Henry tying his shoe. He stands, walks by me, grazing my skin. In a soft voice, he says, “Thanks for the bedtime stories. See you soon, Bonnelyn.”
I shiver at his slight touch, unable to think of anything as simple as the words Okay or Bye before he’s gone, confidently striding down the street.
I’m left standing alone, relieved that my night with Henry has gone unnoticed.
My skin still tingles.
9
Billie bounces beside me, taking three steps to my one as we walk toward our bikes. The girl won’t stop yammering ’bout how excited she is to be going shopping for clothes.
It’ll be the first year the Parker girls will strut into class in non-hand-me-downs. I can’t think of a more satisfying way to take a step closer to my dreams.
Shopping is also a good distraction from last night with Henry and tonight’s illegal escapades with Buck.
“Hey,” Billie says, beaming. She points at my one-day home. Behind a long piece of wood is my one-day husband, struggling to carry it toward the house. “There’s Roy. Let’s go say hi.”
She’s leading me by the arm before I can react. I scratch the back of my neck and pull my fingers through my shorter hair. This is the first I’ll see Roy since he ambushed me, the first I’ll see him with my new bob.
“Roy!” Billie calls, releasing my hand to run toward him. He bobbles the board, resting one side of it against the grass, and squints against the sun. “Lynny is taking me shopping.”
“Is that so?” he says to her. The question is obvious in his voice. Bet he’s wondering how it’s something we can afford. Bet he’s also wondering why I didn’t tell him my plans, since I’m normally at the house with him each afternoon. Henry’s the answer to that one. Guilt kept me away from Roy, had me making a beeline for my bike instead.
His gaze rises to me, a few steps behind Billie. His head cocks to the side, his lips part. I reckon those original questions are gone. My heart pounds one, two, three times. I can’t help feeling like I’ve been on shaky ground with Roy, and I don’t want something as silly as a haircut to cause him to crack.
I shift my weight. “Do you like it?”
Roy doesn’t answer right away, but I recognize intrigue in his eyes, the same look I got from Henry last night. Then Roy’s eyes flicker to my sister, and he only smirks.
I smile. “Something new I thought I’d try out.”
His face falls, as if his head catches up to his initial delight. “’Cause of Blanche? That girl seems to be your answer for everything lately.”
“I cut mine first,” I say quickly, then force a laugh. “Of course, she had to bob hers too.”
“Well, that ain’t surprising.” He regrips the piece of wood. “Looks like a hairstyle that could get the two of you in trouble.”
I swallow. “Don’t be silly.”
*
It’s just me who could get in trouble tonight, not Blanche. I’m the one sitting next to Buck, a convicted felon, in his slick Model T, staring out the window into Dallas’s dusk, not just pretending to be a flapper, but acting like one, too.
I breathe deeply.
Everyone has a defining moment in life. At least that’s what Ma says. For Blanche, hers came early. Her ma left. No warning, no explanation. Just gone. Blanche’s daddy nearly fell apart, but Blanche stayed strong, even if marriage did become a dirty word.
I reckon I would’ve done things differently, taking on a maternal role, but Blanche didn’t. Blanche put Blanche first, doing whatever she had to do to survive, to be wanted, to feel whole.
For a long time, I judged her for that, always wanting to fix her and show her “the way.” Now I wonder … is Blanche the one who’s been leading me? No one put a gun to my head. But somehow I’m on my way to help the illegal Doc’s get illegal alcohol. I could’ve found another way to earn my keep. But I didn’t. Instead, I made the choice to move forty miles per hour toward the unknown. So what if I’m as far away from Buck as the bench seat will allow?
“Uh-oh,” Buck says, glancing at me. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Despite my uneasiness with being ’round him, one side of my mouth curls into a smile ’cause of his very un-gangster-like question. “I’m not sure they’d make sense.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time lately with Blanche, ya know. She rambles ’bout a lot of things that don’t add up.”
I laugh. It surprises me, and it feels good.
“She called me a ‘stripe’ the other day,” he says, his voice booming—for whatever reason, Buck’s voice always seems like it’s booming—and he regrips the wheel to veer right. “Had this elaborate explanation for it. I still have no clue what the word means.”
“She confuses me all the time, too. Did a stripe sound like something you’d want to be, at least?”
He shrugs, but he grins too. “Ya want a butt?” Buck pulls a second cigarette from his jacket’s breast pocket.
I hesitate, not sure why I’m making the acceptance of a cig yet another defining moment. Society no longer frowns on women smoking. Even got fancy ones just for us ladies. “Sure.”
One-handed, he fumbles with the tip of his cigarette to light mine, passes it to me. I take a small drag, willing myself not to cough. I cough. The act of smoking is calming, though. I peer out the window, no longer recognizing the street names or this area of Dallas.
“Nervous?” Buck asks me.
“Yeah,” I admit, still staring.
“This kind of thing does that to ya. Makes ya nervous. I’ve made a few trips, and it still gets me jumpy, ya know? Want to walk through the plan again?”
I turn my head back toward Buck, blow out a slow stream of smoke, for once seeing him as a normal person and not some scary bimbo. “No, that’s okay.”