Keep Dancing (29 page)

“Feeling warm?” Jack asked.

I put down the coaster. “It’s so muggy here.”

“It is rather hot.”
Rahther
hot. Why did his accent do those things to me? I met his intense brown gaze, then immediately dropped my eyes. But that didn’t help because now I was staring at his tawny chest beneath the snowy white shirt. As usual, he’d left the top three buttons undone, and I could see the fine dark hair on his skin. A picture of the rest of him slithered into my mind; his ridged abdomen, the line of hair leading below his navel like the trail of a powder keg…

“D’you feel all right?” Jack was touching my arm, staring at me intently. “We could go up to the room, catch a breeze on the balcony.”

“Think I’ve had ’nuff.” Unsteadily I slid off the stool. Jack grabbed my hand and led me out of the crowded bar, into the much-cooler rotunda.

A young man was leaning against the statue’s pedestal, wearing a rumpled brown costume. The huge peanut head with its top hat was collapsed on the floor beside him. “Have they gone to the buffet yet?” the guy asked, peering at us through wire-rimmed glasses.

Jack stopped suddenly and I ran into him. When he put his arm around me, I felt like dissolving into his body. Woozily I regained my balance.

“It’s still pretty packed in there.” Jack made as if to keep going.

The guy scratched his shaggy head. “Man, those peanut growers are in
tense
. I only get paid for eight hours, but they’ve kept me way past that. You aren’t part of the convention, are you?”

“Er, no,” Jack said.

The guy looked at Jack more closely, screwing up his eyes behind his wire-rims. “Hey, I know you. You’re with The Floor! What’re you doing here?”

“We’re on private business. Have a good night,” Jack said, and started to walk away.

“Hey, wait a minute. I’m a musician, too—I play the banjo. That’s why I have to do this goober gig; it helps with the rent. I haven’t played a bar for tips in a month of Sundays.”

I was so tired, I was tottering on my heels. Jack paused and drew me closer, his arm around my waist. “A banjo picker, huh? What kind of stuff do you do?” His fingers splayed on my hip, and a tsunami of lust surged through me.
God, I’d love to be with him tonight
, my witless body whispered.
Not on your life, you slut!
my wasted brain replied.

“Oh, country, rock, blues. I even do covers of some of your songs.” The guy smiled eagerly. “Maybe we could go up to your room and jam for a while. I’ve got my banjo in the car.”

To my relief, Jack said, “Maybe later.” His arm still wrapped around me, we continued down the hall.

Peanut Man grabbed the top half of his outfit and walked alongside us. “You know why banjos are better than guitars? They burn longer.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“How do you like the Jefferson? Pretty cool hotel, right?” the guy said as he fitted the costume over his head. “I’ll get fired if I don’t keep this on,” he added, his voice now muffled.

Jack kept walking. “Yeah, I dig the digs.”

“You know the King stayed here, back in the Fifties.”

“Was that George VI?” Jack asked.

“No, I mean the one and
only
King.” The guy lifted the bottom edge of the peanut head and gazed at Jack meaningfully.

“Ah,” Jack said. “You mean Elvis. Yeah, he put out some great stuff.” We reached the elevator bank. “I guess this is where we part ways.”

“See you around.” Peanut Man nodded, his top hat wobbling with the motion, and sauntered back to the lobby.

Dizzily I leaned against the wall as we rode up to our floor. Jack helped me down the hall and into the room.
I should have eaten something before I drank all that whiskey,
I told myself. The carpet’s ornate pattern began to swirl, and I lurched forward.

“You okay?” Jack grabbed me, his hands gripping my waist.

I looked up into his eyes.
It would feel so good to
…

“Gotta get—to bed,” I managed to gasp as my knees gave way.

Suddenly I was swooped up off the floor, into Jack’s strong arms. Taking long strides, he carried me into the bedroom. I closed my eyes, feeling his heart thumping, cradled against his chest. I began to struggle, but Jack held me close. “Relax, baby. I’ll put you down,” he said.

With one hand he yanked back the sheet and laid me in the bed. High above me, the molded plaster ceiling was spinning. I squinched my eyes shut and heard him rummaging in my bag.

“I’ll help you off with your things,” he said.

I tried to protest, but my tongue was thick and numb, my eyelids weighted. Nimble fingers plucked at my blouse, undoing the buttons. Cool air chilled my arms as the sleeves were withdrawn. I heard the snick of a zipper, and my pants came off. A soft cotton something was pulled over my head.

“I’d undo your bra, but then I’d never be able to leave,” Jack murmured as he pulled my limp arms through the holes of the tee-shirt. Warm lips brushed my forehead. I tried to lift my eyelids, but they refused to budge. As I turned my face into the pillow, the light went out and the door sighed shut.

Seven Year Ache

I sat up far too quickly the next morning. A wisp of light drifted in through the curtain’s crack as I pressed my hands to my pounding head. Two thoughts hit me simultaneously:
God, I feel horrible… I’m meeting my father today!

Moving slowly, I got out of bed and put on the dress I’d chosen for the occasion. It was a deep periwinkle shade that brought out the color of my eyes—which were the exact same blue of
his
eyes, as I recalled. I started to pull on pantyhose, but then gave up, realizing they’d be too hot. I didn’t want to be a sweaty mess when I saw my father for the first time in years.
And this could be the last time
, I told myself as I left the bedroom.

Jack was sprawled asleep on the couch, wearing jeans but no shirt. I crept over to take a peek at him. His sensuous mouth was slightly parted, eyelashes jet-black against his cheekbones, his hair flared over the sofa cushion. Even though I’d heard him shaving last night, his face had a five o’clock shadow. The silver lightning bolt on its thin chain rose and fell with his even breathing. I leaned in to get one last good look before he woke up.

Jack’s eyes popped open.

“Oh!” I jerked upright. “I was just… I was seeing if you were awake.”

“I am now.” He raised his arms above his head, stretching his body with a catlike motion. “How did
you
sleep?” He scratched his chin, the stubble making a raspy sound.

“Like the dead. But now my head feels dead.” I rubbed my temples.

Jack sat up and pulled on his tee-shirt. “I guess that makes you a Deadhead. Let’s call for room service, then we’ll get the show on the road.”

The phone rang as we were finishing our toast and coffee. Jack grunted into the receiver and hung up. “That was the detective. Your father wants to come here instead of the diner. There’s a spare room off the lobby where you can have some privacy. That all right?”

My hands went ice-cold. “Okay,” I said faintly. I felt like a piece of straw being dragged along by a swift current, without the will to stop my downward plunge.

“He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. I’ll go with you.” Jack stood up and swept crumbs from his jeans.

I fled to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and hair, and with shaking fingers tried to apply some color to my lips. I felt trembly, like little earthquakes were going off inside me. I gulped a few breaths and went back out front.

“All set?” Jack had put on a nice shirt. He looked a little apprehensive himself.

I said yes, and we went down to the main floor. One of the desk clerks ushered us into a carpeted sitting room with mahogany-paneled walls, but I was too anxious to take in my surroundings. I fidgeted, sat in an armchair, and then stood up again. Jack was waiting by the door. There was a knock, and a tall, slim man stepped into the room, wearing a light work shirt and slacks. His hair had a little gray and he had a few wrinkles, but otherwise he looked the same. Our eyes met, and I caught a flash of blue.

“Julia,” my father said as he came toward me, a tentative smile on his face. “You’re all grown up.” His deep voice with its slight Southern twang unearthed a memory of the two of us sitting on our old front porch, listening to 45s on my record player.

“Hello,” I said, determined not to call him “Dad”. I went past him and sat down.

Jack nodded at my father. “Jack Kipling.”

They shook hands. “Paul Nash. Thank you for bringing her here.”

“I’ll let you two talk.” Jack darted out, and Paul sat in a chair next to me.

“I don’t know where to start.” His eyes met mine again. “I’ve thought about you so much. I should have tried harder to find you.”

A flush of anger seared my cheeks. “Harder? How about, you should have tried to find me, period? It’s not like Dot and I didn’t stay put. It was
you
that moved away, and never called or wrote.” I blurted out the words, dangerously close to tears.

Paul sat forward in his seat, hands on his knees. I noticed the callouses, one thumb encased in a band-aid. “I did write to you.”

I glared at him. “Why didn’t I get any letters then?”

“They all came back ‘Addressee Unknown’.” Paul sighed. “I called a buddy of mine from the factory, and he said you were moving around a lot. I should have driven up there that fall, but I didn’t want to run into your mother. She threatened to have my wages garnished wherever I wound up working. I needed to get myself set up, and I couldn’t do that on half-pay. And I didn’t feel like she deserved me supporting her, after what she’d done.”

Instead of appeasing me, this just added fuel to the fire
.
“But what about
me
? We were barely scraping by after you left. The reason we kept having to move was because she was so broke! We kept getting kicked out of places for being behind on the rent. I had to take a job bagging groceries after school.”

Paul gave me a guilty look. “I didn’t know all that. She made good money at the hardware store.”

My anger boiled over. “That’s because you didn’t bother to find out. She wound up having to quit her job at the store because after you left, she
did
start seeing her boss. Then when that ended, she had to leave. She bounced around from job to job after that. And she—” I hesitated; I didn’t want to give him more ammunition against Dot. “She really wanted to settle down again, but that didn’t happen. She was drinking a lot, and she went out with a bunch of different guys. And all that was really hard on me.”

Paul’s lips were pressed into a thin line. “So what I heard was true. She
was
sleeping around all over town.”

“Only after you left!” I cried. “Mom told me the whole story. She wasn’t having an affair with her boss—she just caught a ride home with him because I had the flu!”

“I don’t think she
did
tell you the whole story,” Paul said quietly.

A cold spurt of fear trickled down my spine. I really did not want to hear that my mother had slept with other men while she was married. I couldn’t stand it if my only family relationship was based on a lie.

But it looked like I wasn’t going to have a choice.

“Did she tell you she went out with my best friend?” Paul asked, eyes blazing.

His words punched me in the gut. With the heat of the room and the residue of last night’s drinking, I felt like I might throw up. I hunched over, clutching my stomach.

“Well, she did. We’d been dating for six months. I had already told her that I loved her, wanted to marry her. She went out on me behind my back.”

I straightened up slowly. “But you weren’t married then?”

“I was planning to ask her. I’d even gone to look at rings. Then she started seeing Rafe. They didn’t even have the decency to tell me; I had to find out from other people.”

“But then, why did you two get married?” I asked.

Paul gave me a pitying look, and suddenly I knew what was coming. “I guess she really kept you in the dark about a lot of stuff,” he said.

I repressed the impulse to plug my ears.

“She was pregnant, Julia. She didn’t know it when she started seeing Rafe. But soon after that, she came to me and told me,” he continued. “I wasn’t about to leave her in the lurch. I still loved her, even after what she’d done. So I swallowed my pride and took her back, and we went to the J.P. to get a license. You were born six months later. Everybody was whispering about it, but things died down when the next scandal came along.”

I felt like the walls were caving in on me. “So I was just a huge mistake.”

“No, not at all. I was in seventh heaven, having a little girl. Don’t you remember all the things we did together?” He spread his hands. “I’d sit you up on my shoulders at the county fair. We’d listen to records together; you liked all the same singers I did. Every day when I got off work, I couldn’t wait to come home and see my gal.”

Tears were streaming down my face. “Then how could you have left me like that? I kept thinking you were coming back to get me. All those years, I felt so rejected.”

My father frowned. “Dot and I had a lot of problems. I never felt like I could trust her, after what she did with Rafe. I wanted her to stay home, not go out to work. We could have made it on my pay. But no, she hated being in the house all day. Then when she started moonlighting as a cocktail waitress, I was sure she was running around on me. She’d come in late with this look on her face, like she’d been having the time of her life.”

He handed me a tissue from a box on the table, and I blew my nose. “I don’t think she was doing anything with anyone,” I said. “She swore to me that she wasn’t.”

“Maybe not. I know I wasn’t the easiest person to live with. I couldn’t get it out of my head that she was going to run out on me again. I’d accuse her, then she’d convince me she was toeing the line, and then I’d get suspicious again.” He looked down at the floor. “Your mother was really beautiful back then; I knew any man would jump at the chance to be with her. So some of it might have been my problem.”