Ten Cents a Dance (21 page)

Muscles shimmied across his back as he dodged around a toddler. The toddler's mother—thirty if she was a day, with another kid hanging on to her legs and a baby in her flabby arms—craned her neck to watch Paulie go by. "That one can rub coconut oil on me any day of the week," she said to her friend.

As if Paulie would give the time of day to an old broad like that! I trotted to catch up to him and slipped my hand in his. He shook free and pointed.

"There's a spot," he said.

Instead of sunning on the towel, though, Paulie coaxed me out into the lake. "It's just wading," he said, when I told him I couldn't swim. "Even that grandma over there can do it."

In the water, the air seemed less muggy, the smells of suntan lotion and sweat and hot skin less. Pretty soon, I was in up to my waist. When he tried to get me in deeper, though, I planted my feet.

"Gee, Ruby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he said, and reached out his hand. I took it and he yanked me hard off my feet. The water rushed cold up my body and I shrieked, but then he had me in his arms, one around my shoulders and the other under my knees, and I was safe against him, his belly sliding smooth and warm against my hip. The shrieking and splashing of kids faded; it might have been only the two of us in the entire lake. All around, the sun glittered like fireworks.

"See?" he said. "I wouldn't let you fall."

Holy Mary, I prayed, let me live in this moment forever.

By dinnertime, the crowd had thinned out. I felt lazy down to my bones: sleepy from sun and the water and hot dogs and root beer. The necklace lay warm as a cat over my collarbones. Paulie sat up.

"We gotta go," he said. "I got someplace to be tonight."

We bundled up the towels and walked to the beach house. Ahead, the downtown skyline rose like sharp-cornered mountains, the sun low behind, gleaming orange around the edges. Changing into my dress, I realized I should've grabbed my pocketbook and shoes before dashing out the door; then I could've gone straight to the Starlight. There was going to be hell to pay at home. Chester wouldn't help me now, not even if I bawled like a baby.

I had to decide. Quit the Starlight, or move out on my own. My family, or Paulie.

Whichever I chose, it felt as though I'd be leaving half of me behind.

The answer came to me in the car, so suddenly I must have been blind not to see it before. Paulie's hand was on the gearshift; I grabbed his arm with both hands. Something in the engine ground and snarled and the car lurched. Paulie stomped the clutch hard.

"What the hell are you doing?" he snapped.

"Let's get married," I said.

For a long, horrible moment, Paulie just stared. Then he started laughing.

It was like he'd squashed me flat under his foot. I yanked open the door and started to scramble out of the car, but he grabbed me and pulled me back inside, still laughing.

"You're just a kid," he said. "Married? You're joking, right?"

I hit out at him. Missed, because of the tears blinding me. "You didn't think I was such a kid before!" I shouted. "I'm sixteen. Plenty of girls get married at sixteen. My own mother did!" I snatched up one of the beach towels and wiped my eyes. Sand gritted across my cheek. "We'll be getting married sometime anyway. Don't you see? If we do it now, it'll solve everything." His face skewed, as if it'd slipped on ice. A sudden panic fluttered like bird wings around my heart. "Paulie! We're getting marr—"

"Yeah, yeah, just shut up a second, all right?" I could feel the impatience rising off him, like steam. He ran his hand through his hair, rubbed his face.

"This is the thing," he said. "I got something going. I can't say what, but this . . . " He gestured at the inside of the car, at me. "It's not a good time, Ruby."

I closed my eyes. Wrung the corner of the towel in my lap. All this time, I'd been so sure . . . His fingertips brushed my temple. Pushing a curl behind my ear. Still irritated, I could tell by his touch, but trying to be gentle. He was trying. I grabbed at that like a lifeline.

"Don't you think if we could get married now I'd have asked you?" he said. "I thought you understood, Ruby. I'm trying to get a foothold in this town, you know? And I'm close.
Real
close." His thumb wiped tears across my cheek. "Gimme a little while. Just until things settle down. Then yeah. Sure." His gray eyes gazing steady into mine. Flecks of gold and green and blue. My heart slowed down.
A little while.

"This thing with your mother's got you all riled up," he said. "It's driving you nuts. And it's driving me nuts. I'm tired of sneaking around, Ruby. I want to be able to see you when I want. You get your own place, we can do that. You want that, don't you?"

As he talked, I looked at our hands twined together on my knee. Peggy had been right; nothing had happened the way I'd imagined it would. But those were little-girl dreams, babyish as the stories in Angie's romance magazines. Runaway heiresses and dukes in disguise. If you were savvy, you knew real life wasn't like that.

I was savvy.

"Yes," I whispered. "Yes, that's what I want."

"That's my girl," Paulie said.

NINETEEN

We were in old lady Nolan's room, Ma sitting at Betty's desk, me on the bed. Ma said Chester was so humiliated by what I'd done to Mrs. Burns, he couldn't bring himself to make his air warden rounds. He hadn't even looked at me when I came in. I wished he'd never brought me those Oreos, that he'd never been nice to me at all. Then I wouldn't feel so bad about it.

"Tell your supervisor tonight's your last night," Ma said. "Or tomorrow I'll call him myself. Understand?"

I'd made my choice. No question of quitting now. But I said, "Yes, Ma," and as soon as the door closed behind her, I started unbuttoning my dress. It was already after seven; I had just enough time to change clothes and get to the Starlight.

Betty came into the room. "Get out," I said. Instead, she flopped down on her bed, the cat-watching-a-mouse look on her face that meant she knew something. Well, whatever game she had in mind, I wasn't going to play. I went to the closet and sorted through the hangers.

"Where's my russet dress?" I asked.

"Which russet dress?"

"I only have one and you know it. Did you wear it?"

"Maybe." I turned and glared at her. Her cheeks flushed pink. "I couldn't help it. It's cuter than anything I have."

I snatched my red skirt with its matching peplum jacket off the rod. "If you don't keep your hands off my clothes, I swear I'm going to scalp you," I said, stepping into the skirt. Realizing, with a jolt, that Betty wouldn't be able to borrow anything anymore. Tomorrow night, Ma would expect me to stay home. Which meant that I had to leave before then.

My hand lay on the jacket lapel, ready to flick it free of the hanger. What could I possibly say to Ma, how would I explain? At the thought, my fingers dug into the smooth gabardine.

Later. I couldn't think about it now. I shrugged on the jacket.

Behind me, Betty said, "Was it Paulie who told you to flip Mrs. Burns the bird?"

My fingers jerked, slipping across a button. I managed a little breathless laugh. "Paulie?
Suelze?
What on earth would he be doing here? No, it was Hank Majews—"

"I saw him, Ruby." Lying on her stomach, cheek propped against one hand. Smug as if she'd not only eaten the canary, but dipped it in chocolate sauce first. "I heard the honking and went up the side yard and I saw him. Besides, Hank Majewski joined the army, remember? You better hope Ma doesn't."

The breath went out of me, sure as if she'd punched me in the stomach. "Did you say anything to Ma?"

"I
knew
it," she said. "You've been seeing him all along, haven't you? When the phone rings twice, that's him, isn't it?"

"I'm asking you, did you tell Ma!"

She rolled over and sat up. "Of course I didn't. What do you take me for?"

I drew a deep, shaking breath. Ma didn't know. In a little while Paulie and I would be married, and after that none of this would matter.

Betty leaned back against the wall, stretched out her legs. "So have you done it with him?"

"Have I . . . ? That's . . . I don't know what you're talking about!" I snatched up my black pumps, sat down at the desk to put them on.

"Oh, come on. How stupid do you think I am? I know all about it. Some of the victory girls have done it. Or they say they have."

"Victory girls?" I frowned at her. "Who are they?"

Instead of answering, Betty glanced away, an odd half smile on her face. For a moment, I saw her the way I had that afternoon in the Yards: not the sister I'd grown up with, but a girl with a high-bridged nose and chocolate-dark hair and a figure better than most girls out of high school. She'd just turned fifteen. A little practice, and she could pass for eighteen. Like me.

"Betty! What have you done?"

She looked up, startled, and then she was my baby sister again. "Nothing." She shrugged. "Gone to the USO a couple of times. That's all."

"You're volunteering at the USO?"

She laughed. "Volunteer?" she said, as if I was talking about cleaning a pigpen. "Pour coffee and wash dishes? As if the boys want to sit with those drippy do-gooders, anyway. We hang around outside and they're happy to see us." She scootched off the bed and stood up. "And you can save your looks, it's not like you're any angel. Besides, me and my friends, we don't do anything bad. They take us to the movies. Or out for burgers. They're nice."

Organizing scrap drives for the war effort, she'd told us. Going to wave at the troop trains with the neighborhood kids. Instead she'd been running around with soldiers. The movies! Oh, I knew about the movies.

"So have you?" Betty picked a file up off her dresser, drew it across her thumbnail. "Done it, I mean. With Paulie."

"Don't be ridiculous." Stuffing things from my brown pocketbook into the black one. Handkerchief, change purse . . . I glanced at the clock. If I didn't leave right now, I'd be late.

"The girls who have talk about it," Betty said. "They say it's not such a big deal." She looked almost wistful.
It's not so bad,
Peggy had told me, that night at Bennie's.
It's never how anyone thinks it'll be.

I snatched the nail file out of her hand and pointed it at her. "If you go near those girls again, I'll tell Ma. She'll make sure you never see another USO as long as you live. Got that?" I smacked the file down on her dresser. She picked it up again, leisurely, ran it over another nail.

"You tell Ma about me," she said, "and I'll tell her about Paulie. Got
that?"

We stared at each other, not speaking. Then I stormed past her out of the room.

. . .

". . . so the army doctors stamped my papers 4-F," the young blond fellow was saying. "Unfit for service, all because I broke my ankle back in '39! Is that fair?"

I was stuck on my third dance with this chatterbox. What with all his yammering, I could hardly hear myself think. And I had to think. If I'd known, two months ago, that I'd have to worry about my own sister, under my own roof, I wouldn't have lost one minute's sleep over Stan Dudek.

The band closed the number with a trumpet flourish. That was another thing: Ozzie wasn't on the bandstand. Oh, they had a trumpeter—couldn't have a dance band without one—but he was some tubby fellow, without half the pizzazz Ozzie had in his littlest finger. Ozzie couldn't be at Lily's, it was too early. What if he'd gotten into a fight with Ophelia's new boyfriend? He'd looked mad enough last night to do anything.

"Looks like they're taking a break," the blond fellow said. He seized my hand. "And here I was just going to tell you what the second army doctor said. Buy you a soda?"

"Gosh, thanks, I can't." I jimmied loose and didn't wait for my tip.

The Ladies' was packed, as usual. Three deep at the long mirror. I couldn't see myself even when I stood on tiptoes. All the dressing tables taken, too. Except Yvonne's, of course.

"If you're looking for a fight, keep doing what you're doing," Gabby said, when I walked to Yvonne's table. "Otherwise, scram."

I didn't answer her. As usual, Yvonne's red fox fur hung draped over the back of her chair. She wouldn't wear the coat again until October, but she left it here. Not even in her locker, but out where everyone could see. It had made Peggy mad, back when anything besides Alonso mattered to her. A nice fur like that ought to be stored for the summer, she said. Not shown off like a trophy. I brushed my palm across the collar, the hairs prickling the inside of my wrist. The tabletop was cluttered with makeup and combs and hairspray. No one else left their things lying around, not unless they wanted every girl in the place to help herself. But no one dared touch Yvonne's stuff. Peggy was wrong, I thought. Yvonne didn't leave her coat here to show off. She left it as a sign:
Queen Bee. Keep Out.

I sat down and picked up Yvonne's compact case. It was a gorgeous thing, beaded in red and gold, with a matching cigarette lighter. Whatever fish gave this to her, he didn't buy it at any five-and-dime. I dusted the powder over my nose, my chin. It smelled creamy, slightly sweet. Expensive.

"Just lemme know where to send the flowers, after," Gabby said. Two tables down, Nora laughed and repeated the remark to somebody else. Behind me, the everlasting chatter and yapping quieted down a moment. Then picked up again.

I
know all about it,
Betty had said.

She didn't. And she wouldn't, if I could help it. I didn't want her knowing the things I knew. Like the backseat of a kelly green convertible. Although you could call that by name, at least. Confess it to a priest. But what about all the other things I couldn't possibly explain? Like, knowing whether I'd get a bigger tip by flirting with a fellow or acting like it was my first time in high heels. Whether I could hook a fish for a date by suggesting cocktails and wild jazz, so he'd think I was the life of the party and a sure thing . . . or by mentioning a sweet little chop suey joint, quiet, away from all this noise, so he'd think I was fascinated only with him . . . and a sure thing. How far to let the hands go before putting on the kibosh, whether to joke or act offended, to keep the fish coming back, keep them believing, surely next time . . . How best to drop the hints, the sighs, the wants, so the fish would think the meals and dresses and makeup he bought me were all his own idea, and not me fishing him for everything I could get. If you went into the confessional and knelt in front of the musty-smelling screen and said,
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,
how exactly would you describe what you'd done?

Illusion, that's what Del would say. You're helping them believe what they want to believe. Was illusion a sin? Did it make you hard, put a shell over you, paint you like an Easter egg?

My eyes looked back at me in Yvonne's mirror. Mascara and eyeshadow were supposed to make them bigger. All the magazines said so. But mine struck me now like two glints of blue at the bottom of the cellar stairs. Was this what people saw when they looked at me?

Something hot brushed across my bare arm. I jumped and dropped the compact case. A red bead skittered free across the table. Cigarette ashes drifted from my skin to the floor.

"Oopsie," Yvonne said. She stood next to me—sneaky, she knew not to come from behind, not when there was a mirror—one hand on her hip. Behind her stood Valerie and Stella, grinning. Gabby at the next table, an
I-told-you-so
expression on her thin face.

"Get out of my chair," Yvonne said.

"It's not your chair." I rubbed the sore spot on my arm. "And I'm not your damn ashtray."

Yvonne took a long, deep drag. The cigarette paper glowed, turned black, shriveled. Yvonne held the trembling gray ash over my hair.
Tap.
I ducked, twisting, but the ash caught my cheek. I jumped out of the chair, batting at my face, and the ash broke apart, fluttering to the floor like a hundred fly's wings.

"Good doggie," Yvonne said. Behind her, Stella laughed.

I snatched the cigarette from her fingers. She wasn't expecting that. I clamped my lips to the blurry scarlet marks of her lipstick, drew in hard. When the ash was good and hot, I plunged it into the collar of her red fox coat.

"Woof," I said. Smoke curling from my mouth. Curling from the fur. It smelled stronger than the cigarette and worse. Gasps around the room. I didn't look up. I buried the cigarette, my fingers disappearing up to the knuckles in bright, shimmery red.

"You
bitch!"
Yvonne shoved me away, but I'd already let go. Yvonne snatched up the coat and ran with it to the sinks. The cigarette dropped to the floor. I ground it out with my toe, smiling. I felt better than I had in days.

Walking out of the Ladies' was like swimming upstream. Everyone crowding toward the sinks. I had to turn sideways to get through the door, past the girls pushing their way in, jabbering, mouths open like babies waiting for spoonfuls of cereal. They stopped their yapping and stared at me as I went by.

The Starlight wasn't air-conditioned, and the hall had been jammed hotter than blazes all night. I could use a nice cold cola. I plunked my nickel on the counter, picked up my glass. Turned around and ran smack into Stella. Her elbow jerked upward, and in an instant I was freezing wet all down my front, ice cubes scattered around my feet. My breath disappeared somewhere deep inside.

"Oh my
goodness,
I'm so
clumsyl"
Stella wrung her plump hands. Snickers all through the lounge. My dress clung to my girdle and the girdle clung to me. When I moved, the fabric smacked against my belly like lips. I arched my back, held my arms wide. "I'm so
sorryl
You
do
have a clean dress, don't you?" A good little actress, Stella.

"Get out of my way." I stalked past her, back to the Ladies', trying to hold the dress away from my skin. I had one clean gown, thank God. All the others were at the cleaner's.

When I pushed open the door to the Ladies', I grit my teeth, ready for the chorus of cackles. But Yvonne wasn't there, or any of her gang, either. The only girls in the room were the usual stragglers, the two or three who never could time a break right, who Del was always yelling at to hurry up and get on the floor before he canned their asses. As I shuffled to my locker they looked up from the dressing tables, but none of them said anything. Not a single "What happened?" or "Jesus on a pogo stick, Ruby, what did you
do?"

No doubt they'd heard Yvonne plan the whole thing. Of course Yvonne had put Stella up to it—that dizzy redhead could never come up with a stunt like that on her own. I peeled my sopping gown off just as the saxophone started wailing. Hustling now, I wet a handkerchief and blotted cola off my skin. The girdle would be sticky the rest of the night. But girdles could be cleaned, and the dress, too. Unless Yvonne found a way to hex a dead fox to grow new fur, though, she better get to work fishing a new one. That gave me a little satisfaction.