Ten Cents a Dance (20 page)

"America gave me an education," he said. "Then they told me I was only good enough for servant's work. I've done enough of their cleaning and fetching. I want the chance to fight for my home."

I cried when he left. But Peggy was a wreck. She and Alonso had gotten engaged, the night before he shipped out.

"I'm just a sucker for flips, I guess," she said, wiping her eyes in the booth at Bennie's.

I squeezed her hand, and she gave me a soggy smile. Pinoy or not, it didn't matter; Alonso and Peggy were a good match. Him quiet and her cracking wise, but both of them street-sawy and smart. She'd fallen for him hard, and now she didn't know if she'd ever see him again.

Some other girls whose boyfriends volunteered, or got drafted, acted hysterical. But that wasn't Peggy's way. She danced like a windup toy, barely said two words to anyone. I tried to cheer her up, but she didn't want to go out after hours anymore, or shopping at Reinhard's. With Alonso gone, I could hardly ask her advice on what I should do about Ma, and Paulie, and quitting. I was just glad she didn't look at Paulie like he was dog poop on her shoe, like the other girls had started doing.

Makes me sick to see an able-bodied fellow not lifting a finger for his country,
they told each other in loud voices,
while other men are putting their lives on the line.
Those girls had always been friendly to me, but now when I walked by, they turned their backs. Between them and Peggy's moping, it was no wonder I spent nearly all my breaks in the storage room.

It was only a matter of time before somebody noticed.

"Hey, Bo Peep, what are you always creeping down that hall for, anyway?" Stella called across the Ladies' one night.

"Got a hip flask hidden somewhere," Gabby said. Just the week before, Del had fired a girl for keeping a flask of gin stashed in her locker. Someone had snitched on her. Nobody knew who, but since one of Gabby's fish had been giving the girl tickets, we had a pretty good idea.

Yvonne swayed into the middle of the room, adjusting the taffeta bow at her hip.
"I
know what she's doing," she said. Grins broke out all around the Ladies', waiting for what was coming. I bent forward at the dressing table with my mascara and pretended I wasn't listening.

"The band takes their break back there," Yvonne went on. "What do you want to bet Bo Peep here is knocking back a few with the boys?"

My hand slipped, smearing black across my eyelid, as the Ladies' erupted in whoops of scandalized laughter. Yvonne raised her voice over the uproar. "She doesn't have to bring her own booze, she's tipping a flask with the coloreds! Aren't you, Bo Peep?"

Panicked, I shot a look at her. Could she possibly know about Ozzie? I should say something cutting. Put her in her place. But rattled as I was, it was all I could do to fix my mascara and escape to the dance floor.

At the break, I made double sure nobody was watching, then headed down the hall. I hadn't taken two steps, though, before I saw a man coming toward me in the dark.

"Looking for something?" Del asked. He stopped in front of me.

"No," I said. I hadn't done anything wrong, I reminded myself. So why did I feel like a thief caught with money in my hand? "It's just, that's the only window you can see out of in this whole place." I pointed toward the end of the hall.

"And what? You like to look out the window?"

I shrugged. Acting like I didn't care, but my heart tripping hard. "Sometimes."

Del drew a deep breath, let it out slow. "No," he said, as if he'd thought it over. "You don't need to be doing that."

Maybe Yvonne didn't know about Ozzie and the storeroom. But she'd said something to Del, and Del knew.
That pipsqueak sees ashes on the floor,
Ozzie had said,
he'll run me out of here.
At the end of the hall, shadows of leaves flickered over the glass. I listened, but I couldn't hear anything. Del took my arm, turned me back to the dance floor.

"Stay out," he said.

Later, I couldn't catch Ozzie's eye. Even during "Tiptoe Through the Tulips," he never looked up. So Del had said something to him, too. Had he threatened to fire him? Or just kick him out of the storeroom, make him take his breaks with the rest of the band?

So that was that. My only refuge at the Starlight, gone. Maybe Ozzie's, too. At home, thanks to Chester, Ma had called a truce—but a whole day could go by without her saying a word to me except
Bring in the laundry
and
Turn on the radio,
Our Gal Sunday
is on.
More and more, I felt her watching every little thing I did. I got the uneasy feeling again that she knew, she could tell, and no matter how often I decided I was being silly, this time I couldn't shake it.

The next night, Paulie picked me up at the Starlight. Now he came only when he could borrow the convertible. We used to take a cab to a diner, or to the Yards. Not anymore. We hardly talked. We always went to a place Paulie liked, a dead-end side street by a park, with trees all around and no lights.

Paulie drove us to our spot. He switched off the car and the headlights vanished, the radio cut out. The only sound was his breathing, and the squeaking of the leather seat as he turned toward me.

"I told you already," Paulie said when I asked him, for maybe the dozenth time, what I ought to do. "Move out. Take a room in a hotel, like your pal at the dance hall. That'd be sweet, huh?" His hand brushed my thigh. A long way away—too far to touch us—a single streetlight shone on a park bench.

It would be sweet. But to leave home . . . "I just don't know," I said.

"Then shut up about it already." The streetlight disappeared in blackness and warm breath as Paulie kissed me, pushing me back on the seat.

Afterward, I cried. Paulie groaned. "Waterworks again?" he said, starting up the car. "What is it with you?"

I couldn't answer him. He was the man I loved. I didn't understand why, after what we'd just done, I felt lonelier than I ever had in my life.

EIGHTEEN

"You shouldn't have said anything," I complained. "Betty's no fool. She'll figure it out."

"She won't have anything to figure out if you don't live there," Paulie had answered. I'd dropped it, irritated.

I led the buck private down the concrete steps to Lily's. He kept looking back over his shoulder at the folks milling around the sidewalk above. "There's a lot of Negroes around," he said. "You sure this is safe?"

"What are you, scared? Big strong fellow like you?" I hooked my arm through his and pulled him along. "I told you, you'll love it."

He'd clocked me out a little before the Starlight closed, so Ozzie wasn't here yet. Ophelia was up on stage, though, belting her lungs out, and the place was hopping. Lily put us at a table near the front; good, but not so good as she would've given Manny.

I tried to get the private to dance, but he wouldn't, so I sipped my rum and Coke and listened to Ophelia. The past few months, she'd come into her own. Every bit of awkward polished off her. Her songs seemed to bubble up from some deep well inside, and when she leaned back and closed her eyes, watch out, because she'd let it rip and get the whole joint on its feet. Every night, she wore the cloisonne earrings Ozzie'd bought for her. Red, to match her dresses. I knew they were from him, because he'd asked me what I thought a girl might like for her birthday. If Paulie'd given me those, I'd have been over the moon.

She finished up her set, took her bow. All of Lily's clapping and whistling. She stepped off the stage, half a dozen men waiting to get her a drink, a seat, a handkerchief, anything they could think of. Good thing Ozzie'd made his move when he did. He might not have a chance now, I thought, just as Ophelia stepped down into another man's arms and kissed him on the lips.

I blinked, thinking I hadn't seen right. But then she kissed the fellow again. The musicians slipping looks at each other sideways, then back at the curtain behind the stage. I stood up, but I couldn't see if Ozzie had come in. "What are you doing?" the private asked.

"Dancing," I said, and grabbed his hand.

At the Starlight, the private had danced okay. Here, though, he was too busy staring at everyone else. Maybe he'd never seen a Mexican dancing with a colored. Or a white girl and a Filipino boy holding hands, or colored and white sitting at tables together. Another night I might have joshed him, smiling and laughing so he knew he was having a good time. But while he stared, I watched Ophelia cozy up at a table to the fellow she'd kissed. Did Ozzie know?

He came in just as we finished dancing. I tried to keep the private on the floor, but he aimed for the table like it was a foxhole. He lifted my wrap off my chair. "How about we find someplace more . . . regular," he said.

I snatched the wrap from him, tossed it back on the chair. "Go ahead," I told him. I sat down. He shifted and glanced around and made noises and I ignored him. Finally he slouched down in his seat and nursed his beer. I ordered another rum and Coke. Another one after that.

"Trumpeter's blowing some clinkers tonight," I heard a fellow behind us say. It was true; Ozzie was playing like a fire half-lit. I'd heard him put more pizzazz into "Cheerful Little Earful." After only five numbers, he left the stage. The other musicians shaking their heads. A few looked like they felt sorry for him. A couple grinned.

I leaped to my feet, snaked my way past the tables, past Ophelia and her new boyfriend. I couldn't see Ozzie. Had he left already?

"Excuse me," I heard him say, and as Ozzie brushed past me, I put my hand on his arm. He jumped, startled. Startled again when he saw me. The miserable in his face disappearing under
What the hell does she want?
I realized I didn't know. What did I think I'd do? Tell him she wasn't worth it? Tell him it would be all right?

"Dance with me," I blurted. Stupid. Ozzie never danced.

He glanced over his shoulder at Ophelia. Then lifted his head and looked down at me, his jaw pushed out a little.

"Yeah," he said. "All right."

I couldn't tell if Ozzie was good or if he was just good and mad. He flung me out and hauled me in, strong as hell and twice as fast. My skirt whipped around my legs and my hair over my face and he flipped me upside down and I couldn't see but I threw my hand out and he grabbed it and there was the floor and then it was gone again, and I forgot everything except the screaming horns and the drums pushing my feet faster and the grip of Ozzie's fingers in mine. He stepped the wrong way coming out of a turn and we collided hard, knocking the breath half out of me, then he yanked my other hand and I was flying again. The number ended, too soon, but the next was starting and I was ready to go, grinning like a fool. I looked up at Ozzie, but he was staring past me and his face was closed up like a door. I turned around. Ophelia sat next to her fellow, but she wasn't cozy anymore. Eyes like thunder cracking, her freckled chest heaving.

I took Ozzie's hand. "Forget her," I said. "What's she got to be mad about, anyway?"

He looked at me then. His expression so unhappy and so mad, I dropped his hand quick as if it burned. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something. Then shut it again, shaking his head. Like there were no words. He stepped back, hands raised, palms out, then he was walking away, away from me, from Ophelia, from everyone. Shoved past the curtain behind the bandstand and disappeared.

Couples jostled me off the floor. At our table, the black-haired private was gone. I grabbed my wrap and pocketbook and made my way out to the street. I gulped the muggy air, trying to clear my head of rum and confusion.

I'd only wanted to help. I didn't understand how I'd made everything worse.

. . .

The next day I didn't get up until almost noon. I slipped on a blue shirtwaist dress and slippers and padded out to the kitchen. The moment I stepped onto the smooth green linoleum, Ma said, "I had a lovely chat this morning with Mrs. Burns, next door. She was nice enough to copy out her war cake recipe for me." No
Good morning,
no
Did you sleep well?
Mad about something. My insides ratcheted tight a notch; I tried to think what I'd done but came up blank. Through the window, I saw Chester and Betty in the backyard, him with a spade and her with a hoe, working in the victory garden. The sky a hard, bright blue, the kitchen already steamy and Ma hadn't even turned on the oven yet.

I poured myself a cup of coffee. "What's war cake?" I asked. Sometimes, if I acted like everything was fine, Ma would come around.

"Like Depression cake." Ma stood at the counter, measuring flour into the sifter. She was wearing a new apron, I noticed, a pretty blue gingham with ruffles that matched her eyes. "But that calls for sugar and this takes corn syrup and molasses. Now that you're up, you can help."

I remembered Depression cake, all right. No eggs, no milk, no butter. It had tasted like a sweet brick. One of the first things Ma had made, once I brought home enough money, was a real cake with every ingredient God meant a cake to have. The three of us had eaten the entire thing in one day. Now, half a year later, the war was taking everything away again. Meat, sugar, coffee, all rationed. Butter impossible to find. Nylons, too. The government needed them to make parachutes.

"Mrs. Burns saw you trip coming up the steps at three o'clock this morning," Ma said. "She wanted to know if you were all right. Very kind of her." She didn't sound pleased with Mrs. Burns's kindness. Our neighbor had a sweet round face and battle-ax eyes that didn't miss a thing. Worse than Mr. Maczarek because as far as I could tell, she never slept.

"I didn't trip," I lied. I actually had, had caught my toe right on the edge of the step. I'd cussed a blue streak, too. Mrs. Burns must have heard every word, the nosy old bat. No wonder Ma was on her high horse.

"I see," Ma said, her tone saying,
You're lying.
"Still, you can imagine how relieved she was to find out tonight will be your last night at work. Get the molasses. It's in that cupboard." Ma pointed. I didn't move.

"But it's not been two weeks yet," I said.

"You'll tell them you're needed at home. Your supervisor will understand."

From the street, a car horn honked. I barely heard it. "But Chester—"

"That's
enough]"
From the corner of my eye, I saw Chester glance up at the window, then away. Ma saw it, too; she lowered her voice. "What you do reflects on me. On Chester, on all of us. We're a real family now, and we're going to act like one. For God's sake, Ruby, can't you see that's why . . . " She made her aggravated noise and turned away. Like Ozzie, last night. As if there were no words to explain how much worse I made everything. "I'm through arguing," she said. "Tonight is your last night."

"No," I said.

More honking. Three short blasts this time. Someone was losing his patience. And then, floating clear as day into the kitchen, a different voice. Paulie's voice.

"RUBY!"

I darted through the living room, threw open the front door. There, in front of the house, purred the kelly green convertible, Paulie leaning across the front seat, grinning at me from the open passenger window. I ran, barelegged and in slippers, down the front stoop, across the neat rectangle of lawn, Ma yelling behind me, "Ruby, come back here! Where are you going? Ruby!"

I yanked open the door and threw myself onto the seat just as Paulie popped the clutch. "Go," I said. "Go!"

Paulie never messed around when something needed doing. The tires squealed, the car leaped forward. I glimpsed Mrs. Burns's startled face peering out her front window. I flipped her the bird. As the car took the corner, I leaned halfway out the window, laughing as a warm muggy wind lifted my hair, sent it flying all around my head. I'd practically just gotten out of bed anyway, I didn't even have lipstick on. What did I care if my hair was a mess? Paulie tugged on the back of my dress and I plopped down onto the seat, still laughing with the miracle of it.

We rolled up California Avenue, the sun striking stars off the green hood. The fight with Ma faded more with every block. I'd get around her somehow. Maybe another good cry in front of Chester . . .

Paulie put his arm around me. "Where you want to go, baby? Anywhere you want, name it."

"The beach."

"You got it."

I laughed. "I was joking, silly. Does it look like I have a bathing suit?"

"That all you need?" He swung onto Sixty-third Street; two minutes later, the car rolled to a stop in front of Sears. Paulie handed me a twenty. "Get whatever you want," he said. "And don't take all day!" he hollered as I ran into the store.

Less than ten minutes later, I was shoving myself and two Sears bags into the front seat of the convertible. "Got it," I said. "Let's go."

But he didn't start the car. Instead, he sat back against his door and stretched out his legs.

"Show me," he said.

First, the pair of sandals on my feet. Then the beach towels. Finally, I held up the green and purple striped bathing suit. "What do you think?"

He looked so doubtful I burst out laughing. "I know, it's hideous." I pushed it back into the bag. "But if you don't like it, it's your own fault. You're the one who told me to hurry."

"Guess that's why you forgot the most important thing." He reached past me and popped open the glove compartment. "Lucky for you, I remembered."

"Put it on me, put it on!" I said.

The necklace was even prettier in his hands than in the box: a chain of white gold daisies, each with a dark blue rhinestone center. Paulie frowned, trying to undo the clasp. "Turn around," he said. I held up my hair, and the gold slipped heavy and cool against my skin. I propped myself up on the seat so I could look in the rearview mirror.

"I saw those blue bits," Paulie said, "and I said to myself, That's exactly the color of Ruby's eyes." His fingers slid up the back of my neck, under my hair.

"It's beautiful," I whispered. He'd stolen it, I knew. The cold-shivery thrill tingled through me to my fingertips, to the tips of my toes. He pulled me to him, and we kissed, and the thrill warmed and tingled, like my insides waking up after a long sleep.

A cracking rap on the window. We jumped apart. A beat cop bent down, peering inside, a nightstick in his hand. "Take it somewhere else!" he bawled at us.

"Yeah, yeah," Paulie muttered. "Goddamned flatfoot."

I smiled at the cop.
If you only knew what I knew.
He stared back at me, stone eyed. Behind him, four girls stood in a little knot, laughing behind their hands at us. High school girls in saddle shoes, their hair pulled back with ribbons.

A year ago, that would have been me. I smiled and laid my head on Paulie's shoulder. He turned the ignition and gunned the motor.

It seemed like all of south Chicago was at the lakeshore. We picked our way over blazing sand through what seemed like thousands of shrieking children and their clammy-looking mothers; picnic baskets and girls already tanned the color of roasted peanuts; white lifeguard towers and the lifeguards themselves in their brilliant red swim trunks, like spots of blood spattered down the beach. I let Paulie
get
a little ways ahead of me. I'd been with him in the convertible's backseat, but I still didn't know what he looked like with his shirt off, and I didn't want him to see me staring.