As I watched them it dawned on me that Jack must have known that this girl would be coming, that he had brought me along as an act of charity, knowing that there would be other men for me to dance with while he homed in on the bishop’s glamorous niece.
Suddenly the room felt suffocating. I mumbled an excuse about needing some air and wormed my way out, squeezing past the scrum of bodies on the dance floor. But before I reached the door the music came to an abrupt stop. A man’s voice boomed from the stage:
“Ladies and gentlemen, the next dance is a number that comes all the way from the United States of America. In honor of the Second Battalion of the Fifth Maryland Regiment of the Twenty-Ninth Infantry Division, please take your partners for . . . the jitterbug!”
“Say, ma’am, would you like to dance?”
My way out of the room was blocked by a tall, slim American serviceman who looked like an overgrown child. His blond hair was shaved above his ears, and what remained stood up like a brush on top of his head. The pale wisps of the beginnings of a mustache clung to his upper lip. Before I could make any sort of reply, he grabbed me and pulled me into the crowd on the dance floor. His hand was clammy, like a damp washcloth wrapped around mine.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edith spinning across the floor as another soldier flung her away from him in a move unlike any I had ever seen. The next thing I knew, my partner put both hands around my waist and hoisted me off the ground before thrusting me down between his legs. I emerged, breathless and indignant. But before I could draw breath, he began stepping out a fast, swaying rhythm that ended with me being thrown and spun like a yo-yo. The skirt of my dress flew so high I was afraid people would see my underwear. But as I patted it down, I saw that everyone around me was beaming—not at me, but out of sheer pleasure.
I began to relax a little, not fighting what my partner did, but trying to mimic his steps and follow whatever energetic moves he wanted to deliver. Just as I’d started to grasp the dance, the music came to an end. My American gave me a little bow and asked if he could get me something to drink.
“That’s very kind of you, but she’s with me.” Jack was suddenly there, beside me. At the sight of him my young partner smiled nervously and backed off.
“I thought you looked as if you needed rescuing,” he said, taking my arm. “I shouldn’t have left you on your own—but I needed to circulate a bit. I thought you’d be safe with the bishop.” There was a wry smile on his face.
“Actually, I was enjoying myself.” I held his gaze, returning the look.
“Really?”
“Well, it was a bit of a shock at first—but I think I could get to like it.”
“In that case, perhaps you’ll have the next dance with me.”
The band had started up again. The rhythm was lively, but not the wild beat of the jitterbug.
“Do you know this one?” He put his hand on my back. His touch was light, but it sent a ripple down my spine.
“It’s a quickstep, isn’t it?”
I placed my left hand on his right arm as he took my other hand in his. Then we were gliding across the floor, picking up speed. It reminded me of being on board La Coquille, with the wind tugging at my clothes.
“I can’t believe you haven’t done this for so long,” he murmured. “You dance as if you’ve been doing it all your life.”
I glowed inside. I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to stay like this and dance every dance with him. But I knew that wouldn’t be possible. Even if he wanted to, it wouldn’t be right. What would people think of a man who spent the entire evening in the arms of his cousin?
I realized that this might be the only dance I would have with him. Trapped by the deception that I had instigated, I would have to watch him take to the floor with a procession of other women: women with curvy, gyrating bodies, like Clarissa, or pouting, lipsticked mouths, like Edith and Rita.
His jaw brushed my forehead as we swerved around a couple in our path. The scent of his skin was earthy and piney, a wistful, poignant smell, like long-ago Christmases. The temptation to nestle my cheek in the crook of his neck was overwhelming. And then, just as the music reached a crescendo, the room was plunged into darkness.
Chapter 18
Jack grabbed my hand. People around us were laughing, whooping. No one seemed frightened. I wondered if the lights had been put out on purpose: a prank by one of the soldiers to allow the men to get more intimate with their dance partners.
“I’m not sure what’s going on.” Jack’s lips brushed my ear—by accident, I thought, because he didn’t sound pleased.