A Stranger in my Street

by Deborah Burrows

  Now, the song was ending. Ma came out of the lounge room, humming. When she saw me her eyes became wide with fear. We hadn’t listened to any music for months after that because any song that referred to the war would make me cry, or shake, or both. Gradually I improved, but that song, ‘Silver Wings’, could always send me into hysterics.

  I smiled. ‘I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.’ I put Peter’s book on the hall table and pointed to my eyes. ‘See. No tears.’

  She opened her arms and I walked into a hug.

  The day before the Red Cross dance was another warm, eucalyptus-perfumed day. Tom and I were sitting on a bench by the river, watching a pod of Swan River dolphins playing in the water. I knew I looked forward to seeing Tom far too much and it had started to worry me. He was Peter’s brother and he was engaged to be married.

  Tom finished his sandwiches and screwed the paper bag into a ball with his right hand. He had rolled up the sleeves of his khaki shirt and I watched the tendons in his arm move smoothly under the skin as he did so. He removed his cap, and the dappled sunshine brought out unexpected golden highlights in his dark hair. He lit a cigarette, breathed in deeply and laughed a little at the dolphins’ antics. Five small grey bodies were jostling and twisting and leaping around each other sinuously in the water. Tom was wholly at ease, almost sleepy, he was so relaxed. I wasn’t.

  I realised that over the past few weeks I had been surreptitiously watching him, getting to know his face and his body, his expressions and his moods. His face seemed to be made up of hollows and shadows. If he looked bored, it meant he was irritated. The scar on his cheek became a darker red when he was annoyed. When he relaxed, his face softened. If he was teasing me the right side of his mouth quirked up. His right hand was really beautiful, with long supple fingers. Despite his injuries Tom moved easily and assuredly and he was obviously very fit. His arms were lean, but tightly muscled.

  He started humming ‘Don’t Sit under the Apple Tree’.

  ‘Are you sure we should meet so frequently?’ I asked, in a hesitant voice.

  He turned to me in one quick movement. There was a wary look in his eyes.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I’m feeling guilty. It’s clear that I’m no real help to you in your liaison work; I’ve never got much to tell you that you don’t already know. And the murder investigation seems to have stalled completely.’

  ‘Meg, I can afford to shout you lunch.’ He twisted around to look again at the river. The maimed hand was clearly visible. It was the shape a little boy made when he wanted to pretend he was carrying a gun.

  I stole a look at Tom as he sat beside me and there was an odd feeling in my chest. He had become too important to me and it was wrong. Was I falling in love? It wasn’t like it had been with Peter. That had happened very quickly, and it had been as natural as breathing. Other than Peter, I had no experience of love.

  ‘Mr Goodley prosecuted an Australian serviceman for black marketeering last week. He was selling American goods,’ I said, more to silence my own thoughts than for any other reason.

  Tom turned towards me. ‘I know the case,’ he said. ‘It’s a matter of concern to the US and Australian authorities. Did Mr Goodley mention the black market in drugs?’

  ‘Someone was prosecuted the other day for doping horses, but that was in the Magistrate’s Court. He had small amounts of heroin and cocaine. I think drugs are really hard to get now because of the war.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Tom sounded bored, and went back to watching the river.

  ‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘there’s little need for black market goods when the Americans are so generous with anyone who gives them hospitality.’

  ‘Like your family?’ He still sounded bored.

  I felt my cheeks grow warm. ‘We’ve had Chad and Don over to dinner a few times, and my mother intends to invite them again. She likes them a lot and they seem to appreciate the home atmosphere.’

  Tom sat up and gave me his full attention. ‘So you’re seeing a lot of Chad Buchowski?’

  ‘Not as much as I see you. And it’s all above board.’ My voice was sharp. ‘How does Phyllis like you seeing me so much?’

  There, I’ve said it. My heart started to race.

  Now he was looking towards the river again. ‘Phyll and I trust each other. You and I, we’re friends. She knows that.’

  Does she know how often you meet me for lunch? Why do you meet me so often?

  Tom started to gather up our things. We walked back to the court building in silence, but he smiled as he left me at the door.

  ‘Enjoy the dance tomorrow.’

  Nancy was mopping the stone steps. She watched Tom walk down the path towards the Terrace and her face lit up with a grin.

  ‘He’s a good-looking chap, your army fella, but he’s too thin. He needs feeding up. It’s too bad about that hand and that scar. But it’s no matter really. So long as they’re all there where it counts.’ She giggled like a girl.

  ‘He’s not my fellow. He has a fiancée. She’s a real stunner.’

  ‘Well, somebody better tell her he’s looking at you like you are dolce,’ she said. ‘He don’t look at you like he’s got no stunner girlfriend, no fidanzata. Not when he smile at you like that, he don’t.’ Nancy frowned into her bucket and gave the dirty water a vicious stir with the mop before sighing. ‘Shame. He’s polite, even to someone like me. It’s “Good morning, Mrs Gangemi, how are you?” when he sees me. Like I’m important.’

  ‘You are important,’ I said. ‘Captain Lagrange is just a friend. I used to see a lot of his younger brother, who was killed in England nineteen months ago.’

  Nancy became full of apologies in her broken English. ‘Shame about the fidanzata,’ she concluded.

  She looked into the grey water again. ‘It’s not stealing if he want to be stolen, you know,’ she said.

  I didn’t sleep very well that night.

  Thirteen

  Annie came to my house on Saturday night and we waited together for Chad and Don to arrive. I was feeling very pleased with myself and my new frock.

  It was in the oriental style that had been popular before the war, sleeveless, with a small Chinese collar and hot-pink trim. I loved it. The silk fabric was the same pale green that magazines referred to as Eau du Nil. It was tight across the body until just under the hips, when the fabric flared out to swirl around my legs as I moved. Joan had gasped when I showed it to her, pointed out a label that read ‘Schiaparelli’, and refused to make any changes other than to make it fit me snugly.

  ‘It’s a good thing you’re so slim, Meg,’ Joan had said as she finished her adjustments. ‘Not many girls could pull off a frock like this. You can.’

  My shoes were old, but I had no coupons for new ones and anyway worn-in shoes were better for dancing. At least I had new nylons, courtesy of Chad. The final touch was lipstick that matched the trim on my dress – Max Factor Coral Kiss – a present from Joan. I was ready to dance.

  Annie had given a slow whistle when I sashayed into the lounge room. ‘I take it you’re expecting to see Captain Cute,’ she said with a smirk.

  ‘No. Maybe. Are my stocking seams straight? Anyway, if he’s there, he’ll have the beautiful Phyllis in tow. I just want to have a good time.’

  ‘Looking like that, you will, my friend. You look good enough to eat with a spoon and I’ll have to step back to avoid being trampled. I do hope that your captain is there, though. I’m in a fever to see this Phyllis. And your seams are straight as a die.’

  Chad and Don arrived at eight bearing orchids and chocolates for Annie and me, and another food parcel for Ma. Annie pinned her corsage onto her dress, but I didn’t want to risk damaging my new frock, so I tied mine to my wrist and thought the exotic bloom complemented the dress beautifully.

  Chad gave a slow whistle. ‘Meg, you’re the cat’s meow. Honey, you look gorgeous.’

  I caught Annie’s eye and she winked at me. I felt glamorous, the equal of an
yone, even Phyllis Gregory.

  By the time we got to the tennis club the dance was in full swing. Down the side of the room tables were laden with food and there was an enormous quantity of alcohol on offer. The hall was beautifully decorated with little US flags on strings around the walls, interspersed with Australian flags and Red Cross flags. American naval officers and petty officers filled the hall, enough even for Annie. Some American Red Cross nurses were among the crowd, but most of the girls were locals. Betty Barwon, dressed in pale chartreuse, was chatting to the ratings who were serving behind the bar. I could see a few Australian officers, but Tom wasn’t among them.

  ‘Dance?’ Chad asked, raising his voice over the band. I nodded and we entered the crush of couples on the floor. It was a foxtrot. The air in the hall was sultry. Cigarette smoke was so thick that it dimmed the light, giving the impression that we were dancing in a haze. Chad kept strictly to the steps of the foxtrot, but people were dancing the jitterbug in the centre of the room.

  Jitterbugging had arrived last year with the Americans. The elementary step was the lindy hop, but it had all sorts of variations with strange names like the balboa, jersey bounce, jig walk and flea hop. I had picked this much up just from the talk on the streets. I had never tried it, but it looked like fun. At first, girls who accepted the invitation to ‘cut a rug’ and jitterbug faced nasty gossip, but it was so common now that the prejudice was fading.

  When the number stopped Chad went off to find another partner and I took the opportunity for a breather. As I watched others dancing the jitterbug, I felt a degree of wistful envy. The dance seemed to bring out such uninhibited exuberance, I wished I had the nerve to participate. Annie felt the same way.

  ‘Oh, I want to join in,’ she said. ‘It’s terrific fun, I’ve tried it in town. But Meg, people can see your smalls when your skirt goes flying up. And some of those scanties have very wide legs. You can see far too much.’

  ‘Maybe we can give it a go, but make it clear that we won’t do the lifts,’ I said.

  Annie agreed. ‘I’m not inclined to reveal everything to a group of a mere few hundred close friends,’ she said.

  However, when a young ensign came over and asked her if she wanted to ‘cut a rug’ with him, she said yes without a mention of the lifts and entered the fray without a backward glance.

  ‘Intending to do the jitterbug?’

  Tom was at my elbow.

  ‘I’m not sure. Probably not. It’s a bit lively.’

  ‘You need both hands to jitterbug properly, so it’s out for me. But the tune they’re playing is actually a modern waltz. That sedate enough for you?’

  He led me onto the floor and took my right hand in his left and we began to waltz. Something felt wrong. His hand felt whole. I saw he was wearing a padded glove.

  As we relaxed into the waltz it was obvious that Tom danced expertly.

  ‘Can you do everything well?’ I asked.

  ‘Yep, everything.’ He smiled, to show it was a joke. ‘What’s the matter? You’re a good dancer. And you look sensational.’

  ‘It’s the dress, but thank you.’

  ‘It’s you.’ His smile was frankly admiring.

  Embarrassed, I stared at the pips on his shoulder and concentrated on the dance. The music flowed around us. As Tom steered us around the crowded dance floor I was very conscious of him being so close to me, of the pressure of his good hand on my back and the feel of his left hand as it should be, whole and perfect.

  ‘Where’s Phyllis?’

  ‘Over there, talking to the American Consul.’

  I glanced over to where he had indicated. Phyllis was looking very chic in a slinky floor-length gown of ivory silk. She was talking animatedly with an older man and didn’t seem to have noticed us. Tom pulled me closer than the waltz demanded and for a moment I let my cheek rest lightly on his shoulder. It felt far too good for my peace of mind, so I lifted my head and gazed over the dance floor.

  After Tom had returned to Phyllis the night passed by me in a whirl of dances. I couldn’t be a wallflower at a do like this one. There was always an American ready to cut in, or approach me when I was free. And they were a lot of fun.

  ‘Where do you come from in America?’ I was dancing with a submariner called Mike. He had a high forehead and a cheeky smile.

  ‘Los Angeles.’ He dipped me.

  ‘Where the movies are made?’ He righted me.

  ‘Yes, where the movies are made. But no, I don’t know any movie stars.’

  I pouted. He whirled me around a slower couple and grinned. ‘Well, I might know one or two. Who’s your favourite?’

  ‘James Stewart.’

  ‘Aw, he’s everybody’s favourite. You know, and this is not just pitching woo, I really have met Jimmy Stewart. If you let me take you to dinner next week, I’ll tell you all about it.’

  I hesitated. His smile faded.

  ‘Please say you will, Meg. You’re the prettiest girl in the room, by far.’

  I laughed and shook my head. ‘You’re exaggerating, by far.’

  Phyllis was standing next to Tom, in conversation with another couple. I tipped my head in her direction. ‘What about her?’

  He swung me around so he could see her clearly.

  ‘She’s a dish all right, but if I’m any judge, she’s also trouble. You wouldn’t have a lot of fun with her.’

  I thought his judgment was spot on, so I smiled at him. ‘What about Monday? I could meet you at the Adelphi at seven.’

  He grinned in response. ‘That would be swell.’

  When I met up with Annie by the refreshments table, she was in seventh heaven. She had danced with Americans all night and with Chad at least twice.

  ‘Are you sure he’s married?’ she asked me, still breathless after her last dance.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘He doesn’t act married.’

  ‘Annie, he’s married. Don’t get any ideas.’

  She replied with a wink and a grin, and darted off to get a drink, leaving me standing alone. It wasn’t long before Mike came over and I was swept again into the dancing.

  At around eleven I needed a break and took a seat at the side of the room. I watched Tom dancing with Phyllis. They made an impressive couple, dark and light, day and night. In her heels she was almost his height and he was holding her close. He appeared relaxed and as I watched he laughed at something she said. I looked away from them and watched Annie for a while. She had picked up the jitterbug steps easily. Her dress was flapping around her legs dangerously as she was pushed and pulled and flung from side to side by her partner. Her cheeks were red and she was laughing as she danced.

  A stocky, round-faced petty officer named Paul ‘Whitey’ Whitman from Ohio appeared at my shoulder and begged me for a dance. When he asked me if I’d go out with him the next week I thought of how Tom and Phyllis had looked dancing together and I made a date for Friday night. My week was filling up nicely. Annie was right. A girl could really enjoy herself in Perth if she wanted to.

  I declined another dance with Whitey and found myself drawn to watching the jitterbugging again. It had become so popular in Perth dance halls and cabarets that even the Embassy Ballroom had taken to roping off a special area for the more conventional to dance in without being jostled by jitterbugging couples. There was a sort of animal enjoyment in the jitterbug, an abandonment of social niceties that was entirely new to Perth. Perhaps staid little Perth needed shaking up. If so, the jitterbug was one way to do it.

  ‘Care to give it a try, Miss?’

  A young ensign was standing beside me. He was tall and slim and had a lovely accent, like something out of Gone With the Wind.

  ‘I don’t want to be flung around, but I’d like to try it.’

  His teeth were very white. ‘You have my word. No flinging around.’

  It was fun. The steps were simple and it was impossible to dance them without laughing. He told me his name was Bud Hollis, he was from
Georgia and he loved to jitterbug. It was the truth. We swung and shook and laughed and danced the jitterbug to whatever music was playing.

  After four dances I was exhausted and begged off the next. Bud smiled and let me make my way back to the side of the room, but not until he had made me promise to go out with him, one day soon. When I looked back he was already turning to cut in on another couple.

  I pushed through the dancers to the refreshment tables, asked the rating who was acting as barman for a glass of lemonade, and stood watching the action. I was still breathing rather fast and I was still smiling.

  ‘Having fun?’

  It was Tom. I looked around for Phyllis and saw her dancing with an American naval commander. For the first time, I wished that Tom would leave me alone. I’d forgotten all about him when I was dancing with Bud.

  ‘It’s impossible to do the jitterbug and not laugh,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t let him swing me around. I don’t care to share that much of myself with the room.’

  ‘They’re playing another modern waltz. Want to give me a go again?’

  I thought about refusing, pleading exhaustion, but there was a look in his eyes that stopped me. He seemed unsure of himself, as if he didn’t know whether or not I would accept. I hadn’t seen him look like that before.

  So I smiled and said it would be lovely. We took to the floor and waltzed to ‘Reaching for the Moon’. It was lovely. And then he left me to return to Phyllis.

  I ordered a Singapore sling, and as I sipped it I couldn’t help but remember my drink with Tom at the Adelphi. All at once the room seemed too noisy, too hot and smoky. I needed fresh air.

  The door leading to the verandah closed behind me, shutting out most of the light. Blackout restrictions applied even to dances, but the verandah was faintly illuminated from a low light somewhere. A stiff sea breeze had sprung up and the night was fresh. I breathed in a deep draught of the cool air and let the wind blow across my face. Over to one side of the verandah I could hear low conversations and muted laughter, and I could just make out Don Dudley sitting alone on a bench near the door. He was smoking a pipe and looking into the darkness over the tennis courts. I asked if I could join him for a while.