by Vickie Hall
Christine’s thin lips drew into a wide smile, like a string of red licorice. “Oh,” she intoned with a nod, “things must have gone well.”
Bonnie pursed her lips and tilted her head. “He sent me a gift this morning.”
Christine clamped her hand on Bonnie’s arm. “A gift? What was it?”
“You’ll laugh,” she said. “He sent me a puzzle.”
Christine stopped on the sidewalk, her mouth agape, her brunette curls bouncing as she halted. “You’re joking.”
Bonnie kept walking. “No. It was really kind of clever.” She waited for Christine to catch up to her. “He told me I was a puzzle to him and that he liked puzzles.”
“So he sent you a puzzle,” she said flatly. “Most men send flowers.”
Bonnie paused in front of the Rome Hotel, her hand on the door. “I know. That’s why it was clever.”
Christine shrugged, then tugged down the jacket of her navy blue suit. “I’m glad you think so,” she replied doubtfully. “I’d rather have the flowers.”
The two women walked into the Vineyard Café and were seated for lunch. Christine leaned over the menu and looked at Bonnie. “You should have seen him this morning,” she said with a conspiratorial whisper. “I thought he was going to float into his office.”
Bonnie squelched a smile. “Oh?”
“He had a big goofy grin on his face,” Christine continued. “I don’t know what you did, but you’ve got him smitten but good.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Bonnie replied, scanning the menu.
Christine panned Bonnie’s face. “You must have done something,” she said, lowering her menu. “Come on—tell me everything that happened.”
Bonnie closed her menu and placed it on the table. “He took me to dinner, during which he carried the conversation. We went dancing and he took me home. That’s it. That’s all of it.”
Christine seemed disappointed. “You mean he didn’t make a play for you?”
“Well—” she began.
“I knew it! He’s seems the type.”
Bonnie looked askance at Christine. “I was going to say he tried, but I cut him off. I told him straight up that I wasn’t a party girl, so if that’s what he was looking for, then this was our first and last date.”
Christine gasped and covered her mouth. She blinked a few times, pulling off her gloves, and then said, “Did you really say that?”
“I did,” she replied. “And not only that, I told him I wasn’t impressed with his fancy job, his expensive suit, or his smooth talk. I told him if he thought he could charm me into bed, he was mistaken.”
Christine’s eyes bugged from their sockets, then she blushed. “Wow…”
Bonnie hunched a shoulder. “Well, I just figured if he was willing to ask me out again after all that, then maybe he wanted something more…substantial.”
Christine let out a nervous laugh. “Well, that’s an approach I’ve never tried. Maybe I should reconsider my dating strategy.”
The waiter interrupted them long enough to take their order. Christine unfolded her cloth napkin and placed it on her lap. “Well, it must have worked. I’m positive he’ll be calling you.”
Bonnie nodded. “That’s what it said on the card he sent with the puzzle.”
Christine shook her head and made a sucking sound through her teeth. “How come I can’t land a guy like that? Hey, what about that Dave from Union Pacific? You never even talk about him. Are you going to keep seeing him now that Mr. Warsoff’s asked you out?”
Bonnie felt the blood pulsing in her throat as she formulated her words. There was no Dave from Union Pacific—only Dave the plumber. “Things didn’t work out for us. He’s seeing someone else now.”
Christine clasped her hands and leaned them against the table. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s just as well. I could tell he was the type who strings along a number of girls at the same time,” Bonnie said, raising her water glass to her lips. She swallowed and looked at Christine with a n arched brow. “Did you ever hear from that plumber? Did he call you?”
Christine looked surprised for a moment. “Come to think of it, he never did. I guess he was just putting on a show for you.”
“Probably,” she said. “Anyway, he isn’t someone you’d want to get mixed up with.”
“I know,” Christine said, raising her hand, “I don’t want anything to do with him.”
The waiter deposited their meals. Bonnie picked up her fork and speared a shrimp from the salad. “Good girl.”
Christine began to pick out the tomatoes from her salad. “I always forget to ask them to leave these off,” she muttered to herself. “So, all in all, did you have a good time?”
Bonnie hesitated and slid her eyes toward the restaurant’s vine-covered walls. “Idid enjoy the Dorsey band,” she began, “but it was hard for me to be on the other side, you know, dancing in the crowd with everyone else and not up on the bandstand.” Her eyes misted. “It made me miss Jimmy…the singing…everything.”
Christine reached across the table and touched Bonnie’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low, sympathetic voice. “Ican imagine.”
Bonnie managed a tremulous smile. “It brought back so many memories, I’m sure I wasn’t the best company for Paul.”
The women ate in silence, then Bonnie placed her fork on the edge of her plate. “You know, dating after Jimmy’s death has been difficult for me. It’s like every man I meet has to measure up to Jimmy. You know? If he doesn’t have his smile, or his eyes, or doesn’t laugh at the same things…I don’t know…it just makes it hard.”
Christine nodded. “Sure.”
“I mean, there’ll never be another Jimmy. I can’t replace him. But he spoiled me, I guess, for other men. He was the best of the best.”
Christine opened her purse and fumbled for a tissue. “Damn war,” she murmured. “It breaks my heart to think of all the men we’ve lost…all the women who’ve lost a husband or a fiancé…”
“It makes you wonder what the men will be like when they come home, how it will have affected them.” Bonnie picked up her fork again. “I mean, they’re killers now, aren’t they.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Christine grew pale. “Oh, Bonnie, no. You can’t think of it that way. GIs aren’t killers; they’re just doing what they have to do to win the war.”
Bonnie’s eyes hardened. “They’re trained to kill, Christine. That’s what Imean. How do you know they can stop when they come home? What if they can’t? What if they’re so used to it that every little thing that makes them mad, or ticks them off—”
“Bonnie, stop it!” Christine crushed her napkin in her hand. “It won’t be like that,” she insisted. “They’ll come home and forget about the war. They’ll pick up normal lives and go on. They have to.”
“They have to…” Bonnie’s voice trailed, and then she turned her gaze back to Christine. “How do you forget about a war? About every man you’ve killed, every bomb you’ve dropped, every torpedo you’ve fired? How do you wipe it from your memory and pretend it didn’t happen?”
Bonnie already knew men were violent, about how the tiniest thing could set them off. What would they be like now, stained and damaged from war? It was too horrible to consider.
Christine seemed flustered now as she continued to wring the napkin between her fingers. “I don’t know how. I just know they will. Maybe knowing what they did was for the good of the world, that they fought an enemy who needed to be defeated…maybe that will make it okay.”
Bonnie didn’t offer an immediate reply. She tore off a piece of her roll and daubed a little butter on it. “I hope you’re right, Christine. Otherwise, we’ll havea bunch of men like Dave Miller running around the country.”
///////
The alarm clock jolted Bonnie from her dream. She rolled over and turned off the alarm, trying to remember the dream, but it was a haze now, a blur of something vague and indis
tinguishable. That was something to be grateful for. Most of her dreams haunted her the rest of the day, like recessive shadows that followed her just out of sight.
Bonnie threw back the covers and stumbled into the kitchen to make some coffee. Morning wasn’t her best time of day. She filled the coffee pot with water, her eyes still half closed, measured out the coffee, lit the stove, and walked away. As she headed toward the bathroom, a rising sound of shouts and whoops echoed through the apartment complex. Car horns began honking as boisterous cheers assaulted the morning air. She peered out the window and found her neighbors in various stages of dress, some still in bathrobes, some in undershirts and trousers, hair rollers and slippers, laughing and hugging one another like long-lost friends. Bonnie opened the window and listened.
“The Germans have surrendered!” she heard someone shout. “The war in Europe is over!”
Church bells began clanging, filling the early May air with a joyous peal. The atmosphere of the neighborhood rang with gratitude and relief. Bonnie felt her heart plummet to her toes. The war was over. She should be happy, but it meant things would change now, life would change. She closed the door and went to her chair, sinking down into it, wishing it could devour her.
///////
Paul pulled the car to a stop in front of a three-story home complete with colonnades and a sweeping portico. “I hope you’ll like everyone,” he said, setting the brake, “except for Gloria. No one likes her.” He smiled and squeezed Bonnie’s hand. “And to tell you the truth, I think she likes it that way.”
Bonnie eased her hand away and took hold of her purse. “I’m sure I’ll like everyone just fine. They’re your friends, aren’t they?”
He opened the driver’s door. “I’m afraid that might not be saying much,” he said as he got out.
Bonnie waited for him to round the car. She watched as he walked, his tall, lean body gliding easily along the curved drive. He was good-looking, she had to admit—his sandy hair, thick and full, his manly jaw a perfect fit for his square face. She’d never been to a cocktail party, but she’d seen plenty of them portrayed in the movies. She knew just what she’d do, just how to act. He’d never suspect she was a novice.
He reached the door, opened it, and extended his hand to Bonnie. She pressed her fingers into the palm of his hand and stood with an easy grace. He smiled at her, lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers. “They’re going to love you,” he said.
“Is that important to you?”
He seemed surprised. “Well, no, not really.” He hooked his arm around her waist. “But I don’t see how they’ll be able to help themselves.”
They walked through the warm evening to the door, and Paul rang the bell. Bonnie could hear piano music in the background as the door opened. Muted conversation and laughter rolled toward her as they went inside and the butler closed the door behind them. The butler motioned them toward the spacious living room. Paul took Bonnie’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “There are Jack and Gloria,” he murmured. “Might as well get it over with.”
“She’s the one no one likes?” Bonnie whispered.
The walls in the room had been painted lavender, with emerald green carpet, and at the windows chintz draperies combined verdant green leaves and cascading lavender roses, topped by a scalloped valance. Plush chairs, sofas, and tables were grouped in various areas throughout the room. Paintings of hunting scenes with red-coated riders on horseback hung on the walls. On the mantle of the fireplace sat a pair of Staffordshire dogs, silent and observant of the party going on in front of them. In the corner was a grand piano, the lid raised as the pianist played, the music hovering over the groupings of guests who stood or sat in little clusters. Bonnie soaked in the scene, liking the feel of the room, the mixtures of perfumes and colognes, the sound of laughter and music.
Paul nodded. A smile crossed his lips as he stopped in front of the couple. “Frank, Gloria, please allow me to introduce Bonnie Cooper.”
Bonnie’s eyes glided along Gloria’s stunning gown of shimmering turquoise. It complemented her auburn hair and whiskey-brown eyes. She was in her forties or early fifties, Bonnie guessed, and Jack was about the same. Gloria’s face was taut, with a high forehead and arching brows. The expression on her face looked as if she smelled something odorous in the air, her nostrils slightly extended, her head tilted back.
“So, I finally get to meet your latest interest,” Gloria said to Paul, her right arm cocked at the elbow as she floated a cocktail in her hand. “She’s better looking than the last one, Paulie.”
Jack reached for Bonnie’s hand. She felt his limp fingers in her palm. “Miss Cooper, don’t listen to a thing my wife says,” he interjected. “Not everyone appreciates her sense of humor.”
“Sense of humor?” Gloria retorted. “Why, I’m merely stating a fact.”
Paul winced slightly and slid his eyes toward Bonnie. “Bonnie’s originally from New York City,” he said as if to change the subject. “She’s only recently moved here.”
“Really? How wonderful,” Jack replied.
Bonnie leaned toward Paul. “Would you get me a Manhattan, please, with an extra cherry?”
Paul gave her a skeptical look, as if hesitant to leave her alone with the couple. “Certainly,” he said and disappeared.
Gloria sipped on her cocktail. “New York? Why on earth would you come to dreary Omaha? I’d trade Omaha for New York any day.”
Bonnie smiled and considered the couple. “I left for personal reasons,” she said with a flat tone, as if to indicate she wasn’t open for questions.
“Ah,” Jack said with a knowing nod.
“Personal or not,” Gloria said, swirling her drink in its glass, “I would have chosen a city with a bit more cosmopolitan feel than Omaha. Chicago, for instance, or, heaven forbid, even Los Angeles.”
Bonnie gave Gloria a disarming smile. “Well, my parents were originally from here, so it seemed like a good place to start over.”
“And why would a young thing like you need to start over? Why, you’ve barely begun to live—”
Jack cleared his throat. “Gloria, don’t pry,” he said somewhat under his breath. “Let the girl be.”
Gloria shrugged one shoulder and sipped her drink. “I’m just interested in who Paulie’s interested in.”
Paul arrived with two Manhattans, one with an extra maraschino cherry. “Here’s to the end of the war in Europe,” he said, handing the drink to Bonnie. “And may victory be won in the Pacific very soon.”
Bonnie tapped her glass to his and smiled. “Here, here.” She smiled and sipped the cocktail. She turned her eyes back to Gloria. “I was married,” she continued. “My husband was killed in the war. I wanted to leave New York—start over.”
Jack looked down at his shined shoes. “Now see?” he said, casting his gaze to his wife. “You’ve made her bring up unpleasant memories.”
“No, it’s all right,” Bonnie said to put Jack at ease. “I’m learning to live with it. Paul has been a darling about it, really. Very patient,” she said, placing her hand on his arm.
Paul blushed and took a sip of his drink. Gloria ran the tip of her tongue over her coral-colored lips. “How very gallant of you, Paul,” she cooed. “So unlike your other ventures, shall we say?”
Jack stepped in between Bonnie and his wife. He took Bonnie’s arm. “Allow me to introduce you to some of the others,” he said. Jack turned back to Paul as he maneuvered her away. “You don’t mind, do you Paul?”
Paul was left standing beside Gloria, his mouth agape, his eyes wide as the two of them mixed with the crowd. Bonnie looked at Jack, his salt-and-pepper hair thinning, but still adequate to cover his head. His eyes were a bit puffy, but she suspected they missed nothing beneath their heavy lids. “I must apologize for my wife,” he said quietly as he guided her across the room. “She speaks without thinking. Whatever’s on her mind just pops out.”
Bonnie offered a brief laugh. “I find it refresh
ing,” she said. “I like directness.” “Well,” Jack said with a smile, “then you’d be one of the few.”
Jack paused at a small cluster of guests and introduced Bonnie. They welcomed her, curious about the new girl in Paul’s life. She couldn’t help but feel as though she was on display, as if she was being judged by these strangers.
“I’m so happy to meet you,” said a woman with a pile of brunette curls hoisted high on her head. “Paul has spoken of you.”
Bonnie tried to hide her surprise by bringing the Manhattan to her lips for a sip. “Has he?” she asked. “I hope he’s been generous.”
“Not nearly enough,” the woman replied. “He said you were pretty, but I believe he understated the fact. You’re quite beautiful, Miss Cooper.”
Bonnie felt a blush creep up her neck. She wasn’t used to such comments. “Well, thank you.”
“And,” the woman continued, “he mentioned that you’re a singer.”
“Are you really?” Jack asked in amazement. “What sort of singer? Operatic or chanteuse?”
Bonnie wasn’t sure what a chanteuse was. She smiled and tried to settle the rolling in her stomach. “I sang with an orchestra back in New York.”
The woman swung her arm toward the piano. “You must sing for us, Miss Cooper,” she said with an eager smile. “This party could use some good entertainment.”
Bonnie held up her hand in protest. “Oh, no,” she said, her heart pounding in her chest. “I’m out of practice.”
“You must,” Jack insisted. “Please, sing for us.”
Bonnie felt her skin prickle and break into a fine sweat. She’d never sung publicly in her life. “It’s too presumptuous…I’d feel out of place…”
“Nonsense,” the woman said. “What better way for everyone to get to know you?” “It’s not every day we have a professional singer in our midst,” Jack said. “Come on, they’ll love you.”
Bonnie began to object again, but Jack took hold of her elbow and made his way to the piano. She felt her knees turn to rubber as she scanned the crowd for Paul. If only she could spot him, she might be able to get out of this.