by Linda Ellen
A pretty girl with short dark hair, stationed at a table inside the door, smiled at the newcomers. “Welcome to the Louisville Service Club, gentlemen. That’ll be twenty-five cents each, please.”
The soldiers all began to dig in their pockets for a quarter, eagerly placing it in her hand and signing their names to the register.
“Have a good time. There’s plenty of food, soda, and coffee…and we’ve got some new girls to dance with tonight,” she added with a shy smile as Pfc. Makowski flashed his pearly whites and gave her one of his trademark winks.
“That’s swell, honey, ’cause I’m planning on knockin’ it out ’till the cows come home,” he declared with teasing assurance as he turned to make his way toward the large open room used as a dance hall.
“Cows is right, since you dance like a bull in a china shop,” Rooster called after him with good-natured teasing. Mack spun around, raised his hands to his forehead to resemble bull’s horns and let out a loud snort, before turning back around with a laugh and heading into the fun.
Gene watched him go and then met the girl’s eyes and grinned at the look on her face. “A man with a plan,” he needlessly qualified. Pvt. Ackerman snorted and mumbled, “Yeah, hope the showboat don’t crash and burn. My money’s riding on him, too.”
They made their way to the door of the dance hall as Gene laid an arm over Red’s shoulder. In a jovial mood, the serious sergeant teased, “Relax Ackerman, those new girls will be breaking their own rules and lining up to cut a rug with our Mack. It’s as good as in the bag.”
The private grinned over at him as the guys threaded their way to a spot near the wall where they could observe the action. The dance floor was packed with G.I.’s of all sizes and uniforms, dancing with girls in dresses of every color. The press of so many bodies was already making the room hot and the dance had just barely started. Gene reached up and hooked two fingers under his collar as the song ended and the band on the raised platform immediately launched into another Glenn Miller hit, In The Mood.
Within the first eight bars, Pfc. Makowski had a cute redhead in his arms and was sashaying to beat the band. Ackerman nudged Gene and leaned closer to shout over the music and noise, “Our boy’s off and running!” Gene nodded with a laugh as he watched the young, good-looking private really going to town, and perfectly in sync with the distinctive rhythm of the song. The girl in his arms was gazing up at him, totally enraptured as she followed his every lead. The look on her face suggested she thought he might be Tyrone Power’s younger brother.
After a few moments, Gene turned his attention to the band, watching as they mimicked the back and forth and up and down movements of the real Glenn Miller Orchestra’s trombones and saxophones while belting out the notes of the song, just like in the movie Sun Valley Serenade. He leaned toward another member of his platoon standing to his left. “Hey, those guys are really good!”
A young woman just in front of Gene turned and gave him a friendly smile. “That’s Johnny Burkhart and his orchestra,” she gushed enthusiastically. “Aren’t they just the Killer Diller?!”
Gene smiled back at her and nodded in agreement as the private next to him took the girl’s hand and pulled her a few feet into the press of dancers.
Looking once again at the band, Gene noticed their leader, tall and lean, with slick black hair and tanned skin, had a genuine command of his musicians and the music. Gene had heard about the somewhat famous local band and he could see that the accolades were not exaggerated. He watched until the band brought the song to its rousing conclusion, and the entire room erupted in appreciative applause.
“Whew, it’s hot in here,” Gene murmured to no one in particular, deciding at that moment to make his way to the far end of the large room where refreshments were offered. Before he moved away, he leaned to tap Pvt. Ackerman on the arm and order, “Keep an eye on our pot ’a gold.”
Ackerman whipped off a smart salute, with a side wink, and turned his head back to the dancers. Mack had already grabbed another girl, this one in a bright green polka dot dress, as the opening strains of the next song began in earnest. Gene watched them for a few bars before the other dancers obscured his view.
Gene began making his way through the edges of the crowd – a.k.a. soldiers without dance partners good-naturedly waiting their turns – toward the refreshment area. He smiled as he recognized the song, Woody Herman’s hip ditty, Woodchopper’s Ball. The dancers on the floor made time with good footwork as the clarinet really let loose. Man, that guy’s good. That band’s going places, that’s for sure. I wonder if they’ve written any songs of their own…
Turning his head and peering through the crowd, he caught a glimpse of Rooster being tapped on the shoulder as he jitterbugged with a tall blonde in a yellow outfit.
“Pardon me,” Gene mumbled as he broke through to the far side of the room where the press of bodies was much less concentrated. He took a deep breath and reached up to adjust his hat, which had accidentally been bumped in the crush. Not for the first time, he wished he had opted for wearing just his khaki uniform shirt and trousers, with his folding cap, like the rest of the guys, rather than the more formal, and very hot, jacket and billed hat. Maybe in a little bit, I’ll mosey on upstairs and play a few games of pool. From the looks of that dance floor, it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting a chance to knock it out with anybody anytime soon. “Ah well,” he mumbled as he made his way up to the refreshment counter. Guess I’ll leave the hoofing to Mack and Rooster. Several others were ahead of him and he had to wait his turn.
He smiled at the older woman behind the counter, figuring her for one of the chaperones.
She paused a second to assess the stripes on his jacket and quickly calculated his rank. “What’ll it be, Sergeant?”
“Something tall, wet, and cold,” he answered. She laughed and nodded as she fixed him up a tall glass of Coke and handed it over.
He took it and inclined his head in thanks as he stepped to the side and raised it to his lips, but paused as his eyes alighted on a vision in green heading his way…
CHAPTER 3
“Thanks, Miss,” the good-looking soldier mumbled as he released Vivian’s hand and raised his in a quick salute.
Vivian smiled sweetly at him and inclined her head with a murmured, “You’re welcome,” as the young man, whom she was amazed looked remarkably like a young Tyrone Power, turned away to find another willing partner just as the next song started up.
The air in the large room was heavy and smelled strongly of various perfumes, colognes, after-shave, hair tonic, and sweat. Her fingers reached for the handkerchief she had tucked into the belt of her dress, and tugged it loose, raising it to her face to dab at the perspiration. Whew, I’m glad Mary June advised me to keep a hanky with me – she was right, I feel like a wilted carnation already and I’ve only danced three songs!
She stepped back, gazing around for her friend as she tried to look inconspicuous, hoping another soldier wouldn’t ask her to dance for a few minutes so that she could catch her breath. My goodness…that last guy would win a dance contest on mere speed and stamina, not to mention technique. And his looks! I’ve got to find Mary June and see if she’s ever seen him before…
After a few moments watching the dancing and being unable to locate her friend, Vivian decided an ice-cold soda would hit the spot. Turning, she managed to wrangle her way back toward the wall through the press of bodies. “Excuse me please…pardon me…I’m sorry…”
She shook her head and smiled at a dozen soldiers and sailors on her way through, apologizing for being unavailable to dance for the moment, until she finally arrived at the refreshment counter.
“Hey sweetie, how’re you holding up on your first night?” Mabel Franks, one of the women behind the counter, asked as she handed a sailor a glass of iced-tea.
“Whew, I thought I was prepared, but good gracious, I’m bushed already,” Vivian grinned as she made her request.
Accepting
the glass of bubbly grape soda, she took a long swallow, closed her eyes, let her head drop back, and sighed in pleasure as the cool effervescence permeated her core. After a moment, she moved to the side and looked around for an out-of-the-way spot to rest, trying to make room as more people crowded up to the counter.
All of a sudden, her whole body jerked to a stop as her eyes met those of a soldier standing at the wall several feet away. She stood stock-still and just stared. Never had she seen eyes that shade of blue before, almost turquoise, like the sky on a bright summer day. They were beautiful, yes, but…it was more than just his eyes that arrested her. It was as if she had experienced an electric shock when their gazes met, and her heart sped up triple time. For an endless moment, the world fell away and all sound ceased. She couldn’t move or even breathe. He was watching her and with his glass two inches from his mouth, he nodded and his lips moved smoothly into a smile.
Then a sailor bumped into her and mumbled, “Sorry”, jostling her into awareness again. The music from the bandstand and the voices and laughter all around rushed back into her consciousness with a roar.
Within seconds, a space next to the soldier at the wall opened up and she found herself moving toward it, as if her feet had made the decision. Hazily, her brain was wondering what the heck was happening as she looked up at him.
Appearing to be in his mid to late twenties, he wasn’t overly tall, she judged maybe 5’10”, and what she could see of his hair, under his billed cap, was dark and military short. Those blue eyes held determination and intelligence, validating the sergeant stripes on his jacket. His eyelashes and brows were dark, his face and neck clean-shaven and tan, his chin firm, and his lips smooth and perfect. He was handsome, yes, but not overly so…not like the Tyrone Power look-a-like that she had just finished dancing with – but with that young man she had felt nothing but amazement that he looked so much like a Hollywood star. What, then, was this sensation she was experiencing with this soldier? Something akin to the electricity one feels in the air when a lightning storm is about to begin. The hair on her arms bristled.
He asked her a question, but she couldn’t hear his words. She blinked.
He tried again, and for a split second, she had the thought that he was experiencing the odd “lightning storm” feeling, too. This time, she heard his words. He had asked if she were feeling all right.
She blinked again and shook her head, suddenly frightfully embarrassed that she was acting like a complete dingbat, staring at him in rapt fascination as if she’d never seen a man before.
“Oh! Oh, yes. I’m fine…” she paused, racking her brain for words to string together that actually made sense. “I just got a little hot dancing a minute ago.”
He nodded and smiled, a trifle knowingly. “You were dancing with Mack, no wonder.”
Her brows puckered for a moment, wondering if she had missed something. “Mack?”
The sergeant’s eyes widened as if he had just blabbed troop movements, and he cleared his throat – at least she thought he did, the music and voices around them were so loud, she wasn’t sure – and then he mumbled, “Never mind,” as he looked away and quickly gulped half of his drink.
Gene swallowed the large gulp and raised a hand to absently rub the back of his neck, which was experiencing a strange tingling sensation. Glancing around for a moment as he tried to understand what was happening, his eyes were soon inexplicably drawn back to the girl at his side as he watched her sip her drink and allow her gaze to dart around the soldiers nearby. Then, she turned her head and met his eyes again. When she did, he was irresistibly drawn toward her, like a helpless piece of lint toward the static electricity of his wool jacket.
Her eyes – for a moment they were the hue of a pair of buckskins he’d had as a boy and the next they were golden brown, like warm, clover honey, the kind his family’s hives had produced.
He allowed his eyes to roam her face, damp with exertion, and immediately adored everything about it – her peaches and cream skin, her perfect lips and straight white teeth, her twinkling brown eyes, and her perky little chin. Her honey-blonde hair was alive with soft curls, and he wondered if they were natural or if she had used curlers like his younger sisters sometimes did. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he registered that she reminded him a bit of one of his favorite actresses, June Allyson – except that her voice was delightfully soft and smooth, and seemed to float across the space between them and slip effortlessly into his ears. Distractedly, he found it amazing that he seemed to have blocked out the noise and craziness around them and was able to focus solely on her, and he wondered if she was feeling the strange magnetism, too…
The stoic sergeant racked his brain to think of something to say to this young woman, and was aggravated that all of a sudden he seemed to have gone mute. Heck, he hadn’t been this tongue-tied that time he met and talked to General Patton out at the base! He’d noticed her dress and realized she had been the girl dancing with Pfc. Makowski a few moments earlier, and had almost blurted out about the bet! That would be a sure way to get us tossed out on our ears. Simultaneously, he felt relief that he had stopped himself before he said anything, followed by a quick, unexpected surge of jealousy that flooded his chest as he wondered, although she hadn’t known Mack’s name, if she had been taken in by those Hollywood matinee idol good looks.
He took another drink of his cola as he allowed his gaze to sweep quickly down her body, admiring her pretty green polka-dot dress. Normally, bright green wasn’t exactly his favorite color, but on her it looked wonderful. The soft short-sleeved tea dress with its button up, shirt style bodice and flared A-line skirt, perfect for twirling as she danced, accented her curves without being vulgar. It was that dress that had drawn his attention first, until the force of her gaze and her mere presence, had arrested his whole body.
Jumping Jehoshaphat, he hadn’t expected anything like this tonight! Or had he…he’d been feeling like “something” was in the air all day – could meeting her be it? But even as that thought flowed through his brain, he mentally shook his head. Surely a girl like her already had a boyfriend – maybe even a fiancé. If not, then Louisville is full of stupid, blind fools, that’s for sure.
“So…I’ve come to dances here a few times in the past…have you been coming long?” he asked, hoping she didn’t think the question lame. At least he hadn’t said the tired line, “Haven’t I seen you here before?”
She smiled softly and shook her head. “No…matter of fact, tonight’s my first night. I wasn’t sure what to…” she paused as several men in sailor whites crowded past on their way to the counter. “What to expect. My friend has been a junior hostess since the club opened, and she warned me it gets crazy. I just wasn’t ready for how crazy,” she added with a tinkling laugh that seemed to fill his chest and reverberate down to his toes.
“Your friend?” he asked, only vaguely keeping his thoughts straight enough to talk and actually make sense.
She took another long swallow of her drink and gave a nod, her eyes scanning the crowd as she searched for said friend. “Mmm, there she is, right in the middle, in the purple dress, dancing with the tall soldier,” she pointed and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Her name is Mary June…she’s a very good dancer,” she added, as if she were scrambling for something to say, much like he was.
“All the girls dance well…from what I’ve seen…” he murmured, trying to ignore the nearly overwhelming urge to lift a hand and touch her face or her hair.
Just then, one of the soldiers in his unit, Private Henry Gurke, shouldered by, while a swabbie came from the other direction, causing a jam. Pvt. Gurke lost his footing and stumbled toward them, causing Gene’s protective instinct to instantly flare, and he turned and placed his body as a shield between Gurke and the girl. The bumbling soldier’s weight fell against Gene’s back and caused his body to push hers against the wall as she let out a startled squeal.
Suddenly, the girl was looking up in
to his face, her open mouth rounded in surprise as he stared down into her eyes. They were so close, their bodies were touching from chests to knees; he could feel the heat of her, as well as her soft curves. He got a whiff of her pleasing perfume, and her breath sweetened by the effervescent cola. Her hands had immediately braced themselves against his chest, and the condensation from the soda glass she still gripped in her right hand began wetting his shirt where his unbuttoned jacket had parted, but he barely registered the cold. His hands, with his now empty soda glass, had automatically braced on the wall on either side of her head, and he could see in her eyes that she was acutely aware of the feel of his body pressing against hers. Their stance felt quite intimate. I wanted to get to know her better, but I sure wasn’t expecting this!
“Oh!” she gasped in surprise as he blinked his astonishment.
Do something, you idiot! Don’t just stand here crushing her against the wall – she’ll think you’re a masher of the worst kind!
“Pardon me, I’m sor…” he began, but was interrupted by a loud clearing of the throat from their left.
“None of that, now! Soldier…you’re a sergeant, you should know better than this,” Miss Warren barked as Gene hastily took a step back. The woman gave him a fierce look that would have wilted the toughest drill sergeant, and then she took the girl by the arm and began ushering her back toward the dance floor. As they moved away, he could hear the older woman saying, “Really, Miss Powell, I would have expected better…” the rest of her words were drowned out by the music and the band. Gene watched helplessly as the girl allowed herself to be propelled forward, but she did glance back at him for a split second, as if to let him know she wasn’t upset, that she knew he had only been protecting her from harm.
Quickly disposing of his empty glass, Gene followed along as the matron lead the girl back toward the dance floor. Miss Powell…her last name is Powell…I wonder what her first name is…