OCTOBER 1967
Groovy was the “vibe” at the Starlight tonight. From the bell-bottoms and long hair to the USA and USSR outer space treaty to the music where the Beatles reminded everyone that all we need is love.
Spike, who’d just taken over the Starlight’s concession business, had grown out his afro and sideburns, and wore bright colored bell bottoms.
Manning the ticket booth, Tuesday watched over her kingdom,dressed pretty hip for a gal of her age, wearing an orange-and-pink polka blouse with brown slacks and Keds. Out on the floor, her new gal, Darcy, got after a couple of hoodlums who crashed one another into a corner.
It seemed to Tuesday that kids today were angsty and full of themselves. Baby boomers, they called them. Every day she heard stories of how this younger generation made their demands, expecting more for less.
With sound systems replacing the Wurlitzer for skating music, Dirk played for churches and social gatherings. He’d amassed quite a fan base along the North Florida coast and lower Alabama. Tuesday still had him come in on Monday and Thursday mornings for the older crowd.
Back to the young ones. The war in Vietnam made them angry. Their parents made them angry. It seemed they longed for something more meaningful than the old traditions and a steady paycheck. When they found no answers, they smoked weed, snorted cocaine, and gathered en masse for the Summer of Love.
The airmen from Eglin still called the Starlight their home away from home and raced around the rink like daredevils, doing backflips and leapfrogging over each other. She saw LJ in all of them. He’d been gone twenty-seven years, but she missed him like it was yesterday.
The British government recognized his contribution to the war with the Distinguished Flying Cross. Leroy also earned a few medals posthumously. She added them to the collection he’d amassed from the first world war.
From the stories she’d heard over the years, Leroy had landed smack in the middle of a fight when he hit the shores of Normandy. The letter she received from his commander said he died while taking out a hill of Germans. Well, didn’t that sound like her man.
She missed him. Not in the everyday way. She’d lived so much of her life without his presence. She missed the anticipation ofseeing him, of hearing his voice. Sometimes while standing at the kitchen sink, she’d glance up, expecting to see him. But it was nothing more than a phantom memory. With all the goings-on in the world today, she’d sure like to hear his opinion.
In his honor and LJ’s, the boys from Eglin skated for free, and Spike gave them half off. On this particular Saturday afternoon, the rink was full of young men in their jumpsuits or jeans and a button-down, demonstrating why they’d been selected to fly. One young man in particular, Gene, showed up at the Starlight every spare moment.
“Evening, Miss Tuesday.” He set his skates on the front desk and looked toward the rink and his fellow aviators. “Boy oh boy, this place reminds me so much of my rink back home.”
“So you’ve said.” Gene was a repeater. Told his stories over and over. But Tuesday didn’t mind. She hoped some British mama had listened to her son talk about home all those years ago. Gene’s ruddy cheeks and peach-fuzz mustache told her he was probably LJ’s age when he ran off. “I know your mama is proud of you.”
The music changed from the Four Tops to Simon & Garfunkel. “Everybody’s feeling groovy.” A half dozen airmen lined up to sling one another from the back of a line to the front. From the lobby, a group of teen girls with bright blue eye shadow, pink lips, and hair teased to the ceiling entered with their skates dangling over their shoulders by the long laces.
The session only had an hour left, so Tuesday charged them half price, then tapped Dominic, the kid who spun the records, to keep an eye on the ticket booth.
Back in the office, she straightened her desk, inspected a pair of old skates, and accepted a hamburger from Spike.
“I was thinking of replacing the tables and chairs, Tuesday.”
“It’s your concession, Spike. Let me know if I can help.”
Burt, who now only worked part time, brought in the mail and gave a little hip swing to the start of Little Eva’s “The Loco-Motion” on his way out.
Seeing how the mail consisted of bills, she opened her accounting ledgers and fished the checkbook from the bottom desk drawer. Might as well pay the piper.
She’d just written the last one when Dupree came in with ten-year-old Matty and dropped a manila envelope on her desk. Matt gave her a big hug, then grabbed his skates from the cupboard.
“Can he stay with you tonight, Ma?” Dupree said. “I’ve got to finish up a job in Fort Walton tomorrow, and I want an early start.”
“Of course he can, Dup. Anytime. Matty, I saw Booker on the floor a few minutes ago.” He shot out of the office, skates clattering. “Two peas in a pod, those two.”
“Yeah, they’re good buddies.” Dup kicked out the chair in the corner and sat with a thump. “You think I should find a girl to marry, Ma? Give him a mother?”
“What about the gal you took to dinner last week?”
“Eh,” he said with a shrug. “She was sweet. Pretty. But not Mimi.” He cut her a grin. “Or you.”
“Well, you’re going to have to cast a wider net than Mimi and me, Dup. There’s a gal out there for you. Until then, we’re getting along all right, aren’t we? The three of us.”
“Sure, but I think Matt feels it, you know? That the other boys have a mother, and he doesn’t.”
“He has a mother. She’s in heaven.” She held up the manila envelope. “Now where did this come from?”
