“Kitten, Daddy always comes back,” he said, rocking her a bit.
“Ma will take care of her. We have to get going, the taxi is waiting.” Jelka flicked her watch. “She’s just tired.”
Ozzie gave Katja one more cuddle and then handed her to Maria, who cooed into their daughter’s ear. Ozzie looked back, and Katja with her wet face was reaching for him. It broke his heart to leave her so distressed, but he closed the door behind them, telling himself that she would peter out the moment they left her sight. But as they climbed into the taxicab, he could still hear Katja’s high-pitched wail for him: “Noooooo, Da-da.”
Jelka insisted they try a new nightclub that had just opened a few blocks from the Federal Eagle Club.
“It’s your birthday, and I feel like dancing,” she whispered before licking the soft spot behind his ear that made him weak for her. When they exited the taxi, Ozzie wrapped a protective arm around Jelka as they walked toward the neon sign that flashed “Soda Club.”
“You know I can skip the dancing.” He fingered her hair. It had been months since they had visited the rooming house, where they could be free with each other, instead of the quick humps in her parents’ living room.
“There is time for both,” she said, leaning into him and pressing her lips to his chin.
Inside the club, the hallway light flickered on and off, and the space was so narrow they had to walk in single file. Ozzie could hear “Rum and Coca-Cola” by the Andrews Sisters playing as they entered the horseshoe-shaped room. The dance floor spilled over with swaying bodies. He scanned the crowd: The patrons seemed to be more German than American. Then he spotted Morgan and Satchel. Morgan was the first to see him and raised his hand in greeting before patting Satchel, who waved.
“I invited them to celebrate with us.” Jelka squeezed Ozzie’s hand and then led him to the dance floor to meet his friends.
Satchel and Morgan clapped his back. “Happy birthday, brother.”
“Thank you.”
“First round on me,” Morgan said, grabbing the barmaid and whispering, “Four shots of vodka, please.”
After two dances, Ozzie leaned into Jelka. “I gotta take a leak.” She nodded and made her way off the floor.
While Ozzie washed his hands at the bathroom sink, he caught his reflection in the mirror. Man, this was twenty-two. Gone was that wet-behind-the-ears look that he’d had two and a half years ago when he had first reported to Kitzingen for training. So much had changed. He was a father; he had Jelka and a few dollars in the bank. While he didn’t have it all figured out, one thing was certain, he was a grown-ass man.
When Ozzie walked back into the club, he couldn’t find Jelka. He looked on the dance floor, then to the tables against the wall. Finally, he saw her at the edge of the bar, standing next to a tall blond manwho leaned in much too close. Jelka turned her face in disgust, but the blond man didn’t catch the hint. Heat spidered up Ozzie’s neck as he crossed the floor in a few wide strides. He slipped between a couple and came up on the left side of the man.
“Come on, pretty lady,” the blond man pleaded. His voice was Southern, and his hair was cut close, signaling to Ozzie that he was an American and military. “Let me show you a good time.”
“I am with someone.” Jelka took a step back, prompting the man to step closer.
“You can dance with that uppity nigger all night, but you won’t give me one dance?” he puffed.
“Please, go.” Jelka turned, but the man grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t be like that.”
“The lady said no.” Ozzie stepped up, placing himself between Jelka and the man.
The blond man snickered. “Fuck off, George.”
“That ain’t my name, and this here is my date. So you fuck off.” Ozzie shot the words from between his teeth.
The blond man looked around, seemingly for backup, but it was just the two of them squared up. His laugh was chilling. “You niggers over here running ’round like park apes. You know better than to touch a white woman.” His nostrils flared. “?’Less you find yourself hanging from a tree.”
Sweat broke out across Ozzie’s forehead. “Take your Jim Crow bullshit and go somewhere with that mess.” Ozzie stared the man down.
“You don’t know who you’re talking to,” the man spat. “If I was you, I’d watch my mouth. Boy.”
“Boy” bounced from the top of Ozzie’s head and landed at his feet. He was sick and tired of these white dudes trying to keep their foot on his neck. Before he could stop himself, he shoved the man.
“Better back up with that dumb shit,” Ozzie said.
Jelka grabbed his arm. “Osbourne. Let’s go.”
The blond man snickered again. “You better listen to yourAmihussy—Osbourne, is it?”
