“If they do, they’re late,” Stacy agreed. She hammered a nail onto the wing, securing the fabric. “Speaking of showing up, are we going dancing tonight?”
“What kind of question is that?” Dash asked. “It’s Wednesday night. That’s what we do. I hope they bring that band back.”
Stacy hit another nail. “Men are lousy to work with, but dancing without them is no fun at all.”
After work, and after a quick bowl of Mrs. Simmons’ surprisingly delicious tomato soup, Dash stepped into her polka dot skirt and swiped a little red on her lips. Dash loved working on planes, but she might have loved being a girl just a tiny bit more.
The Elks Hall was already hopping by the time the girls arrived, crowded with local mechanics, soldiers, and pilots on leave.
“Looks like the whole town is here tonight,” Stacy bellowed into Dash’s ear. She pointed at a couple doing a wild jitterbug in the middle of the floor, in front of a band. “Gosh, they’re good.”
All at once a familiar drumbeat filled the hall, and Dash’s black-and-white Oxfords started tapping.
“?‘Sing! Sing! Sing!’ I love this song,” Stacy exclaimed, rocking her shoulders to the rhythm. “You gonna show us how it’s done, Dash? You sure can dance.”
“Depends on who’s asking,” Dash yelled back.
From out of the crowd emerged a couple of young dandies, their dark hair slicked back. They wore wide legged trousers, button-down shirts, and cocky smiles.
“I bet they’re from the No. 102 Army Basic Training Centre here,” Stacy said into Dash’s ear.
The one with suspenders gave Dash his full attention. “Whadda you say? You two gonna bump gums all night, or are you looking to cut a rug?”
How could she resist?
“Let’s see if you can keep up,” she sassed.
One hand on his shoulder and the other in his, Dash flew around the room, having a ball. Her dance partner swung her out then spun her back, and her skirt flared in a dazzling polka dot circle. She kicked up her heels until she was dizzy and sweat rolled down her face. When the song ended, he kept one arm cinched around her waist.
“I’m heading out for a cigarette,” he said, dark eyes still dancing. “Care to join me?”
She stiffened, then she instantly got annoyed with herself. This was a dance, she reminded herself. The whole point was to meet people and have fun. And yet when she looked at this likable fellow and read the invitation in his eyes, all she thought about was Jim. Dancing was one thing. She wasn’t interested in anything else.
“No thanks,” she replied with a smile. “But thanks for the dance.”
“You sure? Can I buy you a drink then?”
If only she didn’t feel this knot tightening in her stomach. He might have been fun. “I’m a dancer, not a dater,” she told him, and yet she was aware of her own regret as she said it. “Any time you want to dance like that again, come find me.”
Stacy waited for her at the side of the room. She held out a glass. “You look like you could use this.”
“What is it?”
“Sidecar. Bartender knows how to make a good one.”
While Dash gulped down the icy drink, grateful for the break, she watched a tall young man walk past. His blond hair was razored short, and his uniform was a muddy brown. It was impossible for Dash not to think of Gus. Especially here. Gus loved to dance. He’d written her only once since they’d bumped into each other on that snowy night, then his correspondence had stopped again. Dot hadn’t heard from him, either. When Dash had told her she’d seen him just before Christmas, she’d sounded crushed to have missed him.
Dot would never have come to a dance like this, she thought. Too many people, too much noise, too much smoke. Instead, Dash would have found her in their bedroom, reading. Or scribbling in a crossword book.
She hesitated. Or would she? Dot’s letters lately, while rather boring overall, had a different tone to them. A confidence she hadn’t had before. She wrote about meeting people and making friends, even making them laugh on occasion. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if one day she wrote to Dash and boasted that she’d been to a dance?
If Dash walked out the door right now and saw her there, what would their conversation be like? Thinking about that possibility brought on a wave of sadness that she’d been trying to ignore. The truth was, Dash felt separate from her sister these days, and it was more than just distance. Sure, Dot kept up her end of the letter writing, but everything she wrote was very much the same. Her job sounded dull, and Dash felt sorry for her. She deserved so much better. Then again, if Dot spent all day typing, like she said she did, maybe her letters were boring because she was simply tired of writing after a long day. That made sense. If only the two of them could escape for a day and talk like they used to. She imagined Dot craved that, too.
“Hey! Why so blue?” Stacy asked, returning with another sidecar.
Dash gave her head a shake. What was she doing, feeling lonely in this crowd? “Not blue at all. Just thinking.”
“Thinking’s not allowed here. Didn’t anyone tell you that?”
