“Well, hold on, I might be able to find one.” She’d seen a few of the boys from the cottage stand out in the back alley and smoke from time to time, so she walked across the yard and knocked on the door.
“Oh gosh, sorry to bother you,” Milly said, looking away when one of the young men opened the door in his underwear.
“For Christ’s sake, Mickey.” Wes rushed to the door to take Mickey’splace and pulled the door closed behind him. “I apologize for him, he’s… we’re getting dressed to go to dinner.” Wes was in athletic clothes and had a deep V of sweat down his T-shirt. When he caught her looking at it, he placed his hand on his chest. “Sorry. I suppose none of us are all that presentable.”
“Oh. No, sorry.” She did a quick calculation: First he paddled around the island, now he’d done what? Gone running? “I was just wondering if you maybe had a cigarette to spare.”
“You know”—he raised an eyebrow—“I read a study recently that smoking might not be all its chalked up to be.”
“Well, it’s good for nerves, and that’s all I care about, but anyway, it’s not for me, it’s for my friend.”
“Oh, well in that case, I think Johnny has a pack, and Mickey too.” He stepped away from the door and came back with a cigarette and book of matches.
“Thanks, Wes, I appreciate that,” she said, and she walked back into her house. She set a crystal ashtray on the table and handed Sylvia the goods. She lit it right away and inhaled deeply.
“What’s so desperate?” Milly asked, joining Sylvia at the table.
“Oh, it’s nothing urgent,” Sylvia said, but Milly didn’t quite believe her. She had an edge to her; she wasn’t her usual calm self.
“You said it was desperate times,” Milly said.
Sylvia waved away the comment and the smoke unfurling from her cigarette. “I have a favor to ask of you.” She hesitated. “I was just wondering if you could ask your sitter, Leticia, to watch your children Friday night.”
“I could…” Milly said, “but for what reason?”
“I’m assuming Lloyd won’t be home to watch them, right?”
Milly sat up abruptly and suddenly wished that she’d asked Wes for two of those smokes. “Why do you say that?” she asked. How could Sylvia know about Lloyd? Had she started noticing his absence? Had she somehow found out about their arrangement, that their marriagewas in shambles, a farce? Maybe people had started talking after she’d shown up at Sylvia’s party alone.
“You said he was working lots of late nights?” She put her hand on Milly’s arm. “Milly, it’s fine, it’s normal; men have to work.”
“Oh yes, a lot of late nights and early mornings,” she said as calmly as possible, but her mind had already begun to race. If Sylvia, of all people, caught on to the fact that she and Lloyd were living as occasional roommates rather than as man and wife, surely the whole town would find out. Sylvia knew everyone.
“It’s just that Judith, as you know, loves music, and she thinks that the Rendezvous Ballroom is just ‘coolsville’—they’ve got all the hot acts coming to town for Bal week—and she’s absolutely desperate to go.”
“Will you let her?”
“How can I not? She’ll despise me if she’s the only one of her friends who doesn’t get to go, but I don’t want her getting in with some greaser, you know?”
Milly looked at her and squinted. “Are you sure that’s what you’re worried about?”
Sylvia’s eyes widened. “Of course it is.”
“Does this have anything to do with that man hanging around your party?” Milly asked.
Sylvia took a deep breath and cradled her head in one hand, her cigarette shaking in the other.
When she looked up she looked fragile and breakable in a way that Milly had never seen in Sylvia before. “I’m worried, yes.”
“Who was he?” Milly asked.
“I don’t know, but I think it’s got something to do with Walter and the money problem.” Sylvia straightened up as if she knew she’d said too much. “So, will you go with me? To the Rendezvous?”
“I don’t know, Sylvia. I want to help but I’m a mother of two. Won’t the place be crawling with eighteen-year-olds?”
Sylvia forced a laugh. “It’ll be a bash, I promise. It’s not just the youngkids who go; everyone loves to go dancing there. I just need to keep an eye on things, and I can’t go alone.”
“What about Walter?”
Sylvia stared at her cigarette. “He’s been a little under the weather,” she said, bringing the cigarette to her lips and taking a long drag. “Come on, Milly, that’s what friends are for, right? I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”
Milly nodded. Sylvia was right: She had been such a good friend to her in her short time on the island, and besides, a night out on the town might be fun.
“All right, I’ll go with you.”
“Thanks, Milly.” Sylvia stood up and hugged her tightly. “You’re a doll, you really are. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
