“Bless her,” he said.
“Joe, have you met Milly Kincaid? She’s new to the island. Milly, this is Joe, our fearless ferry captain. He’s been running this ferry back and forth from the island to the peninsula for some thirty years.”
“Well, not this exact ferry. Started off as a rowboat, then I added a motor to it, then I got theArc—that one carried twenty passengers—then this one, theJoker, which can transport cars and passengers.”
“He’s an island treasure,” Sylvia said. “Youare, Joe, and so is your ferry, that’s why I bring you sweets every time I ride—to be sure you keep things moving.”
“No place I’d rather be than on this here ferry,” he said.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Milly said, noting his scruffy gray beard and the kindness in his eyes. “I’ve taken a ride with my children, but I think it was a younger fellow commandeering the boat.”
“Ah yes, my son Seymour.”
One of the cars honked its horn, and Joe scurried off to place the box of cookies in the cabin, then he went around to collect the passengers’ fares as they made the short crossing from the island to the peninsula, just in time to open the gate at the other end and let everyone off.
“See you on your return, Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Kincaid,” Joe called out.
“Will do,” Sylvia called back, giving him a small wave as they walked off the ferry, passing the Fun Zone and heading toward the Rendezvous Ballroom.
They arrived a little after 8PM,just as the band was starting to play. The parking lot was packed with cars, and Sylvia looked around, skittish, presumably looking for the man who’d been watching her at the party, but nothing seemed out of sorts. When they paid their dollar to get inside, Stan Kenton and his orchestra were taking the stage. Milly had heard him on the radio plenty of times but had never seen him perform in real life. He was a tall stork of a man, with long arms, awkwardly yet masterfully driving the orchestra.
The place was alive, crammed with people of all ages, though heavy on the young college and high school kids. Sylvia took Milly’s hand and pulled her toward the bar, where they ordered Mai Tais in coconut shells with a flower perched on the side. It had been a while since Milly had been around this kind of heaving energy. A trombonist played a solo, then Stan took to the piano. A crowd formed around a couple dancing the Lindy, and Milly couldn’t take her eyes off them, the way they anticipated each other’s moves and knew exactly how to respond to one another. They were so in tune, so perfectly synchronized, and she marveled at how they had learned to work together, knowing exactly what their partner might do in each situation. She began to wonder, how did she and Lloyd get so disconnected? In the beginning they had a connection, didn’t they? A partnership, a family they both wanted? Now everything seemed so foreign and forced, it was hard to imagine what they had once had.
When the song ended the crowd swarmed in again and caused her to spill a little of her drink. Everyone was dancing now, a staccato-style dance with much smaller steps.
“Ah, the Balboa,” Sylvia said.
“Balboa?”
“We have our own dance, compact and fast, so lots of people can squeeze on the dance floor at once. It started right here at the Rendezvous. Comeon.” Sylvia linked arms with Milly. “Let’s take a look around and see if we can get eyes on Judith.”
Milly followed Sylvia in and out of the swaths of Hawaiian-clad dancers in the cavernous space. Tabletops were decorated with pineapples and other tropical fruits. Some people wore flower leis around their necks. A few girls even wore their swimsuit tops with full, Hawaiian skirts. After a while Sylvia spotted Judith and her friends near the stage and stopped Milly in her tracks so they could observe. They seemed to be having a whale of a time laughing and swaying to the music. Judith was talking to a boy about her age, but it all seemed respectful and suitable, and Milly felt intrusive spying on them like this. Judith seemed like a lovely girl, she thought, polite and responsible and the double of her mother.
“Let’s sit at the bar for a bit,” Sylvia said and ordered another round of Mai Tais. Two couples that she knew from the club approached and joined their group.
“Where’s Walt?” one of the men asked. “Cutting a rug on the dance floor?”
“Not without me by his side,” Sylvia said. “He’s home, a little under the weather.”
After the second drink Milly was feeling flush and happy, maybe a little tipsy too, and she excused herself to go to the powder room. On her way back through the crowds someone touched her on the shoulder.
“Hey, Milly!” It was Wes and all of his friends.
“Hello, boys,” she said. “Having fun?”
“The best time. Can’t beat the music.” His face was glowing, a slight sheen from the warmth in the room. Some of the others, Mickey and Luke, were talking to a group of beautiful young girls, and there was such a youthful innocence about it all that made Milly smile. It seemed like just yesterday that she had been that young and wide-eyed, hopeful and excited for all that was to come.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Wes asked.
“Oh Wes, you don’t have to do that,” Milly said. “I’ve already had two.”
“I insist.” He took her hand, a strangely personal thing to do, Milly thought, and yet it sent a surprising thrill through her. He guided her toward a bar near the back of the ballroom. It was less crowded back there and, she justified, it was difficult to weave through the crowds. At the bar he dropped her hand. “What are you drinking?”
“Mai Tais,” Milly said. “Probably too many.”
“No such thing,” he said.
They took a seat at the bar while the bartender mixed their drinks.
