Flygirl (16 page)

We hit the Avengerette at a slow moment. The building's certainly seen better days, but you could hardly tell with the music streaming from the doorway and the lights shining so bright.

“Ready, girls?” Patsy asks, straightening her skirt and primping her hair.

“As I'll ever be,” Lily says.

My eye falls on the WHITES ONLY sign pasted in the window. My stomach fills with butterflies. “Lead on,” I say, setting my jaw and swallowing my nerves. The back of my neck itches when we enter the door, but I don't let it stop me. I'm a white girl tonight. I'm a WASP.

No dogs come running and no one throws me out. My teeth unclench and I pause a moment to take it all in. The Andrews Sisters are crooning in three-part harmony on a record player set up on a corner table next to a small soda pop machine. Somebody must flip the records when they end. But it's smack-dab in the middle of “Dream a Little Dream” right now, and six or seven couples are swaying on the dance floor. I scan the little café tables hemming the dance area. Patsy does the same.

“My, my. Look at all the pretty boys,” she says with a predatory smile that reminds me of Jolene. I've never been to a dance hall before, or a bar. From the drab paint job to the scuffed tables, it's a lot less glamorous than I expected. “Whites only” isn't exactly a sign of quality, I guess. Jolene will get a kick out of that.

“They come in from all over, I hear,” Lily says. “Every base within a forty-mile radius. The WASP are very popular girls.”

“Not too popular, I hope.” It's our squadron leader, Audrey Hill, sitting at a nearby table with a group of senior girls. “Mrs. Deaton frowns on fraternizing too often with the enemy.”

“She means men,” one of the other upperclassmen says. She's a redhead with high-arched eyebrows. By the way she's decked out like a regular Rita Hayworth, I'd say she's looking to engage “the enemy” head-on.

“Girls, this is Randi, and this is Charlotte.” Audrey introduces us to her friends. Charlotte, who looks a little bored with the whole evening, nods and goes back to nursing her Coca-Cola.

“What's that?” Patsy asks.

“Rum and Coke,” Charlotte says with a drawl that sounds too soft for Texas. She taps a flask peeking out of her purse.

“Barkeep, three thirsty women with heavy tipping hands!” Patsy calls down to a fella standing by the Coke machine, flipping him some change. Before I know it, there's a bottle of Coke in my hand. “Don't worry, it's a virgin,” Patsy assures me. “See you on the dance floor, ladies,” Patsy tells Audrey and her pals. Lily and I share a look, but we both know Patsy is the leader tonight. She finds us a table with two servicemen, one with big teeth and the other so short that when they stand up to greet us, he looks like he's still sitting down.

“I'm Hank!” the big-toothed fellow says, and shakes our hands. “And this is Danny! We fly gunnery at Waco! We ship out next month!” Everything he says sounds like an exclamation. It makes me smile.

“I'm Lily,” she says, making her own introduction.

“And I'm Ida.”

Hank eagerly shakes our hands. “And who's your friend?” He offers his giant hand to Patsy. Patsy shakes his fingertips delicately.

“I'm just here to dance, flyboy. Can you shake it?”

“Boy, can I!” Big-toothed Hank hops up and whirls Patsy out onto the dance floor just as the record flips to some music that really swings.

Benny Goodman starts heating up his band. Lily looks at the dance floor the way I used to look at the clouds in the sky. “Harry and I used to dance at the Palladium every Friday night.” Even with her legs crossed, Lily's toe is dipping to the music.

I catch her eye and nod toward Danny, who is politely watching nothing in particular. Lily takes a deep breath.

“Excuse me, Danny. I know we've just met and it isn't proper for a lady to ask a gentleman first . . .” She pauses and we both glance at Patsy, whirling around the dance floor, not in the least bit worried about being a proper lady. Lily takes another big breath. “And I know you're shipping out soon and most likely are looking for some sort of romance, but—” She holds up her diamond engagement ring. “I'm engaged, you see, but I'd like it awfully much if you'd care to dance with me.”

Danny's eyes seem to refocus. He looks at Lily like he's seeing her for the first time.

“I'm married, just last week,” he says excitedly. “As long as we're both taken, I guess it's okay.” He stands up and he's exactly Lily's height.

“Hank dragged me here looking for a little fling, but I told him I'm not interested. Not when I have my Annie. But it would be swell to dance before the night is over.”

“Really?” Lily's eyes sparkle. “Let's go!”

I can almost feel myself fade into the background as they hit the dance floor. I thought Patsy could cut a rug, but Lily's a regular Ginger Rogers out there. Danny's no slouch, either. The whole dance floor makes room as he flips Lily over his back and around again into a cuddle and a series of half-moons so quick I think she'll break her neck.

I have to admit, it looks like a blast. Lily could give Jolene a run for her money. With the whole shack watching the dance floor, I realize Melanie was right. Tonight is about celebrating. If I'd wanted to tell anybody about her washing out, now I simply don't have the heart.

Instead, I pull my stationery out of my purse and start my letter home.
Dear Mama,
I begin.
It's been too long since I've last written, but I do have good news. I navigated my first flight today, and I passed. If all goes well, I'll move on to intermediate training next month. With any luck, I'll be home after Christmas, and then I'll be assigned to a base . . .

My thoughts trail off. Someone is standing over me. Nancy Howard, from my barracks.

We've never been friends, not since that first day, but at least we're civil.

“Hey, Jones. Have you seen Michaels? She was supposed to meet up with us tonight.”

I open my mouth and close it again. “Uh, no.” I shrug. “Sorry.”

Nancy gives me a funny look, then smiles. “Okay. See you out there.” She jitterbugs back to the dance floor. I finish my letter home, then one to Jolene, telling her about the Avengerette. By the time I'm done, the lights are flickering on and off, announcing one more dance before the club closes.

It's only then that I realize Patsy and Lily never left the dance floor. They don't even look tired out there, although I see Patsy is no longer dancing with Hank. She's got her arms around the shoulders of some corn-fed redhead. He's smiling like he's struck gold, but Patsy only has eyes for the dance floor as she moves, dreamy-eyed, to the music.

“Excuse me. May I have this dance?”

I almost spill the last of my Coke. Instructor Jenkins is standing in front of me with his hand out.

“Instructor Jenkins, I didn't know you were here.”

He laughs. “How could you? You've had your head buried in that letter all night.”

I blush and fold my letters back into my purse.

“What do you say? Last chance to really celebrate.”

“I'm not allowed to dance with a—” I stop myself from saying “white man.” Jenkins raises an eyebrow.

“With an instructor?” Jenkins asks. I blush and remember Deatie Deaton's bylaws. Something about fraternizing with the instructors . . . I hesitate. The rules of the South don't apply to Jonesy, I remind myself, but Mrs. Deaton's bylaws do.

“Don't worry, Miss Jones, I'm off duty.”

I don't move. He might be an off-duty instructor, but am I off duty as a colored girl? His hand is still outstretched, reaching for mine. I think of my mother's warnings—is this the line she told me I might cross?

The moment's stretched so long I feel awkward saying no, even if it's the wrong answer. Besides, it's just one dance. If I stick to my charade, what harm can there be in it?

“Well, all right.” His warm hand closes over mine. I follow him to the dance floor. I've never held hands with a white man before. In the South, even in the U.S. Army, this dance is all but illegal. There's a strange thrill in knowing it. Is this how Stevia Johnson felt when she went on the first date with her white boss?

“Cold hands,” Instructor Jenkins says. “Warm heart.”

I laugh, and I know it sounds nervous for too many reasons. You're white now, Ida. And never mind Stevia Johnson. It's just one dance. “I'm afraid I'm better at flying than dating—I mean, dancing.” I blush at my mistake. I'm not looking him in the eye, but he doesn't seem to notice. They never play fast songs when you need them.

“I see what you mean.” He laughs. “You like to lead.”

“Is that it? I thought I just had two left feet.” I look over his shoulder to find Lily and Patsy staring back at me over the shoulders of their own partners. I start to feel sick, like the whole world can see what's going on. Instructor Jenkins is a nice fella, but he's a teacher. And he's twice my age. Even if he wasn't white, which he is, I don't even know his first name.

“Walter,” he says.

I practically jump out of my skin. On top of all of it, he's a mind reader, too. “What did you say?”

“My name. You said you didn't know my first name. It's Walter. Walt.”

“Oh.” I flush hot and tingly. What else did I say out loud? I wonder. I keep my mouth shut for the rest of the dance, concentrating on ignoring the gawking faces of my friends and every other flygirl in the place. Why, oh why did he have to ask me to dance? He's an instructor, soon to be
our
instructor. I'm never going to live this down.

Mercifully, the song finally ends and everyone claps, as if the record player was a real live band. MPs did not come crashing through the door. The local lynch mob hasn't come to take me away, and I'm not dead yet from pure embarrassment.

“Miss Jones.” Instructor Jenkins shakes my hand. “Get home safely.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins . . . Walt . . . Jenkins.”

He's smiling, laughing at me, but he nods and lets me scurry back to my table. I grab my purse and stand there with my back to the room.

“What was that?” Patsy asks me as she disengages from her redheaded dance partner. He waves goodbye and leaves her alone with me.

“Nothing. Just a celebration dance.”

“I think it's illegal to dance with teachers.” Lily comes up to us, her forehead wrinkled with worry. “I heard they never even come here.”

“Illegal?” I repeat. My stomach sinks. “But I didn't do anything wrong.”

“Sure, honey.” Patsy's droll voice cuts through my thoughts. “You haven't done anything wrong. Yet.” She winks at me. “No wonder you scored so well on your test. He was grading you on your curves.”

My face flushes and I'm washed in a wave of guilt, over the dance, over passing, over the swim test I should have failed. I go from embarrassed to defensive in five seconds flat to hide my shame. “What do you know, anyhow? You're the one dancing with every man in the place. And we both know you'd still be flying over Buckhorn if it weren't for me, or worse, you'd be washed up and sent home like Melanie Michaels, so get off my case.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could turn them off, make the whole room go deaf. Patsy and Lily stare at me.

“What did you say?”

I close my eyes, but when I open them, they're still there, and a few other girls besides, Nancy among them.

“I thought you said you hadn't seen her,” Nancy says accusingly.

“I . . . I lied.” I sit down at the table. It's too late to put the cat back in the bag. “I'm sorry. She asked me not to say anything tonight. She wanted us all to have fun. Jenkins failed her, and she must've had more demerits than we knew about. She went home right before we came here.”

I look up at the girls around me. The look on their faces makes me sorrier than ever that I opened my mouth. Patsy sits down next to me, but her eyes are far away. “We were just teasing you, Jonesy.”

“I know. I'm just . . . It's a long story.”

Patsy takes my hand. “Hey, kid. Tell it to us sometime. It might help.”

I shrug. Any story I give them will only be part of the truth, unless I tell them everything. And even then they could never understand what it felt like, being a colored girl in the arms of a white man who could destroy me if he knew what I was. Overhead, the lights flicker on and off.

“Closing, ladies,” a man by the door announces. He jingles a ring of keys.