Rosa and Gloria didn’t have to wait long on the fringes before being approached by two good-looking fellows dressed in plain plaid button-downs and cotton slacks which were cuffed at the ankles and showed glimpses of pairs of colorful dress socks. One of them spoke for them both. “Would you ladies like to dance?”
Rosa held up her satchel. “I’m sorry, but I have my kitten with me.” She turned to Gloria, trying to assess her cousin’s eagerness to dance. The way her feet were tapping, Rosa thought she could safely assume she was ready to twirl. “You go ahead.”
Gloria linked arms with one of the men and the other took his leave. Rosa felt bad that he hadn’t bothered to ask either Joyce or Pauline to dance. Only a second later, Joyce proclaimed, “I’m going for some lemonade,” and headed for a nearby stand. Rosa hoped Joyce hadn’t sensed her pity.
Mick and the Beat Boys rang the first note of “That’ll Be the Day”, and many of the dance partners changed. Gloria disappeared into the fray, and Marjorie spun into the middle with a new partner, a shorter man in a trim short-sleeved cotton shirt, summer slacks, and a pair of leather shoes.
Music was Rosa’s enemy! All the lyrics of the most popular songs seemed to apply to some point and time in Rosa and Miguel’s short but emotional romance. You say you’re going to leave, you know it’s a lie, cuz that’ll be the day when I die.
Rosa had left, but Miguel hadn’t died.
“That’s my brother, Henry,” Pauline said, pulling Rosa out of her reverie.
Rosa blinked and focused on the movement on the dance floor. “Which one?”
“He’s dancing the jive with Marjorie.”
Rosa admired the quick-footed work performed by each partner as they held hands loosely, breaking apart and coming together again on the beat.
Clearly, they’d danced together before. “Oh, are they sweethearts?”
“No, no,” Pauline said quickly. “He’s too old for her.”
Rosa hummed, thinking that she’d heard that one before, but said nothing.
Pauline wistfully added, “The jive is my favorite dance, I think. It looks like such fun.”
Rosa agreed. “Especially if you have the right dance partner.”
Inexplicably, Rosa’s gaze shot back to Miguel. She pinched her eyes and shook her head as if that would help rid it of unwanted thoughts. Unbidden, her mind went to a time when she and Miguel had danced hand in hand to Vera Lynn singing the 1943 hit “We’ll Meet Again”. The rich sounds of brass instruments in the orchestra added to the emotions behind Vera Lynn’s husky voice, “Don’t know where, don’t know when…”
Finally, and blessedly, the music stopped. Rosa’s friends separated from their dance partners and made their way over, bringing Rosa a welcome distraction.
Nancy motioned to her husband. “You remember Eddie.”
Rosa smiled. “Of course. Nice to see you again.”
“You haven’t changed a bit,” Eddie said, arms wide and beckoning. “Give us a hug.”
Rosa held in her dismay and leaned in to Eddie sideways, keeping her shoulder to his chest. Eddie wore round glasses and was thicker around the middle than she remembered, but his gray shorts and baby-blue button-down matched Nancy beautifully, and they looked good together.
Marjorie spoke in a loud whisper that commanded the ladies’ attention. “Ooh, did any of you see who’s working on the boardwalk now?” She punctuated two names that Rosa recognized. “Victor. Boyd.”
Victor Boyd, more than anyone Rosa had gone to school with, had been a memorable character. When she had first arrived in Santa Bonita in 1941, she’d had a difficult time making friends. Many of the other kids thought her accent was strange, and the war had made everyone, even children and youths, suspicious of anyone different. She’d been an immediate outcast.
An outcast himself, Victor Boyd had come to Rosa’s defense. Rosa would never forget how he had stood up to the other students and told them to stop mocking her accent. He didn’t seem to care when the bullying turned to him instead.
“Remember when we were supposed to be on blackout, and he started to flash the lights in the classroom?” Joyce said.
“Oh, and the way he used to sabotage my parts count at the aircraft plant,” Nancy added. “I’d end up assembling only half of the daily quota and getting in trouble for it?”
During the war, the older girls had all worked together after school at the local aircraft plant. Nancy had been the most adept by far at assembling parts and rewiring components.
Giddy laughs erupted among them as they shared stories. Rosa thought it odd to hear the lighthearted lilts to their voices. In reality, it had been such a bleak time.
After taking a long gulp of her lemonade, Joyce added, “But Pauline had it the worst.”
“He teased you about being a tomboy, huh, Pauline?” Nancy said.
Rosa recalled how Pauline had come to classes in overalls and baseball caps, while the rest of her female classmates wore dresses, stockings, and matching Mary Janes. Pauline’s mother had passed away around that time, and her father—a well-respected mechanic and weapons expert—didn’t quite know how to take care of his only daughter. He died tragically as well, and his death had made headline news in Santa Bonita.
Pauline’s lip twitched, but she didn’t respond to Nancy’s comment. She kept her gaze glued to her hands, clasped at her waist.
Joyce missed seeing Pauline’s discomfort and continued, “He was always making jokes about offering you up for the draft.”
“Victor picked on me,” Gloria added sourly, “and I was just a little kid. He should pay for all the awful things he did.”
Marjorie motioned for the group to follow her. “Come on. Let’s go see. I wonder if he’s gotten fat and bald!”
A snicker emanated from the ladies as they jumped to follow Marjorie. Rosa checked on Diego, awake but playing with his cloth mouse, then feeling morbidly curious, followed the girls.
Away from
