21: The Home Front

Summer School

After graduation Pamela and Sally had volunteered to help officiate the summer playground at the old annex to offset the shortage of counselors who had left for the war factories or armed-services.

The principal was delighted with the girls. Only once was she—the old principal had volunteered his services in the Intelligence Corps—called from her office when a little boy had sprained his ankle. Sally was particularly proud of her condensing all the neighborhood street games into one summer—from parachutes to tops. She taught the little ones how to wind kite string on a stick in a neat crossover pattern and how to aim their kites to fly over the school flag pole. To his relief the custodian only once had to climb the pole to retrieve a kite entwined round the pole. The children were genuinely mesmerized—as was Pamela— by Sally’s agate-shooting dexterity. She was instinctively on guard never to permit the little girls to drop their knees to the earth when shooting. When the children were depleted from the day’s play, she and Pamela would split them into reading groups in the school garden and have them read fairy tales and high adventures. But because Pamela and Sally were such magnificent oral interpreters, the children soon begged that they read to them all the time. Sally, while reading to her group, would somehow always manage to tune her third ear into the other group and drink in Pamela’s beautiful accent.

One bright day in this summer of 1944 while supervising a game of punchball and trying desperately to shake off radio reports on the First Marine Brigade’s landing on Guam, Sally looked across the schoolyard and noticed Mrs. Denelto with books in her arms coming toward her. Sally ran up to her and gave a hug. “Oh, how nice to see you Mrs. Denelto, after all these years!” Sally screeched out genuinely. “I was upset with myself for not dropping in on you when we last visited the ninth graders, but we had to rush to the grammar school immediately afterward to honor winners of a war poster contest.”

“Yes, this war makes machines of us all—oh, but what splendid, heartfelt machinery!” she sang. “Ah, youth!—all these years, is it?—like yesterday to me. And, oh my dear, the marvelous work you are doing...and to think it all started that year in my class—how gratifying! Oh, Sara, it is my pleasure to see you; and just as I would expect, here you are engaged in this useful endeavor.”

“How very kind,” Sally said, blushing and toeing out her tennis sneaker.

Denelto went on, “It’s so important these days for these children to have planned activity since so many would otherwise be home alone.”

Lifting her eye-lids, Sally focused on the texts and several copies of back issues of the New York Times. “I see you’re preparing for September’s opening already.”

“Oh, yes,...must be much more inventive these trying days—so much distraction, you know“ she replied with a heavy heart, tapping her finger on an old war headline....You know, I never did approve of the principal’s decision to put you in my class. It was cruel of Mr. Thomas to degrade you like that. In all fairness, it was the avenging pettiness of your grade school principal who was behind it....But I trust it wasn’t all that bad?” she added with a smile.

“Oh, on the contrary, Mrs. Denelto! I loved your class.”

She winked. “Johnny, you mean?”

Sally giggled. “Yes, I suppose that was it at the outset. But I would never have had the privilege of you as a teacher,...nor met Pamela. Really, Miss Denelto, it was learning in the true sense. Why, I even learned to enjoy those dreadful field trips Pamela coaxed out of you!” They both laughed. Then Sally added, “I like to think I became a better person. I never realized how difficult and even painful learning can be for so many students.”

“Ah, yes, yes indeed.” Denelto agreed. “And you were such a marvelous help to them—a veritable inspiration.” She spread a wistful smile.

Sally perked while turning momentarily to the garden. “Pamela too, don’t forget...and she was an inspiration to me.”

“Yes, lovely girl. She was a breathing omen....But tell me, hadn’t you helped Johnny in his studies since early childhood? You must have known then how difficult learning can be.”

“No, not with John. It was like teaching myself.” She smiled and added, “Perhaps it was painful to him and I just ignored it....I suppose I was wrong.”

“No, I shouldn’t say that...you two had a unique circumstance that I find enchanting. You have an artist’s temperament in you that Johnny accepted very early. With the other class members, however, I observed how patient and understanding you were. Of course, such attitude in overworked teachers is lacking—and all too prevalent, I fear—still, we do what we can....How is Johnny by the way? I noticed from the service list in the office that he’s been in the marines for sometime now?”

An argument broke out on the punchball court. Sally blew her whistle; instinctively she touched Mrs. Denelto’s shoulder as if in apology and ran over to the infield where two boys were fighting over the right to play shortstop. She took one of them gently by the arm and positioned him behind second base. “There, you are now officially the shortfielder.”

The little boy whined, “Aw, Miss Sally, there ain’t no such position.”

“You’re absolutely correct there is.” She beamed at him and he scratched his head over the perplexing answer. Sally returned, still smiling, thinking of her grammar lessons with Johnny. “Please excuse me, Mrs. Denelto, but as you are well aware discipline cannot be put off.”

“Indeed, one of the cardinal rules of teaching.”

“To answer your question—Johnny is doing well, thank God. What I mean, of course, he is surviving. It is frightfully upsetting to me. I simply cannot imagine what it must be like for him! This is his third or fourth battle.”

Mrs. Denelto’s jaw dropped. “Oh, my you don’t mean one is raging now!”

“Why, yes,...” She nodded grimly. An island called Guam. I read that a small marine garrison was wiped out there at the beginning of the war. I rather suspect, this landing will stir our men to revenge. I just hope they won’t be foolish about it.”

“Oh, my, you poor dear.”

“No, I don’t think of it that way anymore—used to. Now it’s poor John. I heard a chilling radio report this morning. I’m not going to listen to them anymore. I shall hold my breath.”

“I was about your age during the last one, but it didn’t seem to put the years on one as this one has put upon our youth—of course, its duration then was less for us. My, how all you children have grown up so!...What a brave little girl you are! Forgive me, dear, you are now a woman. On my way home, I shall stop off at church and say some prayers for Johnny and in behalf of all the other boys from my classes of the early years.”

Sally beamed with joy and surprise. “How very thoughtful! I thank you deeply.” But curiously she thought of Janie’s eternal flames for John, she learned through Bridget, and she could not help but flinch a little.

“Oh, Johnny was...is such a lovely boy. How he did struggle that last year—until the second half.” She winked again. “I imagine you had something to do with that, eh?” She shifted the material in her arms and started to leave.

“Yes, he did change, didn’t he?” Sally hugged her, vehemently suggesting, “Oh, you simply must see Pamela. She’s in the garden with the smaller children.”

“Why, yes, I suppose I should...oh, yes, I must.” Her eyes brightened with a turn of thought. “Whatever happened to that beautiful girl, you know, the redhead?”

Sally chuckled. “There’s only one to fit that description—Janie.”

“Yes, of course, Janette MacDowell! I expect to find her picture on the cover of a magazine one of these days.”

Sally was adept at covering her envy; she smiled and said, “She’s certainly gorgeous enough, but she has no interest in modeling. She’s seems content working in the bank with her father. She was an excellent student in commercial studies.”

“I’m glad to hear that she found her niche....She was always conscientious—studies were never easy for her. Are you two still as close as ever?”

“No,...what I mean is we are both busy in our own discrete endeavors. It’s not like the old days when we were virtually inseparable. Nothing is spontaneous anymore. It seems whenever we meet now it’s been scheduled.”

“Too bad...the penalty of growing up,...speaking of which, you have grown considerably and beautifully—you were such a tot then,” she said with a reminiscent glow and smile.

“Would you believe I’m almost an inch taller than Janie now?”

“My, I seem to recall Janette being an inch or two taller than you! Though with her being so petite, one never really noticed,” her eyes again lighted up as she assessed her recollection. “She was truly a sweet child....Well, when you do see her give her my love.” Sally nodded, her head bowed, lest her hazels glow green. The old teacher started for the garden, then turned. “Uh, how is Pamela taking it? Is her father still among the missing?”

 “You know Pamela—bravely, nobly. It may sound heartless, but in some cold corner, I think she is relieved that the allies are getting closer to the answer. She and her mother will know for sure. Still, I think I’d rather go to my grave thinking there was still some hope.”

“Perhaps, it is best that they know; they can get on with their lives.”

Sally watched her old teacher till she disappeared behind the school’s proud flowering shrubs. She turned round to look at her “Colossus“—it seemed so nondescript now—and sank into distant memories. An argument flared up at third base, breaking her musings. She bolted over to the warring party and ended it summarily by concluding that her decision to allow students to umpire was a mistake. She officiated the rest of the game, during which she would occasionally drop thoughts of Pam and how the table had turned since the invasion of Normandy and the inevitable confirmation of her father’s death would soon transpire. For months now Sally had desperately tried to cheer her up and to sustain her interest in the war effort. As a matter of fact she thought she had succeeded. Pamela had bounced back to her old self within a month. Gradually, however, she began to slip back into the doldrums to the point that now she seemed only to go through the motions out of her sense of honor and her debt to the friendly nation.

Later in the afternoon, soon after the punchball game was over, Sally herded her group together—getting them down from the monkey-bars, lifting them off the seesaws, urging them to put away the shuffleboard equipment—and led her charges into the garden to join Pam’s group for their customary reading session. When her group came upon Pamela’s group it was in disarray. They were running about their “victory garden“—Pamela had so painstakingly taught them to plant and cultivate—now trampling seedlings, breaking stems of those near fruition, and others picking flowers with abandonment or hanging from the younger trees. She looked about and saw Pamela sitting alone under a weeping willow. She turned her attention to the children. Shocked, Sally shrilled chastisement at them and they quickly froze in their activities.

“How dare you behave like horrid little animals! How dare you dishonor your country by destroying something so dear as a victory garden in these bitter times!”

The errant children began to sob and cry. One little girl with Zinnias in her hand ran up, tugged on Sally’s skirt for attention. Sally looked coldly at her.

“M-M-Missy Sally, I sorry,...th-the b-big ones m-made me.”

She brushed the little girl’s hands away, while yanking the flowers from her and tossing them into the violated victory garden. “That’s where they belong with the rest of the trash you have made out of your once proud vegetable garden—made with your very own hands so that the men in the war can fight for you without starving over there.” The little one ran and threw herself into the garden and cried profusely, convulsively, rolling under the broken cornstalks. The other little gardeners gathered round the devastation and began picking up supporting rods and sticks amid their sobs to straighten the plants. The little girl sat up and looked at Sally with sad eyes, then gathered up the Zinnias and held them up to her. Sally went over to her and gently took the flowers and hugged the distraught tot. “I trust then, Little Mary, you now know how naughty you have been?”

The child jerked repeated nods then managed to sob out, “Y-y-es, M-Miss S-Sally. And, and, and...n-never will I, I ever do...do it again, Miss Sally. I-I-d-didn’t mean to...to...make our sh...s[h]oldiers hu-hung[a]ry and m-mad at me.”

“Oh, now, Mary they aren’t mad, nor am I—just a little disappointed in you....Now, come, we shall put the garden back in order. You help Edna and Pauline with the tomato plants. String them carefully.” She turned to her group. “All right, children, are we going to show how we can help in this war by making our garden productive again? Gather round and carefully replant the seedlings. And be sure they are carefully weeded before you do. Just yell out if you need me, I must see to Miss Pamela.” She took aside one of the older boys of about nine years of age and showed him the garden hose. “Now, Ronnie, listen to me carefully. There is to be no silly nonsense with this hose. You must carefully, gently give each seedling a little drink. Our noble soldiers are everywhere watching you to see that you are responsible and can do the job right. So, you must promise me, Ronnie, that you will make them proud of you. I want to see them smile down on you for a most important patriotic job well done.”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am. I promise. I’m a cub-scout!” He beamed and unraveled the heavy rubber hose.

She patted him on the head and started to leave, then turned round, “Remember now, you are the captain of irrigation; no one else is to use the hose.”

He stuck out his chest and stood at attention with the nozzle at his side. “Yes, sirree, Miss Byron!” And he flashed a proud smile. She saluted him and continued down the gravel path to where, through the heavy veil of drooping foliage, she could see Pamela, contemplative, sitting against the tree, her chin on raised knee.

She parted the network of graceful branches and stepped into the dense shade. She kneeled beside her and stroked Pamela’s hair. “You frightened me, Pamela,” Her voice was tremulous. “At first I thought something terrible happened when I didn’t see you with the children. Are you feeling ill? You’re so pale; you really should be getting some sun.”

“No, dear Sara, I’m better now. Such a depressed feeling came over me. I simply had to get away.” When her sad blue eyes alighted on her, Sally could see that she had been crying.

“Goodness, I hope Mrs. Denelto didn’t bring it on.”

Pamela lifted her chin slightly from her knee. Her eyes flashed momentary life and she cracked a soft smile. “That’s the strange part. I felt so happy to see her. She along with you and John were so helpful that first year. I shan’t ever forget her.”

“Ah, yes, it was a happy year, wasn’t it? I mean, we did help you somewhat, right?—in relieving the pressure you had felt, not only in a new country, but in lifting the heaviness of your experiences—and, oh, at such a young age.”

“Yes, happy in the sense that I had met such fine new friends...but happy and sad that I was of the few privileged to have relatives here to spare me the awful times of my friends in Britain....” She gazed wistfully, then squinted through the drooping branches. “What are the children doing?...Not into mischief, I trust—I feel so bad I abandoned them.”

“They’re fine; don’t worry—sit here as long as you like.”

She reached out for Sally’s hand and squeezed it lightly. “Oh, Sara, I am so sick at heart. I thought I’d be strong.” She sighed heavily. “I suppose I am weary—sick of the heartbreak....Ironic, isn’t it?—my pep talk to you last year, ...or was it the year before?...trying to lift your spirits and here I am a sponge.”

“Oh, Pam, don’t be harsh on yourself. There’s no comparison. You have seen and lived it. I have been so very fortunate,” she said genuinely. “As I said, I really think you need a rest from all this....Combat fatigue—that’s what John would call it. Yes, I’m convinced you are exhausted. You should rest at least till Bernard opens.”

“Sally, I couldn’t do that and leave summer school to you. Besides it wouldn’t help; on the contrary, most of the time the children are good for me. They’re so innocent, so unscarred.”

“I’ll manage. I’ll snap Janie out of her perennial resistance to help me.”

“Oh, you mustn’t think that of Janette! Why, not a month past graduation and already she’s working full time at the bank, you know, and she still does her sewing and baking for the Red Cross and USO...among other...”

“Really? She still does that? My, she really has matured!...In any event, it will give you more time with your mother; she needs you.”

“Humph, she doesn’t seem to need me anymore.”

“I’m sure she does. It must be terrible for her. I know how empty John’s mother feels, still, over the loss of her husband—it seems ages ago....And now with Ray gone...”

“Yes, yes, the poor woman.”

“It is your father? Of course, so infantile of me. Yes, you had such hope before—there still may be no cruel stamp of finality, Pam. Don’t give up hoping. Oh, I’m so weak; I don’t even want to imagine the horror. But I do feel, Pamela, believe me I feel your hurt.”

She squeezed Sally’s hand again. “I know you do, you too know what it’s all about now. That is, the terrible blackness of waiting, hoping. Though buffeted by the oceans so that the immediate horror is not with us, the pain is the same. The pain of war is all in the family of fear.”

“I do hope I am not being trite. Sometimes when the words flow I fear that I am clutching at straws. Oh, Pamela, what else is there to do? We mustn’t ever turn off life!”

“You could never be trite, Sara,...no, not you.” Pamela glanced at her and lightly chuckled. “A little dramatic, perhaps.... But it is not as you think. Oh, you are so right, all these years...so grievous, realistically irrevocable, and yes I do have the wonderful memories. Right you are;... yes, in many ways my father still lives. And my main concern is the living. My mother, you see, has been devastated so long that lately she has taken on a bizarre manner that I fear to understand.”

“Heavens, what do you mean?” Sally shuddered, anticipating something grotesque as her own mother’s behavior before the mirror that dreadful Sade Thompson night. Pam just shook her head and would not pursue it. Sally raised herself lithely and unconsciously capered to the drooping perimeter and parted the foliage: The children were all behaving admirably—industriously, patriotically. She returned, sat and rested her back against the tree. “Often I scoffed at the idea of empathy and tossed it off as simply an intense sympathy when one is privileged to be close. I always felt that John and I were caught up in some bizarre symmetry. When he left, however, I began to understand what was meant by it. Well, not really at first. I was thrilled by the fact that he was a marine, and I played it to the hilt; even when he was wounded and knew he would live, I told everybody as though it were some headline event. But when he wrote me from the hospital and that his body was in a cast and was gradually withdrawing from morphine, I truly began to feel the horror of it all....And then of course, Ray....I truly believe I am now with John always and have faith that he is with me. Alas, I must admit it is no mystery, though. I mean, it is not like the great saints who have experienced stigmata. No matter how I try, I cannot truly feel his suffering; I did not bleed when he was wounded. I’m sure he doesn’t well up inside when I cry my eyes out each night. Yet there is an inexplicable alter-presence. I feel that now with you, Pamela. I am not going to pretend that it is as strong, but I feel your void, Pam, and I too am sick at heart. As you say, there is a communion in war: all of us feel the terror in varying degrees. Oh, if I but knew your father perhaps I could help fill that void with memories! Try, sweet Pam, to get hold of yourself...just as you helped me to face this awful war.”

Pamela wrapped her arms around Sally and they sobbed in each other’s arms. “If I live to be eighty, Sara, and though four thousand miles away, you shall always be near me.” Pamela disengaged and looked into her friend’s compassionate eyes. “That is why I must advise you, Sara, not to put too much stock in your feelings for John.”

Sally jolted and popped her eyes. “Why must you say this? Surely, he’s going to make it!”

“Yes, of course, we all have that faith—we must. Casualties as we already know are as sure as taxes and how awful of us to wish it on others rather than our own. But that is not what I mean. I just hate to see you so wrapped up in John’s destiny when it may not in the long run have anything to do with you.”

“Please, Pamela, I don’t wish to hear this.” She stood up and paced.

“I told you once there is no exclusiveness to love. So much of it is wide open to circumstances and time. I feel it in my beau’s letters. The words are more or less the same, but over months and months they become rote. Phrases like—love you, miss you, remember when—are on the paper as style and no longer substance. I begin to question the words that I myself so readily inscribe because I don’t feel them anymore when I write them. Something like the form letter and outline you gave to Janie to follow in fulfilling her mailing assignment. So how can anyone on the front lines, really feel these words when he only cares that he survive? What is foremost is to survive all else is secondary and, when need be, adjustments are made. Why, half the times, I can’t even remember the sound of his voice or the expressions on his face.”

“Then you cannot love him!” Sally blurted as she precipitously froze in her tracks and turned to her. “There isn’t a thing I don’t recall about John—his deep but gentle voice, eyes emitting gold out of a brown field, yes, his ludicrous laugh, tempered by muffled chuckles to follow, his guarded smile, and firm but tender touch. If it takes an eternity my memories will not alter, nor will John change that he will no longer possess his qualities.”

Pamela glanced up with a smirk. “Perhaps but you have the advantage of having grown up with him and may prove nothing other than you have a gifted memory, rather than keepsakes of love. But for the boy, even if he reciprocates in memories and expression as fully, does he because of love or that he simply wants to stay alive to taste such pleasures in general, not necessarily in particular?—or perhaps take those very same experiences and transpose to another? Are we in truth, that unique or are we but Adam and Eve seen simply in the genre of man and woman?”

Incensed, Sally shook her head vigorously. “Is it morbid curiosity that I let you go on? I told you I don’t wish to hear this! I was right, you do need a rest!” She pulled Pamela onto her feet. “Come now, we must get back to the children. And for heaven’s sake, guide them to appreciate lasting values, not those transitory ones your depression has snared in wild flight. “

A Dance for The Boys

Several weeks later into this summer, Mary Lou had talked Janie and Sally into attending the parish dance. Servicemen on leave were more than welcome as it was primarily designed for their benefit as the number of seventeen and eighteen years old home on leave or basic training and boot camp grew geometrically. Even at Herm’s there seemed always to be several servicemen home at any given time just hanging around, having to settle for socializing with a younger crowd. Parish-wide there were scores of them and the church felt it was its patriotic, if not Christian, duty to offer a place of entertainment to them periodically, hoping to keep them out of mischief and from the big city.

Sally was a very old seventeen and would not have agreed to go if only seventeen and eighteen year old civilian boys, a mere handful, still uncalled or had not enlisted, were at the dance. She had no inclination for socialization of that sort. As for servicemen, however—provided they were reasonably close to her age—she felt obliged to fraternize with them occasionally, not as most girls did out of ego and pride, but more out of patriotic conscience.

Janie and Bernadette were home for the weekend. She called Pamela and made her promise to go to the dance also; otherwise she herself would not go inasmuch as they had grown so close. Pamela agreed to attend and would meet her there.

Since that day in the school garden Sally was even more perplexed. Unsuccessful in persuading Pamela to have dinner at her home or to stay over a few days, Sally had even hinted that she would be more than happy to stay at Pam’s house for a while. Sally thought it strange—as with Janie—that Pam so seldom invited her over. When Janie had begun to stay the weekends at her own home, and to avoid suspicion, Pamela would occasionally on a Friday or Saturday ask Sally to bring her pajamas. Sally never understood why Janie never attended either sleep-over held at the Byron home or Pam’s. She was certain after thinking she had forgiven her, that “sweet little Janie“ still resented her for those awful moments in her bedroom over a year ago. At any rate, this latest offer was rejected by Pam for a different reason than the Janie situation.

Janie and Sally—Janie insisted they ride in back—jumped out of the rumbleseat when Carl Byron stopped in front of the church. Sally leaned in the open window and kissed her father, “Thanks for dropping us off, Dad....Uh, where are you heading by the way?”

Somewhat surprised, he answered, “Oh,...just up to Herm’s for cigarettes and a paper.”

“In a suit?...Well, I’m glad; Mom will be getting home early from her shift. I’d hate to think of her coming home to a dark, empty house.” He turned away from her and pulled on the Rheingold beer shift stick and drove away. Sally wondered why Janie did not have the courtesy to thank him.

The girls went down the basement stairs and stepped into the large noisy basement with red, white, and blue streamers twisted across the ceiling. The younger teenagers were jitterbugging to Woody Herman’s Wood Choppers Ball. There were at least forty or so in uniform. Sally sighed in relief that apparently most already had searched out the girl companion of their choice. Some pairs she recognized as steady sweethearts. The stags—in civilian garb as well—all turned their attention to Janie who was ravishing in her shimmering pale-green summer dress which was modestly buttoned to the clavicle but seemed to highlight all the more her graceful neck, lightly tanned. Her shoulders were covered but the dress was sleeveless. Janie’s baby freckles were barely visible now and further diminished by her fawn-like tan. Janie had no make up on but for a neutral color for her natural velvet lips; her beautiful long nails polished to match. Janie’s natural bearing, temperament and gorgeous hair needed nothing else. Janie’s Titian which now glimmered rich auburn under the dim lights to frame her reddish creamy face invoked awe in all whom she passed.

Sally shamefully squirmed as she was wont to do in the presence of Janie’s beauty and wondered if Janie still loved Johnny. Because they saw so little of each other, the subject was never broached. Sally assumed it was for the same reason Janie did not bring it up, fearing the loss of their bonding friendship. Nor could Sally shake off the possibility after the war of John falling madly in love with this bewitching “Rita Hayworth.” She reasoned that Pamela’s inference was clearly wrong in this case, for John would simply transpose his very particular values from her to Janie who was by no means generic! It was not that she did not trust either. She simply took pride in her stoical wisdom. After all, she reasoned, Janie was not only beautiful but she was as deep in her feelings as she was. If she ascribed to Johnny that one’s intelligence is not the measure of one’s depth, why not to Janie as well?” Janie’s last resistance currently to growing up, according to Sally, was precisely the measurement of her kind soul: Janie did not escape the war—she simply cried out that it was too base for such horror to exist in the realm of humanity. Sally, too, learned fast that Janie was far from naive. Had she been, she would have long ago escaped from Sally who would not admit to escape from the war as a solution. Had Sally, however, even though knowing Janie all her life, had taken the time to really know Janie, that is, to draw from her as she did John, she would have found a modest soul but woven by rich fibre. When Pamela, through Mary Lou, had apprised her of what transpired at John’s birthday party, Sally read it as Janie genuinely expressing her own selfish feelings. It took Pamela to extrapolate that Janette was the spokesman for Johnny’s mother and her friend’s as well; and that the baring of Janie’s soul, as Sally had thought, was not a sign of immaturity, but of a child with adult depth whose imprisoned feelings sustained silence long enough. Moreover, Sally exploited the belief that Janie, though surely equipped to be a designing woman, never would take on that rôle because of their profound friendship. For this she was grateful, yet it taunted her; for Sally felt guilt, however minor, in that, in a sense, she was abusing Janie in order to secure for herself the bond with John.

Sally was dressed in a simple cotton print with puffed sleeves and a high collar line, but her extremely thin waist was accentuated by a Marine issue white dress belt obtained at an army-navy store. Ordinarily she would have upswept her hair, which had lost its soft cascading waves, but tonight she let it hang straight to divert the starkness of her white neck in contrast to the rather deep tan on her face from the summer school. Sally herself had to admire Janie’s curvaceous proportions, and could not restrain herself from feeling self-conscious over her own rather undefined form, exaggerated even more now that she was 5’ 3" and still less that a hundred pounds. Their respective bodies seemed to have reversed themselves. Up until she realized the seriousness of John’s wound, she had actually filled out even more proportionately than she had been, even though she was to a degree “bony.” Whereas, until now, Janie’s slightly taller figure had always been more subtlety slender. Since the baby, however, the soft curves developed fully and settled naturally into her now shorter diminutive frame. Sally particularly noticed her full breasts. She rebuked herself for feeling this way—after all, what did it matter?—besides she was certain no eyes were on her—only Janie. They searched out two folding chairs.

Janie spotted Jimmy and Mary Lou by the record collection furnished by the parish youth. She grabbed Sally’s hand and rushed along the edge of the dance floor. With sweeping gestures and squeals she hailed them. Sally understood that it added flair to Janie’s already triumphant entrance. In reality, Janie had not contacted them in sometime, except for Mary Lou’s phone calls, and was euphoric in seeing them together.

 Jimmy put down a record and greeted Sally in his customary manner, totally ignoring Janie for the moment. “My God, if it isn’t my favorite odd number!” He reached for her hand and kissed it as Sydney Greenstreet might, petting it, caressing it to his jowls and snickering over it. “You are a meal for a king, my dear.” He finally released her hand and eyed Janie from breast to toe. “Speaking of which,...Janie, you get more delicious each time I am honored by your voluptuous presence.”

“Don’t they feed you at home?” Sally replied, giggling.

“He has been trying to diet,” Mary Lou inserted as she and Sally hugged each other. Sally, looked at him skeptically. “No, really,” Mary Lou went on, “he’s down to three helpings a meal now.” Janie and Sally giggled. Then turning to Jimmy, Mary Lou, though not seriously feeling slighted, carped belatedly, “And what am I—castor oil?”

“Beats being just an odd number,” Sally quipped.

He shot back, “What’s in a name or number?—though they drop the numbers at Jamaica High. When I was there I never saw you. You were cloistered in the tower taking advanced classes.”

“About the only one she ever saw there from the old neighborhood was Pamela,” Janie joined in.

Smiling but shaking her head in mild vexation, Sally defended herself. “Oh, Janie, how would you know? You abandoned us in going to that snobbish school of yours.” She faced Jimmy and Mary Lou. “Besides the fact is I had met Janie practically everyday for lunch while she was still at Jamaica.”

“Oh, yes, some lunch, Janie quipped, glancing at the couple. “She would lift the bread off and pick at the egg salad and never finish it.”

Sally chuckled and said good-naturedly, “Look who’s talking, but for a while there you were as picky as I and apparently are again.”

Janie glanced at Sally and qualified, “Nevertheless, I’m not talking about lunch. We were never in any class together—not even gym.” Mentally Janie crossed her heart, thinking how disastrous it would have been had Sally been in the same gym class during the early stages of her pronounced pregnancy. She glanced at Mary Lou who was smiling.

“What would you expect, dummy?” Jimmy grated bluntly.

 Sally, knitting her natural blonde brows, abraded him. “Oh, Jimmy, how awful of you!”

“Can’t expect odd number and Columbia-bound to take shorthand!” he went on callously.

“I regret not taking it—would be useful for note-taking,” Sally inserted, then could not refrain from correcting him, Barnard-bound is what you mean.”

He shrugged and returned to ogling Janie. “Oh, you ravishing vision—like you stepped right out of the Journal American’s ’Prince Valiant’!—I would gladly give up all three meals if I could feast off you once a day.”

“Good grief, Janie, you better change that dress—maybe into coveralls!” Mary Lou forewarned flippantly. “I really thinks he wants you barbecued.”

“Leaping Lizard, not on your life. I want her as is—succulent, rare.” He kissed her hand and pecked half way up her arm before she withdrew.

“Oh, Jimmy, you will never change! You could never catch me in the clothes closet back at the annex, what makes you think you can now?” Janie let slip with a mixture of merriment, ego and annoyance. Mary Lou winced.

“Oh, my pet, there is infinitely more motivation now! Why, you are a work of art—a far cry from the scrawny freckled broom handle of many editions ago. Except—have you taken up smoking?—my lord, you’re shorter than what I thought was the shortest.” He thumbed over at Sally.

“My, such sweeping memories!” Sally quipped, looking squarely at Jimmy, then with a smile and a wink askance at Janie. “Surely, Janie, you are mistaken about the clothes closet. Why, I seem to recall that the object of Jimmy’s fancy was in Mary Lou’s direction,” Sally tacked with a pleading look at Janie.

 Janie glanced over with a contrite expression at Mary Lou, and apologized. “Of course, I meant only in his weaker moments, Mary Lou.”

“Hey, gals, there’s no ring in my nose,” Jimmy reminded them. “Mary Lou knows what I am.”

Turning to Mary Lou, Sally asked, “Tell me, Mary Lou, why do you put up with him?”

“Oh, he’s all talk...when he needs a cigarette, among other things, he always turns to me.”

“Rather like a nicotine scented nose-ring, eh?” Sally rattled.

He fantasized, “Yes, that’s why I wish I were overseas. Johnny tells me they’re only fifty cents a carton! Cheez, more than half that of prewar prices!”

“Oh, no, he’s not still smoking!” she moaned. “Did you hear from him?” she asked excitedly, even though she was sure he had not.

“No, this was a long time ago.”

“Oh, everything seems to be such a long time ago,” she moaned.

“Yes, and that’s why I dragged you here, Sally,” Mary Lou said bluntly. “You haven’t really been out of your room in years.” Mary Lou winked over at Janie.

Sally giggled. “Oh, Mary Lou, you exaggerate so.”

Janie took her by the hand. “Well, now we’re here thanks to Mary Lou, so we might as well make the best of it; come let us lease our patriotic dancing bodies to the servicemen here.”

“Oh, no, really, Janie, not just yet, anyway,” Sally politely, mildly objected, for the express purpose of letting Janie know what a faithful “war bride“ she really was.

“What is this, Janie?” He rotated his pulpy torso before her. “Need you look any further?”

“All I see is Porky Pig in a white jacket.” Then she radiated a kind, contrite smile. “Oh, dear Jimmy, I know you’ve tried so desperately and in my true eyes you indeed are a serviceman—why, your white jacket is fit for an admiral!”

 “Don’t worry, Angel, you couldn’t sustain sarcasm if you took lessons from the devil....With the price of pork today it’s a compliment; we’re talking black market value here....Say, that’s what I should do!” His squinty eyes alighted on Sally. “I must write Johnny and have him send me a seabag of cigarettes....That would knock Herm’s loosie business for a loop!”

“Jimmy, you’re incorrigible,” Sally chastised him in jest, but any reference to Johnny, however ludicrous put her in the limelight too. “The illegality aside, I doubt that he’d be interested in the venture—he always liked Mr. Nacht.” She smiled.

“Yeah, besides you’d be on your high horse of morality,” he whined. He looked at her seriously. “How’s he doing?...Jesus, I miss him!...Wish I could be with him—well, not really with the marines.”

“Haven’t heard since before Guam.” She quickly glimpsed at Janie who pretended not to hear.

Janie took heart and said softly to Jimmy, looking into his eyes that had dimmed forlornly. “Oh, don’t tear so at yourself, Jimmy....God, you certainly tried enlisting enough times....My mother tells me you’re doing well at Sperry’s? ...That should make you feel good about yourself. They do such essential work there.”

“Hah,...that’s a hot one!...In maintenance?”

Janie persisted. “Still, it’s all part of the effort. I know Johnny is proud of you.”

“Yeah, you really think so?”

With a nod Janie emphasized, “I know so. He wrote there aren’t many fellows who would keep trying the way you do. He inquired again about you only last week.”

“Yeah? Over there in Guam and he thinks of me. Jesus,...oops, sorry, Janie,...” She bowed her head, then laughed, pulling on his cheek. He added, “Still,...what a guy!”

“Yes, he is that.” She said in a muted tone.

“Are you serious, Janie?” Sally squealed, having been silent in petulance after hearing her say the fatal words. “You mean to say that you actually heard from him just last week?”

Janie’s heart skipped as she glanced at Sally whose eyes were glowering at her. Janie looked away at the dancing for a second and then glared back. “It must’ve been sent by LST—actually it was old.” She glanced over at Mary Lou as if looking for help.

“How old?” She snapped.

“Oh, I don’t know—just old!”

“There must’ve been a date!”

“No, he doesn’t always include a date,” Janie noted, shaking her curls. Jimmy stepped back to snigger.

Mary Lou intervened, “I got a V-mail a good while ago and it hand no date either.”

Sally ignored Mary Lou and pursued, staring at Janie, “Always!...Then he writes often to you, doesn’t he?” She glared at Jimmy as well.

“Now, now, ladies, let’s end this romance squabble,” Jimmy interdicted. “Johnny has plenty of love to go around. You can each have a piece of him.”

Sally stared at him scornfully “You oaf, I want him whole!” Sally screeched and turned to Janie. I think you and Johnny are playing tricks on me again.”

Janie, shook her head and voiced a sound of disgust. She folded her arms and stared back in disbelief, shrugging her shoulders. A lean soldier in light khakis came gliding over, giving Janie the trucking sign. She blushed, but, eager to get away, trucked right toward him and they swept out onto the floor and jumped into the Lindy in step with “In The Mood“.

“Starting already,” Mary Lou made merry, returning with a cup of juice, “the belle of the ball.”

“As it should be—she’s so beguiling, the little...witch!” Sally stamped her foot in spouting her contempt.

Mary Lou gasped and almost spilled her drink she was so shocked. She glanced over at Jimmy who snickered, then turned to Sally, “It’s always been a mystery to me why you two pretend to be such good friends. Why, you two hate each other—no, correction!—Janie couldn’t hate anyone. It is you who hate her!”

“How dare you! Why, I think the world of her!” She took strong exception, hoping ingenuousness would show through.

Jimmy burst into laughter. “Did you just hear yourself? You’re as nutty as Herm’s sundaes. You know what your problem is?”

“I’ll have you know that I have no problem,” she said defensively.

Mary Lou joined in. “Oh, but you do, Sally. Since we were little kids I’ve seen you skid one way or the other when Janie had anything to do with Johnny. True, you two get along famously when he isn’t in the middle.”

“Roger! Mary Lou!” Jimmy spurted, then he glared at Sally. “So why don’t you just give up the ghost?”

“Me? You should be advising Janie to end her fantasies!” Sally grated, then in the corner of her eye she saw Mary Lou laughing up her sleeve. “What’s so funny?”

“You, Sally,...you’re what’s funny!...For Pete’s sake, there’s a war going on and despite Johnny’s heroics he’s still a kid. Who knows what he’s feeling? He could come home—and it’s already happening to those returning—a completely different guy. Why can’t you just cool this ideal love stuff and enjoy life?

Sally growled, “Humph, you’re as bad as Pam! And much more crude!”

Mary Lou clicked her tongue. “Gee, that’s a classy comparison. I don’t mind being in Pamela’s lady-like class!...Now, how about getting out on the dance floor right now....Gosh, Sally, I don’t want to be mean,...You’re really deep down a wonderful gal. Why let this get to you? And, you know, it works both ways. You start college next month. Who knows but that you might change too?”

“Oh, me again....But not Janie, right?” she pursued, scowling at her.

“Honestly?...” Mary Lou smirked. “No, she’s not going to change.”

“And why is that?” Sally was intent in pursuing this.

“Oh, I can’t say. I just feel it. She’s different, that’s all.”

“In what way aside from her outrageous looks?” she asked in a snide way.

“Well, if you must know...I think she’s more honest about her feelings.”

“Nonsense! Why, I’ve studied, examined my feelings toward John.”

“That’s what I mean; Janie doesn’t have to.” Mary Lou chuckled. “Enough of this.” She eyed Jimmy. “Dance with Sally, stupid. Get her out of her mood. This is not the time.”

Sally was just as glad for the change; she regretted the entire episode, realizing she made a fool of herself. She forced herself to say with a chuckle, “Oh, I don’t look like I stepped out of Prince Valiant!“ She glanced at Jimmy with as much of smile as she could muster. “Right, Jimmy?”

“I used to think you had, Sally,” he said witlessly.

“How very sweet—used to, huh?”

“Jimmy, you never told me that!” Mary Lou rasped with subdued resentment.

“What would’ve been the point? There’s no room for anybody but Johnny.”

“So all those cruel jibes about her under-nourishment were just a cover up, eh?” Mary Lou rang with doubt, but laughed.

“Na, not then. I mean in our sophomore year when she filled out—a little.” He looked Sally up and down. “So what happened?”

“Jimmy! You’re cruel! Sally has a girlish figure I envy,” Mary Lou protested.

Jimmy shrugged and turned to watch Janie’s sensuous moves while he muttered, “Again, used to.”

Sally scowled but then good-naturedly laughed. “Oh, Jimmy is Jimmy, Mary Lou—he’s like a dog with rabies.”

“Even so to make fun of you that way....I thought it funny back in grade school but, gee whiz,...And I meant it, Sally. Sometimes I really wish I didn’t push out all over.”

“Oh, Mary Lou, shame on you! Why, you’re lovely!” Sally had observed after Mary Lou had left school to go to work that her manner softened.

“But I do worry about you, you know—never mind what I just said, though I meant for your own good. I mean, you’re so frail—too much of Johnny on your mind. You should think more of yourself. You poor kid, I know you go through hell, every time he’s in a battle. It’s good to see some color in your face, but I do hope you would put some food in you.”

“I shall,...I promise,...you’re sweet,...yet at the same time you tell me my anxiety is for nothing, inasmuch as when he returns I won’t even know him or he, me.”

Mary Lou cackled. “I know you better than that. You’re not going to change your ways because I said so.” She waved her hand then brought it to her chin. “I’ve been following in the ’News’, you know?...Guam’s in the mopping up stage. That should make you feel better.” Mary Lou was relieved she was able to manipulate her to forget the inquiry. If it had gone on Mary Lou was fearful she would have let the cat out of the bag, or baby out of the cradle.

“Yes, I suppose, it’s a consoling phrase.”

Mary Lou brightened and beamed a smile. “Remember the day at the hydrant?” Sally too brightened. She motioned that Sally sit down next to her. “From that day on I knew Johnny was a hero.” Then she lightly ruffled Sally’s puffed sleeve and the little light in her brown slanted eyes dimmed and her voice was heavy. “I cried when I read in the Press about his purple heart and bronze star.... Imagine, just a kid,...from hopping hydrants to hopping islands!...And you,...oh, like an angel of mercy!...Me?...What am I?...an usher, who’s never lifted a finger.” Sally reached out and they touched hands for a moment. Mary Lou tensed a timid smile, threw her head back and forced a laugh and squealed “Ah, Yes, I can still see him flying over that thing—stupendous!...Yes,...how very clear.” Sally had a vacant look and a distant smile on her face, then faced her, brought up caressive fingertips to Mary Lou’s high broad cheeks no longer heavily rouged. Mary Lou responded with a grateful spark in her eyes and a blushing smile. “Even so...” Mary Lou sighed, “it’s so long ago, huh?”

“Back to time marches on again, eh?” Jimmy blurted, turning from preoccupation with Janie on the dance floor back to them. “Why it seemed like just the other day he won all my war cards—and he only had one to begin with! I think we were still at the annex then. He was kidding me because I still carried them around....The nerve of that guy the way he used to win them from all the neighborhood kids with his unbelievable Irish luck. And do you know what that crazy kid did?...He burnt them right then and there outside Herm’s. I coulda killed him ....Funny, wonder if he burnt all his others.” Sally smiled; her hazel eyes sparkled on another time.

 “I hope not;...they say if you keep things long enough they can be worth something,” Mary Lou informed them. “That’s why I still have my Mickey Mouse watch in the drawer.”

“Lot good that’ll do—why, it’s a piece of junk!” Jimmy grated. He turned from them and resumed his study of Janie’s aurora.

Mary Lou looked wistfully over Sally’s shoulder. “I suppose it is. In fact, I do keep it in my dresser drawer with all my other junk.” She glanced at Sally. “I remember how shocked I was in the ninth grade annex when you joined our junky class.”

“Goodness, Mary Lou!—it was a wonderful class!”

“See? Just what I mean....I couldn’t believe...Sara Byron...in our class! The girl for as long as I could remember in P.S. 33 always being honored at assemblies, always having the leading roles in class plays,...name on every bulletin board in the halls, teachers constantly using your name in our grubby little classes.” Sally blushed, advanced her loafer slightly, the toe in an arc. “I figured they would have sent you directly to the high school.”

Sally glanced up. “Oh, my mother would never have allowed that! She felt I was much too young and would learn as well in the ’1’ class offered at the annex,” she said with some embarrassment.

“But you were put in our dummy 4!”

“Oh, well,...a long story, but Mary Lou, please don’t refer to our class that way.”

Mary Lou rocked her head, and her eyes glowed in wonder, then chuckled. “Oh, Sally,...soft, sweet Sally. Oh, how I resented you for invading our ways! I mean, it was like you were slumming or something.”

“Oh, Mary Lou, please, I don’t understand why...”

Mary Lou lightly touched her index finger to Sally’s lips. “Shhh,..I haven’t seen you in a while and I feel like talking....Anyway, resentment?—maybe even hate....But it was so strange...because you weren’t like some of those other snooty smart ones:...the kind that just like to put on a display,...like we are just there as their audience—come to think of it, you are pretty good yourself at putting on a show.” Then Mary Lou burst a peal of laughter and tapped Sally’s shoulder. “You know, the way you were that day in kindergarten?—oh, my what a show!” Sally giggled as Mary Lou went on, “But not after that, no, not you...you... had a...genuineness about you...yeah! a soft kind of style about you....You know, like when you used to help us in class or with our homework...you were so darn sweet about it. Almost as though everyone was your dearest friend,...you know? Like you are with Janie when you’re not thinking of Johnny. I mean, you never lost patience, or brow-beat us—well, most of the time.” She chuckled. “And, oh, how patiently and clear you would explain things!”

Sally blushed again. “Really Mary Lou—you’re making too much of this. There are many students better off who want and do help.”

“Never convince me of that...I’ve seen them at the high school—these so-called student tutors with all kinds of privileges and doing it for the glory, the prest...oh, what...”

“Prestige,...Mary Lou,...really...they aren’t that way—oh, perhaps a little—but they are helpful and needed.”

“Sally the brilliant one and she doesn’t understand? Not on your life! Modest, that’s what it is. You don’t just help—you give.”

“If that is the case, then why have I failed—with you?” Sally asked firmly but kindly. Sally felt a compulsion to release herself from the rancor she experienced before from Mary Lou’s observation concerning the relationship with Johnny. Her intention was to prove she could rise above the common—indeed to be true to Mary Lou’s latest observation of her.

Mary Lou scratched her narrowly plucked brow and wondered, “Now, I don’t understand....You mean in regard to Johnny?”

“No, before you deprecated that you were ’just an usher who never lifts a finger’ which is a terrible thing to say about yourself—it’s simply not true. You are sensitive and honest. You felt you had no purpose in school, partly generated by the awful helplessness the war puts inside of one and perhaps a wonderful feeling that you would be more useful and proud if you were to do something else. So, you’re ’just an usher’—so what?—why, you’re a perfectly lovely young lady! And don’t denigrate yourself, or your things—I’ll not have it! Your drawer is not filled with junk—they are bits and pieces of a memorable past which has helped you in being what you are—decent, beautiful and kind. And I absolutely will not let you dismiss the many, many extra hours at your expense you spend in the Valencia lobby selling war stamps and bonds. This I promise you: never, never again shall I listen to you if you breath one derogatory word about yourself. As you’ve been so expressive tonight in lauding me...” She yelped an afterthought and chuckled, “That is after you excoriated me with your hypothesis on romance!” In any event, I want you to lay some credit upon yourself.” Sally stretched up and kissed her on her big cheek.

Mary Lou’s eyes popped at this basically decent, noble person who knew not what she knew. She felt a surge of guilt for her laying on half truths about her appraisal of Sally for the implicit purpose of steering away Sally’s obsession with Janie. Perhaps she was wrong about her. She reached down for Sally’s hands and rubbed them. “See what a wonderful person you really are?... “ Mary Lou abruptly shifted to a stern tone. “That’s why I say you should forget Johnny; he makes you mean, you’re feelings get in the way of your goodness.”

Sally was stunned and speechless. She just put her hand on Mary Lou’s cheek, not knowing what else to do.

Janie was cut off from Jimmy’s hungry vision by jumping dancers; he glanced over at the entrance and turned to the girls. “Holy smokes, is that Pam?”

 Sally jumped from the chair to see Pam at the doorway searching for her. Sally waved and squealed. Pam saw her, smiled and headed round the dancers’ perimeter, stumbling a few times. Sally noticed her hair, which had grown over the years, was let down and abundant waves hung loosely on her shoulders like Janie’s, though not as long. Her dress, though simple was tight-fitting. She wore heels and—because of silk and nylon rationing—had tinted her legs. As she drew closer Sally could see that she had on heavy makeup and lipstick. They embraced, then abruptly she pushed Sally aside and greeted the others. “My, a veritable class reunion!” She surprised Jimmy by kissing him on the lips, and Mary Lou too was surprised when she embraced her. “How have you two been? I missed you both our final year at school.”

“But it gave me a year’s head start in the mad dash for good old war-time money!” Jimmy announced unabashedly.

“Yes, I missed you too, Pam, but with the war and everything... school just didn’t seem to fit,” Mary Lou explained somewhat apologetically.

“Never fit me,” Jimmy was quick to point out, adding, “Good money out there nowadays.”

“Ah, that’s the old American spirit!” Pam cried lightly. “Accumulate the old pound, eh?—make the bucks, as you say!”

“Still, rather be in the navy.” he popped, looking at her with surprised expression.

“Nonsense! You have proven the ultimate wisdom! Why, with all those bucks you must be soaking up the world’s winsome pleasures—and the girls!...Oh, yes, with the male-shortage...all the girls you must have at your feet!”

“Wow,” he turned to Sally and wondered, “this can’t be the same Pam’la I once knew!”

Sally was flabbergasted and toed the painted concrete floor, staring at the war’s leaden pennies in her loafer. She looked up and took on a solemn tone. “You may be right.”

Pamela jerked her head toward her. “Oh, yes, this is a new Pamela—a wiser Pamela.” Sally thought she smelled wine on Pamela’s breath but shook it from her mind. She had to be mistaken, perhaps it was medicine.... Hands on hips, Pamela continued, “Yes, yes, if there’s no escaping it then be a trap-setter, right Jimmy?” she winked.

“You English will never learn the language. You mean trend-setter,” Jimmy presumed.

“Oh, no, I mean as in black widow.”

He looked at her in puzzlement, ruffling his slick hair, then breathed freely in seeing Janie return. Janie smiled as Pamela took her hand, squeezed it, then looked at her curiously. “Where’s the swift-footed doughboy?” Jimmy asked Janie. “Sounds impossible but he seemed to swing you in more than he swung you out,” he added sarcastically and with a lascivious gleam in his eye.

“Oh, you noticed, eh? That’s why I refused this slow number—to protect my new dress.”

“And other parts,” Jimmy added, with the same gleam in his eye.

Janie ignored the comment and added, “Besides who wants to dance to ’I’ll Be Home for Christmas’ in August?”

“Oh, Sally, that reminds me,” he popped. He went to the pile of records. “Look what I found for you in the stack.” He shuffled through a few and handed her a record.

Sally looked at the label and beamed. “Jimmy! How nice!—Glenn Miller’s ’Faithful to You’!” Janie cast a glance at the record. She didn’t care—it wasn’t her song.

Pamela shrilled guffaws and blurted, “The ultimate fallacy!”

Sally held the record to her breasts, then turned and sat down, staring at the label and gently tracing the bluebird outline with her unpainted fingernail.

Jimmy went over to her and gently removed the record from her lap. “I’ll have them play it for you,” in his best but unfamiliar, gentleman’s tone.

“Oh, Jimmy, please do!” She looked up at Pamela, who seemed to be enviably eying Janie’s dress.

“You’ll make the bucks, too, Janie,” Pamela said in a cold tone, “when you start your new job in the city.”

“No, Pamela, I’ve decided to stay with the bank. You already know that....I simply don’t...”

“Regardless,” Pamela broke in unwontedly loud, “with that body no one’s going to care you only type forty words a minute...” looking to remnants of Christmas crepe still dangling in contrast to newer streamers from the Fourth twisting across the ceiling, Pam mumbled, “and have a kid.”

Janie’s eyes popped, blinked and her lips quivered as she tried to respond but could only choke on her words. “Pamela! How could you speak to Janie like that!” Sally carped indignantly in overhearing as she rushed to Janie’s side and held her in her arms.

Pamela piped. “Go ahead protect her. The big sister!—I know what that’s like!”

Mary Lou grabbed Pamela’s arm and urged her sternly, “I think you should let me take you to the girls’ room and stick your head in a basin of water!—shame, shame on you, Pamela....My God, in a church, no less!”

Sally sat Janie down while staring coldly at her tipsy friend.

Pamela nodded in exaggerated fashion to Mary Lou. “What better place for wine?” She asked rhetorically, scurrilously, then reeled, breaking her hold from Mary Lou and started bouncing to the music.

Mary Lou grabbed her arm again and literally dragged her bodily to the girls’ room.

“Oh, dear, God, forgive her, and you must too, Janie, the wine has gone to her head....And what did she mean by that crack?”

Janie winced and then her eyes flashed. “Wh-what crack?”

“The reference to the kid?”

“Oh, that...oh,...she always thinks I mother Timmy too much,” Janie couldn’t believe her own words. “Such a liar and coward I’ve become!” she thought.

Jimmy went over to two younger girls sitting on the edge of the dais monitoring the electric phonograph. They were shuffling through a half dozen or so deciding on the next selection. “Don’t ruffle your pretty heads,...have just selected from the general pile the one for you, my chickies.” The much younger girl, who didn’t even seem to be in her teens yet, was poised to lift the spinning record from the turntable; she expressed surprise when he presented her with his selection.

She looked at it and squealed, “Ugh, it’s so out of date!”

“Better that than out of season, like this one you’re spinning. Besides—and surprised they admitted you—you’re still so very young, my little chickadee; you will learn that love is never out of date when you are well into your teens. For now, with this record you will get a preview of what it is all about.”

The other older one, about seventeen, leaned over and read the label. “Maybe not, but I would argue the point about love being faithful,” she professed callously. “And don’t question her being here; she’s helping me.”

“Ah, my dear,” Jimmy responded, bowing,” I wouldn’t think of questioning the baby being here. The church has the opportunity to mold her to their ways. Why, I’m sure the dear child even comes to the Bingo games!...But my older but still very young chickadee, don’t question my selection; you haven’t been privileged yet to experience a romance made in heaven. So trust me, child, you will get faith.” They both eyed each other and giggled over his pompous manner. They took the record out of the wrinkly doughnut envelope, poised to put it on the turntable. He bowed to them and said in parting, “Watch the master on the floor, my fledglings, and you will witness this great mystery of true love as deep as the depths where the coldest fish populate.” He chuckled, and returned to Sally who had happily lifted Janie’s spirit by apologizing to her as she so often had in the past, together with soothing her over Pamela’s remarks. He bowed, took her hand. She looked at Janie.

“Oh, I’m fine now, dear.” Janie fabricated a brightness in her eyes. “Yes, a dance will do you good. That’s why Mary Lou insisted you come to this special Friday night dance for servicemen. She knows how upset you get when Johnny is in a campaign. Jimmy, of course, is not Johnny...” She laid her eyes to her lap and whispered to herself, “Nobody here is Johnny.”

“Oh, If only he would write me more!...I should feel better. My dear sweet friend, are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“Yes, Sally, dance your heart out; it is the best medicine!’

“And what of you?”

“I’m fine. I shall dance in a bit. Oh, definitely dance, but at this moment I need my thoughts to myself. Please, Sally, go!” Janie preferred to be alone at this moment, wondering what got into Pamela.

Jimmy led Sally into the Fox Trot as the song began. She looked back on Janie who was still staring into her lap.

Janie’s thoughts drifted from Pamela’s effrontery. She was feeling guilty about Sally. Janie read the papers all the time. But only to look for news of Johnny’s regiment. Oh, she knew of the invasion of Normandy but only to the point that it would lessen support among the Axis and thus expedite an end to the Pacific war. She began to fondle her Bernadette medal. “Oh, my lovely saint, please watch over him! Don’t let him get hurt again!” She looked for Sally; then she reached into her bodice and took out the corps emblem Johnny had given her and caressed it through her fingers. She uttered, “Oh, Johnny, I don’t know what to do. Should I tell her I heard from you on Guam and that you wrote that you were fine and that the campaign was almost over? It isn’t fair that she worry like this....Yet, no news is good news, right? Oh, Johnny, hurry home. I don’t know how long I can go on living these lies!”

Sally swooned into the past and gently rested her temple on her left hand pressing his padded shoulder, while listening to their song. Gracefully he swept her in between dreamy, undulating bodies on the crowded floor, careful that his body not touch hers. Lightly he held her right hand by his thigh and his right arm hung loosely round her waist. When bumped by another he would quickly stiffen so as not to press into her.

“You’re really a graceful dancer, Jimmy....I never realized,” she said, looking up at him with grateful eyes.

“You know what they say: heavy in the legs, light on the feet.”

She laughed so very happily, releasing for a time her heavy heart. She nestled her cheek on his soft chest. A big sailor from behind crashed into her and her ribs pushed against Jimmy’s flabby stomach. She jerked back her head and flushed, glancing at him fleetingly.

“Hey, Mac, where are your sea-legs?” he yelled out.

“Jimmy, please, no trouble!” She placed her cheek on his chest again and murmured, “Oh, how I love this song! It was so thoughtful of you, Jimmy. Johnny would be so proud of you.”

“I’d rather you were proud of me,” he said, looking at her weirdly and squeezing her hand.

“Oh, but I am!” She responded with a tiny flicker of her fingers in his grip.

He tensed his right hand and pressed her into his flab. For a moment she permitted it, then her left arm pushed off from his shoulder. He twirled her round several times and dipped and slyly thrust his thigh into her crotch.

She flushed, smiled stupidly to mask her disappointment in him, and her feet became lead. She pushed away. “I really don’t feel like dancing anymore. I’m sorry, it was very nice,” she said politely, evasively. He reached for her hand. She pulled it away. “No, really, I’m not up to it.” She walked away. He trailed after.

“Aw, for cry’n’ out loud, Sally, I didn’t mean anything by it—just a stupid test for some stupid girls.”

She stopped at the punch bowl table. He stood beside her and grabbed a cup for her. “Test? What do you mean?” she asked without any true interest.

He handed her the filled cup and explained as she sipped. “The girls at the phonograph—aw, it was a bad idea. A lesson in love, I guess. Aw, forget it—it was dumb.” He walked back to the others. She looked through the moving bodies and saw a marine. He looked familiar. There were ribbons on his dress-blue jacket, which reminded her of her disappointment when Johnny came home from boot camp in forest green and khaki. She was surprised when he had told her that the blues were not free government-issue and cost sixty dollars! He remembered how upset he got when she offered to buy the uniform for him. She put down the cup and Pamela came to mind. She returned to her.

 Pamela was sitting quietly; her hands in her lap. A fast number was blaring now. Jimmy had pulled Mary Lou to her feet and led her to the floor; he glanced over at Sally and made the sign of the cross, then shrugged his shoulders. Sally shook her head at Johnny’s incorrigible friend and smiled. She sat down next to Pamela and put her hand on the subdued girl’s. There was no response. Sally let her alone in her thoughts and looked over at Janie—recovering nicely, she thought, perhaps too nicely—flanked by a sailor in white, and a marine in summer khaki. She searched the marine’s shoulder patch—he had none, nor were there any ribbons. She was disappointed—just out of boot camp, she concluded. She noticed that he was losing the battle to the sailor who was dominating Janie’s attention. The marine looked up and gaped, obviously taken in by Sally’s demure, fragile presence. He got up and asked her for a dance. She subdued a sigh of futility, by overriding it with an amicable smile. She pressed her hand to Pamela’s taut knuckles, then rose and let him lead her to the floor. She could not remember when last she did the Lindy—she sat out the Senior Prom. Only because of Pamela who had asked a boy in her behalf did she then go, and he didn’t know how to dance, though she considerately led him through several slow numbers. Ah, but she clearly remembered all the confraternities held here when Johnny was still a civilian and especially the last one when on boot leave.

 This boy was very good-looking, she observed; but just a boy. As she was being twisted and hurled about she caught the faces of others and they all seemed to her to be so very young, so carefree—healthfully detached from the war. She noticed the phonograph girls were going through the master selection of records. They returned to the phonograph with more choices. They seemed to be studying her and she wondered what Jimmy had been up to. The girls put their heads together, exchanged words, giggled and looked over at her again. They seemed impatient, one of them anxiously flipping a record in her lap. The record ended and they promptly changed it. Before Sally could weave her way back Faithful Forever was playing. The young marine pulled on her arm. She let out a sigh and then felt guilty and held out her right hand and kept it high as he took it and nobly kept his distance. Becoming teary-eyed from the song, her feet heavy, she stopped, stiff legged and politely excused herself. The marine frowned and did not escort her to her chair.

 Her cruelty rattled in her conscience, her soft side chastised herself. She sat down again, feeling moody, pensive; she looked over at Pamela who seemed to be of the same crestfallen spirit. She saw that Janie and the sailor were gone. That worried her. The girls by the phonograph were still looking at her; they seemed frustrated.

“Pam, would you like to go home—now with me?” she ventured. “I think it best, don’t you? First we must find Janie.”

“Home? Whatever for?” Pam glanced up, surprised.

“Oh, well,...you seemed rather strange before. I was afraid...”

“No, I’m feeling great,...but I wish you would stop pestering me about staying over with you. And will you please stop mothering Janie?—she’s a...a full-fledged woman now.”

Stunned, she turned from Pamela’s cold blue eyes. The girls were still looking over at her. “Oh, Pamela, why are you doing this—to yourself, to us?”

“Perhaps, I’m tired of American food or mostly, of you and your fetish for perfection.” she chafed cruelly. “Absolutely love American music, though. I love listening to lyrics—of course, I know you do too—but I don’t think many do. I was thinking about this totally unrealistic song and, of course, the other one that you seem to think is exclusively yours.”

“Unrealistic?—I suppose you mean an aspect of my so-called fetish.”

“Naturally, sentimental tommyrot! My God, who is faithful forever? And who would go through life singing faithful to you? Unmitigated teenage nonsense! That’s why records are so big among us idiots—we no longer believe in God so we invent this rubbish.”

“I don’t hear you. No, not Pamela’s sober voice,” she cried. “It now blusters from the dregs of the wine. The true voice would ring out with praise for ideal friendship and love.”

“Don’t wax poetic—true, you say?—rubbish! Surely, you mean deceived—only those deceived could sing out belief in the soggy sentiment of faithful love.”

“No, no, the true voice of Pam’s would argue that there are those, of course, who aren’t and there are those who are faithful always.”

 “Perhaps, there are; but mostly those who aren’t; and I suspect that those who claim the rarity are pretending. Time will tell for you.”

Sally pressed Pamela’s cold hands again and continued in defense. “Oh, Pamela, love cannot exist on pretense. Sooner or later one knows.”

“Exactly my point!” She took a fit of laughter and had to steady herself on the chair. “But not if they don’t want to face the truth!” she snapped. She started swaying in the chair to the next record, snapping her fingers and staring at the intensely mobile bodies. “My, this is a bouncy tune—what is it called?”

Sally welcomed the respite and chuckled, belying her distress. “ Jersey Bounce.”

She laughed. “Oh, that is comical!”

The young frustrated marine approached Pamela, fleetly emanating resentment to Sally. He said to Pamela in rather rehearsed tone, “You seem to like this tune. If you know how to Lindy—and what girl doesn’t?—would you care to show me how it’s done? I have two left feet—even on the drill field.”

“Don’t you believe him, Pamela,” Sally interspersed; “he is a very good dancer.” She smiled up at him in faint atonement.

Pamela bounced up, jigged a little, threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Why not cutey?...Take me I’m yours—hurl me round and round till you think me dizzily alluring,” she rhapsodized brassily. Then she pulled him onto the floor.

Sally sat there alone, dumbfounded as she watched her dear friend wriggle brazenly round the floor. The marine in dress blues she had noted earlier came from behind and sat next to her. She was startled at first, but then she remembered his face and was thankful for the intrusion. She looked close at the ribbons and noticed one was the purple heart. And there was a star on the Asian Theatre ribbon. She was disappointed when she noticed his shoulder patch did not match Johnny’s outfit.

“I gather you still don’t recognize me, eh?” he finally ventured after watching her study him.

“Why, yes, I do—Richard, isn’t it?—we were in biology together two years ago....Gracious, they sent you to the Pacific in a hurry.”

“They sure did. As soon as I got back from my boot camp leave.”

“Oh, how awful!...Tarawa, I suppose, judging from your sleeve?”

“Roger and out, Second Marine Division....Observant, but you always were smart as a whip....Yep, never even made the beach, can you imagine? Hung up on the reef—darn lucky I was a good swimmer.”

“Must’ve been horrible,” she rasped, verily sympathetic.

“Yeah, then it was. Now as I look back at it, I feel lucky. I’d be on Saipan right now.”

“Gosh, yes, another horror!...The papers say that my boyfriend’s brigade had floated round the island for weeks before certain that the marines there had the situation well in hand. Then, alas, they went onto Guam....Still, you must’ve been wounded badly for them to send you home.”

“Yeah, badly riddled in the knees...can’t walk too hot, but they say I’ll be fit as a fiddle after another operation.”

“How dreadful for you,” she reached out and touched his hand. He worked his thumb onto the back of her hand and started to caress her hand barely perceptively. She withdrew it.

“Actually I’m on leave from St. Albans hospital.”

“Oh, I do hope the surgery is successful,” and she impulsively placed her hand on his again.

He put his other hand on top of hers. “As I said...regardless, I’m a lucky gyrene.”

“How very noble of you.” She pressed her other hand to his on top, then abruptly freed both of hers, returning them to the security of her lap.

“I sure would love to dance with you. Would you mind?—of course, it would have to be a slow number, my knees, you know.”

“Oh, my dear, of course!” Again she instinctively touched his hand, then withdrew it.

“You understand, I’m no Fred Astaire—what with the wounds. See, I told you I was lucky—now I have a perfect excuse for my lousy dancing. Never could dance very well—knees or no knees.”

“Have no worry there. I’m no Ginger.” She laughed. This hero gave her a reprieve from Pamela, but now she scanned the floor and saw Pam wriggling her hips, lifting her dress, doing the disgraceful bump and tossing her body limply into the younger marine’s arms. Sally hoped that it was just the wine affecting her. A slow number started and Pamela hung tight to the marine. Sally’s marine in dress blues grabbed her hands firmly and pulled her to her feet and looked into her blushing face.

 The blue marine led her to the floor with his arm round her shoulder. She looked over at the turntable girls; they were watching. She scanned the room: Pamela had disappeared; Janie had not returned; she felt abandoned. Discreetly she glanced down at his feet; they seemed to maneuver well. She held out her hand high for him to clasp but he grabbed it firmly and wrenched it down to his thigh. To compensate she kept her other palm on his shoulder and her left arm tense. But he aggressively pressed on her shoulder blades. Her left arm crooked, and her light frame crushed up against his muscular body. Then he started to lead her, and she could sense the stiffness in his steps. Her arm squeezing up against his chest started to hurt her; so she maneuvered it up over his shoulder and let her hand’s pins and needles diminish by hanging it limp by the back of his neck. His large hand crept up to apply pressure to her nape; she could feel the star of Tarawa pinned to the ribbon pressing into her temple after having freed her dainty nose that had been crushing against the cigarettes in his pocket. She thought of John’s purple heart. She strained her neck to apply back pressure against his forceful hand. He let up and his hand slid down her hair and loitered with gentle caresses—she could feel tingles from her own hair on the back of her neck. She tried not to get upset. She lifted her face from his chest and squinted trying to focus on the purple heart ribbon. She envisioned John’s medals hanging above the mantelpiece—now there were two purple hearts—she wondered why they did not differentiate—why not a deathly black one for Ray or ghostly white? The feeling of her right hand being rubbed against his thigh tensed her arm to no avail as he tightened his grip. His right hand slid off her neck and slivered down to the small of her back. No longer did she sense the dragging stiffness in his steps, rather they seemed to glide effortlessly. She felt pressure gradually on her back; she tensed. Closer her body was being pressed into him. She whimpered, struggling to free herself. He hugged her harder. “Please, you’re hurting me, if you don’t let go of me I swear I’ll scream!” she rasped. Johnny’s two “thug“ friends blunted her mind.

 “C’mon, baby, who are you trying to kid? You know you want me. You love the drama of pitying a wounded marine.”

She squirmed; “You’re not fit to utter the honored word—you probably shot yourself!” Suddenly, violently he pressed her soft lower abdomen into his crotch. She reacted instantly by thrusting her knee into his testes. He yelped, releasing her and doubled over. She hastened from the floor and sat down; she buried her face in her hands, weeping and mumbling into her hands, “Oh, God, where is the honor to war?...John, John, come home,...please come home.” She felt a light hand on her hair and cringed. She looked up at the little phonograph monitor’s helper whose posture was bowed heavily from sympathy for the war-weeping girl.

“Please don’t cry, Sally,” the girl said softly as she continued to stroke her hair lightly, then slipped her hand to Sally’s cheek to brush away her tears.

“Oh, my dear, do I know you?”

“You’ve noticed me once or twice; but I’ve seen you dozens of time at my home and still mentioned many times at my school. You’re famous—valedictorian, war drives and everything.”

“You’re so very kind. Why, of course,...home you say? Yes, yes, oh, my, Lorie, dear Cornelius’s baby sister! Yes, I do remember you,...of course!” She touched the girl’s hand, slid it to her lips and pressed it against them. “How good of you, Lorie.”

The girl revealed a dog-eared, shopworn sleeved record from behind her back. “My friend and I wanted you to have this—you earned it.”

 She looked at the label and her eyes sparkled in the moistness—the bluebird’s wings seemed to flutter. She took it and held it to her heart; then she leaped up and hugged the girl and led her back to the phonograph where the older girl was sitting. Sally thanked her for the record Jimmy had culled before. She hastened to the side entrance and just as she was to push open the door Mary Lou called after her, “No, Sally, you’re not going already?”

“Forgive me, Mary Lou, I didn’t see you....Yes, I’m afraid so. I feel I must be home—my mother is all alone, I’m sure.”

“I kind of figured that crazy Casanova upset you.”

“Apparently that’s all he is...yes, he did. But I have myself to blame for respecting the uniform unduly—especially for those who have fought over there.”

“Crazy Richie, fighting in the war? That’s a good one. He’s stationed out on the island in Garden City—Naval Records. His father’s got influence.”

“But he said he’s in the naval hospital?...Oh, I see, you mean, he shall be stationed there after the surgery on the wound he received at Tarawa?”

“Oh, no!...so that’s what’s he’s been up to? I wondered why he was wearing those ribbons. Gee, Sally he really handed you a line.

 That creep worked with me at the Valencia up to four months ago. Why, he’s fresh out of boot camp!”

 Sally gasped. “Why, that loathsome lout! If I weren’t so tired of all this, I’d go back and boot him again—’Boot’ indeed!” She stretched up on her toes, kissed her and left steaming, but holding her record endearingly. No thoughts of Janie or Pamela entertained her mind.

Egads, you know I wouldn’t dishonor a fellow marine’s girl!”

“Sure as hell not with me around, you won’t! The sailor warned.

She smiled at them confidently. She tightened her arms round Pamela. “Fine, Pamie, I’ll take you to her now; Sally has all the marbles arranged for you in a giant circle.” She edged her to the door.

“Promise me, Mother Janie, that she shan’t badger me about her father?... not her business where he sleeps.”

Janie’s ears perked and a red brow lifted. “No, I won’t tell her.”

Her sailor friend lifted her out and carried her to the front entry. Janie rasped, “No—don’t be swabbish—the back door!”

He carried her up the long driveway, Janie following. She glanced curiously into the shadows at a coupe outlined against the white doors of the garage, then followed them up the back steps. The sailor let Pamela down on her feet and held her up while Janie fumbled through Pamela’s change purse for the key, since she couldn’t find her own; she unlocked the door.

 “You seem a little better, Pamie, can you make it to your room without waking your mother?”

“Don’t fret; Mum is awake—awake from her wake of many years...buried now, he is.”

“Pamie, please, don’t rattle so—it’s enough to wake the dead.” Janie nodded, then nudged her through the entry’s inner door.

“The dead is always awake...”

“Oh, Pamie, you never should’ve had that wine and, ugh, all that smelly beer.”

“Drown the sorrow, I say,” Pamela creaked. She stumbled and Janie steadied her and sat her down on a chair.

“Well, it hasn’t worked for you,” Janie said grimly, going to the pantry and reaching up for the light string. She adjusted the door for enough light to glow through the doorway so she could see into the massive auxiliary wooden refrigerator. She retrieved a glass container of tomato juice and a glass. “Here drink it down, maybe this will work in drowning whatever ails you.”

“I’m as healthy as Falstaff,” she protested but drank it down anyway.

“For the past few months, there’s been something with you and Sally that you had better straighten out. And I hope and pray it is not over me! You’re both making me a wreck,” she pleaded. “Now get to bed and sleep away troubles.”

“Ah, perchance....”

“No more,...off with you.” Janie snapped pulling her from the chair and steadying her as she walked her to the back stairs. “There, you’re walking better. Can you make the stairs?”

“Yes, Janie, I feel better now,” Pamela slurred as she grabbed the bannister and raised herself to the first step. “See, fine. I can manage this upside down staircase to hell....But aren’t you coming up?...Do you want me to look in on Bernadette?”

“Silly, You know we’re both at home this weekend. Now let me see you take another step, otherwise, I’ll put you to bed myself. Are you sure you don’t wish to come home with me?”....Oh, darn!...My key-chain...must’ve left it in...well, I’ll climb through the window.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,...Sara,...your father,...surely, you know.” Pamela maneuvered the step and then another as Janie watched in puzzlement, hanging a dim lantern to her rambling. “See?...No chance now in bumping into your father ....Good night now.”

“Good night,...now, be quiet going up the stairs; don’t wake your mother,” Janie beseeched.

“Why not? Bernadette does. Besides, my mother has finally awaken from her death and now thinks she can live as recklessly as a merry widow.” She continued up the stairs.

Janie just shook her head and waited until she got safely to the head of the stairs before turning the light out in the pantry. She closed the back door behind her, wishing she had the key to her own house. Her sailor extended his arms wanting to lift her down from the top landing. She waved him away. “I haven’t had a drop, you know. I can maneuver all my own, thank you.”

He shook his head and laughed, then bewailed the lost moment, “God, here I am out with a gorgeous gal and she makes a saint of me!” He laughed again.

“Far better that way,” she lectured, “You shall sleep better—especially now that you’ve been given Absolution. What if I were a tease? You would hate me for it....By the way, how is it no one ever blames the boy?” She looked over at the car again. “Gee, do I know that car?”

“Yeah, you should; I was looking at it while you were inside the house. What do you say we go for ride in it? The key’s not in it but the ignition switch isn’t locked.”

“No, thanks, I want to go home, not jail.”

“Looks like the same car you and your girl friend drove up to the church in.”

“You’re crazy.”

“No, I remember it had a missing hubcap—same green, too.”

He led her over to it and struck a match. “See? Same color.”

Her jaw dropped as she peered inside and saw the glove compartment opened and the Rheingold label- gear-shift knob. “Gosh, Sally’s father had the same problem keeping that compartment latch closed!” She went to the back and hoisted herself on to the bumper step and opened the rumble seat hatch. Feeling around the crack of the seat. “Strike another match here.” she ordered. The match illuminated the floor. Her keys glowed. “Oh, my God!”

She spotted a lug wrench on the floor and took it along with her. She held it out from her dress. “Egads, it’s so greasy.”

“What do you want that for?” the sailor asked.

“No reason, I trust, since when you take me home you will be in the frontseat with your marine friend.

“Well, I’ll be damned! I’ve heard of Angels with dirty faces, but never dirty hands with a weapon to boot!”

Estrangement And a Reconciliation

Sally was up bright and early. While dressing she played the record the girls had given her; it was still practically new in contrast to her old worn one that she had replaced after breaking the first one in a fit of temper that day . Downstairs she hesitantly ventured turning on the kitchen radio for news. She boiled some water for tea, which is all she normally had for breakfast. Her promise to Mary Lou came to mind and she went to the pantry to get the cornflakes. She went out the back door and took in the bottles of milk and light cream. After shaking the bottle vigorously, she poured some milk into her dark crystal blue bowl of cereal. The spoon in suspension, she cocked her ear and heard that the last of the marines had left Guam. She was ecstatic and had two full bowls of flakes. She looked down at Shirley Temple, a cornflake in her eye, smiling up at her: “Ah, yes, a time to smile.” She prepared two sandwiches and decided to take her tea with her, pouring it into—modified by the pink cork of the later one—her ancient thermos that Johnny had painted with Ray’s linoleum royal blue along with her battle-scarred lunchbox.

She squeezed between the side of the house and the roadster, wondering why her father did not put it in the garage—probably out so late. Squeaking garage doors would waken Mother, she reflected. She touched the hood as she went by; it was still warm. She frowned. Sweeping round the block to Janie’s, she wistfully looked over at her grandmother’s old house. She jumped the stoop and rang Janie’s door. Waiting she looked over her shoulder at her grandmother’s house, thinking of her counsel not to be too dependent on a man, unlike her mother. Jeannette came to the door and surprisingly and confidently told her to go right up to Janie’s room and wake her, adding that she had tried unsuccessfully to rouse her for the past fifteen minutes. “I’ve never known her to be out so late.” While Sally went up the stairs, she returned to the kitchen, thanking the Lord that Josh had left early with Timmy and the baby to arrive before the crowds at a kiddie carnival on the outskirts of Hempstead.

Upstairs, Sally was surprised to see the room disorderly—for the impeccable Janie, that is. Janie’s clothes from the night before were carelessly tossed over the desk chair and the bedspread on the floor. She leaned over and shook her. Janie tossed in protest, mumbling, “Mom,...told you Sally won’t be here.”

She shook her again, and Janie wriggled, mumbling through the spread, “No, I’m not getting between them...Let’m fight their own battle...so what if the truth hurts...wish I could say the same for myself.”

Sally’s brows arched and she sat on the edge of the bed, puzzled for a moment; then dismissed it and lifted the spread from over Janie’s head. Sally stroked the long curly auburn hair; it was lighter than the auburn of the night before, she observed. She shook her vigorously and rolled her over.

Her eyes blinked up at Sally. “Oh, no! Not again! That silly thing you call a school!”

“Oh, you silly phony! You’re wonderful with them, and they adore you.”

“Gads, next you’ll be carting me around again for that stinky, disgusting fat!....You and your war effort.” She rolled away. “Oh, Sally, why doesn’t this war just go away?”

Sally nudged her back over, beaming at her. “It has—for a time anyway—Johnny at least. The battle is over,” she said excitedly.

Janie smiled broadly and touched Sally’s hand. “Guam is over?...Oh, how happy I am...for you!...for Johnny! And yes, for me!” She was truly glad that she would not have to tell her that the letter she referred to was very recent. She sat up and grabbed her head, moaning, “Oh, what a night! I absolutely detest beer...uncouth, unladylike...and oh, the awful heavy smell!...And can you imagine anything more trampish than a girl drinking directly out of a beer bottle?....Oh, gads, my head is like a lead balloon just thinking about how Pamie must feel!”

“Oh, no, Janie, you didn’t go out afterwards?”

“What’s it to you?...Lot you cared leaving me the way you did to watch over Pam,” she whined.

“I think it was the converse—you disappeared with that sailor. Oh, Janie, don’t tell me you went out drinking with him?”

“Can’t just say opposite like normal people...See?...See how you are?” She rubbed her temples. “You’re always scolding me—for as long as I can remember....I’ll be—if she isn’t right—bossy Sally! It so happens that the sailor was very lonely, but I refused to dance a slow number so we sat in a corner and talked. Then I took him to the rectory to see Father O’Malley. When we got back and I saw how Pamela was acting up, I wouldn’t dare leave her alone. Because of all the wine she had and not wanting to go home, I had to go along with her, to humor her until she passed out, hoping she would awake forgetting the dreadful mood she was in.”

“How you do chatter—and bossy am I?”

Still rubbing her temples, sticking out her tongue and gagging grotesquely, she moaned, “The war, the war—I just want it to pass me by....But, oh, no, the boss has to keep drilling it into me!” Janie glanced up at her friend’s sad, puzzled eyes and softly touched Sally’s cheek. “Oh, you’re impossible!. Drafting me into that stupid club of yours—why, I was still a baby in the ninth grade, and our country not even at war yet! God, my fingertips are raw from knitting...and those stupid letters...God, how I hate to write! It’s not fair—why, you can write twenty to my one!”

Sally chuckled. She knew that Janie was prone occasionally to letting off steam; sometimes Sally would almost wish that Janie would challenge her more with regard to Johnny. Sally was sometimes shaken by the thought that Janie never bothered because she had under her veneer supreme confidence! “Hadn’t I given you copies of mine and an outline? So many are but duplicates—sadly they become routine after a while.”

“What good were they to me?...Couldn’t understand them...and the outline!... Gracious it’s like it were for a term paper! I trust you don’t write that way to Johnny.” She drew up her knees and rolled her forehead into them. Suddenly she looked up as though in panic and vented, “Oh, my God!” she looked around for baby tell-tales. She had completely forgotten her situation, as though she were still a sophomore. “What time is it? How did you get in?”

“Your mother is up. Besides, it’s not as early as you think. God, Janie, you weren’t drinking too?”

“Certainly not!” Then she remembered her father was taking Bernadette and Timmy to the children’s Kiddie Karnival. She let out a deep sigh. I had one sip out of an ugly bottle in this pub in Mineola where a young crowd hangs out to dance. I already told you I had to go along for the ride as much as I loathed it—goodness, Pamie was so stubborn!” She turned back to her complaints of the past. “And what about having to search through people’s dingy cellars, hot attics, rummaging for this and that—dusty, dirty, rusty old things—broken down Singers, tools, lamp shade wires, bottle caps, greasy old machine parts....And, oh, Mary in heaven, that disgusting dead rat we found under an old umbrella!...And you know how I can’t stand dark places and crawly ugly things.... Oh, those awful junk yards and those dirty men leering at us! Yes, hauling me here and there to this or that—all for the boys, you tell me.”

Sally laughed. “As Johnny would say, ’That’s ancient history’. It’s been so long since you’ve helped us.”

“Still,” Janie pouting, “now when I do something for a lonely sailor you scold me anyway!”

“Janie, for heaven’s sake, I’m not scolding you.” Her eyes widened. “Of course, it depends on what you did for him. I mean, goodness, you wouldn’t do that!”

“See?...Right away—the holy one. Other girls do it and claim it’s out of patriotism.”

“No! Janie, not you!...Totally irrelevant, you’re not other girls!” She leaned over and put her cheek on Janie’s head and lightly rubbed her back, but secretly she was disappointed that Janie didn’t make it with the sailor.

“Oh, don’t worry. Sally’s always right. Always little Janie must do what Miss Right thinks is right!...Always in your shadow and yet under your light.” She puckered her lips and ran her finger across them. “See velvety, untouched. Unfortunately I cannot say the same for Pamela—gads, she was all over that marine. I was glad when she passed out.”

Sally recoiled. “And she actually had beer after the wine?”

“Indeed, a lot—why, I bet she had darn near a half dozen! She was weird. Half the night she thought I was you.”

“Where did she get the wine?”

“From home...brought it with her...hid it in the church girls room.”

“In church, oh, my...oh, Janie, you didn’t take some too!—certainly not in church.”

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure you didn’t...well, you know...I mean both of you must’ve been under the weather.”

“Sally,...” pursing her lips in annoyance, “Sally,...it almost sounds as though you want me to say I was wild last night!...No, my dear, I was a hundred percent. Didn’t I tell you I took him to confession?...When that young marine tried something in the frontseat while Pamela was asleep, I punched him good.”

Sally laughed, happily relieved. “Oh, Janie, you’re a marvel! I love you so—even though you think I wish the worst on you. You don’t really think I do, do you?”

“Sure I do—you don’t have Johnny to boss around now.”

“Janie! How you do go on!”

She threw down the sheet and spread and maneuvered to the edge of the bed. She put her head on Sally’s shoulder. “I’m still feeling like a dud....Not used to such late hours. What do teenagers see in it, anyway?...Must I go to that silly school?”

“Yes, war plants work seven days, you know. You better get a move on or the children will be climbing the fence.”

“Sally, you’re horrid. What would you have done all these years not having me to shove around?”

Sally laughed. “Oh, you do all right in using me as a pawn on occasion.”

Janie stood up and stretched. “Oh, really?...News to me...checkmate would be more like it.” Janie eased to the floor, rocking her bare rump to pull the oversized flannel top under it, and started her morning sit ups. “Anyway, what is this weird relationship with Pamela lately?” she asked, her back flat to the floor as she held her head up. Then she braved more sit ups, and gradually she picked up in tempo and was doing them with ease. “I’ve noticed Pamela has been strange for some weeks now.”

“You, practically a stranger to me some two years, and you’ve been seeing her?” Sally whined; she was all lower lip.

“No, I simply meant the few times I’ve spoken to her on the phone and once we had lunch together,” Janie maneuvered. Sally accepted it. She was absorbed in the marvelous shape before her eyes and thought she had better start eating. Janie pursued, “And do you know why she’s acting peculiar?”

Sally picked up the bedspread from the floor while saying, “I suppose, it’s some kind of psychological lag over her father. For a while there it seemed she had gotten over it—of course, one never truly gets over something like that— nevertheless, she seemed to be functioning okay. Apparently, however, it has encroached on her again.”

“It’s not her father,” she stressed, ending her sit ups and breathing heavily.

“Her mother, then.” Sally returned to sit on the edge of the bed.

“The queen of language and you didn’t catch my drift. Is it that you don’t want to?”

“I was afraid to scold you again,” she quipped, ignoring the question, “what with your head like a lead balloon.” She chuckled. “I couldn’t very well expect you to struggle with the word peculiarly.”

“It’s not my English but my emphasis; but you’re right, it does boil down to her mother.” She crossed her ankles and bent her torso and sprung up without having to use her hands and arms as a lever. “Johnny taught me that trick after boot camp.”

Sally looked over at her petulantly but dismissed it. “Hmm,...I couldn’t do it....You’re in marvelous shape, Janie; I must start working out with you,” delaying what she sensed she had to broach. Finally she projected, “Yes, Pamela’s mother is obviously distraught.”

“Oh, my God! I’ll miss Mass!”

Sally grimaced. “Oh, it’s Saturday...of course, I’m aware you go everyday, but it won’t send you to purgatory if you miss once.”

“Yes, you’re right...the children come first.” Janie sat down next to her and put her arm around her. “Yes,...the poor woman apparently has reached a breaking point in her years of grief and slim hope even though in many respects Emily’s been a tower of strength.”

“My, Emily, is it?” but Sally did not pursue it. “Oh, yes, she’s been a rock like Ulysses’ Penelope ...But how would you know that? When do you ever see Mrs. Lockely?” She practically barricades her house.” Sally glanced at her with a trace of suspicion and added, “You and Pamela see a good deal of each other, it seems.”

“What has that got to do with it?” Janie swerved. “And no we don’t. All I mean is that Mrs. Lockely works all the time for the Red Cross.”

Sally squeezed her temples. “Yes, I suppose she has been giving at that,” she agreed, knowing how well her own mother was improving in virtue of her defense work. “Any loss—death or otherwise—has to be overcome.” Sally thought of Mrs. Cory and how she braved so much better the death of Ray than she had of her husband’s. She sighed tautologically, “Death is the demon of so much heartbreak—especially in Mrs. Lockely’s case, having false hope for five years.”

“I shouldn’t give into it yet,” Janie’s soft voice was in cadence with what she felt in her heart for Emily. “It’s still not official..it seems she has, though.” In this case, there is a more immediate demon.” She pressed her cheek to Sally’s, then backed off and turned Sally’s cheek to her. “The cause of all this is your father.”

Sally jolted up from the bed and absently began to pick up Janie’s clothes from the back of the chair. In heading for the dresser, she paused, holding Janie’s underthings in her hand, “My father, you say?”

“We both know what he is, Sally,” she concluded sadly. She eyed her personals in Sally’s hand. Oh, I’m disgusting—I put nothing away! I’ll never go out again!”

Sally put the slip, bra and panties on the dresser and then picked up Janie’s high heels. She sighed, opened the closet door and uttered, “Oh, God!” She jerked up from out of the closet and asked in desperation, “Are you sure, Janie?”

“Women are his weakness—weak women.” Janie started making her bed.

“You found out from Pam?” Sally probed as she picked up the not so shimmering dress, now wrinkled.

“Not in so many words; but she rambled enough in her drunkenness,” she said as she made a smart hospital corner.

“Yes, she can be as explosive in her obliqueness as another is blunt,” she commented drily after hanging up the dress. She knitted her brows and added, “Oh, my father...that unscrupulous, eh?...has no feelings...a defenseless widow, no less!...A father without honor....I wonder how Pamela found out?...Oh, Janie, are you certain you’re not mistaken?...if Pam never directly divulged...”

“I wouldn’t have told you if I had not seen the car.”

“My father’s car?” Where?”

“Late last night in Pam’s driveway.” She thought of the tire-iron; she must ask Timmy to return it discreetly.

“Oh, my God, no—not in their house! Poor Pam!...Lord!...I should’ve known.”

“I’m truly sorry, Sally; I wish it didn’t have to come from me.” Janie finished making the bed. “Are you all right?...Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything.” She felt like a hypocrite in light of her own deceptions.”

“No, you did the right thing.” She closed the closet door. Sadly she added, “I should not have wanted to remain in the dark.”

Janie winced. “I’m going to take a shower now.” She glanced at her desk to be certain she had not left anything visible of Johnny’s, most of which she had taken to Emily’s.

“Yes, yes,” she said with an absent nod as she plopped in the desk chair. “Immune to him by now, except that he hurt someone close....Go take your shower.” She drummed her fingers as she dwelt on the desk drawer as Janie left. She hesitated in opening it. “Oh,” she murmured, “ I have a more immediate problem.” She got up and went to the window and gazed down on the fish pool.

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