had to lean in to hear him. “Club soda will be fine.” A flashbulb popped, and I recognized Gloria DeHaven at the next table. Across the room, Jimmy Durante lifted his glass to her. Stars. I was in the middle of it. This was exactly what I’d dreamed of back in Providence, lying on my bed with a movie magazine, dreaming over pictures. Why did I just want to go home?
I sipped at the club soda. Mr. D wasn’t even trying to talk to me. He was completely turned around, talking to someone behind him. I was just here to decorate the table for a few minutes.
I suddenly remembered that Hank had said he might come by to walk me home. I wondered if he’d wait. I wondered if it was too soon to leave.
The band swung into an easy, jazzy version of “It’s Been a Long, Long Time,” and a few couples were on the tiny dance floor.
“Dance with me,” Nate said, leaning over.
“I’ve been dancing all night,” I said. I tried to stall by taking out my compact, the silver one I’d found. I’d gone to the drugstore for fresh powder for it.
To my surprise, Nate took it from my hand. He turned it over. “Pretty.”
“I found it in the apartment. The girl who lived there before… during the war. The Warwicks.”
“The mirror’s cracked.” He snapped it shut but didn’t give it back. “I can get it fixed for you.”
“No, thanks.” I took it from his hand. “I thought I might send it back to her. Did she leave a forwarding address?”
“No. It was the war years. People came and went. How about that dance?” He stood.
I wanted to say no. But he was standing, his hand was out, and I was sitting at the table with my boss. I had to do it.
“Go ahead, doll, Nate is a classy guy,” Mr. D said, his first words to me since I’d sat down. “Then you can head home and lap up a nice glass of warm milk like a good kitty.”
Nate put his hand on the small of my back. His touch was barely there. The back of the dress was low, and if he moved his thumb an inch he’d feel bare skin. But he kept his hand where it was. I didn’t think I could stand it if he did. I thought of dancing with Billy, how he’d run his finger along the line of my dress, sometimes insinuating a finger between the fabric and my skin, and rubbing gently.
His voice was close to my ear.
“I like your hair that way. How come you didn’t wear the dress I brought you? The black one?”
“I had to borrow a dress from one of the girls.”
“I’d like to see you in that black dress.”
We were dancing to a song for sweethearts. It had been a hit right after the war, with all the soldiers coming home to their girlfriends and wives. I could see the other couple leaning into each other, the woman’s eyes closed as she breathed in the scent of her love. I knew what that was like. It’s been a long, long time, Billy, I thought, and I had to close my eyes because thinking of him made me feel as though my insides were scooped out of me. I felt hollow, a girl in heels moving to music she didn’t feel, dancing with a man she didn’t want to dance with.
“You see that man, the one in the gray suit and red tie, at the table next to ours?”
He moved me around so I could look over his shoulder. “Yes.”
“Name is Ray Mirto. He’s a regular. You should start getting to know the regulars. See the men with him?”
“I see them.” They looked all the same to me, like Ray Mirto, men with too much weight on them and red-flushed faces.
His hand tightened on mine. “Pay attention. The guy with his back to you? That’s Joe Adonis.”
I knew that name; he was almost as notorious as Frank Costello. I looked at Ray Mirto as he lit a cigarette. He was laughing, leaning over to light his companion’s cigarette. He put his arms across the back of the booth as if he owned it. I could see that he was talking loudly. One of the men leaned forward as if speaking to him in a low tone, and he waved him off. He looked like he thought he was the life of the party, but