Vi pointed a fork at her travel buddy’s untouched tray. “Rehearsal is coming up fast. And remember the USO rules we just swore to uphold?” As in don’t treat any one soldier as more special than another.
Marcie’s face fell as she caught the hint. “Oh, that’s right.” Then she frowned in disgust. “Stupid rules. I finally find a nice fella and I’m not allowed to enjoy it.”
“Don’t worry, miss,” Soldier Wilson said earnestly. “I’ll understand if you can’t write me until your tour is over. How ’bout I give you my parents’ address, and soon as you get back to the States, you can contact them for my forwarding address.”
Marcie batted her eyelashes and cooed, “You really want me to write you?”
“Would I ever!” The soldier practically had stars in his eyes.
Vi sat back and stared. Where had the shy little Marcie gone? And more important, what the heck did the girl think she was doing? Chatting with a fellow, stroking his ego was one thing, but leading him on with promises of more? That was quite another, which made Vi think Marcie might not know the difference between harmless flirtation and outright seduction. It was akin to not knowing the difference between lighting a sparkler and a stick of dynamite, and just as dangerous for a woman.
“Unit 2-9-1-8,” Sue called out over the clamor of forks scraping and too many conversations. An instant hush followed, allowing her to continue. “Rehearsal in the rec hall in five minutes, so finish up. Late arrivers will be court-martialed.”
Vi grabbed her tray and stood. “Come on, Marce. That’s our cue to beat feet.”
Neither Marcie nor Wilson seemed to hear her.
Irritated with the both of them, Vi wondered if Marcie wanted to get kicked out of the USO. If so, maybe, just maybe, Vi should let her. After all, she had enough to worry about on this trip without having to babysit an obstinate, naive, headstrong girl . . .
She paused midstep on her way over to where the others were dropping off their trays and scraping their plates.
Those same adjectives could also be applied to the missing Mafia princess. And Marcie certainly looked the part, with her dark hair and eyes. Catholic? Check. Overprotected? Check. Impulsive and reckless enough to blackmail her own father? Check and double check. True, the name didn’t fit. But what if the girl was using a stage name, trying to hide her identity, much like Vi was?
If so, it would be both good and bad news: good because Vi rather liked the girl, despite her irritating moments, but also bad because, from what she had seen tonight, it might be harder to keep her charge out of trouble than she had expected.
“You could’ve waited,” Marcie groused, coming up beside her. “Now I won’t be able to get his address.”
“Good,” she said, relieved as much by that news as by no longer facing the possibility she might have to drag the girl to rehearsal kicking and screaming.
Marcie huffed in annoyance. “Are you always such a killjoy?”
“Only when I see someone doing something stupid.” Vi handed her tray to a Negro soldier stacking them on a cart to be washed.
“Virginia”—Marcie stressed the name in a way that made Vi’s hackles rise—“we’re supposed to be warm and welcoming and supportive to the troops. Not prudish wallflowers.”
“The name is Vi, and just because a fella wears a uniform doesn’t mean he’s a good guy. Uncle Sam is just as likely to call up a no-good rat as a decent man, so you need to be more careful.”
Marcie scoffed as she handed her tray to the same dark-skinned soldier, who seemed to be following the conversation with interest. “You’re just jealous.”
Vi wanted to roll her eyes. Considering that just last week she’d had men literally eating out of the palm of her hand, she was hardly going to be jealous over some soldier wanting Marcie’s address. But she couldn’t tell Marcie that. Nor could she say she was also the voice of experience when it came to the dangers of flirting, so Vi merely shrugged. “If you say so.”
Marcie narrowed her eyes, clearly unwilling to give up the fight. “You know what, farm girl? You wouldn’t last a single day in my world, so stop trying to give me advice.”
Stung, Vi finally lost patience with the girl. “Look here, princess. I’d be careful casting slurs while wearing those brand-new shoes even though there’s a war going on. Just what kind of ‘business’ does