joined them. Her cat-green eyes were fastened on the sergeant, her look just as lascivious as Marcie’s.
“Vi just told me he’s a sergeant and not an officer,” Marcie gushed. “Maybe we should go introduce ourselves?”
Vi wanted to smack both of them. “Do you not see Sue and Mr. Stuart standing right there? You’ll get canned before our first performance!”
Frances shot her a smug look. “Oh, come on. All work and no play make Jane a very dull girl, and we wouldn’t want to risk becoming dull! Besides, the USO wants us to entertain the GIs, and he looks like he could use a bit of entertaining.”
“Fine, if you want to get sent home in disgrace, knock yourself out,” Vi said, already starting to consider whether they could do the show with only three dancers. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Frances fluffed her hair and then headed over.
Vi turned her back on the scene and uncapped her canteen. Still smarting from being cut by the dreamy sergeant, she had no desire to see Frances succeed where she had just failed.
Marcie hesitated, though—Lord love her—worry clouding her face. “Do you really think it’s a bad idea, Vi?”
“I do. There’s such a thing as timing, meaning you don’t try to seduce a man while he’s talking to your bosses.”
“They’re directors, not bosses, and oh my!” Marcie settled against the wall next to Vi, her gaze on the action unfolding in front of her. “I sure wish I could swish my hips like that.”
Vi made a noncommittal sound as she put the canteen to her lips. As she drank, she tried to convince herself she was glad the sergeant had ignored her. It likely meant her disguise was working, which would be for the best.
Marcie’s forehead wrinkled as if perplexed. “Do fellows really go for that? We were told in cotillion to walk as if we had a book on our head. That it was more attractive.”
“It depends on what kind of attention you’re trying to attract.” Vi took another swig to keep from turning around. She didn’t want or need to know if the sergeant was buying Frances’s act . . . did she?
She hesitated and then turned her head in time to catch the brunette in full swing. Frances wasn’t bad, she had to admit. But Vi was better. Much better.
Which was cold comfort as she watched the sergeant do a double take as Frances sauntered up.
Suppressing a twinge of irritation at how predictable men were, she turned away.
Invisibility is good, remember?
Sure. And so was being respected for one’s talent and intelligence, but that didn’t mean she had to like being dismissed.
Next to her Marcie gave a muffled snort. “Serves her right.”
“What does?” Vi studied her nails in feigned disinterest.
“Sergeant Dreamboat just turned his back on her. Deliberately. You should see her face!”
Vi’s lips quirked in unladylike schadenfreude. At least she wasn’t the only one to get shot down by the fellow.
“Maybe we should call him Sergeant Disaster instead,” Marcie said with a giggle. Then she abruptly turned toward the wall. “Here she comes. And, boy, does she ever look steamed.”
“She shouldn’t be. If anything, she should be glad.” Vi stretched her back, wanting to stay limber for the dance. “She was taking a serious risk with Mr. Stuart and Sue right there.”
“And don’t forget Mr. Miller,” Marcie added. “Though he might not have noticed. He only has eyes for Luciana.”
A brief image of the sergeant’s double take flashed in Vi’s head. Two of the other three in the group had noticed Frances at the same time: Sue and Wyatt. Not Mr. Stuart, but then the director didn’t seem aware of much. Sue had frowned in displeasure. And Wyatt . . . well, it had been hard to read his reaction, but it wasn’t disinterest exactly.
“Are you sure about Mr. Miller and Luciana? I haven’t seen them hanging around each other much.”
Before Marcie could answer, Frances stalked up. She turned and leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, her expression cool.
“Sergeant Dangerous didn’t want cheering up?” Marcie asked innocently. Vi snorted softly in amusement, the new moniker fitting him much more closely.
Frances shot her a venomous look. “Can it, Dorothy. Or better yet, click the heels of those expensive black market shoes of yours and go home.”
“Ooh, it’s the Wicked Witch of the West.” Marcie threw up her hands in exaggerated self-protection, eyes wide in mock fear. “We’d better be careful, Vi.”
“Considering how Dorothy does the