She tried making small talk and learned that he was twenty-two years old and a city boy from Albany. He smelled every bit as good as he looked: spicy and masculine, good enough to eat. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, laughing at all his jokes, agreeing with everything he said—behaving much too eagerly, as Eleanor would say. When he pulled her close for a slow song—closer than she’d ever been to any man—she couldn’t seem to think straight.
From time to time she caught Rick glancing over at Eleanor. The mirror told Cynthia that she was the prettier of the two, but she couldn’t deny that Eleanor’s cool confidence made her very desirable, especially to a man like Rick who was used to getting whatever he wanted. Cynthia danced with him to the next three tunes, drank some lemonade, then danced a few more times. His cockiness began to grate on her. Rick held her too closely. He moved her around the dance floor as if she were a piece on a chessboard and he were the grand master. She didn’t like that. And Eleanor had been right about another thing: His hands were as soft as her own.
“Let’s you and me step outside for a while,” he said when they’d been together about an hour. “My friends and I have something a little stronger than lemonade out in the jeep.” He was moving much too fast for her. She knew he was way out of her league.
“No thanks,” she said. “I really should go see if my friend—” She gestured to their table but Eleanor was gone. Cynthia spotted her a moment later, tearing up the dance floor with an awkward, big-eared guy who was even homelier than Eleanor’s brother was. The GI couldn’t dance to save his life, but Eleanor was swinging and moving as if she’d been born to it. Rick’s face showed surprise, then anger.
“Hey, what gives? I thought your left-footed friend couldn’t dance?” He dropped Cynthia’s hand and strode over to where the pair was dancing, then stood with his hands on his hips, watching her. Eleanor was so dynamic on the dance floor that other people stopped to watch her, as well. Before long, everyone in the hall had gathered around Eleanor and her partner as if they were the last two contestants in a dance marathon. When the gangly soldier saw everyone watching, he began to blush and seemed to become even clumsier. Eleanor took her audience in stride. She bowed to the cheers and applause when the song ended, then whirled into her partner’s arms for a brief hug.
“Thanks, Harry. That was great fun,” she said, laughing. His face turned a fierce shade of red, and he slunk back to his corner to recover. Eleanor returned to their table and fell into her chair, then picked up a napkin to fan herself. Rick ignored Cynthia completely as he sank down beside Eleanor.
“What was that all about? I thought you said you couldn’t dance.”
“Harry was a great teacher, wasn’t he?”
“Well, I could teach you a few steps that old Harry probably never heard of. Come on.” He extended his hand.
“Not now—I’m bushed.”
“Why don’t you want to dance with me?”
Cynthia didn’t wait to hear Eleanor’s reply. Rick had forgotten she even existed. She hurried off to the ladies’room to take a powder, unwilling for either of them to see how hurt she was at being dumped like yesterday’s newspaper. She didn’t understand how she could feel angry that he’d rejected her and, at the same time, feel so relieved to be rid of him. Rick was too fast for her. She was too inexperienced. Hadn’t she just turned down his offer to step outside? But he was undoubtedly attracted to Eleanor, and Cynthia was jealous.
She stayed in the ladies’room awhile, freshening her lipstick, touching up her mascara and rouge. When she studied her reflection, she barely recognized the beautiful girl she’d become. The transformation had been amazing. Cynthia took a deep breath to gather her courage before exiting the ladies’room. It’s all an act, she told herself.
Rick still sat at the table beside Eleanor. Cynthia could tell by the animated way he talked, smiling and leaning close, that he was working very hard to impress her. Eleanor remained cool and unimpressed. Was that an act? Or did she truly dislike rich men that much?
Cynthia wasn’t ready to give up on men and go home, yet. But she knew that she needed to start her new life as a gorgeous blonde much more slowly than with a guy like Rick. She spotted a group of bumpkins, huddled together for safety on the fringes of the dance floor, and decided to practice her acting skills on them. She sauntered over to them, swaying her hips and flashing her best smile.
“Hi, fellas,” she said. “Where are you all from?”
She savored their appreciative “hubba-hubbas” and drew courage from their nervousness. Eventually they worked up enough gumption to take turns dancing with her. She began to relax and have a good time.
Much too soon, the time came to catch the last bus home to Riverside. Eleanor was still talking to Rick—or was it the other way around? Cynthia said good-night to her bumpkin friends and pasted on her best smile as she walked over to the table.
“Hey, Eleanor. We’d better get going. We don’t want to miss our bus.”
Eleanor looked at her watch, then pushed back her chair to stand up. “You’re right. See you around, Rick.”
He scrambled to his feet. “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. You ladies need a ride? I might be able to help you out.”
“No, thanks,” Eleanor said. “The bus is fine. See you.” She gave a lazy wave as if he’d been no one special, as if she hadn’t just spent the last two hours talking with him.
Cynthia still felt hurt that Rick had dropped her so quickly for Eleanor, but she didn’t say anything, determined not to let her know. After all, it hadn’t been Eleanor’s fault. They hurried to the bus station, barely making it in time to catch the last bus home. But when they were finally in their seats, the bus windows open and the warm night air streaming in, Cynthia could no longer remain quiet.
“For someone who hates rich boys as much as you do, you sure spent a lot of time talking to one tonight.”
“In case you didn’t notice, he was doing all the talking. I was trying to discourage him, but he was very persistent. For a while there, it looked like you two were hitting it off. What happened?”
“He moves too fast for me. He wanted me to go outside with him after a couple of dances. Said he had something stronger to drink than lemonade. I told him no.”
“Good for you, Cynthia. You did exactly the right thing. Guys like Rick are used to getting their own way. I’m glad you stood your ground.
You watch and see, he’ll pick a different girl every week from now until he finishes his training. Nine out of ten women will be too dumb or too dazzled to turn him down the way you did.”
“He sure was good-looking, though,” Cynthia said with a sigh. “Why can’t farm boys be as cute as he is?”
“Because God knows that handsome guys like Rick would never stay home and work on a farm—and then what would we all eat?”
Chapter
15
F or the first time that Cynthia could recall, Eleanor was wrong. Rick Trent didn’t choose a different girl the following week. He headed straight for Eleanor like a cow racing to the barn at milking time. Eleanor had been dancing to a slow song with another GI when Rick tapped the fellow on the shoulder and cut in, forcing Eleanor to dance with him. He never left her side after that, and they talked and danced together all evening.
“I’ve never known you to be wrong before,” Cynthia told her on the bus ride home. “But you sure were wrong about Rick. He made a beeline for you the moment he stepped through the door tonight. Then he acted as if you were the only girl there.”
Eleanor smiled faintly. “I might have misjudged him.”
“So he’s not a spoiled rich guy, after all?”
“Oh, he’s loaded, all right. Very upper class. His father owns a couple of businesses or factories or something up in Albany. Rick could have gotten a deferment to help run them since they’re defense industries, but he ran off and enlisted instead. Made his father madder than a bag of wet cats. He likes to rile his father.”
Cyn
thia hadn’t learned any of this in the time she’d spent dancing with him.
“Evidently there’s some society girl back home that his parents wanted him to marry,” Eleanor continued. “Old family money and all that. She was another reason why he bolted.”
“So you’ve changed your opinion of him?”
“I have. He comes on like a dumb playboy, but he’s actually very welleducated. Prep school at Andover, college degree from Princeton. The girl he’s supposed to marry is a Dumb Dora—charm school alumnus, if you know what I mean. She’s a real-live debutante with one of those cutesy names like Trixie or Pinky or Binny. Rick wants a wife he can converse with. He’s one of the first guys I ever met who didn’t run the other way when I told him I wanted an education and a career.”
“Are you falling for him?”
“Of course not. I’m being very careful. It might be an act on his part. Time will tell. But for now, he’s not as bad as I thought he was.”
Cynthia noticed a change in both Rick and Eleanor as time passed.
Rick lost his cocky swagger and seemed much more pleasant to be around without his playboy veneer. But even more surprising was when Eleanor began to let down her guard, and Cynthia caught a glimpse of what the real Eleanor was like—softer, more vulnerable—as she opened up to Rick. They both seemed gloriously happy, laughing a good portion of the time that they spent together. And it looked like genuine happiness, too, not an act. Eleanor sizzled like a Fourth of July sparkler as she waltzed around the dance floor in Rick’s arms. They moved as one, not like a chess master manipulating a game piece. Cynthia hoped Eleanor wouldn’t get hurt.
Before long, Eleanor and Cynthia began to double date with Rick and a string of his friends. One GI named Steve seemed to like Cynthia a lot, but she was waiting for fireworks, and they didn’t happen. He was a nice guy and fun to be with, but she saw excitement and sparks between Eleanor and Rick, and she envied them. They looked into each other’s eyes as if the secrets of the universe were written there, and so much electricity passed between them it was a wonder their hair didn’t stand on end.
One wintry Friday night, Eleanor came down with a cold. “Go to the dance without me,” she insisted. “All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep.” Cynthia didn’t want to go at first, but Doris and Lucille from across the hall were going, and she decided to go with them. It would give her a chance to observe Rick and see if he was really serious about Eleanor, or if he would two-time her behind her back.
Cynthia was sitting at their usual table, watching the door, when Rick came in. “I’m going to take a powder,” she told the other two girls. “If Rick asks where Eleanor is, tell him the truth—that she has a cold. Don’t let him know I’m here.”
But Rick sat at a table with a group of guys all night, ignoring the music and all the pretty women. He looked lost without Eleanor. When he spotted Cynthia later in the evening, he hurried over to talk to her.
“Doris said that Eleanor is sick. Is she okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just a cold. She’ll probably go to work on Monday.”
“If I write her a note, will you take it to her?”
“Sure. As long as you get it to me before my bus leaves.”
Rick raced out of the door as if the building were on fire. Cynthia wondered where on earth he was going for writing paper. The USO provided it for free to servicemen who wanted to write letters home. She and the other girls had just put on their coats, preparing to leave for the bus station, when Rick came racing back—with a bouquet of flowers!
“I’ve been running all over town trying to buy these,” he said breathlessly. “And here’s the note to go with them.”
Eleanor was asleep when Cynthia returned home. She left the door to the hallway open a crack so she could find her way in the dark and sat down on her friend’s bed, shaking her gently.
“Eleanor…? Ellie, I’m sorry to wake you up, but you’ve got to see these. They’re from Rick.”
“What?” she asked sleepily, squinting in the thin beam of light. Cynthia laid the flowers on Eleanor’s lap as she slowly sat up.
“He spent all night running around town trying to buy them. And he sent you this note, too.” Cynthia crossed the room to turn on the desk light, then filled a pitcher with water for the flowers. When she looked back at her friend, Eleanor was wiping away a tear as she refolded the note.
“That was the nicest thing anybody ever did for me,” she sniffed.
“Rick is a very nice guy,” Cynthia said softly. “Even if he is rich.”
The following night Cynthia’s throat felt a little scratchy, too. The previous evening hadn’t been much fun without Eleanor, so Cynthia decided to skip the dance at the USO and stay home. They were both sitting up in bed, listening to the radio with their pajamas on, when they heard something strike their bedroom window.
“What was that?” Cynthia asked. “Turn the radio down a minute.”
They heard the noise again.
“Someone is throwing rocks at our window!” Eleanor said. They climbed out of bed and ran to the front window, lifting the blackout curtain. Rick stood below, preparing to throw another rock. He had his friend Steve with him.
Eleanor slid the window open. “Go around to the back, you idiots!
We’ll be right down.” She put her coat on over her pajamas and slipped into her shoes. Her face beamed like a searchlight. “Come on, Cynthia.”
“Like this? I’m in my pj’s!”
“Put your coat on. They won’t know.” She shoved Cynthia’s coat into her hands and they ran down the back stairs. Rick pulled Eleanor into his arms and whirled her around, laughing.
“What are you doing here? How’d you find us?” she asked.
“Detective work, my dear! I overheard you mention catching a bus to Riverside. And you’ve told me several times that you lived in the Cadaver Hotel. I simply put two and two together and decided to come to Riverside’s only funeral home.”
“That’s amazing!” Cynthia said, truly impressed.
Eleanor gave her a nudge in the ribs. “Don’t be so gullible. They probably asked Doris and Lucille where we lived.”
“But how did you know which window was ours?” Cynthia asked.
“We’ve been pitching rocks at all the ones with lights on,” Rick said with a grin. “Hey, it’s cold out here, and Eleanor’s already sick. Invite us up.”
“We can’t!” Cynthia said, horrified at the idea. “Mrs. Montgomery said no gentlemen callers!”
Rick laughed again, mischievously. “That’s okay. We’re not gentlemen.”
Cynthia shook her head. “It’s really not a good idea. …”
“Oh, come on, Cynthia,” Eleanor said. “They came this far. The least we can do is let them come in and get warm.” She was looking at Rick as if he were the medicine she needed to cure her. Cynthia was still unsure.
“But… I don’t want to get into trouble. What if we get kicked out?”
“We’ll be really quiet. Right, guys?” Eleanor held her finger to her lips and tiptoed to the door with exaggerated stealth. Rick and Steve mimicked her, laughing and shushing each other. Against Cynthia’s wishes—and better judgment—the two men sneaked upstairs to her room.
“Ta-da! Here it is,” Eleanor said. “Welcome to the Presidential Suite at the Cadaver Hotel. Want some hot chocolate?”
“Ellie!” Cynthia quickly shut the door.
“What?”
“They were only going to stay a minute. We’re in our pajamas!”
“You’re welcome to take them off if you’re uncomfortable,” Rick said. Steve gave a wolf whistle, and Cynthia felt herself blushing clear to her toes. Everyone laughed except her, and she suddenly felt as prudish and uptight as an old spinster. She laughed in spite of herself and made up her mind to relax and enjoy their visitors.
“I’ll make hot chocolate,” she said, “but somebody else will have to go down to the dungeon and get the milk out of the refrigerator. I?
??m not going down there at night! It’s spooky enough in the daytime.”
“We don’t need hot chocolate,” Rick said. “How about a game of cards?”
They didn’t have a table and there weren’t enough chairs, so they all sat on the floor on the rag rug and played gin rummy, the girls still wearing their coats over their nightclothes. It was the best Saturday night that Cynthia had spent since coming to Riverside. Steve was a nice guy and a fun date, but his charm paled compared to his friend Rick. As Cynthia had gotten to know Rick better, she understood what Eleanor saw in and liked about him. Too bad he hadn’t been this much fun when she had danced with him.
Eleanor seemed to have a gift for tearing down people’s facades and bringing out the best in them. She’d certainly transformed Cynthia from a boring, ugly duckling into a beautiful swan. And the change in Rick was no less miraculous. He told hilarious stories, some at his own expense, and sang along with Frank Sinatra and the Andrews Sisters on the radio. He was so attentive to Eleanor, and so affectionate, gently caressing her neck or her shoulder and stealing kisses whenever she made a good play or won a hand of cards. They were all having fun. Hours passed and no one cared.
“Hey, let’s make popcorn,” Eleanor decided after Rick won another round.
“Good idea. I’ll make it,” Cynthia jumped up to plug in the hot plate, then halted. “Wait, I can’t. The oleomargarine is down in the basement refrigerator.”
“Can’t we go get it?” Steve asked. “I’m not afraid.”
Rick began making spooky, moaning noises, like a ghost. “Who’s down there, Frankenstein?” he asked.
“We’ll all go down together,” Eleanor decided. “Come on.”
They crept down to the basement, giggling and hushing each other. The blackout curtains hadn’t been closed, so they didn’t dare turn on a light. But when Cynthia opened the refrigerator door to get the margarine, it cast enough light for Rick and Steve to have a look around.
“Leave it open a minute,” Rick said. “Let’s see how many ghouls are down here.” Cynthia watched nervously as they explored the basement, joking about seeing ghosts and daring each other to open one of the coffins. When Rick lifted a lid and found the coffin to be empty, he climbed inside, lying down on the satin lining with his hands folded and his eyes closed like a dead man.