There was a knock on the door, and Steven answered it. A pretty young soldier with her hair in a tight bun smiled at me. “Miss Belle? Are you ready?”
I smiled at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
Steven was talking on the phone but lowered it when he heard me and winked. “Nice,” he mouthed.
I winked back.
The soldier hurried toward the exit, and we hurried after her. I wasn’t sure what the rush was, I was the one who had two hours of sleep before we left for the airport, but there was no way I’d complain.
“Aren’t you glad I made flats part of this outfit?” Celeste asked.
I was. She’d given me a pair of perfectly white Converse flats and while I was adept in heels, it was nice not to have to rush across tile on stilettos.
“Read me the set list again, will you, Steven?” We got into a glorified golf cart, and before I could belt myself, we took off.
“Right,” he said. “We’re doing two acts. Jasmine and Jayde will perform between your songs. They’re doing The Andrew’s Sisters. Keep Your Skirts Down, Mary Ann, and Hot Time in the Town of Berlin.”
“That’s not too campy?” I asked. Those songs were popular in the nineteen-forties. I didn’t want the soldiers to think we weren’t taking their sacrifice seriously.
“Not at all.” He lifted his gaze to mine. “You know I would never put what we have here at risk. I want this to be a tribute—both to the soldiers and our vets. Do you know that of the sixteen million veterans who served in World War II, there are only half a million still living?”
I didn’t.
“The girls know to keep it respectful then?” But I didn’t need to ask that question of either. Except for Gordon, I had full confidence in my dancers. I handpicked most of them, and I knew they wouldn’t jeopardize their positions with me.
Steven just looked at me, and I sighed. “Okay. What about my songs?” Mentally, I reviewed my catalog, but I left the decision up to my manager. One of the things I had to be okay with was trusting the people I had around me. Aucoin was the expert with makeup. Celeste was the costume designer extraordinaire. Steven had the pulse of the audience. They didn’t make the decisions for me, but I gave a lot of weight to their suggestions. Ultimately, I made the decisions, but not without consulting them.
“We’re doing a country hip-hop crossover and a Top Forty pop song.”
“Which one?” I asked, mentally running down what I had.
He told me and I nodded. “Do you need the choreography?” Steven held out his tablet to me, but I shook my head. I didn’t spend hundreds of hours rehearsing to forget my choreography.
The cart slowed to a stop near a building with a huge red, white, and blue USO sign. Four people stood holding flags, smiling at me.
“Welcome to Coronado, Miss Belle.” A soldier stepped forward, clipboard in his arms. “I’m Staff Sergeant Hanson. I’ll show you to your dressing room.”
“It’s a pleasure to be here,” I replied, smiling brightly as I stepped out of the cart. “Thank you for having me.”
His cheeks pinked, and his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I’m sorry I won’t get to see your performance,” he said, to which the soldier driving audibly sighed before she pulled away. “We had so many soldiers request leave for your performance that we’re at bare-bones staffing.”
“We’ll just have to send you tickets for the next time I’m on the West Coast,” I told him.
My manager nodded. “Definitely.”
Wide-eyed, the man stepped back and began to lift his fingers to his head as if to salute me. At the last minute, he seemed to realize what he was doing and dropped his hand back to the clipboard in his hands. “Thank you so much, Miss Belle. I never expected…” He cleared his throat. “This way.”
We followed him into the building and through a series of hallways in which I’d probably get lost if I was on my own.
“The stage director will be here at sixteen hundred,” Staff Sergeant Hanson said. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll just be right here as you get ready.”
“Thank you,” I said again, and we went inside. My costume was hanging next to a vanity. I didn’t have much to do to get ready. Just pin and tuck myself into the outfit. I wouldn’t be flashing too much skin today. I would be down to my skivvies and a rhinestone bra, but I’d keep on the red satin gloves that went midway to my shoulders.
With Celeste’s help, I stripped out of my clothes and started to put on my costume.
As she attached my stockings to my garters, Steven cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Fine,” I replied because there were two other people in here and a stranger outside the door. He knew better than to ask me that and expect an honest answer when there was the possibility my “not fine” could be passed along to other people. “Why?”
“Just checking,” he answered, but his voice was off. It was too chipper, and he’d ended that sentence like it was a question.
Hmm. I considered pushing him for more information but decided against it. If he wanted to be cagey, that was fine. He’d tell me when he was ready.
It took me less time to get my costume on than it would take to get it off. Aucoin touched up my makeup and powdered my neck, shoulders, and back so I was even toned. The freckles I had along my nose also dotted my shoulders.
Then I was set.
A knock on the door sounded just as I straightened and considered myself in the full-length mirror. I was in red, white, and blue. It could have been cheesy, but Celeste knew how to walk the line.
In the distance, I could hear my music and someone announcing me.
“Ready?” Steven asked as he opened the door for me.
I nodded, but my stomach gave a weird squeeze. It couldn’t be nerves though. I’d gotten rid of those a long time ago. Chalking it up to little sleep and that I’d only had a Diet Pepsi and water, I walked out the door.
I was performing outside on a stage that had been erected specially for me. As we approached, the music changed again and the crowd began to roar.
“You sure you’re okay?” Steven whispered as we waited for the emcee to welcome me onto the stage.
“Yes,” I replied, a little annoyed. “What’s with you?”
The early evening sun struck the stage. It would be right in my eyes and make it difficult for me to make eye contact with people in the audience. Oh well. I preferred when I could make connections with people, but it wasn’t like I’d never performed with a spotlight blinding me.
Or strobe lights.
The music came up. Curves like the road home/ Never needed a map/ I’ll keep my eyes closed…
That was my cue. I went out on stage, and the roar of the crowd nearly drowned out the music. Luckily, I knew it by heart, but more than that, I had every eight count down pat.
This was one of the harder songs I danced to, and I was glad that I only caught a word every so often. It reminded me too much of home. Take it slow…
Shrill whistles filled my ears as I removed the first piece of costume. Skin like honey/ so soft/so sweet…
My smile was fake and every turn and twist I made designed to entice and arouse, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt either of those things.
The excitement and adoration of the crowd should have made me happy. I was young and by some insane miracle, I’d found success. I should feel alive and proud.
But I was just tired.
Dead tired.
My skirt was gone and now I let them think it was time for the corset. I spun toward the audience as the sun finally dipped behind a building. My audience had faces now, not just voices. Sweeping my gaze over them, I took the time to meet as many stares as I could.
Men. Women. Old. Young. BDUs and summer dress whites. I winked and gave half smiles.
My top was corseted but designed to break away easily. My hands went behind my back, but this was the first song, and I didn’t give away the go
ods right away. This was a tease meant to hook ’em and hold ’em.
The song began to fade just as I twirled in a pirouette that ended with an extended leg, my back arched and arms reaching behind me.
Curves like the road home…
I identified a fixed-point right before I spun. It would keep me from getting dizzy, that little spot out in the audience.
A person.
I’ll keep my eyes closed…
It was like a spotlight centered way out in the audience, and for the first time in any performance, I almost stumbled.
I almost stopped.
Blue eyes. Square jaw. Blonde hair cut short, shorter than I’d ever seen it. White open collar shirt showed off his strong throat and broad shoulders.
No sign of dimples anywhere.
Landry.
No.
No, no, no.
The music died, and somehow, I managed to keep smiling, wave, and leave the stage.
Steven stood in the wings, and I went to him, ready to rip him apart.
“Did you know?” My voice shook, but I kept it quiet.
He glanced past me, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Know what?”
“Did you know he’d be here? Is that why you’re acting so weird?”
Celeste hurried to me. “That was great! Let me just check the fasteners and that nothing shifted during the performance.”
It was probably weird to anyone who watched us. Me, hands on my hips as I stared daggers at Steven, all the while a woman checked my clothing and grabbed my bra and boobs to make sure there was no sign of nipples.
“You saw someone you knew? From Shawville?” he asked.
“Are you being deliberately stupid?” This was harsher than I’d ever spoken to him, but I trusted him, and the sense of betrayal I had rivaled what I had felt when the boys left me.
He swallowed. “One of your exes?”
I just stared.
“I don’t know their names, but with all the stuff from Shawville coming out, I had heard rumor that someone from your past was in the navy. That’s all. Then I got word of these guys, Landry and Brant, who were here at Coronado. I never thought…”
Suddenly, I was light-headed. Landry and Brant?
Jasmine and Jayde’s song blared through the speakers, and the crowd roared. Maybe I could go home from here? Maybe I could play sick or…
“Don’t you even consider running away.” Steven frowned and moved closer to be heard over the noise. “You’re not a coward.”
“You should have warned me.”
“Warned you that I heard a rumor and that someone you knew might be in a crowd of a thousand? You’d be worried for nothing, and the possibility of you seeing that one face…” He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if you already knew, and if you didn’t, I didn’t want to stress you out.”
Spinning toward the audience, I squeezed my eyes shut and counted each breath. One. Two.
Hadn’t I just been contemplating how everything inside me was dead? Nice job, Universe. Feeling nothing was vastly superior to this… this… pain.
My heart. I put my hand on my chest like I would be able to feel it being ripped apart.
Three. Four. Five.
By my tenth breath, I could open my eyes.
Steven stood next to me, watching me steadily. “What happened to you?” he asked. He knew as much as I was willing to tell anyone, but whatever he saw on my face made his darken. “If he asks to see you?” he asked.
“He won’t.” Of that I was certain. This was just a bad coincidence. The worst. Fuck! Eight years! Eight years. And now here he was.
It wasn’t like he was going to try to talk to me. If he hadn’t responded to one of the hundreds of messages I’d left him, he certainly wasn’t going to ask to see me now.
When I was a glorified stripper.
No. I wasn’t going to let Landry Shaw get in my head. I was a dancer. And I had no reason to be ashamed of how I got here. I was a survivor, and my dancing kept me alive when I had no other options.
I wasn’t ashamed.
“But if he does?” Steven asked, persistent bastard.
If Landry Shaw—I refused to entertain the idea that Brant was somewhere in the audience as well—wanted to see me, then I would fix a smile to my face and bless his heart.
The Andrews Sisters song faded away and Jayde and Jasmine came running off stage. Like with my costume, they were more covered than they usually ended numbers, but from the whistles of soldiers, it was enticing enough.
“They’re riled up!” Jasmine was breathless, shoulders heaving. People didn’t know how physical dancing was because we smiled and made it seem effortless, but the amount of strength and endurance dancers had to have was immeasurable. “Just the way you like them.”
Something must have shown on my face because my dancers stepped closer. “Betty?” Jasmine frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Something happen?”
Smiling big, I shook my head. “Of course not, sugar. You did an amazing job. Thank you both for flying out here. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
Some of the worry lifted from her expression, but I didn’t think I managed to fool her totally. “Anything you need, Betty. You only have to ask.”
Twenty-Six
Landry
Sweat dripped down the back of my neck into the collar of my summer whites. The sun burned the back of my neck as I stood among the crowd of soldiers.
I shouldn’t be here.
Somehow, I found myself waiting in line and then pushed and nudged into this make-shift stadium. I stood by myself, avoiding anyone who knew me. Brant might be somewhere out here, I didn’t know. I hadn’t told him.
My phone vibrated, and I pulled it out of my pocket.
Brant: Where are you?
I ignored it and focused on the stage again. For a second, I could have sworn Betsy saw me. She was just as beautiful as ever, even though she was different.
That smile she wore? It wasn’t one I knew. As much as she might look like my Betsy, something inside me told me she wasn’t. Her smile didn’t touch her eyes. Her hair was too blonde and skin too pale.
She wore Betsy’s features, but she wasn’t my girl.
Because I’d murdered that girl.
I glanced down at my phone again, thumbing out of Brant’s message to the ones that had come from her. The requests to call her had ended about nine months after we left. After the New Year’s text, she stopped sending us messages. Except for one, which she’d sent almost a year to the day after we left.
Betsy: I’m leaving Portland. Not that you care.
It was my fucking fault she didn’t know how much I cared.
I pulled at the neck of my uniform, glancing at the crowd as we waited for her to come back on stage.
My phone rang, and I sighed but connected. “Where the fuck are you?” Brant growled.
“At the USO performance,” I answered. He knew as well as I did who was here. Everyone in the God-damned navy, whether they were on base or in the Persian Gulf, knew who was performing here today.
The line went silent, and Brant suddenly sucked in a breath. “Me, too.”
The lights on stage went out, and we were all in the dark.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Brant said before disconnecting.
I stared at the stage, waiting. As if I could. Nothing could drag me out of here.
Twenty-Seven
Betty
As much as I wanted to hide, Steven was right. I wasn’t a coward. Once Celeste made the adjustments my costume needed, I was ready.
Even though I wasn’t ready. Something happened as my music began and I stepped out on stage. I was no longer dancing for a crowd. I was dancing for Landry and Brant.
Their presence overshadowed everyone else who was there. Landry wasn’t where he had been. Maybe he’d left, but I didn’t think so. He just didn’t want me to see him.
They were the cowards. Not me.
&nb
sp; Anger burned in my chest, but it wasn’t what fueled my dancing that night. Instead, my past fueled my performance. I danced my hurt and survival.
I let my body tell my story, and if they’d ever known me at all, they’d be able to read it.
Sadness. Fear. Loneliness.
Let them see what I’d overcome.
The song went on about scars and loneliness. Darkness and hope, and all the while I danced.
The audience called out and whistled, but all I heard were the words of the song in my head, and all I saw were the nights I’d danced for people who didn’t see beauty in anything except skin, skin, and more skin.
Celeste created costumes that showed off my body, while Aucoin covered me in powder to hide my flaws. I’d end this performance in a glorified bikini, but only the boys who’d known me before everything would see what I really revealed.
The music ended and I stood, out of breath with tears burning the back of my eyes. But I’d be damned if I let them fall.
Slowly, I turned and curtsied. The people in the front row reached their hands toward me, and I went to shake them. This costume allowed me to move without flashing so I could touch them. I went along the row, person by person, thanking each for their service.
All the while, I pictured Landry out there somewhere, closer than he’d been in eight years. Yet the distance seemed insurmountable.
“Thank you,” I said to the next person and then stood and knelt again to shake the next person’s hands.
Hazel eyes shadowed by a hat. Face covered in a beard. Chin lifting toward me.
I froze in place, my hand stilled midway between us.
Brant closed the distance between us, taking my hand in his and then covering it with the other. He held us in place, his gaze boring into mine as I did an impression of a blonde statue.
“Betsy.”
His voice was rougher than I remembered, just like his hands.
“Thank you for your service.” The words fell past my lips, and I stood, withdrawing my hand from his. He didn’t let go, forcing me to register the glide of our palms against one another.
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