“I’m torn. Ages have passed since the last time I danced, but my dogs are killing me.”
“With the right man, you’ll forget about the pain.” Maureen laughed. “But the ache will be worth it in the end.”
The waitress returned with their drinks, and Doris lifted the water to her lips. Cool liquid soothed her parched throat, and she drank half before putting down the glass. A split second of silence then the jukebox belted out Glenn Miller’s "Jukebox Saturday Night." Cheers filled the room, and couples ran to the dance floor.
“I love this song.” Maureen jumped up. “Wanna join me?”
“Maybe in a bit. I’d like to drink my tea while it’s hot.”
“Suit yourself, but you’re not going to find a partner while stuck here in the corner.”
Doris picked up the cup and wrapped her hands around its warmth. “Later.”
Arms waving and hips swaying, Maureen performed the samba as she merged into the undulating crowd.
Time passed, and the Andrews Sisters’ voices warbled "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" from the machine, then Judy Garland serenaded the dancers with "Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart." Doris tapped her foot and hummed along with the music. Maureen danced past the table in the arms of a navy officer who seemed smitten with her friend. Several other girls from the hospital mingled with soldiers, sailors, and locals who laughed and gyrated to the tunes.
A short, broad-shouldered sergeant paused in front of her. He bowed deeply from the waist, his arm outstretched. “May I have this dance, miss?”
She glanced from him to the joyous expressions of the couples and then back to his eager face. The GI seemed harmless enough and deserved some fun. She shrugged and clasped his fingers. He pulled her to her feet then drew her close but not too close. His hand rested lightly on her waist, and he whirled her along the edge of the dance floor. He was no Gene Kelly, but his moves were smooth and sure. She relaxed in his embrace as he made small talk.
The music pulsed, and Doris reveled in its beat. Maureen was right. Despite her tired feet, she enjoyed dancing with a nice man. A few minutes later, the song was over, and the slow strains of "The White Cliffs of Dover" seeped from the jukebox. She remained in the sergeant’s arms for a few measures, then a naval officer tapped him on the shoulder cutting in. He released her with a smile, and her new partner grasped her hand and placed his hand on her waist.
He was not nearly as skilled as the sergeant, but he had yet to tread on her toes as many of the girls complained about on Sunday mornings after a night at the pub. Mute, he looked everywhere except at her. His damp palm clung to her dry one, and she smiled to herself. As nervous as he seemed to be, how had he worked up the courage to ask her to dance? The music ended, and he let go of her hand as if burned. A quick bow, then he disappeared into the sea of people.
She blinked at his retreating figure. Weird. Feeling awkward as a lone woman in the crowd, she threaded through the tables toward the door. Time to leave.
Before she could reach the exit, a lanky man with dark hair and wearing an army dress uniform grabbed her hand and twirled her toward the crowd. His sloppy grin and unfocused eyes spoke of the number of drinks he’d imbibed. She tried to extricate her fingers, but he maintained his firm grasp. “Excuse me, sir, I must be on my way.”
“No way, sister, things are just getting good. You need to stay and keep me company. I outrank you, see?” He pointed to the bars on his shoulder then yanked her toward him in a crushing embrace. “Dancing with Lieutenant Halifax will be the most fun you’ll have tonight.”
Trapped in his arms and pressed against chest, she couldn’t catch her breath. “Please let me go, sir. I’m tired and would like to go home.”
His face brightened. “You’re inviting me to your place? Fabulous.” A wolfish gleam sparkled in his eyes. “We can get to know each other even better.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” She struggled to extricate herself, but his grip tightened, and she tried not to panic. Surely, the man wouldn’t try anything inappropriate in a room full of people. Who was she kidding? His behavior was already improper, and he seemed intent upon dragging her outside. Lord, save me.
j
Ron sauntered toward the pub with two of the other hospital physicians. He’d allowed them to talk him into an evening out. Bereft of excuses, he acquiesced when the men threatened to hogtie him and carry his carcass into town. A quick cola and some socializing with the guys, and he could call it a night. He might not be much of a dancer, but it would be fun to hear the latest tunes from all the big singers.
Rumor had it that Dinah Shore planned to bring her backup band to the hospital and do a set for the injured men, and that she might stop by the pub for a few numbers. He doubted a classy actress like Miss Shore would darken the door of the local bar, but if he were wrong, he’d try to get close enough to meet her.
“Look at me. I’m Fred Astaire.” Dr. Frankel executed a series of tap-dancing steps, then broke into a foxtrot with an invisible partner. “Bet none of you chaps can do that.”
“You win, Frankel. You’re the best hoofer we’ve got.” Ron shrugged. “Try not to show up the ladies with those moves.”
“He won’t, but I might.” Dr. Yaskinsky performed the rumba, an exaggerated look of seriousness on his face. “I’m gonna knock those gals’ socks off.”
“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of greatness, gentlemen. I’m impressed. Since I can’t possibly do any better, I won’t embarrass you by making any attempts.”
“Surely you’re not that bad, McCann. We’ll find some pretty gal who doesn’t mind a lesser man.”
“Hey, I may not dance as well as you two knuckleheads, but I’m definitely not the lesser man.” Ron shook his head. These guys’ egos knew no bounds. “There are plenty of ladies who would want to keep a great catch like me company.
“Now you’re looking for a wife?” Dr. Yaskinsky widened his eyes in mock surprise. “The unapproachable Dr. McCann wants to settle down? I’m shocked and amazed.”
“Laugh it up, Yaskinsky.”
“I plan to.”
They arrived at the pub. Music and voices filtered outside from behind the closed door. Ron frowned. With the noise level loud enough to be heard from here, he was going to shatter an eardrum.
“Listen, guys—”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Frankel yanked open the door, and Yaskinsky grabbed his arms and propelled Ron into the dim, pulsating pub. “Let the games begin.”
With his arms still pinned to his sides by Yaskinsky, Ron surveyed the room through the smoky haze. A handful of couples danced in the center of the room. Conversation buzzed above the music. The smell of garlic, onions, and fried fish permeated the air. “We’ll never find a vacant booth in this crowd.”
Frankel grinned. “Then we’ll have to crash someone’s party.” He jerked his head toward a nearby table at which three young women chattered. “One for each of us. Perfect.”
“But—”
“Come on. Are you going to be a wet blanket the whole time?” They pushed through the throng to the trio of girls where Frankel puffed out his chest. “Hello, ladies. Are these seats taken?”
As one, the gals giggled and shook their heads. Ron rolled his eyes. No Mensa candidates here. He forced a smile and dropped into the chair farthest from the women. The doctors sat on either side of the women, and Frankel gestured to a waitress. “Oi! We’re ready to order.”
Ron pressed his lips together. The men were highly regarded, serious-minded professionals at the hospital, and their arrival at the bar had turned them into boorish simpletons.
The waitress came to the table, her expression harried and fatigued. “What can I get you?”
“Ladies first.” Frankel motioned at the girls.
At least, the men hadn’t lost all their manners. While he waited for his tablemates to order, he looked around the room. Soldiers, sailors, and airmen mingled with men
in civvies. Off duty or locals? Women in a rainbow of dresses brightened the dim interior. He recognized several of the employees and volunteers from the hospital. They worked hard, so it was nice to see them get away and relax. Why did he find it so difficult to do the same?
Movement near the bar caught his attention, and he squinted through the murky air. Was the woman in the dazzling blue dress Doris Strealer?
“Ron?”
He turned his attention to the table where the waitress stood, pencil poised over a notepad.
“Er…sorry…I’ll have a Moxie.”
“He’ll have a beer,” Yaskinsky shouted.
“No, just the cola for me.” He narrowed his eyes at the man. “One of us should have a clear head tomorrow.”
The doctors guffawed, and Ron gave the serving girl an apologetic smile. She scribbled on the page then hurried toward the kitchen.
Ron glanced over his shoulder at the woman in blue. Back to him, the tall, slender, and graceful figure with flowing brown hair towered over her date who stood entirely too close to her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Seems someone has caught your eye, McCann. Too bad she appears to be taken.” Frankel gestured to the women at the table. “Don’t be rude. We’ve got company right here.”
“Sorry, chaps. I thought I recognized one of the motor corps drivers. She looks a bit different not wearing her coveralls.” Ron tugged at his collar. Very different.
Their drinks arrived, and Ron drank his soda like a dying man trapped in the desert. Anything to shift the focus away from him. Fortunately, the doctors seemed so intent on impressing the ladies at the table, they ignored him.
He shifted his chair and peered at the woman across the room. She turned. It was Doris. In her uniform, she was beautiful. In evening attire, she was breathtaking. What did she see in the scrawny man who sported lieutenant’s bars and leered at her like a piranha ready to strike? She hadn’t struck him as a girl who liked that sort of thing.
“Let’s dance.” Dr. Frankel rose and held out his arm to the blonde he’d been seated next to. They skirted the table, and he leaned close to Ron. “You’ve been bitten by the love bug, Doctor. You might want to get a prescription for that.”
“What—”
The couple brushed past and made their way to the dance floor.
Love bug. Not hardly. Ron took another swig from his drink. Granted, Doris was gorgeous and intelligent, but they had nothing in common and both had a job to do. Relationships during war were not a good idea. Either one of them could be transferred…or worse. Their near misses with the air raid were proof of the uncertainly of life in a war zone. No, he could appreciate her smarts and good looks, but admiration from afar would be the extent of his involvement.
Chapter Ten
Glenn Miller’s "I’ve Got a Gal in Kalamazoo" burst from the jukebox. Men and women paired off and rushed to the center of the room to dance. The wooden floor vibrated in rhythm with their steps, and Ron drummed his fingers on the table in time with the music. His favorite bandleader, Miller, had forsaken his career to join the military last autumn to his fans’ dismay. The navy rejected him, but the army had welcomed him with open arms. His last concert in September as a civilian had been a sellout.
The crowd of gyrating couples blocked his view of Doris. Probably a good thing. With any luck, not watching her with another man would remove her from his mind. He forced a smile and looked at the young women across the table. “Are you ladies having a good time? I’m not much of a dancer, but I’d be willing to give it a go.”
Louise, dressed in a pale yellow dress with her hair done in victory rolls, shook her head. “I’ve got two left feet that have done a lot of walking in the wards today. I’m happy listening to the tunes.” She looked at her tablemate. “Rhoda loves to dance. She can show you how it’s done.”
Wearing a crimson dress and ill-fitting black sweater, Rhoda gave Ron a tentative smile. Plain with shoulder-length brown hair and nondescript brown eyes, she probably didn’t get many offers. Unfair, but true in an environment where every day could be someone’s last, and having a good time was paramount.
He rose and held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
A startled look crossed the young woman’s face, then her expression bloomed in gratitude transforming her appearance. “Yes, thank you, Dr. McCann.” She grasped his fingers, and they made their way to the dance floor as the song switched to "Be Careful, It’s My Heart."
Ron pulled her into his arms, and her floral perfume enveloped him. “With the slower song, you won’t have to worry about me trouncing your toes too often.”
“After my first visit to the pub, I learned to wear closed-toe pumps. The injuries aren’t quite as bad.” She giggled, and her cheeks reddened. “And I am a nurse, so I can perform my own first aid.”
He chuckled. “You’re a good egg. Do you come here often?” He cringed. Not exactly a smooth operator, but he tried to keep the clichéd lines to a minimum. “Well…”
“Once or twice a week after shift. I don’t drink, but the opportunity to hear music sometimes helps me to forget the war and the boys I take care of.”
“I’ve seen injuries I never imagined possible.” He released her waist and twirled her.
“You’re a better dancer than you think.” Her eyes lit, then she sobered up. “None of us will never be the same, but hopefully the experience will make me more compassionate, a better nurse.”
“Commendable.”
They danced in silence, and Ron concentrated on not stepping on Rhoda’s feet. Periodically jostled by another couple, he tightened his grip on her hand. “Don’t want to lose you in the crowd.”
“You’re very gallant, Doctor.” She tilted her head. “I hope you won’t mind me saying this, but you’re nothing like the nurses say.”
“Hard-nosed and difficult?”
“Not those words, but…I’m sorry, I’ve insulted you. That wasn’t my intention. I’m trying to tell you how much I’m enjoying myself, and I’m bungling it.”
“No need to apologize. Your colleagues are correct. My overbearing nature has been recently brought to my attention.” Doris’s face flashed across his mind, and his chest tightened. She’d made no bones about his arrogance, but their recent encounter at the lake when they’d been dunked seemed to soften her attitude toward him.
The music ended, and Rhoda applauded. “Thank you, Doctor. You did well. I’m unscathed.” She squeezed his arm. “And now, I must head to the barracks to grab some shut-eye. Early shift.”
“Would you like an escort? The hour is late.”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll be fine, but thanks for the offer.”
“Thank you for the dance…and for your candor. I look forward to seeing you in the future.” He cleared his throat. Would she think he was indicating a romantic interest? What had he done? “I…uh…”
Her eyes widened, and she patted his arm. “That’s kind of you, Doctor, but I have a beau. He’s with the Fifth Army somewhere in Italy if I read his letters correctly.”
His face warmed. She thought he wanted a relationship and was letting him down gently. He swallowed a laugh at the irony of the situation. In the past, it had always been him walking away from any entanglements. The tables were turned. Doris would relish that tidbit of information. “You must miss him terribly.”
A shadow darkened her face for a brief moment. “I do.”
“You can count on me as a friend, Rhoda. Nothing more. I’d be honored to be your dance partner should you want a turn around the floor occasionally to forget this raging conflict.”
“I’d like that, Doctor.” She smoothed her skirts and melted into the crowd.
Bemused, he watched her go. Doris would like the woman, and she’d love knowing Rhoda had told him about his reputation for being difficult.
Was Doris still here?
“I said, I’m not interested. Please leave m
e alone.”
Ron whirled. If he wasn’t mistaken, the warm alto voice belonged to Doris. He scanned the room, his eyes searching for the beautiful brunette in the deep-blue dress. There. At the end of the bar, the same squirt who’d been so close to her earlier, held her with one hand and stroked her cheek with the other. Even in the dimness, her face looked pale, and fear darkened her eyes.
“You know you want me, baby. Stop struggling. I’ll show you a good time.”
Doris twisted her neck. “If you were last man on the planet, I wouldn’t want you. Unhand me, or you’ll be sorry.”
Muscles quivering, Ron clenched his fists and strode toward her. She may not want his interference, but it appeared the loser wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
The man pushed his face close to Doris’s. “And how do you plan to do that?”
In a flash, she pulled back her leg and kicked him in the shin.
Howling, he hopped on one foot and rubbed his injured limb. “How dare you.” He drew back his arm as if to hit her, and Ron grabbed his arm.
“That’s enough. She is not interested in your presence, and neither are the rest of us.” Ron spoke through gritted teeth. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out before I finish what the lady started.”
“This isn’t over. A girl’s reputation is easily sullied in this small town. She’ll wish she hadn’t done what she did.”
Ron caught the man’s lapels between his fists and shoved him against the counter. “I suggest you rethink that strategy. Show some respect to the lady and the uniform you’re wearing. Now, crawl back down the hole you came from, and don’t show yourself here ever again. Clear?”
His antagonist’s bravado faltered, and he struggled to extricate himself from Ron’s grip. “She didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend.” He turned toward Doris. “I beg your pardon, miss. Won’t never happen again,” he whined. With a hard tug, he yanked his jacket out of Ron’s hands and scurried toward the door.
Doris wilted, and Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulder before she could fall. “Are you all right? I would have come over sooner had I known his attentions were unwanted.”
The Mechanic & the MD Page 6
