by Tricia Goyer
Smiling and laughing, the brown-haired lioness from this afternoon, surrounded by her gaggle of friends, strolled past Kenny’s table.
“Rosalie,” he whispered.
“Gee, Rosalie,” one of them said, “I think you should get some type a reward for your big achievement. How ’bout it, girls? Who wants to pitch in for Rosalie’s favorite—a double cheeseburger with fries? And Birdie too—Rosalie couldn’t have done it without Birdie! Waitress, can you put in that order for us?”
“Hey, don’t be calling her Rosalie. She’s Rosie from here on out! Rosie the Riveter,” a petite woman called out.
“Add a chocolate malt to Birdie and Rosie’s order,” a tall woman added. “It’s not every day something like this happens to one of our own.”
Kenny’s heart slammed against his ribs. Until now, seeing her praised by these women, he hadn’t realized how impressive she really was. Suddenly, he wanted to talk to her. Really talk to her. He lifted the paper with her number from his pocket.
Chapter Seven
“Whoopee ding, girlie! We did it!” Birdie wrapped an arm around Rosalie’s neck. A flock of their coworkers, just as keyed up as they were, circled around them.
“We did, didn’t we?” Rosalie planted an exuberant kiss on the top of her petite friend’s head. “Where’s the music? It’s time to celebrate!”
Rosalie’s right arm ached, her feet throbbed, her ears buzzed from the never-ending bam! of her gun, but she didn’t care. For once she intended to forget her responsibilities—her guilt—and celebrate at her favorite hangout. It seemed right, in a way, that she and Birdie had broken the record on this day. Vic had always been proud of her, but today, for the first time, she felt worthy of his pride.
Ever since she’d started at the plant, breaking the record had always niggled at her—as if reaching that goal would somehow prove her worthy of Vic’s love. Well, now she and Birdie had pounded more rivets than Bill and George, or anyone at the plant. Or anyone anywhere. The success of breaking that record energized her. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be happy. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.
Thronging the dance floor, the ladies burst out in another verse of “Rosie the Riveter,” and Rosalie laughed. “That’s not what I had in mind when I asked for music, girls!”
The meaty aroma of grilled burgers and french fries filled the place, making her stomach growl. She wanted to dance, but she needed something to eat first. The ladies charged to the dance floor, nearly trampling the waitress and her tray of food bound for Rosalie and Birdie. In a second, the woman workers were be-bopping with the GIs who’d found their way into the place. Rosalie hung back, diving in to the hamburger and fries, voracious, while trying not to look like it. Birdie’s food sat there, getting cold, but Rosalie knew Birdie was having too much fun to care.
Rosalie’s heart lightened once again as the delicious food hit her stomach. She hadn’t realized until now how much energy the high-speed riveting had taken from her.
When she finished, she considered skedaddling to catch the next bus, but then she thought of what waited for her at home. An empty apartment. More memories of Vic. Birdie and Clara caught her eye as they danced a fast jig together. Laughter bubbled from Rosalie’s lips.
Maybe she could stick around a little longer.
Iris, the auto parts delivery girl, entered the restaurant and looked around in wide-eyed surprise. Clara rushed over to her, no doubt filling Iris in on the cause of the celebration.
Without hesitation, Iris traipsed to the bass player and whispered something in his ear. Rosalie’s smile wobbled. It was the second time she’d seen Nick that day. Her cheeks warmed as she remembered how foolish she’d felt earlier in Victory Square. She just hoped Nick wouldn’t bring it up.
Flashing the bass player two thumbs-up, Iris rushed back to the group, and the band swung into a jazzy rendition of “Rosie the Riveter.” Rosalie wondered where the vocalist was and then noticed Nora, sitting at a table sipping a hot drink. Nora’s free hand cupped her throat. Poor gal must’ve lost her voice. They didn’t need her voice for this song, though. The gals ramped up the volume. Though the sun was finally setting outside, her heart felt warm and light.
Birdie’s face was red from dancing when she hurried to the table. “We did it,” Birdie squeaked again over the music, as if freshly realizing their feat. “I can’t believe it!”
She grasped Rosalie by both hands, pulling her to her feet and toward the dance floor. They found an open spot, and Birdie swung in a circle. Rosalie had no choice but to follow. Soon the upbeat jazz filled her with its rhythm.
Iris bopped over to them, her arm draped across the shoulders of a girl Rosalie didn’t know.
“This is Lanie!” Iris’s voice lifted above the music.
Lanie, whose golden hair flowed over her shoulders, smiled. “Nice to make yer acquaintance,” she drawled with Southern sweetness.
“Lanie Thomas is my new roommate.” Iris’s tough-as-steel body swayed as the band launched into a Benny Goodman tune. “She starts at the plant tomorrow with you gals.”
Rosalie shook the girl’s slender hand. “You nervous?”
“What?” Lanie leaned in, cupping her hand around her ear.
Rosalie came closer. “I asked, are you nervous?”
“Oh yes, I sure am.” Lanie grasped Rosalie’s hand. “I’m so amazed that you broke that record. I’ll be plumb happy to squeeze one little rivet into the right spot.”
“You’ll do fine, hon.” Birdie grabbed Rosalie’s other hand, flinging Rosalie into an Around the Pole, pulling her away from Lanie’s grasp.
Swinging back around to Lanie, Rosalie remembered how nervous she’d been before her first day. “You’ll do great; don’t you worry. By the time you’re done with training, you’ll be yearning to plug in those rivets.”
Disbelief garnished Lanie’s eyes, but Rosalie knew it was true. Women came to the plant from all different worlds—timid young gals, like Lanie, to middle-aged housewives. And, somehow, stepping out of their skirts and into work slacks released strong, bold, dedicated women. Women who were like a secret weapon, ready to jump into action when needed. Women who’d produced over one hundred B-17s in the last year alone—enough to give the Allies an edge.
The song, “Kiss the Boys Goodbye,” wound down with a zipping trumpet solo, and then Nick limped to the mic. Rosalie couldn’t imagine anyone pulling off a limp with more style—even dreamy Frank Sinatra.
“I hear history’s been made today!” Nick announced. The crowd roared their cheers. “Will the two ladies who broke the record come on up?”
For the second time that day, Rosalie found herself onstage. She surveyed the beaming faces of her friends. As much as she hated the spotlight, the thrill of the day’s victory trumped her reluctance. Birdie grabbed Rosalie’s hand and lifted it up as if she were a boxer who’d won the title. The crowd cheered as Nick wrapped his arms around their shoulders and leaned into the microphone.
“So tell me, ladies, what exactly did you accomplish today?”
“They broke the national record!” Iris’s strong voice bellowed from somewhere in the audience.
Rosalie scanned the room for her, but instead her gaze tripped on a familiar face. A man’s face. That reporter—Kenny. He was talking to the oh-so-cute Lanie but seemed distracted. His eyes darted past the new girl toward the stage. The way he looked at her made her stomach flip. His focus seemed stronger than it had been this morning—more caring too. His smile was becoming. But instead of making her eager to talk to him, the emotions stirring within made her want to escape.
Without warning, the reporter’s eyes locked with Rosalie’s. And then he winked. Rosalie placed a hand over her stomach, surprised by the unexpected butterflies. He totally unnerved her—for the second time that day.
Oh no. Smoldering heat rose from her neck to her face. Why did I let Iris talk me into giving him my number? She turned her head, glancing toward the crowd of her friends a
gain, but it was too late. She knew he’d seen her blush.
The anxiety of being onstage resurfaced. The euphoria over winning the contest and the anticipated satisfaction of making Bill and George grovel in apology tomorrow faded as she struggled to come up with an escape plan. Could she manage to do it without Kenny noticing? Maybe if she simply avoided eye contact, he’d lose interest and she could slip away.
Birdie’s slim fingers tugged on her arm, and her voice filtered through the din. Birdie was saying something about needing help from men to break the record—or not needing them…. Birdie tugged on her arm, smiling. “Do you think so, Rosalie?”
“What?” She tried to refocus. What had Birdie been saying?
“Did we need help for what we did this afternoon?”
Rosalie turned her attention back to the crowd and faked confidence she didn’t feel. “Nope, Birdie, we didn’t need any help!”
The room hushed, and numerous pairs of eyes focused on her—a mix of surprise and pain.
Birdie’s eyebrows scrunched; then she rose on her tiptoes to whisper in Rosalie’s ear. “Uh, Rosalie, maybe you heard me wrong. I asked you if we could’ve done it without the help of our sisters.”
Rosalie gasped, embarrassed heat flooding her cheeks. She scanned the faces, seeing their confusion, wishing she could take her words back. She leaned toward the microphone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” She couldn’t help but look at Kenny, to see his response. A sympathetic grin filled his face.
“That’s all right, sweetie!” Iris called out. “We knew what you meant. You’re our Rosie the Riveter!”
Kenny clapped along with the others, then coiled his fingers into his mouth to release a shrill whistle.
Rosalie leaned in toward Birdie. “This is why I hate being in front of people. Never turns out good,” she mumbled.
Birdie squeezed Rosalie’s hand as the cheers followed them from the stage. “It’s okay, sweets,” Birdie said. “They knew what you meant.”
Rosalie slinked through the crowd of ladies, also trying to find a place to hide from Kenny.
“Rosie, come and sit with us!” Clara called to her from the booth she shared with two other women.
Rosalie eyed the booth, then the door, then the booth where Clara was saving her a seat. She couldn’t leave now, after what she’d accidentally said. They’d think badly of her for sure. She hurried over and slid into the booth next to Clara.
Nick took the mic again. “We know all you ladies are tops when it comes to building airplanes, but I have an extra-special request. Our lead singer’s out of voice.”
Nora waved apologetically from her table.
“Any of you riveters own a smooth set of pipes?” Nick glanced around the room. “C’mon, this could be your big break.”
“Lanie’ll do it!” Iris pushed the girl away from Kenny and toward the stage. “She’s got a great voice.”
Lanie blushed and dithered, but the spark in her eye told Rosalie she relished the chance to take the limelight. It didn’t take much persuasion to get her behind the mic.
Nick gaped at her for a moment of awkward silence before stepping away to make room for her. As he reached for his bass, he fumbled over the microphone’s cord, almost tripping. So unlike the usually suave Nick.
Finally, he seemed to pull himself together, whispering something to Lanie just before the band started up with the newest hit: “The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.”
Rosalie remained at her table, content to watch the others dance until enough time had passed that she could leave without hurting anyone’s feelings. But as she rose to head toward the door, she felt the electrifying presence of someone behind her.
Kenny’s voice sounded in her ear. “She’s got some pipes, don’t you think, Rosalie?”
Rosalie whipped around in surprise, almost upsetting the soda he was holding.
With one quick motion, he swooped it out of the way to avoid spilling it. Then Kenny chuckled. “We’re not having much luck with Cokes today, are we?”
Chapter Eight
Kenny led Rosalie over to a small, round table next to the dance floor. He set down his Coke and offered Rosalie his best smile.
They’d started off on the wrong foot this morning. Did she regret their inauspicious beginning as much as he did? She did send her phone number via courier, so that was a good sign. Maybe she’d just had a hard morning.
Tonight her piercing brown eyes didn’t seem flighty, and neither did the fact that she’d broken the national record for setting rivets in a shift. Only a focused, decisive woman could do that.
He wiped his palms on his slacks, tipped up his chin, and offered his elbow. “Wanna?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think…” Her gaze slid to her friends, who bobbed their heads in wide-eyed encouragement. One of them even flashed a thumbs-up, causing Rosalie to flush pink. A very becoming pink.
“C’mon—just one dance?” He knew she wanted to. She would have already blasted him with a resounding no—just like this morning—if she didn’t.
Kenny dared to reach out and take her hands. They were small but strong. He pulled slightly, and she followed as he led her to the dance floor.
He turned to face her and couldn’t help but see excitement in her gaze. Was it excitement over him or over being able to dance? He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. At least she wasn’t mad or stomping away.
Kenny swung her hands from side to side in time to the music before easing her into a smooth three-step, silently thanking his sister for all the times she’d forced him to be her practice partner.
Rosalie’s eyelashes swept up as she dared a look into his eyes, and her lips parted as if she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know what. He swung her around, and she seemed both surprised and pleased by the comfortable way he moved on the dance floor.
He pulled her around to face him again, pulling her closer to his chest than he usually did with his dance partners. “I’m not gonna tell you how much I enjoyed seeing you onstage. And I promise: no probing questions—at least not till later,” he teased.
Her perfect red lips spread into a grin. “You could ask, but that doesn’t mean I’d answer them, reporter.”
Lanie belted out “Shoo Shoo Baby” like she was one of the Andrews Sisters, and Kenny promenaded Rosalie into the center of the dance floor. Easing her into a Sugar Push, he pulled her to him, then unwound her gently back out, like a yo-yo on a string. She followed effortlessly, her hands gripping his lightly.
After a few more easy steps, like the Skip Up, Kenny thought he’d try the Lindy hop with Charleston variation. From the regular Charleston, Kenny continued holding her hand and then turned clockwise to come around in an outside turn, so he was in front.
Then on the first kick move he waited, wondering if she’d be able to follow. As if she’d been dancing with him her whole life, Rosalie did her own clockwise turn and spun around so she was in front, and they kicked their right legs in unison. Cheers rose up from her friends who were watching, and she only glanced over to them for a moment before turning her attention back to him.
Kenny squeezed her hand tighter as they continued the move two more times.
As the song wound down, Rosalie spun to face him. Her eyebrows flicked upward. “Is that all ya got?” She smirked.
Laughter burst from his lips at her unexpected challenge. Noting the determination of her chin, he imagined she had the same expression as she riveted, especially today as she had worked toward the record. The music kicked up again in a fast number.
“You want more?” he called over the tune. “I’ll show you more.” He pulled her to him, dipped his shoulder, and turned. He expected to surprise her, but she rolled over his back with grace.
“Whew!” she hooted as she landed.
Without a pause, Kenny swung her into a sidecar, her legs kicking first to his left, then right. “You wanna flip?”
Without bothering to reply, Rosalie hurled hersel
f forward, coiling around his arm. She landed on both feet with a Well, hotshot, what else have you got? glimmer in her eyes.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Rosalie’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes gleamed. “You’re not so bad.”
Kenny rolled her to him, their bodies tight as their feet shuffled in rhythm beneath them. For an instant, he felt dizzy from all their spinning and twirling. Or was it the scent of her perfume?
As they glided past the stage, he caught a glimpse of Nick’s amused grin, and Kenny knew his friend was relishing the prospect of razzing his smooth dance moves.
Kenny tried to think of something witty to say. He wanted to tease Rosalie—to joke in the easy way Nick would. But his mind couldn’t get beyond the joy of just dancing with her.
Together, Kenny and Rosalie swung, jumped, and flew around the dance floor until the music wound down once again. Kenny glanced at his watch. To his astonishment, an hour had passed. The woman was tireless, and he loved every minute of it.
Finally, the band left the stage for their break. The other couples who’d been dancing moved toward the tables and booths, but Kenny remained, trying to catch his breath. He leaned over, hands to knees, panting.
“Uncle!” he managed to say between breaths.
“That’s what I like to hear,” she said, fanning her flushed face with her hand.
He gazed up at Rosalie, and it was more than the stage lights haloing her head that convinced him he needed to spend more time with her. Someone put a nickel in the jukebox, and “Hello Young Lovers” wound itself around the room as the lights dimmed.
Rosalie leaned over him, moving her face closer and chuckling as he again tried to catch his breath. “Worn out, huh?”
Kenny nodded as he straightened, noticing Nick leading Lanie by the hand onto the dance floor, where he cautiously pulled her into a slow dance.
“Me too.” Rosalie let out a slow breath.
“How ’bout a drink?”
“Just so long as it’s not a Coke.” Her lips turned up once more in a smile at their private joke.
