Twisting Topeka

by Lissa Staley

  ThomasG: He?

  KateM: Your grandad. He and I hit it off at the police station after prom.

  ThomasG: ...

  ThomasG: This is me being speechless.

  KateM: In Persuasion, Austen says: “My idea of good company…is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company.’

  ‘You are mistaken,’ said he gently, ‘that is not good company, that is the best.”

  KateM: Between talking to your grandad and reading the handbook, my mind is swimming in ideas right now. Good company really is the best.

  ThomasG: I’m glad Grandad is clever and well-informed, or we would both have trespassing fines to work off.

  KateM: This extra year of school would be much less appealing if your grandad hadn’t talked the judge into keeping this incident off our criminal record.

  KateM: I mean, no point in getting a diploma, if I have a prior conviction to block higher education or job advancement.

  ThomasG: You sound like you have plans to work the system. I thought we were rebels, in this together.

  ThomasG: “You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.”

  KateM: That Captain Wentworth quote was a bit forced there, don’t you think?

  ThomasG: Do you like my grandad more than you like me? Tell me the truth.

  KateM: He’s a wise man. I like talking to him.

  KateM: Did you know the original online school plan was a desperate measure to avoid shutting down the schools altogether? No one ever talks about that. But that was before the stock market fraud and the collapse.  

  ThomasG: I remember my 3rd grade teacher in a classroom with artwork covering the walls, a gerbil habitat, a school musical. Who could have known those were the good old days?

  ThomasG: That was the year my science fair project oozed out of my backpack on the bus.

  KateM: I preferred 2nd grade, myself. Our classroom had a reading corner with beanbag chairs. It was basically my idea of heaven.

  KateM: Your grandad is convinced that the online school plan would have been okay in the short term.

  KateM: What wasn’t okay was when the community service opportunities were privatized.

  KateM: And then the Ag lobbyists convinced the legislature to double and then triple the requirements to increase food production.

  ThomasG: You sound just like grandad. How often are the two of you talking, anyway?

  KateM: And while I like eating food, I don’t like growing it.

  ThomasG: Plus, as I’m sure my grandad has pointed out in your apparently frequent conversations on this topic, subverting child labor laws isn’t particularly on the up and up.

  KateM: Jealous much?

  KateM: I don’t think it has to be this way.

  KateM: The economy is picking up in other states. I’ve seen the news trickling out of Illinois and Oklahoma. Their students never left the classrooms.

  KateM: Supplementing Kansas agricultural work with student labor can’t continue forever.

  ThomasG: That’s not going to be easy to undo.

  ThomasG: The State Board of Education testimony to the legislature doesn’t even admit that the current system is anything less than successful.

  ThomasG: And, of course, those guys in power already had their prom, and their kids are all studying with private tutors in rich cliques. Why would they change things for us now?

  KateM: Because we’ll make them, of course.

  ThomasG: You and me?

  KateM. And your grandad. And anyone else we can convince that this is important.

  ThomasG: No one who had ever seen KateM in her infancy would have supposed her born to be a heroine.

  KateM: Hey! Wrong book! That’s the opening line of Northanger Abbey.

  ThomasG: Someone needs to learn to take a compliment more gracefully.

  ThomasG: Hey, I think I just chose our first book club book.

  KateM: Both points are duly noted. The second annual prom committee may be a bit less focused on dressing up and dancing, and a bit more focused on some of the other things we are lacking from the public high school experience.

  ThomasG: But will you wear the blue twirly skirt again?

  KateM: With sneakers. I’ve learned my lesson about trying to run in heels.

  ThomasG: Okay, I’m in. Although I’m prioritizing our prom night kiss next time, in case we get arrested.

  ThomasG: Obviously.

  KateM: Obviously.

  KateM: :P

  Dance with the Devil

  Aimee L. Gross

  “Miss Andrews, do you consider yourself a patriot?”

  Odd first question during a job interview, Vivian thought. But it is wartime. “Of course I am. I do.”

  A man who’d said he was from Menninger’s phoned and asked her to come for the interview. She’d carefully put on her last pair of decent stockings, hoping she might luck into some sort of secretarial job. Working at the insurance company for her uncle was practically volunteering; he paid her next to nothing. She could save more if she had a better job, then she and Jack could get married as soon as he came home from the war. Fingers crossed, she had been ushered into a private office at Menninger’s at the appointed time and faced three men.

  The fiercest one sat behind a massive mahogany desk. When he pointed at an empty chair, Vivian sat. The other two stood on either side of her. She couldn’t help sneaking looks at them out of the corners of her eyes. Though not in uniform, they stood at parade rest, hands clasped.

  The man nodded at her answer to his initial inquiry, and looked down at a file spread open in front of him. “You and your two girlfriends frequently have lunch at the Early Bird Café.” He didn’t make it sound like a question.

  “Yes, we like to go there. We all work downtown. I suppose if I worked out here, I wouldn’t be able to go so far away at lunch, would I?”

  He held up a hand, and she closed her lips on her next question. Which was: What kind of a job am I interviewing for, for Heaven’s sake? Also, what was in that file, and how could it matter where she ate her lunch?

  “A sergeant from the air base has recently begun speaking with you and your friends at lunch, whenever he’s at the café. Would you say he has … taken a particular shine to you?”

  “If you mean Sergeant Dawson, he talks to all of us. Lots of men from the base do. And I have a boyfriend,” Vivian said with a touch of frost.

  “Yes.” The man tapped the papers on his desk. “Jack Kerrigan. Stationed in England at present.”

  Vivian gripped her handbag and leaned forward. “Look, Mr.--?”

  “Humphrey.”

  “Mr. Humphrey, can you please tell me what this is all about?”

  And he had.

  *****

  “You don’t understand, I have to go to the dance tonight.” Vivian yanked the handles of the shopping bag over her elbow as she swayed with the motion of the bus. The bag held a new dress and stockings, courtesy of the Menninger Clinic.

  Beverly Ryan frowned. “All the way out to Lake Shawnee? Nobody has gasoline but Julia’s daddy, and when has he ever let her have the car? He might have to go deliver a baby or stitch somebody up. Anyway, what’s so bad about a Saturday night at my house listening to Gene Autry?”

  “It’s not that. I just … made a promise to somebody that I’d be there.” Vivian tried to avoid Beverly’s sharp look.

  “If you’re going out there to two-time your sweetheart with Sgt. Handsome-is-as-handsome-does--”

  “No! You know I love Jack! But I have to go tonight. Are you going to help me or not?”

  Beverly sniffed. “This is our stop. Maybe Dr. Detrick would drive us out there and pick us up after.”

  “Can you ask him? He likes you. But you don’t have to come along if you really don’t want to.”

  “I’ll only be going to keep an eye on you, Viv.
Because you are acting crazy!”

  Vivian clapped a hand on her hat as she stepped down to the brick sidewalk and into a brisk wind. Crazy was certainly how she felt, and more so with each passing hour.

  *****

  The band at the pavilion played for a packed dance floor. Vivian tapped her foot to I Got A Gal In Kalamazoo, and searched the crowd for Sgt. Paul ‘Hollywood’ Dawson. “Stick to him,” the OSS man at Menninger’s had instructed her. “All you need to do is watch carefully, who he talks to, what he does. Be our eyes and ears, Miss Andrews. You have a reputation for being observant. And, most important, do not intervene no matter what.” How am I supposed to see anything if he doesn’t even show?

  Julia Detrick bounced along to the rhythm beside her. “Look at those handsome boys! Doing our patriotic duty shouldn’t be so much fun.”

  Vivian smiled, barely listening to her. Dr. Detrick had proved only too happy to drive them all to the dance. Julia seemed to have sweet-talked her daddy into chauffeuring her to the lake before Beverly and Vivian asked for a lift. He cautioned them not to fall for any of ‘that flyboy fancy talk’ about being generous with affection since the fellows were headed into danger. “Remember, they’ll tell you anything!” he had said when the trio finally climbed out of his car.

  The doctor’s parting lecture brought hoots from several soldiers nearby. One of the men called out, “We’re not flyboys, Daddy, don’t worry. This is the NONCOM party!” and hoisted a mug of beer. Vivian had felt as though every eye in the crowd traveled over her as they made their way through the gate into the gaily-lit stone pavilion. Wolf whistles accompanied them, from left and right. Her face burned at the memory.

  At the end of Kalamazoo, Beverly returned from the dance floor, breathless and limping. Her partner offered to get her a beer, but she declined and waved him away. She leaned on the wall next to Vivian to rub her foot. “I’ve never seen such huge clod-hoppers. If he can’t maneuver those feet to dance, how can he march without tripping?”

  When Vivian didn’t respond, Beverly straightened. “So, is he here?”

  “Who do you mean?”

  “Oh, please. I’m not the one who ‘promised someone’ to come tonight. I’m not standing there in a new dress and with new stockings, too. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? And, I don’t have a beau an ocean away fighting for our country, either.”

  Julia’s eyes flew wide. “Who did you promise, Viv? Spill the beans!”

  Hollywood Dawson stepped in front of them before Vivian could think of an answer. “All my favorite Topeka girls! Who’s going to get the first dance, ladies?”

  Beverly gripped Vivian’s elbow and propelled her forward. “Reverse alphabetical order tonight.”

  The sergeant flashed his killer smile and offered his arm. “Let’s dance, darlin’.”

  He’s been so sweet. Could he be a traitor? OSS might be wrong about him, Vivian thought. He held her gently and guided her across the floor to the strains of Don’t Sit Under The Apple Tree. For a haunting moment, the crooner at the microphone sounded just like Jack’s warm tenor. Oh, Jack, I’m doing my part for America. You’d understand, wouldn’t you?

  The sergeant reached up to smooth her curls back from her ear and brought his lips close to whisper, “Ah, Miss Andrews. You look especially beautiful tonight. Blue is definitely your color.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. I can’t call you Sarge or Hollywood like the guys do, shall I just call you Paul?”

  She felt his smile against her cheek. “They pinned that one on me when I got here. It’s what I get, coming from Pasadena. Paul will do, though you can call me anything you like.” His arm snugged around her waist. “Vivian.”

  OSS believed Paul was the one sending information to the Nazis, data about planes and munitions, troop destinations. Beetle-browed Mr. Humphrey said she could help her country, and help Jack, by finding out how the information flowed from the middle of the USA to its overseas destination. There must be a secret network of spies, right in Topeka.

  Paul steered her back to her friends with the last notes of the song. Julia sprang forward with a giggle and Paul whirled her away onto the crowded floor. A pair of earnest soldiers approached and asked Vivian and Beverly to dance.

  “We’ll sit this one out, thanks.” Vivian fanned herself. “It’s so warm tonight.”

  The men turned away, and Vivian heard one say, “Hollywood gets all the good-looking ones. It ain’t fair.”

  Vivian tried to track Julia’s yellow chiffon dress across the dance floor. Paul Dawson hadn’t talked to anyone besides the three of them, as far as she had seen so far. And why was Beverly acting so hostile … was she jealous of Paul’s attention?

  Vivian didn’t look her way, but said mildly, “You haven’t asked me about my interview at Menninger’s.”

  Beverly appeared to be watching the dancers also. “How did it go? Did they offer you a job?”

  “I haven’t heard anything yet. I thought the interview went well, but you never know.”

  “That’s right, there’s no way of knowing what some people are thinking.” Beverly rose on her toes as Paul and Julia eased away from the edge of the dance floor and joined others at the refreshment table.

  “Are you thirsty?” Beverly asked, and without waiting for an answer, she set off toward the opposite side of the room. Vivian dogged her every step.

  As soon as he caught sight of them, Paul brightened. “Next on my dance card!” he cried, as he spun Beverly away.

  “Paul’s such a dream boat. I don’t blame you for liking him, Viv. Beverly says she likes him, too, but I really think he likes you best of all.” Julia took a sip of Coca-cola. “I mean, what Jack doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

  “Julia Detrick, what is wrong with you? I love my Jack with all my heart.” Vivian hunted for Beverly’s magenta dress on the dance floor. There, by the bandstand. Paul leaned in toward the bass player and spoke to him, holding Beverly at arm’s length. Vivian couldn’t stifle a small gasp as she watched Paul reach into his pocket and extract something small. He slipped this into the bass player’s pants pocket, and looked quickly over his shoulder before he plucked a small brown paper sack from beneath the sheet music stand.

  “I can’t believe it,” Vivian murmured. And Beverly was right there, so she must be in on it. Sure enough, Paul turned back to Beverly and stepped close. Beverly opened her clutch and Paul tucked the parcel into it before he drew her back onto the dance floor. I’m going to have to rat out my best friend--as a spy. She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid she might start bawling.

  “I’m sorry, Vivian. You know I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Do you have a headache? I have some of Daddy’s special medicine.”

  Vivian looked at Julia’s open palm. She held out a small pink tin labeled ‘Pyramidon’ in darker pink script. “I never heard of it. Is it aspirin?”

  “No, it’s better. Daddy orders it special from Europe. This one is for Sgt. Dawson, but he said to hold onto it for now. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you had one. He gets headaches, too. He says nothing works as good as this does, but they don’t have it at the base.”

  “Why doesn’t Pau—Sgt. Dawson come get this from your dad at his office?”

  “He does, silly. That’s how I met him, and then he started talking to us at the Early Bird. But he can’t leave the base whenever he wants to. So when he needs more after office hours, Daddy has me bring it to him. Like tonight.” Julia wrinkled her nose. “Are you all right, Vivian? Because you look awfully pale. Here, do take one.” She finished in a whisper, “It’s good for the cramps, too.”

  “How does your dad get this from Europe, with the war on?” Vivian picked up the slender tin.

  “Uncle Joseph still lives in Switzerland. He sends it.”

  “Well, thanks. I’ll take one and give the rest to the sergeant next time we dance.” After I check it for some kind of coded message, that is. Could Dr. Detrick be a Fifth Columnist? A sleeper agent for
Abwehr, like the OSS men had told her about?

  Julia accepted an invitation to dance from a dark-eyed soldier with a southern accent. She offered her soda to Vivian, who took it on the pretense of needing something to wash down the tablet of Pyramidon she had said she would take. A few steps brought her to the deck of the pavilion, overlooking the moonlit lake. She set the tumbler of soda on the stone railing, and pried open the tin.

  By the light of the full moon, she lifted the creamy paper folded over the contents, and counted twenty small round discs. They look just like aspirin tablets. The tin even has a Bayer company logo. She tipped the tablets out into her hand, and examined the paper and the inside surfaces of the tin. No messages. She still felt the tin of pills had to be related to the spy ring somehow. Carefully, she replaced the tablets and paper as she had found them, and tucked the tin in her purse.

  She picked up the soda and made her way back inside. Paul and Beverly met her as soon as she cleared the doorway.

  He grinned wide. “Where’d you get off to? I’ve got something for you.” He dropped Beverly’s hand and said, “Show her.”

  Beverly did not appear as pleased to see her as Paul had been. “Scoot over to the corner. I don’t want to get caught.”

  This is a nightmare. What am I supposed to do? Vivian allowed herself to be danced over to a corner with a tall potted fern. They huddled behind it and Beverly opened her clutch.

  “Hold out your drink,” Paul instructed. He pulled the brown paper bag out, and twisted the top off a half-pint of amber liquid.

  “It’s booze!” Vivian cried in relief. Paul and Beverly shushed her.

  “It’s bourbon. Not rotgut either.” Paul tipped a generous slosh into her Coca-cola.

  “But there’s scads of beer—” Vivian said.

  “Kraut stuff.” He took a quick pull before he capped the bottle and tucked it in Beverly’s purse again.

  “Where’d you get it?” Vivian stalled. Beverly gave her a sidelong look.

  “Doll, musicians always have some liquor on the bandstand. Helps lubricate them to play the tunes and supplements their income. I was a horn player before the army. Drink up and let’s dance.”

  Vivian only choked a little after she swallowed a mouthful. Paul took the cup from her, and held it to her lips until she took another swig that made her eyes water. He handed the spiked cola to Beverly. As Paul led Vivian onto the dance floor she looked back to see a sullen Beverly grimace at the tumbler and set it on the refreshment table.