by James Villas
“I agree, Miss Ella,” Elizabeth said. “I could listen to Goldie all night.”
“Tell us some more stories, Goldie,” Rex pleaded anxiously, tugging on her arm.
Sal and Edmund both asked Goldie a few practical questions about the exotic style of life and tribal customs on the reservations, and no doubt she would have related more fascinating tales of Cherokee culture had the food not arrived, along with another basket of piping hot hush puppies and more iced tea. Since Sal had never mentioned his job, Ella quizzed him for a while about not only estates law in general but certain legal technicalities involved in the transfer of real estate in last wills, but when the subject appeared to bore the others, she and the Marianis exchanged a few stories about traveling in Italy while Edmund simply listened and the boys whispered with Goldie. When, from time to time, Edmund would find something Ella said particularly amusing, he’d laugh and gently pat her arm, a gesture that never failed to titillate her and capture the younger couple’s smiling notice. Everybody ate heartily, Goldie finally relaxed around the strangers and relished the boys’ attention, and by the time the meal was over, Ella sensed that she was part of a respectable, congenial family—not unlike the one that had once brought her so much happiness. Then, when the waitress placed the bill in the middle of the table, Ella immediately reached over and grabbed it.
“Not on your life, Miss Ella,” exclaimed Sal, wiggling his fingers in the air for her to pass it over.
“Why not?” she protested. “I’m the one who suggested we come here, so you are my guests.”
Before the two could argue further, Edmund puckishly snatched the small sheet from her hand and said, “Nonsense, Miss Ella. No lady picks up my bill—not for me and my entire family. This has been a real treat and privilege, and this old fogy will not discuss it further with you naive upstarts.” He leaned over close to Ella. “And I haven’t even had a drink.”
The others couldn’t help but laugh, so Ella, not about to create a scene, simply looked admiringly at Edmund and said, “You’re a naughty but very gracious man, Dr. O’Conner.”
“Daddy, can we go to Fast Eddie’s?” Tommy blurted all at once to his father as everyone got up to leave.
“Tommy, I don’t think that’s a good idea tonight,” Sal answered, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulder. “Remember we’re going fishing with Miss Ella and Goldie tomorrow and need to get to bed early. Maybe later on in the week.”
“Please, Daddy,” Rex begged. “You promised. Can’t we go for just a little while—please?”
Located on the main street of what was once known as Ocean Drive Beach before the small, independent township, like so many others, was incorporated ignominiously into North Myrtle Beach, Fast Eddie’s had attained mythical status as one of the few remaining old-fashioned public dance clubs where people could still come to shag and slow dance to the music of Johnny Mathis, Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald, and other stars of the fifties popular long before the appearance of hard rock and disco. Inside the concrete building was a well-stocked bar, Naugahyde booths, low lighting, a disc jockey at a tape deck, and an extensive wooden dance floor never without traces of sand. Without question, the vast majority of customers were middle-aged sentimentalists eager to recapture a glorious era when the shag and more romantic music dominated the late-night scene at the outdoor O. D. Pavilion only a block away near the water. But there was also always a surprising number of younger faces, and, since the place was so civilized and didn’t seem to impose any underage restrictions on the clientele, it was not unusual to spot couples like the Marianis, with adolescent children in tow, either dancing or sitting quietly drinking and listening to the nostalgic music. Told about Fast Eddie’s by friends at the Priscilla the year before, Sal and Elizabeth had gone to the club with the boys one night, and since Tommy and Rex had never been exposed back home to any such social arena, to them the place was an exciting live adventure they’d never forgotten.
“Son,” Sal insisted, “I don’t think a dance club is your grandfather’s and Miss Ella’s idea of a good time. Do you understand?”
“What kind of dance club?” Ella interrupted abruptly as she held onto Edmund’s arm on the way to the parking lot.
Sal and Elizabeth described the setting and music, prompting Ella to stop and relate how she and Earl used to dance the evenings away at the old Ocean Forest Hotel and the Myrtle Pavilion, and any number of other nightspots.
“Why, I had no idea such places still existed,” she exclaimed, “not since real dancing at the old Pavilions went out of style. Wouldn’t you know it takes Yankee ingenuity to find out about something like that. Well, personally, I’d love to drop by this Fast Eddie’s for old time’s sake—so long as you promise there’s none of that indecent, wild music you hear everywhere today.” She looked up at Edmund and squeezed his arm. “Are we up to it, Dr. O’Conner?”
“I’m just along for the ride,” he quipped, guiding her over to her car, where Goldie was waiting. “We only live twice, as they say.”
When they entered the club, which was about half full of mostly older customers, Frank Sinatra was crooning “My Way” over the sound system, and a few couples were dancing cheek to cheek. After they’d arranged themselves in a large booth, Ella, Edmund, and the Marianis decided to order beers and told the waitress to bring Cokes for Goldie and the boys. Then, when a snappier tune sung by the Drifters was played, rousing Ella to beat time with her foot, a few people got up and, extending one hand to their partners, began to execute a special style of sliding footwork on the sandy floor.
“Now, that’s the shag,” Ella informed the others excitedly. “You know, they say the shag was invented here at O. D. Who knows if it’s true, but, Lord, I’d like to have a dime for every time I shagged down here in the old days.”
Paul Anka, Buddy Holly, Sarah Vaughan, Sonny Rollins, Bo Diddley—the songs played one after the next, some fast, some slow, and, at one point, Sal pulled Elizabeth up and caused the boys to snicker as they watched their parents move a little awkwardly about the dance floor. Then Elizabeth coaxed Tommy up playfully and tried to show him a few steps, and when the boy’s confidence had been bolstered, he tugged at Goldie till she followed him reluctantly and danced surprisingly well to a rockabilly classic by the Everly Brothers. Next it was Rex’s turn with Goldie, who, towering over the boy, seemed to lose herself in all the fun while those back at the table cheered them on. Throughout it all, Ella tapped her hand steadily on the table, but when the disc jockey slipped in a real oldie of Jo Stafford singing “Long Ago and Far Away,” a chill went through her entire body as the song abruptly and uncontrollably evoked a warm evening in Charleston before Jonathan Green was drafted when the two attended a student war-bond dance in the ballroom of the Fort Sumpter Hotel.
All had been enjoyable, she recalled, till a husky, swaggering star on the high-school football team, soused to the point of tottering, tried to break in on Jonathan and Ella while they were dancing. At first, they simply ignored him, but when he persisted, Jonathan accused him of being drunk and impolite and said they’d like to be left alone. Insulted, the oaf whacked Jonathan’s shoulder with the heel of his hand, which knocked him off balance and caused those in the immediate vicinity to back away in dismay.
“So I ain’t good enough to dance with the Jew boy’s gal,” he had slurred, again pushing Jonathan back.
“Just leave us alone, Barney,” Jonathan said, but no sooner had he uttered the plea than he was hit again.
Jonathan attempted to retaliate by shoving him away, but such was the other’s brawn that it was like striking a tree.
“So the Jew squirt’s looking for trouble,” Barney garbled almost incoherently, socking him again on the shoulder. “Let’s see ya defend yo woman, Jew boy.”
“Okay, Barney, enough’s enough,” Ella exploded, turning to those gathered around the fracas. “Would somebody please go find a chaperone this minute?”
“Oh, so now Miss Ella Hodges
has to take up for her poor little Jew boy,” Barney bellowed cruelly, reaching out to try to chuck her playfully under the chin.
She recoiled and, not caring how unladylike she might appear, swung her hand back as far as possible and slammed him in the face with all her might, declaring, “Barney, you’re nothing but a crude slob!”
For a moment, he appeared stunned, and by the time he’d regained his stamina, two rugged-looking older men in tuxedos emerged from nowhere, sized up the scene, and, seizing him harshly by the arms, led him away as the lively music from the bandstand in the distance played on.
Ella remembered how she and Jonathan had gone to sit down awhile, and how she couldn’t determine whether he was more angry or humiliated, and how swollen eyes showed he was doing all he could to hold back the tears. All she wanted to do at that moment was pull him over close and reassure him, but, instead, she simply took his hand and waited till the band again played the sort of slow, romantic music he liked so much. The tune the female vocalist sang was “Long Ago and Far Away,” so they returned to the dance floor, and didn’t say a word, and held each other more tightly than they ever had, and listened to the sad lyrics.
The nostalgia was broken when Stafford’s final notes faded away, the familiar strains of Johnny Mathis’s “Chances Are” began, and Ella once again felt Edmund take her hand.
“Shall we show them how it’s really done by two old veterans?” he said wistfully.
Looking a little surprised as she wasted no time pulling herself up on her feet, Ella answered, “Well, Dr. O’Conner, you’ve never mentioned that hoofing is another one of your talents.”
“Oh, I’m no Astaire,” he joked, “but Grace used to say that I could cut a pretty good rug if I was in the right mood.”
And, indeed, it didn’t take a moment for Ella to realize that the good doctor was as light and articulate on his feet as Earl had ever been, providing a strong lead that allowed them to move gracefully in sync with each other’s steps and attract the attention of rather startled admirers all around the dance floor. Ella, of course, loved just the action of dancing again after so many years, but what confused her emotions was being held close by a man whom she’d come to really like and admire and noticing those little things that long ago had always sparked her most primal instincts—the clean aroma of soap on Edmund’s neck, the warmth of his breath when he made utterances, the tight grasp of his fingers beneath her shoulder blade, and, undeniably, the erotic sensation of brushing repeatedly against his groin. Now, however, it didn’t seem to matter that she was no longer the alluring siren once capable of arousing any male in her clutches, or that the ripe partner she was dancing with made no unruly attempts to caress and fondle with calculated prospects in mind. She remembered. Oh, she remembered all right. But time and experience and, yes, fragility had tamed such wanton impulses in them both, leaving mainly the placid yearning to thwart loneliness by sharing a few simple, unadorned pleasures in a world that was passing them by. Being wrapped in Edmund’s arms did make Ella feel good and appreciated, but it also reawakened in her certain memories that she’d spent a lifetime trying to eradicate, memories that burrowed deep in her soul and threatened to haunt her forever.
“You’re good,” O’Conner proclaimed, breaking away slightly and gazing into her face as Nat King Cole’s “Too Young” began over the speakers. “You must have had plenty of practice.”
“Oh, mercy, I haven’t danced in ages, but, yes, I’ve always loved it ever since my high-school years in Charleston. And I might add that you’re not so bad yourself.”
“Well, I did have lots of practice with Grace when we were younger and socialized a good deal at my tennis club—a nice relief from cutting into gums day after day.” He laughed, then pulled her close again.
“Why can’t they write respectable music like this today?” Ella mumbled in his ear. “With words that really mean something?”
“It’s just a whole other new generation, Miss Ella, and, let’s face it, we’re on the sidelines.”
“Well, it doesn’t mean I have to like and accept it.”
Just as she was getting morose, Chuck Berry’s “Maybellene” livened up the mood, stirring more couples to approach the dance floor but causing Edmund to break away and announce jovially, “Okay, that’s too much for these old limbs.”
“Oh, nonsense, Dr. O’Conner,” she protested, refusing to release his hand. “We haven’t even shagged yet, so here, let me show you how. Just follow me.”
With which she began to shuffle confidently and slide her low-heeled pumps over the sandy floor while twisting the two joined hands back and forth in time with the catchy beat. In no time, he caught on to the technique, now seemingly no more aware than she that what they were doing could be a little too reckless at their age.
“Now, pull me to you,” she then directed, “and grab me around the waist.”
He complied, holding her in such an agile manner that the two, side by side and facing out, shuffled in place almost like runners getting ready to sprint. After a few moments, she reeled herself loose again and, never releasing his hand, resumed her stance facing him. It was at this point that she started to perspire and felt her heart thumping, so, exclaiming “Mercy me, mercy me,” she finally nudged up against him and declared that perhaps it would be a good idea to sit down and rest.
Everyone at the table sat with dazed expressions except Goldie, who had stood up to watch with her hands clasped in front of her chest and a wide grin on her face.
“Hollywood, here we come,” Sal exclaimed, patting his father-in-law proudly on the back as the older man helped Ella slide back into the booth and the two boys stared at her with twinkles of admiration in their eyes.
“That was lots of fun,” Ella said to Goldie as they drove slowly down Ocean Boulevard back to the Priscilla, and her spirits would have remained high had she not caught the despised but unmistakable scent of wisteria that drifted from nowhere in the open window of the car and, brutally, forced her not only to relive once again that shocking night in Charleston when all hope of any happiness with Jonathan Green was devastated in a matter of minutes but also to soon make vital decisions that would determine the direction of her entire future.
The episode had unfolded no later than the steamy weekend following their intense lovemaking at Jonathan’s apartment, and the locale was the rather grand two-story Georgian house on lower King Street of a newly married couple who’d hired a local band and invited lots of people over for a buffet supper and dancing in honor of some out-of-town friends. Jonathan hadn’t been particularly anxious to attend the get-together, but after Ella had promised that they wouldn’t stay till the wee hours, he had finally agreed to pick her up in the two-tone DeSoto. As usual, the party began on a quiet, dignified note as guests helped themselves to shrimp paste on toast, baked country ham, chicken perloo, benne seed biscuits, and many other Lowcountry dishes that filled a buffet table set up in the parlor. In fine Charleston tradition, there were also huge crystal bowls of lethal punch placed strategically in various areas on the first floor, explanation enough of why most of the revelers were well on the road to being smashed after the Oriental carpet in the spacious living room was rolled back and the band’s tempo picked up. By eleven o’clock, the evening was in full swing, and nobody was living it up more than Ella Hodges as she and Earl Dubose or another dance partner did full justice to the jitterbug and Charleston.
Earlier in the evening, when the music was slower and more romantic, Ella had naturally taken every opportunity possible to dance cheek to cheek with Jonathan, since that was more his style, but once the action had picked up and one after another blade had asked her for a twirl around the floor, Jonathan seemed perfectly content in the next room drinking and chatting with a young man from Spartanburg who was enrolled in the history department at USC in Columbia. At one point, when Ella strolled in casually under the pretense of being exhausted and needing another glass of punch, she couldn’t help but n
otice how glassy Jonathan’s eyes were and the way his speech was slurred from the alcohol; and she couldn’t help but notice how he weaved when he stood up to peck her on the cheek and ask groggily if she was having a good time. The handsome other boy, Jeremy, couldn’t have been more courteous, and, in fact, Ella was just about to ask boldly if he liked to Lindy when Earl, also in his cups, suddenly appeared, grabbed her by the arm, and playfully pulled her back to the dance floor.
As the night wore on and the crowd got more rowdy, Ella did find it strange that Jonathan, who continued to spend most of his time huddled in conversation or tottering about with his arm over the shoulder of the stranger from Columbia, was ignoring her and everybody else at the party. No doubt, she figured, he was simply learning everything about the university he could from this student, and though he’d obviously had much too much to drink, it made her happy to see him in a better mood and once again enjoying himself socially. On the other hand, she now looked upon Jonathan and herself as much more than mere friends, considering what had happened between them just the week before, and while she accepted the fact that it wasn’t in his nature to kick up his heels the way she liked to do at affairs such as this, she still had to wonder why he was paying her so little attention.
The harsh answer came after she and a group of friends were gathered around the piano boozily singing “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love, Baby,” and she noticed Jonathan and Jeremy in the distance staggering down a small flight of stairs that led to the garden in back of the house. For a while, she tried to disregard the occurrence, then, out of worry or curiosity, her instincts forced her to go check on them. Outside, the humid air was not as stifling as indoors; there was a strong fragrance of wisteria that crept up a wide trellis at the far end of the walled garden, and the only light was that reflected from the tall parlor windows. Standing on the thick grass with her drink in her hand, all she could hear at first was the muffled racket from inside the house, but when she walked closer to the trellis, she detected low voices garbled by what sounded like intermittent moans. Now a little frightened, she took a few more steps in the direction of the sounds, and when she reached the trellis and peered behind it, what she could discern, what she could definitely make out in the dim glow, was the unmistakable sight of Jonathan eagerly caressing Jeremy’s chest under his shirt as they kissed passionately. At first the two were so wrapped up in their lust that they didn’t notice her, but when a massive shiver caused her to drop her cup and they heard the faint thud, they frantically broke away from each other and could only stare at her in terror.
