Stars Over Clear Lake

by Loretta Ellsworth

“What are you doing at the community center?” Harry asks.

  “Residents are creating memory sculptures for our history center,” Jane explains. “Ones that relate to the community. Last week they sketched designs for the tiles. Next time they’ll be working with the clay and writing down the memories that go with the tiles.”

  “What’s your design, Lorraine?”

  “Well, I’m not sure what I’m going to make yet.…”

  “She drew a sketch of the Surf Ballroom,” Jane says. “And she did a wonderful job.”

  Harry’s eyebrows go up. “You don’t say.”

  “But not this Surf. It’s the original one that used to be across the street,” Jane adds.

  “The one that burned down?”

  “When you showed me that picture I thought I’d try to tap into this ancient memory,” I say, nervously tapping my skull. “That’s why I drew it for my sculpture. But I’m still not sure if that’s the one I’ll use.”

  “Oh, I hope you do,” Jane says. “People need to know about it. It’s part of this Surf in a way, too. They wouldn’t have rebuilt it unless it meant a lot to them.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. My memories of that place are very hazy.”

  Harry holds up his beer bottle. “I’ve been hearing some interesting stories about that place. Here’s to remembering.”

  I want to know what he’s heard, but Mr. Cullen mentions that his favorite band is the Whitesidewalls and the conversation drifts.

  A long table with trays of finger food flanks the opposite wall. I excuse myself and make my way over, filling a plate with miniature pinwheel tortillas stuffed with spinach and cream cheese. Then I find a spot near the end of the table. If I stay here for a reasonable amount of time maybe Harry will dance with Daisy and he’ll forget about my sculpture.

  I’m on my second pinwheel when a voice startles me. “You really think that will work?”

  I turn, dropping the pinwheel on the floor. A man leans against the wall, his arms folded as he watches Harry and Daisy. It’s as though he’s materialized from the dark wood behind him. Has he been here the whole time?

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He’s a thin, older man with rugged skin, white hair, and glasses, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt.

  “I’m fine,” I say, shaking off the jumpy feeling as I bend down to pick up the sagging pinwheel, leaving a messy smear on the wood floor. “What do you mean?”

  He shakes his head. “Retreating to the appetizer table so they can dance? Their body language tells me that it’s never gonna happen,” he says, nodding his head in Daisy and Harry’s direction.

  “Maybe not,” I say, wondering if he saw me staring at them. Either way, he has a lot of nerve to say something like that. He hasn’t even introduced himself.

  “I wouldn’t place any bets on it,” he says.

  “Well, I’m glad I’m not a betting person,” I say, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave. I’m still holding the limp pinwheel in my hand, waiting to find a wastebasket.

  “Are you kidding me? Isn’t that why you’re over here?”

  “I was hungry.”

  “Nah. You’re betting they’re going to dance. Well, if they’re going to make up, this is the place it’ll happen. I’ve seen hundreds of couples meet and fall in love right on this dance floor.”

  How does he know they’ve been arguing? Is it that obvious? “You must spend a lot of time here,” I say.

  “More than you know.” He raises his eyebrows. “I used to work here,” he says, as though my silence is encouragement to continue talking. “I did all sorts of things, but mainly helped the acts set up backstage. I saw them all. The legends. The great performers. The big bands … Those were the days.”

  I study him more closely and resist the urge to poke him, to see if he’s real. Jimmy Dorsey felt real, too.

  The man motions toward the dance floor. “This place has an energy all its own. That’s why people fall in love here. You step onto the dance floor, search out the flickering lights of the palm trees and the clouds floating across the ceiling, and you’re no longer in Iowa. You’re outside under a dark sky on some South Sea island. You gather under the striped awning and order a drink, and settle into your special booth.

  “Your favorite band is onstage, and you feel the swell of the crowd. Not just the people in attendance, but the ones who came before you, whose essence sweeps overhead in the clouds and whose initials are engraved underneath the wooden table of your booth. They’re drawn here just as you are, nostalgic for that glow of music and dancing that is a piece of their history and maybe one of their best memories.”

  I feel a shiver move up my back. I stand absolutely still, mesmerized by his voice and his words.

  “The magic of this place originated long before the bricks and mortar were even bought. Even before the original Surf that used to be across the street. It’s part of all of us. It’s in our blood.”

  He looks at me when he mentions the other Surf. My face flushes and I turn away, feeling overcome once again. I’ve been seeing people who have been dead for years. I bumped into Lance, and drew a sketch of the old Surf. Now this man is spinning tales of magic. What is it about this place?

  “Most people don’t even know about the other Surf,” I say.

  The man winks at me as though we share some private joke, as though he knows me. “Maybe it’s time they did.”

  “Y-yes,” I stammer, feeling as though I’m under a spell. And perhaps I am, because his words feel as true as anything I’ve ever heard.

  He nods at Harry and Daisy, who are now dancing to a slow country ballad. “I didn’t think he’d get her to dance. Guess even I underestimated the magic of this place.”

  I watch them dance for a moment, feeling a bit self-satisfied. But when I turn to say something to the man, he’s no longer there.

  *

  I open the door of my condo and place my purse on a small table. Daisy walks up behind me and I flinch.

  “You’ve acted jumpy all night, Mom.”

  “Just tired.”

  “I hope you didn’t overdo it,” she says. “Don’t forget you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning. They’re running tests.”

  I haven’t forgotten.

  “I doubt I overdid it,” I say defensively. “I spent the entire time at the appetizer table.”

  Harry gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Get some rest, Sleeping Beauty. Don’t think we didn’t see you flirting with that man over by the table half the night. The way you were looking at him, well, I wondered if I’d be your ride home tonight.”

  Seventeen

  September, 1944

  Scotty and I were the talk of the new school year. Girls I barely knew congratulated me as though I’d won a prize, although some did so with fake smiles and insincere tones. Who could blame them? Scotty was the most sought-after boy in school. And I was a farm girl.

  I honestly didn’t know what Scotty saw in me. Daddy said I was adorable, but fathers are supposed to say those things. I had a few freckles on my nose and a thicker, lighter version of my father’s hair. I was tall and skinny and didn’t fill out my sweaters like Stella did.

  Maybe Scotty liked me because we’d both been fast runners in grammar school and I was the only girl who came close to beating him in a race. But Stella assured me it was a good thing I’d lost. Winning would only make boys dislike me.

  When I was with Scotty, I felt lucky. He was the golden boy, and just being near him made me shine, too. He made me feel special just by association.

  But after the first day of school, there was someone else I wanted to see. I rushed up the long, dusty driveway toward our white house, hunkered down and surrounded by tall trees on three sides except for the back, where the gravel curved around the rear of the house all the way to the cement walkway that led to the back porch.

  I grabbed the food Mom had prepared, barely saying hello, then hurried to the barn. I didn’t eve
n take time to change out of my skirt and blouse. Daddy had the men painting the barn today. He had brought out the radio and Bing Crosby was crooning a love song. Daddy never mentioned war news to the men. The war was far away across the ocean and Daddy wanted to keep it that way.

  Jens was painting the trim, carefully dabbing his brush at the edge of the window frame as though he was working on a masterpiece.

  Jens’s face lit up as I approached. “You come after school?”

  “Yes. Are you ready for your lesson?” I asked, breathless from my run. Then I noticed his bruised left cheek.

  “What happened?”

  Jens glanced at Helmut before replying. “Fall down.”

  “At the camp?”

  He nodded. “Ready learn,” he said a bit defiantly, grabbing a biscuit with his free hand.

  “I gotta go into town to get some more paint,” Daddy said. “You men get an extra-long break today.”

  He tossed one of Pete’s footballs to Jakob as he left. Jakob turned the ball in his hands curiously, as though he’d never seen the object before. Ludwig tried to take it away, but he ducked and tucked the ball tight in his arms. Ludwig ran after him, saying he wanted to try this “amerikanisches Spiel.”

  They called Günther to join them, but he’d already retreated into a book he’d gotten from the camp library, Huckleberry Finn.

  “Play with us,” they teased Jens. “Lass’ das schöne Mädchen sein.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Not important.” Jens shook his head at them.

  “Please tell me.”

  Jens set the brush down and wiped his hand on his pants. “They say let pretty girl alone.”

  The men tossed the ball back and forth, not really knowing what they were doing. Norman finally explained the game to them and had Günther translate the rules. Then Norman showed them how to release the football. Soon they had a game going with Norman against Ludwig and Jakob. Soft-spoken Ludwig was quick and had good hands for catching the football. Jakob enjoyed tackling Norman, once he figured out that he wouldn’t get in trouble. Helmut stood to the side, laughing every time Norman was tackled.

  “You want to try to take me on?” Norman teased Helmut, who finally rolled up his sleeves and joined the game.

  “I think I’m going to enjoy this,” Norman said as he watched Helmut take a spot on the makeshift field.

  “I’m not taking it easy on you,” Norman warned him.

  Jens had brought a book, a beginning reader that he’d gotten from the camp library. I helped him with the words, but it was hard to pay attention while the men were making all that racket in the background. Jens kept looking up at them. He smiled when Norman threw Helmut to the ground.

  “Come on,” I finally said. “We need quiet.” I led him to a spot behind the barn, under the shade of the apple tree, where the ground was littered with yellow leaves and a few rotten apples. Norman wouldn’t miss him for a while.

  Jens was struggling more with the words today. He kept looking up, cocking his head, losing his place in the book.

  The music still floated back, along with the yelling of the men as they were tackled or scored a touchdown. Bing Crosby was singing “I’ll Be Seeing You.” I sang along softly, my voice floating out across a breeze toward the corn fields.

  “You like song?” he finally asked me.

  “Yeah. This is one of my favorites.”

  “You dance?”

  “Sure. We have a big ballroom in town. Everyone dances.”

  He looked back down at his book, but he was frowning. “I dance, too. I dance great.”

  Jens glanced toward the sound of the men on the other side of the barn. He cleared his throat. “You want to dance?”

  “Oh, um. I don’t know.”

  He stared down at the book. His ears were pink.

  “Okay,” I finally said. I could tell it had taken a lot for him to ask.

  I stood and put out my hand. He clasped it in his paint-stained one, and the warmth of his hand filled mine. His fingers were long, and his palms were callused from working the fields.

  Then he put his other arm around my waist and took a small step. I followed awkwardly, trying to keep distance between us. But he moved confidently, his hands guiding me across the crunchy leaves. I imagined myself in a flowing gown and him in a black suit and tie, weaving around the Surf Ballroom dance floor as others watched us with adoring eyes. He moved gracefully and made me feel like we were walking on air. Or maybe that’s just because I was in his arms. I barely noticed that the distance between us had disappeared, that I was pressed against his hay-strewn shirt.

  “You were right. You are great,” I told him. “How did you learn to dance so well?”

  “In Germany, everyone know how to dance. My mother teach me, too.”

  A breeze fluttered, whirling up the edges of my skirt and making my hair fly into my face. Jens released my hand and pushed the strands of hair back, and I stared into his eyes.

  I touched his bruised cheek and he flinched. “Did you really fall?”

  He didn’t answer but took my hand back and once more swept me away to the music.

  Bing Crosby was singing his melancholy tune and I wondered if Jens thought about me when he was in the prison camp. What was it like for him there?

  I knew this was wrong, the two of us dancing together. We were supposed to be enemies. What would Norman say if he saw us? Or Daddy? And what would Pete think? Was I betraying my own brother? I was definitely feeling like a collaborationist now, because more than anything I wanted Jens to kiss me. I wanted him to never let go.

  The song ended and we stopped dancing, but Jens still held me, as though he didn’t want this moment to end. Finally, he opened his hand and pulled it away. “Thank you for dance with me.”

  My hands felt heavy, and I didn’t know what to do with them. “Someday when you’re back home in Germany you’ll ask a girl to dance and you’ll remember how you danced on a little farm in Iowa,” I said, trying to dismiss the closeness I’d felt.

  “No,” Jens said, his eyes serious. “I will remember the girl I danced with. I will never forget mein Schatz.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “My treasure.”

  “I won’t forget either,” I said, meeting his eyes.

  We stood there for a long moment, neither one of us willing to look away. The distance between us was intoxicatingly small. I was a girl and he was a boy sharing a small respite from the war. A simple dance. A simple promise not to forget.

  Eighteen

  1944

  “So, did Scotty kiss you yet?”

  I stopped on the cement steps leading up to our school and jabbed Stella with my elbow. “Stella!”

  She tucked her books under her arm and fluffed her bangs. “What? You’ve gone on two dates. That’s a reasonable amount of time. More than I’d need with Scotty Bishop.”

  “What about you and Lance Dugan?”

  Stella shook her head. “You think we’re a couple? No, silly. I wanted to go to the movie, and I didn’t have any money.”

  That sounded calculating and mean, even if it was Lance. Stella could get in trouble, leading on a guy like him.

  I followed her into the two-story brick building that ran the length of a long town block. Pete’s class had been the third to graduate from this newly built school. “So you’re not dating him?”

  “No. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to the Surf with him in two weeks. He’s got four tickets and Del Courtney and his Orchestra is playing. Three-dollar tickets! We can double date.”

  “Del Courtney? I love the song ‘Journey to a Star’!” And three dollars was more than I could ever afford.

  “It’s not a teen dance, but Lance says he can get us in. You and Scotty have to come with us. I don’t want to be alone with Lance.”

  Stella and I had never had dates at the Surf. Last year we’d gone stag to the teen dances like most of the girls, lining up alon
g the wall until a boy asked us to dance. And the boys did. Everyone danced. We knew all the bands, had even made up rhymes for them. Groan and grunt with Earl Hunt. Swing and sway with Sammy Kaye!

  “Should you be leading Lance on like that?”

  Stella tucked her shirt into her tight skirt. “He’s mostly harmless. I just have to keep him at arm’s length. So, will you go? It’s free!”

  “I’ll ask Scotty.” I hoped to see him during lunch.

  The bell rang. “See you later,” Stella called over her shoulder. “And you still didn’t answer my question.”

  Scotty hadn’t kissed me yet. After our last date I’d lingered on the back doorstep for several long seconds, waiting. He’d started to lean in and I’d prepared myself by moving closer, but then Mom had made some noise in the kitchen and he’d backed down and left. I felt relieved as I saw his car pull out of the driveway.

  Last year he’d been all I could think of, but now when I thought of kissing him, a different face pushed his out of my mind. The memory of dancing with Jens still brought a flush to my cheeks, as though we’d done more than dance.

  I hurried to class, passing Lance, who was shoving a young, skinny kid into the boys’ bathroom to torture him as only Lance knew how.

  “Hey, Lorraine,” he said, one arm around the boy’s neck. I recognized the red face of Tommy Moser. His twin sister was in my class, but Tommy had been held back a year. He’d supposedly stopped breathing when he was born and had been a bit slow ever since. But Tommy always had a smile on his face and, unlike Lance, didn’t have a mean bone in his body.

  “Stop being such a bully, Lance. You’re late for class,” I said, thinking that he was one boy I wouldn’t mind seeing go off to war.

  “Just taking care of some business first,” Lance replied, and disappeared behind the heavy door.

  Daddy said that some people have hearts of stone and minds to match. That seemed to fit Lance to a tee. Stella was crazy to date him.

  I hurried to history class, where Mr. Burns spent the next hour denouncing President Roosevelt for replacing former Iowan Henry Wallace as his running mate for the upcoming election and disgracing our state by picking a Missouri man instead, Harry Truman. Daddy agreed with Mr. Burns, but he still planned to vote for Roosevelt.