Stars Over Clear Lake

by Loretta Ellsworth

  Just then I heard Jimmy Dorsey say my name.

  “I’m dedicating this next song to Lorraine Kindred. It’s called ‘Tangerine.’ It goes out to a wisp of a girl with long red hair and a flawless voice. This song is for you.” He winked at me.

  I smiled again, my cheeks heating up at the attention now that I was out of the limelight. But Lance was swaggering toward my table, a smug grin on his face. Had he seen the way I looked at Jens?

  If only I could escape to the restroom. I scooted to the edge of the booth, but Lance was faster than me and blocked my exit.

  “I was just leaving,” I said, hoping he’d move.

  “So, the farmer’s daughter is famous now. What does Scotty think of you singing?”

  “He’s at school,” I said.

  I chanced a glance at Jens. Lance must have followed my gaze because when I turned he was looking at Jens, too. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Scotty used to say you were the classiest girl in town. Turns out he was a sap. But I’m not. Tell that to your boyfriend up there.”

  “Where’s your date, Lance?”

  “I took her home.”

  “You should leave, too.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m leaving this town for good. As soon as I take care of some business.” Then he winked at me and sauntered off toward the bar, his drink sloshing over the side of his glass.

  I stayed until the last set ended and the ballroom was nearly empty. I had to thank Jens and warn him about Lance. At least, that’s what I told myself.

  Forty-three

  1947

  Jens held his instrument case in one hand, his other clasping mine. He led me to the side door and we snuck up the stairs. He held a finger to his lips until we reached the rooftop. I hadn’t been up here since my double date with Scotty, Stella, and Lance years ago.

  From the roof, we could see the lights of the boardwalk, and beyond that the open water. A cool breeze ruffled my skirt, but it felt good to be out of the smoky ballroom.

  There was a single bench on the rooftop and he guided me to it. A full moon reflected shadows on the calm water. In the distance, dark clouds cut a line across the sky, promising rain.

  I sat next to Jens, stiff and awkward, our arms touching. I nervously twisted Scotty’s ring around my finger.

  “Thank you for introducing me to Jimmy Dorsey,” I finally said. “For the song. It meant the world to me.”

  “Maybe one day you be famous like Helen O’Connell.”

  “Really? Do you think it’s possible?” For a second I forgot about the ring on my finger.

  “Yes, very much. If it is your dream.”

  “I like school, but I’d quit in a heartbeat if I could perform with a band.”

  “Every band will want you, now that you sing with Jimmy Dorsey.”

  I wondered at how Jens could always make me feel special on my own terms, not in how it related to him. Around Scotty, I often felt like a cheerleader.

  “What is your dream, Jens?”

  He blinked at me for a second, as though it was painfully obvious.

  “You,” he said softly. “That is real reason I come here. I know what your letter said, but I hope to see you, to ask you face-to-face. To know the truth. If you are still mein Schatz.”

  What could I say? I couldn’t deny the truth. I did love him. I feared my eyes betrayed me, that he could see how every bone in my body tingled at his nearness. But to say it out loud? What good would it do? I had already made a choice, one that came with a homemade dress and veil, and ninety invited guests, and a fiancé who had stood by me. I couldn’t throw that away now.

  “We shouldn’t talk about this,” I said, looking away. “It can’t end well.”

  “It will never end well if you marry another. You are here now, with me. You must tell me.”

  I shook my head. “The war kept us apart, Jens.”

  “This verdammt war! The war is over now. But we are here, you and me, and this is all I care for.”

  The war wasn’t over for everyone. “I’m getting married in two months, Jens.”

  “Do you deny you love me?”

  “I made a promise…”

  Jens jumped up and paced in front of me. “Was it a promise you could make?”

  “Jens, when I didn’t hear from you…”

  Jens stopped pacing, his face reddening. “But I did write. I write and write and I never hear one word from you, and yet I still came to find you.”

  I felt tears swell in my eyes. “You told me not to wait. Those were your words.”

  He knelt in front of me and took my hands. “And now I regret that I say that. How can you marry him? You should be with me.”

  I closed my eyes. “Don’t do this.”

  “Lorraine, listen to me. I love you more than anything. Does that mean nothing to you?”

  “Of course it does.” He was still on his knees, his face leaning in toward me. I felt myself moving toward him, closing the distance. At the last second, I pulled back. If I kissed him, who knew where it would lead? It was like playing with dynamite.

  His shoulders sagged. “Then tell me you don’t love me.”

  I gulped back a sob. “I can’t!”

  Jens tried to take me in his arms, but I pushed him away. “Jens,” I pleaded.

  He sat down again, lit a cigarette, and exhaled a long whisper of smoke that looked like a sigh. “I know you think you are doing an honorable thing, but is it honorable to marry a man when you love another?”

  I looked down, trying not to cry, grinding a cigarette stub with my heel. I did love Scotty, just in a different way. And I couldn’t change my mind now. Not after all that had happened.

  I stood up. “I have to be up early…”

  “No! Don’t leave,” he said, a note of panic in his voice.

  “I have to.”

  “One last dance.”

  “What?” I shivered as a sudden wind whipped across the rooftop.

  “Just one,” he said. “Inside, where it is warm.”

  We walked downstairs. Everyone had left, and the lights were off.

  “Mr. Fox did not know we were up there,” Jens said, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

  We walked through the darkened ballroom, where only the moonlight filtering through the lakeside windows lit the way. The chairs were piled on top of the tables. Polished glasses were stacked behind the wooden bar, which had been wiped clean. Beneath the bar an overflowing bucket of rags carried a stench of alcohol and cigarettes.

  Jens’s took my hand. His eyes locked with mine. “One last dance together.” His voice sounded desperate.

  I gulped. “There’s no music.”

  “You can sing to me.”

  I dropped the shawl from my shoulders. Jens laid his instrument case on the floor and balanced his cigarette on the end of the bar. We danced across the empty floor, our heels on the hardwood the only noise to be heard. I put my head on his shoulder and hummed the tune I’d sung earlier. My voice started off smoothly, but a sadness crept in as we moved across the shadowy floor.

  Our last dance. I would have to make this memory last for the rest of my life. The thought made me choke up; my voice cracked and I buried my face in Jens’s shirt.

  “Oh, mein Schatz,” Jens said softly. He lifted my head and his mouth moved toward mine. If he kissed me, I’d be lost completely. But he suddenly drew back at the sound of clapping.

  A figure was standing near the bar.

  “Who’s there?” Jens asked.

  The figure was silent. I could see the tip of Jens’s cigarette glowing on the bar, but the rest of the room was dark. It wasn’t until he was almost in front of us that I recognized him. Lance was carrying a long wooden club the manager kept behind the bar in case there were unruly patrons.

  “If it isn’t the farmer’s daughter and the Nazi.”

  Jens picked up his instrument case and held it at his side. “I’m not a Nazi.”

  Lance laughed. “You
think you got away with something last time. But the residents of this town don’t care much for your kind, especially when their sons were killed by scum like you.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Jens,” I said. “Not everyone is that way.”

  “What does Scotty think of a POW making time with his girl?” Lance asked.

  The look on my face gave him the answer. He snorted. “Poor slob doesn’t know you’re two-timing him.” Lance flashed that bullying smile he’d so often used in high school, when he had a younger student trapped against the lockers.

  He took a menacing step toward Jens. “If Scotty had any balls, he’d have done this a long time ago. But since he’s not going to fight for his own honor, I’ll do it for him. I owe you one, anyway.”

  Lance was bigger than Jens and outweighed him, but he’d been drinking some. Not enough, though. The hate in his eyes appeared stronger than the drink had been.

  The club came down unexpectedly. Jens blocked it with his instrument case, which cracked with the force. I screamed.

  Jens scrambled to regain his footing. “Run, Lorraine!”

  I couldn’t move.

  Lance struck again and Jens fell back against the stage, hitting his head on the hard floor. The club came down another time, narrowly missing his head as he jerked to the side. Jens managed to get back on his feet. He pushed himself into Lance’s middle. They both went sprawling.

  I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar as the fight lurched in my direction. I threw the bottle at Lance’s back, but I missed. It struck the bar and shattered, sending glass and whiskey the length of the bar.

  Seeing this inspired Lance to grab a liquor bottle and break it against the edge of the bar. He thrust the ragged edges of the bottle at Jens, who jumped back. Lance ran at him and Jens grabbed his arm. The bottle went flying as they fell to the floor once more, a tangle of legs and arms.

  The air had become thick and hazy, making it difficult to see what was happening on the floor. Then a rush of heat hit my back. I turned. The bar was ablaze! I took a step toward the kitchen to get water when I was forced back by a wall of hot air.

  “Fire!”

  The heat and my screams were enough to end the fight. The fire was spreading along the fronds of the palm trees, igniting the rattan furniture, and racing up the walls and ceiling. We watched in horror as the ballroom became engulfed in flames in less than a minute.

  Lance ran toward the front door.

  “It is locked!” Jens yelled at him. I tried to block Lance, but he pushed me out of the way and disappeared into a wall of smoke.

  Jens quickly ran over and helped me up. The smoke burned my lungs. I coughed, barely able to breathe, and held my hand over my mouth.

  “How are we going to get out? Should we try the roof?” I knew all the other exits were blocked.

  “No.” Jens grabbed his instrument case and pointed toward the lakeside windows. “Break glass.” He threw his case at the window, but nothing happened. He picked up a chair and threw that at the window, but it only made a small chip.

  “Table,” he choked out, and I helped him drag a wooden table across the room. I could barely lift my side of it. I struggled under the weight, holding it by the legs as we lifted it to the height of the window. We battered it against the window, two, three times. Finally, a crack appeared.

  One more thrust and the window shattered. Instantly, cool air rushed in. I gasped, pulling fresh night air into my lungs, coughing out the smoke. Jens lifted me up. My dress caught on the ragged glass and he tore at it, ripping it enough to push me out. I yelped as my arms brushed against the sharp edges.

  As I glanced back inside, the wind was fueling the fire. The ballroom looked like a giant bonfire.

  “Jens!” I grabbed his arm to pull him through the window.

  “You call fire department. I get Lance out.”

  “No. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I must try.”

  “No, Jens!” But he disappeared back into the thick smoke. I had to get help. Thunder boomed above me as I ran down the boardwalk toward Curly’s Café. It was then that I remembered Carl Fox and his family, who lived in the apartment above the Surf.

  I hurried to the front of the turret, sobbing and shaking, praying that Jens was still alive. I pounded on their door for several minutes before Carl Fox finally got up and came down.

  “The building’s on fire!” I yelled.

  His face registered panic and he ran upstairs to get his wife and family. Mr. Knocke, who owned Curly’s Café next door, hurried toward me.

  “I called the fire department,” he said, pointing to the smoke streaming out the rooftop. Mr. Fox was already coming down with his family. Neighbors were gathering outside, some of them carrying their belongings in case the fire spread.

  All I could think of was Jens. Was he still inside? I ran back to the lakeside. It started to drizzle, but it was too late to contain the surging flames, which shot out the windows. I scanned the boardwalk and dock for Jens. There was no sign of anyone.

  Then came an explosion, one that rocked the ground beneath my feet and nearly knocked me over.

  “Jens!” I couldn’t lose him! I shook with fear. “Jens!” I screamed again.

  “Lorraine.” His voice came from the direction of the lake.

  I ran to Jens and nearly knocked him over, hugging him tight. “Thank God you’re alive!”

  He was kneeling over Lance, near the dock, pouring cold water onto Lance’s face and arms. Lance was screaming. Jens had blood dripping from his hand and his face was cut. Fire trucks were approaching, their clanging sound waking the neighborhood.

  “God was watching over us.” Jens hugged me as he looked at the engulfed building. “But Lance has burns. He needs hospital.”

  He propped Lance up. “Can you walk?”

  Lance didn’t answer. His eyes were half closed. He staggered and Jens put an arm around his side. I held up his other side. We helped Lance to the front of the building, where emergency vehicles were parked. A crowd had formed. Lance’s face had a bluish tint and was blistering on one side.

  “He was drunk and stood too close to the building,” I told them. Lance was in a stupor, unable to talk, reeling from the pain of his burns. He was coughing up black smoke. I wondered what he’d say later when he was more alert.

  Lance was placed on a stretcher, and we were pushed back as they administered first aid.

  Jens led me away from the vehicles. He held his cracked instrument case in his hand. “Why didn’t you tell them the truth? That we were inside?”

  “Jens, we must have caused that fire. Your cigarette was on the bar. What if it ignited the liquor when I threw that bottle?”

  He put a hand on his mouth. “My cigarette! I … it was an accident. We will tell them.”

  Even if it was an accident, what would happen to him? A former POW? “Jens, listen to me. Lance was right. To them you’re still the enemy.”

  He flinched at the word enemy.

  “People won’t understand. It’s best we don’t say anything, don’t mention that we were inside.” We watched the flames spewing from the building, neighbors carrying furniture out onto the road. “It was an accident,” I repeated. “Or maybe it wasn’t even your cigarette. It could have been something else.”

  I reached over and hugged him reassuringly. “You were so brave. You saved our lives.”

  A few people had wandered over to where we were standing with other spectators. Was that Mrs. Murphy, Stella’s mother? The flames held their rapt attention, but I pulled Jens into the darkness of a neighboring willow tree, hoping she hadn’t seen us.

  We watched the fire burn, its flames licking the air as a light mist of rain fell around us.

  “I sincerely hope it wasn’t my cigarette,” Jens said, shaking his head.

  “It wasn’t your fault. I threw the bottle. The whiskey probably caught on fire and we didn’t catch it before it spread.”

  But even if it was
an accident, if Jens was involved, wouldn’t he be blamed? He was a recent German immigrant, a former POW, and that alone aroused suspicion. He could get deported. Or worse, he could go to prison.

  I knew it wasn’t rational, but it seemed as though the universe was conspiring to keep us apart. Or was this retribution for my betrayal of Scotty?

  “We seem to be like oil and water, Jens.”

  Jens blinked at me. “I do not understand.”

  “Don’t you feel as though the universe is working against us? That something is always keeping us apart?”

  “No. I feel opposite.”

  “You said our meeting again tonight was fate. But I almost lost you. We both could have died in that fire.”

  “But we survived. We are here together.”

  I took a breath. The air was rank with smoke and ash. My eyes teared up, but it wasn’t from the smoke. How could I tell him that Stella’s warnings had come true? That this passion between us was dangerous?

  “I love you, Jens. I nearly died when I thought I’d lost you. But I think you should leave.”

  He looked at me oddly. “No. Why?”

  I started to say that it was for his own protection, but that wasn’t the real reason. “It’s for the best. I can’t … I’m going to marry Scotty.”

  “How can you? After all we have been through?”

  “Maybe it’s because of what we’ve been through. I don’t know, Jens. My first time singing at the Surf, and it burns down? When I’m with you, nothing else matters. I feel free to dream, to be who I really am. But I’m caught in a river made up of duty and lies. I’ve let it go too long now, and the current is too strong. There is so much that’s expected of me, things I can’t change. I can’t turn back and I can’t reach shore. You should understand about sacrifice, Jens. You lost so much in the war.”

  He put his bloody hands on my shoulders. “But not you.”

  Tears trailed down my face. “We were just another casualty. Like Pete and your brothers.”

  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It was as though my words had knocked out any remaining resolve. The willow tree above us caught the raindrops and the leaves trembled as they soaked in the moisture.

  “It’s too late for us, Jens.” I touched a red scrape on his chin. “You should get those cuts looked at.”