Read Online Call Me Zelda by Erika Robuck - Free Book Online Page A

again after such a swell performance,” he said. “Do you think she’d dance with me if I asked her?”
Do you hear how he played with me? I always loved when people played with me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “She is awfully fast. You’d best stay away from her.”
And I pirouetted away, counting in my head to see how long it would take for him to follow.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
“Excuse me,” he said, touching my arm with his slender fingers like a sweet little breeze. “Tell her I’m not afraid, would you? And tell her I can keep up.”
And then he walked away and I was shocked. How dared he walk away? I certainly couldn’t go after him, but the challenge was placed. I was on unsure footing and it excited me. I did not want to lose the advantage, however, so I quickly made eyes at the nearest male and had a partner in no time at all.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Scott interrupted the dance, much to the dismay of the soldier.
“May I?”
“You most certainly may not,” said the soldier.
I turned and took Scott Fitzgerald without hesitation, leaving the soldier sad and wounded on the dance floor. I imagined him a seared pile of ash behind me, and it dawned on me that my imaginings were in poor taste, since he was soon shipping out to become a pile of ash. But that was no matter. I was the salamander.
“What is your name?” said Scott.
“Formally, Miss Sayre, but you may call me Zelda.”
“Zelda,” he whispered.
“You’re a fiver,” I said, slipping comfortably into the cradle of his arms.
“Pardon me?” said Scott.
“A fiver. One, two, three, four, five. That’s how long you took to come after me.”
“How does that compare to your sad beau you left over there?” He nodded in the direction of the sulking soldier. I smiled my sweetest sugar-baby smile and waved, enjoying the cruelty of the gesture.
“He’s a two-er, so you don’t have to worry a bit,” I said.
I enjoyed the vibration of his laugh through my body, though it made me clench my teeth. My, how I felt him as if he and I were the same being. That scared me, because sometimes I could barely keep up with myself. My breath caught as he stroked my neck under my hair. He started singing along with the music in my ear as he led me all around the dance floor. I let him, intoxicated, vaguely aware of the stir we created. Sulking men, green women. His voice in my ear.
“They’re all looking at us,” he said. “That’s good.”
Good, good, I thought.
They kept looking at us.
    I placed the pages on my lap, imagining the humid Southern night, the beautiful young woman and man. The foreshadowing of trouble. The onlookers. I wished she’d written more.
    When I read back over the material I was struck by her change of tense from her to I , as if she’d become more fully herself once he arrived. But that didn’t make sense, given that she now needed to be away from him to calm herself. I needed to ask Zelda about this.
    Patience , I reminded myself. This was just the beginning of the story. I reread the anecdote, placed the papers on my bedside table, and turned out the light.
    Patience.

    “P atients!”
    I was confused. Where was that voice coming from?
    “Nurse Howard! Patients!”
    The doors of the hospital train scraped open and we were suddenly engulfed in a wave of bleeding, crying, screaming men. Nurses rushed about clearing areas, making space where thesterile white would soon be red and brown and all shades of pain and suffering. I quickly snapped out of my daydreams and started on triage as voices rose and fell all around me.
    “Name?” I asked the medic.
    “Unknown.”
    “Injury?”
    “Skull.”
    I paused and looked at the patient. His lower mandible was gone and his eyes were wide. He’d die before the hour was up. His eyes were blue. It wasn’t Ben.
    I’m ashamed to admit that was what I always checked first. We all did, though none of us would have admitted it out loud. It was clear by the gasps when names