him—and he said he hoped he would see me again sometime.
But what I really wanted to tell you about is this. After that dance with Tony, I had all the rest with Jack. At first I tried to dance like Jane Rady with my head back so I could look up at him, but that way I had to look right into his eyes and it gave me such a funny, panicky feeling that I would forget what I was saying and get mixed up in my dancing. Once Swede came up, tapping Jack on the shoulder, asking to cut in, but he told him to come back later and Swede just shrugged and went away smiling knowingly, as if he had a secret on his mind.
I don’t know just the minute it began to happen but soon, after each dance, when the music had stopped, I would feel less and less like taking my arm away from Jack’s shoulder and he kept holding my hand as if the music were still playing. And yet he would never look at me and as I watched his face it was perfectly still, as if nothing were happening, while all the time his hand was in mine sending warm shivers all up my arm. Once Swede danced past and said under his breath, “Break it up, break it up!” and Jack grinned suddenly and I couldn’t help laughing.
The band was playing something slow and hushed—I don’t remember what it was—but it filled the room from the floor to the ceiling. No one seemed to be actually dancing but the crowd moved with a slow, rhythmic swaying and Jack and I seemed to be part of the whole, gentle movement. I shut my eyes and the sound of the other dancers, the full, sweet swelling of the saxophone, and the thin magic of the clarinet floated above us in a haunted cloud while we danced in a stillness beneath. I knew then I couldn’t go on feeling this way—I knew something had to happen.
The rest of the evening passed quickly, like a movie film being run off in a rapid blur, rushing to the climax. When the dance was almost over we went out on the terrace, Jack and I. I think there were several other people out there, I’m not sure, though I vaguely remember the scattered glow of cigarettes burning in the half darkness and the warm sound of people laughing. It seemed to me then that I had two hearts, one where it should be and the other pulsing rapidly in the soft hollow at the base of my throat. Leaning against the clubhouse wall I could feel the roughness of the stone and the coolness of the Virginia creeper leaves on my shoulders. Even out here the air throbbed with music. It was better to say something casual than just to wait in the breathless silence saying nothing at all. “Did you have a good time in Green Bay, Jack?” I asked.
“I did, Angie. I really had fun,” he answered. “I meant to send you a postcard but, well, I just didn’t get around to it.”He paused. Now it was his turn to be without words. “Did you do anything special while I was away? Anything interesting?” It was silly to be standing there with my hands closed tight behind my back telling him about the new book I had read and that Kitty had started to take swimming lessons at the lake to try to earn a Junior Lifesaver’s badge and other unimportant things, when we both knew we were just trying to make conversation, just marking time; and the words lumped in my throat, not even wanting to be said. It was silly just standing there. Both of us knew.
“I used to caddy on this course,” he told me suddenly as if the thought were an inspiration. “It’s a beautiful course. Beautiful, Angie. One of the best in the state. I practically know it by heart. There’s a little elevation over by the second hole, you can’t see it from here, but standing on it you can look out over the whole course. At night it’s wonderful. There’s just enough moon—would you like to look at it with me?” I nodded and he took my hand to guide me over the grass. “Hold your skirt up,” he said softly. “There is dew on everything.”
Standing on that elevation, the whole course seemed to be rolled out broad
But what I really wanted to tell you about is this. After that dance with Tony, I had all the rest with Jack. At first I tried to dance like Jane Rady with my head back so I could look up at him, but that way I had to look right into his eyes and it gave me such a funny, panicky feeling that I would forget what I was saying and get mixed up in my dancing. Once Swede came up, tapping Jack on the shoulder, asking to cut in, but he told him to come back later and Swede just shrugged and went away smiling knowingly, as if he had a secret on his mind.
I don’t know just the minute it began to happen but soon, after each dance, when the music had stopped, I would feel less and less like taking my arm away from Jack’s shoulder and he kept holding my hand as if the music were still playing. And yet he would never look at me and as I watched his face it was perfectly still, as if nothing were happening, while all the time his hand was in mine sending warm shivers all up my arm. Once Swede danced past and said under his breath, “Break it up, break it up!” and Jack grinned suddenly and I couldn’t help laughing.
The band was playing something slow and hushed—I don’t remember what it was—but it filled the room from the floor to the ceiling. No one seemed to be actually dancing but the crowd moved with a slow, rhythmic swaying and Jack and I seemed to be part of the whole, gentle movement. I shut my eyes and the sound of the other dancers, the full, sweet swelling of the saxophone, and the thin magic of the clarinet floated above us in a haunted cloud while we danced in a stillness beneath. I knew then I couldn’t go on feeling this way—I knew something had to happen.
The rest of the evening passed quickly, like a movie film being run off in a rapid blur, rushing to the climax. When the dance was almost over we went out on the terrace, Jack and I. I think there were several other people out there, I’m not sure, though I vaguely remember the scattered glow of cigarettes burning in the half darkness and the warm sound of people laughing. It seemed to me then that I had two hearts, one where it should be and the other pulsing rapidly in the soft hollow at the base of my throat. Leaning against the clubhouse wall I could feel the roughness of the stone and the coolness of the Virginia creeper leaves on my shoulders. Even out here the air throbbed with music. It was better to say something casual than just to wait in the breathless silence saying nothing at all. “Did you have a good time in Green Bay, Jack?” I asked.
“I did, Angie. I really had fun,” he answered. “I meant to send you a postcard but, well, I just didn’t get around to it.”He paused. Now it was his turn to be without words. “Did you do anything special while I was away? Anything interesting?” It was silly to be standing there with my hands closed tight behind my back telling him about the new book I had read and that Kitty had started to take swimming lessons at the lake to try to earn a Junior Lifesaver’s badge and other unimportant things, when we both knew we were just trying to make conversation, just marking time; and the words lumped in my throat, not even wanting to be said. It was silly just standing there. Both of us knew.
“I used to caddy on this course,” he told me suddenly as if the thought were an inspiration. “It’s a beautiful course. Beautiful, Angie. One of the best in the state. I practically know it by heart. There’s a little elevation over by the second hole, you can’t see it from here, but standing on it you can look out over the whole course. At night it’s wonderful. There’s just enough moon—would you like to look at it with me?” I nodded and he took my hand to guide me over the grass. “Hold your skirt up,” he said softly. “There is dew on everything.”
Standing on that elevation, the whole course seemed to be rolled out broad
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