Read Online Ten Cents a Dance by Christine Fletcher - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Fletcher
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up a ticket here and there, but it was hard slogging. The dance tunes had gotten downright skimpy. Everyone seemed tired. On the bandstand, the trumpeter looked bored enough to fall over dead.
The music scraped to a stop. The lights came up. Two o'clock, and I hadn't had a dance for the last twenty minutes. O'Malley, the bouncer, herded the men ahead of him toward the door. "That's it for tonight," he kept saying. "You want more company, come back tomorrow."
In the Ladies', I slipped off my dress and hung it up in my locker. Then scooped out the handful of tickets from the top of my stocking. Across the room, Yvonne propped her foot on a chair and flipped up the hem of her gown. The tickets crammed under her nylons looked like a blue tumor on the side of her leg. It took her both hands to get them all, and even then two or three fluttered to the floor.
Big deal. Give me time, and a swell dress, and I could do that, too.
We lined up in front of the ticket-seller's booth.
Yvonne—no surprise—was first. I ended up last, behind the girl in the chocolate and blue gown who'd given Art a sprained wrist. Alice, she said her name was. She wore her hair in big fat sausage curls, like Shirley Temple. I wondered if she knew even Shirley Temple didn't wear sausage curls anymore.
When I finally got to the booth, I laid down my handful of tickets. Little Bo Peep or not, I hadn't done too bad. Tomorrow I'd go down to Maxwell Street. See if I could find a bargain. Probably I wouldn't be able to afford rhinestones and sequins, but that could come later. Right now, I needed just good enough for Del to let me back in the door.
The ticket man counted fast, shoving the tickets aside, two by two. His hand crawled in a drawer, coins clinking. He pushed the money across the counter to me. I drifted to the door, adding it all up.
Three dollars sixty-five cents, including tips.
That couldn't be right. I stopped and counted again. Fifty, seventy-five, one, one-fifty . . .
"You, Jablonsky!" Del yelled from across the hall. "Either show up with a gown tomorrow, or don't show up!"
The sick feeling bloomed in my belly, worse than before. I hadn't even earned enough to buy two pairs of stockings. How many free dances had I given Art? How many had I wasted, waiting for him to come back? I couldn't remember. I couldn't think. The other girls clattered down the stairs and I trailed behind in a daze. He might as well have stolen from me. Reached into my pocketbook, taken my gown away from me. I rubbed my knuckles. The scabs like whips on my skin.
Where could I possibly get more money? Ma used to keep a few dollars saved in a sugar tin, but that had been spent months ago. Betty didn't have a nickel to her name. Angie? She loaned me a quarter sometimes. Nothing like what I needed.
Freezing outside, an icy wind whipping up the street. The door to the Starlight latched shut behind me. It was over. Just like that.
I headed for the streetcar stop. Ahead, a group of people laughed and chattered. Under the streetlights, the cigarette smoke around their heads was a bright haze; between that, and the shadows of their hats, I couldn't see their faces. But I'd recognize that tawny shimmer of fox fur anywhere. Yvonne. The thin-shouldered slouch next to her must be Gabby. Three men with them. From around the corner, behind them, a fourth man came walking. A tall, lean man.
Surprise jolted through me. Then relief, like cool water on a burn. I raised my hand and waved. "Art!"
It's Bo Peep, I heard Gabby say. The men laughed. I didn't care. I started toward Art, but instead of walking to me, he stopped. A cab swerved up to the curb, and in the sweep of headlights, I saw my mistake.
It wasn't Art. It was the trumpet player from the band. He'd changed from his too-short tuxedo into regular clothes and a derby hat. A piece of paper gleamed white in his hands.
"What is she doing?" Gabby said, at the same time one of the men said, "That the kind of thing you girls
The music scraped to a stop. The lights came up. Two o'clock, and I hadn't had a dance for the last twenty minutes. O'Malley, the bouncer, herded the men ahead of him toward the door. "That's it for tonight," he kept saying. "You want more company, come back tomorrow."
In the Ladies', I slipped off my dress and hung it up in my locker. Then scooped out the handful of tickets from the top of my stocking. Across the room, Yvonne propped her foot on a chair and flipped up the hem of her gown. The tickets crammed under her nylons looked like a blue tumor on the side of her leg. It took her both hands to get them all, and even then two or three fluttered to the floor.
Big deal. Give me time, and a swell dress, and I could do that, too.
We lined up in front of the ticket-seller's booth.
Yvonne—no surprise—was first. I ended up last, behind the girl in the chocolate and blue gown who'd given Art a sprained wrist. Alice, she said her name was. She wore her hair in big fat sausage curls, like Shirley Temple. I wondered if she knew even Shirley Temple didn't wear sausage curls anymore.
When I finally got to the booth, I laid down my handful of tickets. Little Bo Peep or not, I hadn't done too bad. Tomorrow I'd go down to Maxwell Street. See if I could find a bargain. Probably I wouldn't be able to afford rhinestones and sequins, but that could come later. Right now, I needed just good enough for Del to let me back in the door.
The ticket man counted fast, shoving the tickets aside, two by two. His hand crawled in a drawer, coins clinking. He pushed the money across the counter to me. I drifted to the door, adding it all up.
Three dollars sixty-five cents, including tips.
That couldn't be right. I stopped and counted again. Fifty, seventy-five, one, one-fifty . . .
"You, Jablonsky!" Del yelled from across the hall. "Either show up with a gown tomorrow, or don't show up!"
The sick feeling bloomed in my belly, worse than before. I hadn't even earned enough to buy two pairs of stockings. How many free dances had I given Art? How many had I wasted, waiting for him to come back? I couldn't remember. I couldn't think. The other girls clattered down the stairs and I trailed behind in a daze. He might as well have stolen from me. Reached into my pocketbook, taken my gown away from me. I rubbed my knuckles. The scabs like whips on my skin.
Where could I possibly get more money? Ma used to keep a few dollars saved in a sugar tin, but that had been spent months ago. Betty didn't have a nickel to her name. Angie? She loaned me a quarter sometimes. Nothing like what I needed.
Freezing outside, an icy wind whipping up the street. The door to the Starlight latched shut behind me. It was over. Just like that.
I headed for the streetcar stop. Ahead, a group of people laughed and chattered. Under the streetlights, the cigarette smoke around their heads was a bright haze; between that, and the shadows of their hats, I couldn't see their faces. But I'd recognize that tawny shimmer of fox fur anywhere. Yvonne. The thin-shouldered slouch next to her must be Gabby. Three men with them. From around the corner, behind them, a fourth man came walking. A tall, lean man.
Surprise jolted through me. Then relief, like cool water on a burn. I raised my hand and waved. "Art!"
It's Bo Peep, I heard Gabby say. The men laughed. I didn't care. I started toward Art, but instead of walking to me, he stopped. A cab swerved up to the curb, and in the sweep of headlights, I saw my mistake.
It wasn't Art. It was the trumpet player from the band. He'd changed from his too-short tuxedo into regular clothes and a derby hat. A piece of paper gleamed white in his hands.
"What is she doing?" Gabby said, at the same time one of the men said, "That the kind of thing you girls
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