My intent with these is to write some stories in historical time periods. Obviously, time will tell if I manage it, so wish me luck. I apologize that I haven't done a lot of research for this, but hey, you're not paying for this, are you. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! -Tricia
I am looking for a proofreader or two. If you're interested, please send me a note. -Tricia
*****
It had been hot as Hades today at the factory and it had been a relief to be able to change into my cotton skirt and linen blouse to go to the Friday night dance. When I picked up my friend Ellie in the DeSoto, I was impressed. She'd looked like a wilted flower in her overalls and limp hair at the end of the work day. Now, only an hour later, in her very-short-sleeved flowered dress, her blonde curls once again in their normal place, her make up perfect, she'd been transformed.
Myself, I eschewed make up for the dance. I mean what was the point? We were all women there.
Thank God that the heat was fading as the sun began to slide down on this July night. Like all the girls in town, I'd been looking forward to the Friday dance night. Even if, with all the able-bodied men between 18 and 40 were off fighting the war, it was just us girls. It was a time to let our hair down, forget about the fighter planes we built in the factory, forget about missing our men, and just dance.
Ellie's husband was on a destroyer in the Pacific. Mine was working supply for the Army in Italy. The daily worry about their safety was twinned with the daily desire for their hard bodies in our beds. It wasn't fair that just as we'd had the chance to experience the joys of physical love after our recent marriages, they were shipped off and we might never see them again.
Ellie and I gossiped, of course, about those women who weren't waiting. Those who were sleeping with the older men (or the younger boys), or those men who didn't qualify for the Army or Navy. We got alternatively embarrassed or silly about what we'd heard, but neither of us were tempted. (At least that's what I told Ellie. I'd had some feelings toward Mr. Hooper from church, but he was married and I wasn't going to go for that.)
Anyway, it was Friday and it was dance night and there was a band this week and there'd even be beer and wine. All the young women in town would dance away the week's frustrations even if we only had each other to dance with.
When this tradition started, Ellie and I always went, but we would dance with just about anyone. Everyone did. It didn't see right to play favorites. But after time, some women became more comfortable with one or two others, especially when they played the slow dances. Ellie and I were like that; we'd been friends so long and we were just so much more comfortable with each other. And truly, I felt totally comfortable dancing up close to Ellie and feeling her body against mine when they played the ballads. Heck, even on hot nights like tonight, I didn't even mind pressing up against her sweaty softness. I'd be hard pressed to do that with, say, Mary Sue Walker.
It was half-passed ten when the music ended and we spent some time saying good bye to each other and cleaning up the Grange hall. Ellie and I walked out to my car and she was holding my hand and walking close by. But that had never been unusual between us. She slid into her side of the car and then slid across the bench seat and leaned against me. "That was nice, tonight, Donna," she sighed. "I liked that band. What was that song they played? 'I Wish I Didn't Love You So'? That was so easy to dance to."
"I liked that too. But did you see the way Beatrice was spending so much time with Donnie Ledbetter?"
"The guy with the short leg?"
"Yeah, him. And I saw them leaving together."
"Oh my. Well, we all have to get through this war any way we can," she said. "I don't want to judge." We spent the next 15 minutes chatting away about the other women we'd seen and the music, until I pulled up in front of her house. "Goodnight, Ellie. I'll see you in church on Sunday."
Ellie sighed and scooted across the bench, but then she suddenly turned, got up on and knees on the seat and turned back to me. I saw there were tears in her eyes. "What's wrong, Ellie?"
"I wish I didn't love you so," she said and then before I could react to that, her face was in front of mine and she was kissing me. Not like women kiss each other when they meet downtown. But the way Frank kissed me when we were alone and feeling romantic.
And what was weird was I was kissing her back the same way. Our mouths opened up. Our tongues found their ways in to each other; they twined around each other like slithering snakes. My breath caught. I was feeling suddenly very warm. Sticky in a way that had nothing to do with the heat that was now quite faded. I was enjoying this.
But it was wrong. At least that's what my brain was telling me. I pushed her away. "Ellie, we can't." She fell back on her heels and looked at me. I saw my lipstick mixed with hers on her lips. No doubt she saw the same. She opened her mouth to say something, then her tears came again. She turned and opened her door. "I'm sorry, Donna." And she ran into her house, letting the door swing closed behind her.
I just sat there for a minute, all too aware of how my body had reacted. And knowing that my best friend in all the world was in her house, alone, crying. I sighed, turned off the engine and got out of the car. I felt so alert, alive, my body was singing. I felt shamed because I knew my nipples were hard and my lady parts were damp in my panties.
Ellie didn't lock her door. No one did around here. I let myself in and not seeing her downstairs went up to her and Steve's bedroom, guided by the hallway light. She had thrown off her dress (it was on the floor) and lying on her face on the bed. Her half-slip was all askew and her arm was under her. Even in the half light, I couldn't help but see her hand inside of her panties, touching herself.
"Ellie," I said gently, needing to talk but knowing I would embarrass her.